#but i will repost the hungry heart one

[hawkeyeslaughter]

happy birthday trapper john i love you trapper john

[chandisappointment]

[azullumi]

WHERE WE LIE ON THE EDGE OF SUMMER !!

premise— you didn’t think that being neighbors and childhood friends with scaramouche would come with many things. for one, you have a sassy loser pathetically in love with you. content tags & warning — pairing: scaramouche (w/ gender-neutral reader) | modern!au, childhood friends, puppy love, scaramouche can’t skip stones, secret pining (for scaramouche), scaramouche words of reassurance and act of service advocate, fluff, word vomit, unspoken confessions | wc: 4.8k ; one-shot

notes from a jellyfish — (repost) first fic for the eat your heart out event!! nearly lost my mind writing this, but enjoy!!

SCARAMOUCHE is a liar. 

No truths spill from his mouth, that much is certain. 

He could never understand how poets write the beauty of a single sway of grass in the wind nor see how artists condense a single moment into a small stroke of a brush and find it breathtaking when it will all be bound to rot, but he tells others that he does anyway because he is a liar.

His words would bloom withered in his mouth, a shameful garden of ache, and the petals would never feel the lingering warmth in his lips.

But he never liked the heat, the suffocating warmth, always preferring the winter cold. But it was summer when he first met you and he remembers your laughter as you threw pebbles across the water, your smile gently shaped by the warm sun.

i. standing in between here and there

“Are you okay?”

There was only a grimace of annoyance on his face when you turned to briefly look at him. 

It was summer once more and Scaramouche dreaded summer more than anyone could, much more so now that he’s spending this hot day with a stranger—a child of his aunt’s friend, who is also their neighbor. The combination of sitting under all this heat and being forced to get along with someone he doesn't know is deadly. He can't even remember what their name was. Perhaps they had uttered it once only for it to be lost among the pebbled path or to be drowned in the river.

He raises his eyebrow at you, “Is it not obvious enough?”

“What’s with this sassy lost child? Jeez.” You mumble more words underneath your breath, something along the lines of him being grumpy. The summer breeze brushes across your skin as you stare at the river, contemplating. Perhaps you were debating if this stone will reach farther than the frog who jumped across just now, or maybe you’re just thinking of the boy—who your mother had asked you to get along with—sitting silently on the grass behind you since earlier.

You throw one stone over the water. It bounces once and twice, the surface responding with small ripples, sliding across before eventually sinking. You do this many times and he watches you every single time, eyes seemingly unable to look away. But curiosity is a hungry monster that consumed him, so he speaks to rid of the itch that claws at his throat:

“What are you doing?”

“Stone skipping,” you paused, witnessing the stone jump only once before reuniting with its old friends at the bottom of the river, “wanna try?” You blink at him, waiting for his answer. There was silence then came a grumble. He stood up from his seat with an expression that makes it seem like you forced him to do so.

You handed the boy a pebble, but he had to stare at it for a few seconds before he took it from your hand. You waited with an expectant gaze, your mind somehow anticipating that he’ll do better than you—Scaramouche looks like he’s good at everything that he does.

Oh, but how your expectations came crumbling down the way your breakfast cookie fell into your glass of milk.

“Go on, throw it.” You had told him and you didn’t know that he was that much of an obedient child because he really did throw it. Just not aimed at the water. He threw it like how one would pass a ball to a friend; his stone didn’t even graze nor come near the surface of the water.

But Scaramouche had the same perseverance of a rock against the wind. He picked up a pebble and threw it once more; this time, it is now aimed at the water but it only went straight ahead, sinking slowly to the bottom.

You don’t think you’re in the right time to say anything, so you just stood still and watched the struggle of a young boy who had a small stone in his hand, with the occasional rustling of leaves as the breeze passes and with the sound of a splash prodding at the silence that envelops you like a familiar companion. You wanted to go and teach him how he’s supposed to do it, that there is a certain angle that he has to reach and he’s not supposed to throw it just as it is, but your mind seems to tell you not to so you didn’t. It’s all quite a spectacular watch, after all, it was as if you were watching your favorite show at 7 PM after waiting hours for it to go on air.

No matter how many times Scaramouche tries to throw and make the pebble bounce across the river, it always just sinks the first time it comes into contact with the surface. He’s silent, but the frustration is evident in the scrunch of his eyebrows and the increasing aggression in his movements.

“Oh, wow, you’re terrible at this.” You were the first to break the silence—your words seem to have stabbed his unyielding spirit as he groaned and just went back to where he was sitting. An act of surrender after struggling for so long.

”You don’t want to try again?”

“Why should I?” The pebble will only sink anyway. What’s the point of doing something when you know you’ll fail in the end?

“Come on, just try it once more.” But you were a stubborn one and Scaramouche doesn’t have much of a choice, not when you’re already right in front of him, taking his hands into yours and pulling for him to stand up. You drag him back to where he was earlier, still holding one of his hands even as you pick up a pebble right at your feet.

“Here, do it like this.” Your hand is warm against his, gentle, in contrast to the crumpled look on his face. You guide him, saying words that he can’t process that much as he’s way too focused trying to fan the flames that danced across his cheeks.

He throws, in the same angle and form that you have guided him into before you had stepped back to watch, holding hope that he’ll succeed this time in the same hand you held him. The stone doesn’t immediately celebrate with his other failed attempts at the bottom as it bounces against the surface. 

You cheered, the sound of laughter slipping out of your lips as it seemed to tickle the insides of your mouth the more you held it in. There’s a certain feeling of warmth that washed over him when the melody rings inside his head. The roughness of the feeling, sharp in its unfamiliar edges, is akin to a huge wave that crashed into his form, but the comfort of it as it submerges him reminds him of the afternoon light shining on the floors of his home.

“It only bounced once.” He says, trying to downplay it all to get rid of the feeling that consumes him.

“But it did. That’s what matters, doesn’t it?” The feeling only seemed to grow stronger as if it’s feeding on your every word, being fuelled by your gaze, by your smile, by the sound of your voice. He tries to drown it all by thinking of other thoughts, diving into a different topic instead, and all the while, copying you as you resume your stone-skipping activities.

“Do you not get bored doing this?”

You hum, contemplating for a few seconds before you answer: “I think everything is a little more fun when you do it during summer,” you beam at him, then return your gaze back to the river before you throw, “Like this, especially when you’re doing it with someone.”

To be honest, he doesn’t even understand what you’re saying. This childlike mindset—although, for one, you and him are just a pair of children, playing beside the river, feeling the heat prickling against your skin. The bugs only grow louder in each second that passes as the afternoon slowly comes to the pass, replaced with the onset of the evening. The sky is painted with various colors mixed together but all in harmony, oranges and reds mixed with something golden, tainted with purples.

And yet, he would always ask himself, what is even nice about summer?

“I don’t know why but maybe I’m just saying that because I like summer,” you say as if you had read his mind, as if you had noticed the lingering question on his face that asks you why. “Do you like summer?”

It takes him a moment to answer, letting the orchestra of the wind against leaves, of the stone splashing against water, of the cicada’s song last longer than his silence. He could have said no, he could have disagreed with you and argued with your answer. He could have said that he despised summer for its heat and bugs. But he didn’t and that was the problem.

“I… like summer.” There are razors in his tongue as he speaks, the utterance of the sentence making him bleed internally as he bites on his words. Perhaps the hesitation in his tone betrays his words or perhaps it was the twitch of his lips paired with the contort of his forehead that made it appear as untruthful as it actually was.

Even so, you were convinced. You gleam at him, eyes bright with excitement: “Really? You don’t seem to be one to like summer.”

“I do, why would you say that?”

You shrug, “You just seem like a winter person to me.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. In fact, that was the whole truth and the actual lie was him saying that he likes summer. He still doesn’t understand himself for saying such words—maybe it’s the heat getting into his head or maybe it's the sound of your laughter that plays over and over inside his mind.

It feels like having a crush—He slaps himself mentally at the notion.

“We should always spend summer together then.” You’ll say, watching a pebble bounce across until it reaches the other side. A feat you have only achieved twice—the second time being this moment. You silently rejoiced for your success, clenching your hand into a fist.

He responds, “So we could just watch stones bounce on water the whole time?” and this made you chuckle before you refute: “Unless you want to, but there are tons of other things to do during summer.”

This went on and on: you, just listing out whatever activities you could do and saying whatever, and him, who listens to every word you say and would give you short responses. It is not until dusk had ended and the evening came, and now, you’re standing by the doorway, saying your goodbyes to the boy who’s terrible at stone-skipping.

“You don’t even know my name, do you?”

“I do.”

You laugh, “Liar.”

ii. take a step closer, won’t you?

Summer came to visit like an old friend you had known for years.

It’s a fleeting companion, a familiar stranger bound to disappear, gone as the wind carries your scent. The sun kisses your skin very delicately, the grass will hold your being as if you were its own child, and you will miss its embrace the moment it slips out of your hands quietly. But there’s a strange comfort welling up in your heart knowing that you will feel it once more in time and you won’t have to spend a lifetime missing it—or him.

“What are you being so slow for?” The dark-haired man stops from his track and turns to look at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips formed into a frown. “The sun will set before we even reach the river.” It’s the mayor of complaintown, throwing his usual complaints at you. You could only roll your eyes before you run to him, catching up to his pace before the two of you resume walking.

Scaramouche, somehow, kept his promise. Although it’s not exactly a promise because the two of you didn’t make any, he did keep his word of spending every summer with you. And right now, you’re in the middle of walking through the forest near your home—an adventure, you may say, despite the fact that you have taken this path multiple times already and you’re just returning to the place where the two of you usually spend your moments under the summer sun.

The gentle murmurs of the rushing water reach your ears, eventually getting louder as the two of you draw close to your destination. Not sooner than later, a familiar scene comes into view: the small river—a stream, to be exact—in all its glory displayed before you, a path of water stretching from here to there across your line of vision, carrying memories of when the two of you played around it.

There’s a small smile embedded on your lips. It’s the thought that it's only the two of you that knows of this place that makes you warm—it’s like a secret place for you and him.

You come close to the body of water, crouching down, staring at your rather unclear image by the water, and making out the contours and edges of your face. You try to reach out to your reflection, disturbing the surface with the tip of your fingertips, and you watch as it ripples underneath your hand. Although you’re way too focused on whatever you are doing that you forgot the existence of the boy who came here with you.

“Are you just planning on staring at the water all day long?” Scaramouche says as he crouches down beside you. He speaks as if he didn’t spend his time staring at you, admiring the way the sun holds you in its embrace, while thinking that he could just look at you for hours without getting bored.

You hum, “I really don’t know what else to do now,” you draw something on the water, the surface coming in creases.

“I thought you said there are a lot of things to do in the summer.”

“Yeah, but we already did nearly all of them.” You grumble, turning to look at him with a troubled expression. Indigo orbs meet yours in a gentle gaze; Scaramouche’s gaze, tender and soft, doesn’t often match the harsh bite of his words. It leaves you wondering, confused, if this is just his way of showing that he cares or if there’s something more. But you don’t like thinking about it—fools base their thoughts on foolish assumptions, and you are no fool.

If only you know what festers underneath his skin. Looking at you like this, honey light against your skin, he thinks you’re beautiful—the word isn’t even enough to capture the essence of your being. The world seemingly held its breath for this moment as everything came to a still except for the wind that brushes against your face. He is foolishly and utterly starstruck by the existence of you, as if you were meant to be in this place, to experience this small, fleeting moments with him, to be bathed under sunlight, to breath in the air of your surrounding, the feel the coldness of water against your feet—to live.

There's you and his mere image being reflected by your eyes, and he tries to see into the waters of your gaze for something that is akin to the just adoration he holds for you, hoping that you hold him under the same light too. He may speak of words that hold no meaning, no truth, but his feelings for you are intense and unwavering that it consumes him. Won’t you pull him a little closer?

You break the stillness, your surroundings seemingly coming back to life with the sound of your voice: “What are you thinking now?”

“Just how stupid you look.” The boy answers. Liar.

You acted as if you were offended by his statement, letting out a gasp and even placing your hand over your chest to show that you were quote on quote, hurt. He only rolls his eyes at your performance.

You jest, “Why are you so grumpy? Do you just hate being with me?”

“Stop assuming things, I didn’t say anything like that.” His attention is now to the river, watching as the stream flows and as the rocks remain unmoving.

You grab this moment to take advantage of his vulnerability and inattention. Snickering, you scoop a handful of water before splashing it to him, drenching him in the process. At the sight, laughter bubbles from your throat—he reminded you of a wet chick.

“So we're playing this game?”

“You started it.” You grin, splashing him once more but this time, he was able to shield himself from your attack.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Cold!” You exclaim as he repays you the favor.

It became a battle between you two. You’ll splash him with a handful and he’ll only retaliate after like two or three of your attacks, and even so, he’ll only fight back with only so little. Nevertheless, water drips from your head, down to your face and he, too, is left there on the side of the river with you, completely drenched and with his clothes sticking to his skin. His gaze is on you and yours are on him, and the two of you break into laughter—you think you’ll remember the sound of yours and his tangled together forever.

For a moment, it felt like the two of you were children once more.

“Ah, now we’re both wet.”

Scaramouche flicks your forehead, earning a groan from you. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours, duh.” You sneeze as soon as you finish your sentence. Scaramouche doesn’t fail to notice you tremble, hugging your knees close to your chest as if to quell the growing chill. 

He abruptly stands up, and you watch him as heads over to where his bag is. He’s been carrying that since earlier and you’ve been curious as to what it contains—you didn’t get the chance to ask him earlier but now, your question is going to be answered. 

You follow after, standing and peering behind him to see the contents. Your eyes are able to make out a water bottle and some snacks—were those your favorite?—among the pile of things. Albeit you didn’t get to see anymore of it as he turned around and placed something on top of your head, obscuring your vision.

You realized it was a towel when he started to gently rub your hair and the side of your face with it, drying you with the soft fabric.

“I didn’t know you had that much prepared.” You comment, letting him seemingly take care of you. Sometimes, it feels like you’re indebted to him with how much he looks after and cares for you. It feels unfair; you take so much from him and he never takes anything from you. He never lets himself indulge, settling on here and there, but never by you. You wish he would come close, he wishes you’ll hold him closer.

“I think we’re going to get sick after this.” You ask with worry lacing your tone; the water was cold and none of you brought any spare clothes, save for the towel he had prepared. And while he’s the one who got drenched the most, he’s here, focusing on you instead. 

(You’ll always find yourself being bathed underneath all of his attention, whether you notice his gaze or not.)

“You’re the only one getting sick between the both of us.” He answers, draping the towel all over your shoulders before he goes and takes out a smaller towel to dry himself. There’s a small pout on your face when you hear his words—you can’t say anything in retort.

“Are we going home now?”

“If you want to, that is.”

The sun is already setting and darkness is slowly creeping into the day as time passes. Your surroundings are dyed with a warm golden, fading into blue. The animals that dwell in the night are revealing themselves as the ones who thrive during the day are returning to rest. Eventually, you also have to go home too. Exhaustion has seeped into you, settling into your weary bones.

“Can you carry me?”

“What? Can’t you walk on your own?”

“Oh, please, almighty Scaramouche. My legs are hurting and I’m tired.” Your hands are clasped together as you speak, batting your eyelashes at him.

Scaramouche could have complained a little more, dismissed your request, and walked back on his own, but he didn’t. And it’s not like he did not want to, but he just could not. How could he ever deny you? You were all that he could ask for, you were only asking him for one thing. Rejecting you at this moment was just like turning away from you—even though he knows that you’re most likely bluffing and are capable of your own. 

(But, oh, he’s simply nothing without you. After all, you make up half of his soul even if he’s not even a fragment of yours.)

“You’re so troublesome.” You’re his favorite problem anyway.

Dusk is settling in the corners of the forest, and in the midst of the trees and along with the harmony of cicadas, is you and Scaramouche. The dark-haired man carries you on his back while you keep him occupied with your chatter of whatever that comes to your mind.

And just as he notices every small thing about you, you can’t ignore the dark hue his skin is painted in:

“Your ears are red.”

He takes a few seconds, mumbling, “It’s too hot.”

(Maybe it’s summer that is warm, or maybe it’s you.)

The next day, however, Scaramouche got sick and you had to nurse him back to his health—out of worry and guilt. Although you held that fact over your head, treating it as some sort of trophy.

iii. aren’t we already close enough?

Something knocks at Scaramouche’s window.

That’s how most horror movies start, but this is no horror movie, and it doesn’t take much for him to know that it was just his neighbor trying to grab his attention.

Another knock came. He heads towards the noise, pushing the curtains aside, and immediately seeing you across in your own room, standing by your open window. Upon seeing the man, you enthusiastically wave at him.

You mouthed, even doing some hand gestures to throw your message across to him: “Do you wanna watch the stars with me?”

It seems like he didn’t understand what you were trying to say as he only stares at you with a confused expression. You sighed and gestured for him to wait, disappearing from his line of sight for a moment before returning with a pen and paper in your hand; you scribble something on it and he watches you with a curious gaze.

With your words written by ink, a few of it crossed out, it reads: Let’s go stargazing.

He mouths, “Right now?” In which you responded with a nod and a smile. Then you return to your pad in hand, turning to new page before writing:

There’s going to be a meteor shower tonight. Let’s watch it together.

Scaramouche puts down his reply on his paper that he has gotten as you were writing.

Where? 

The forest has a small clearing, it’s perfect for stargazing.

Right, and why are we talking like this?

It’s more fun this way and I don’t want to wake people up.

So, do you wanna go???

Okay. Yeah.

YAY !!! I’ll meet you outside.

But just as you were about to leave, he threw his pen at your window, an attempt to grab your attention although he did end up startling you.

It’s cold.

Wear something warm.

You beam at his display of his concern and give him an ‘Okay’ sign.

A few minutes flies by and you come out, jacket in hand. A certain man, with hair as dark as midnight, greets you. He’s clad in sweatpants and an oversized shirt, layered with a jacket on top—he was dressed comfily, as if he were planning on sleeping prior to this.

“Were you planning on going to sleep?”

“I was, until you called.”

“You could have just turned me down. I don’t mind watching the meteor shower alone.” You feel guilt rising in your chest, looking down at the ground you were rooted on. Thoughts whirl like a hurricane, creating a vortex of doubt that wreaks havoc inside your head. You don’t know what’s wrong with you, feeling all of these all at once over a simple and small thing. You were the one to insist, always the first one to come barging into his door.

But somewhere between your thoughts and his own, between loving you and adoring you, he knows you in ways that no one could. You’re the only one he ever knows.

“You’re not bothering me,” Scaramouche ruffles your head, messing up your hair. He speaks in the same note of his touch, soft and gentle, and it feels foreign and familiar at the same time; you want this, you could get used to this—the small thought that remains inside your mind echoes as he dispels all of your worries with just a few of his words. “Besides, I also wanted to watch the meteor shower.” With you.

“Really?”

“Where’s the stubborn and strong person who’ll drag me out of my room every summer that I know?” He flicks your forehead, making you wince and rub the spot to ease the pain. He adds, a small smile etching into the curves of his lips, “You were the one to say that everything is better when you do it with someone.”

“Well—”

“There’s no need to worry over such useless things,” He heaves out a sigh, “If I hated you, you would have known.”

He doesn’t know what took over him to have his hand seek out your face, caressing your face so tenderly like a lover would. The dance of his fingers left a trail of warmth across your skin, blooming and spreading like fire, and maybe it was your fault or maybe it was his that your face leans closer to his touch as if desiring for more of his softness. He doesn’t fail to notice the look on your face, the fire that festers within you spreading to him.

Scaramouche is mesmerized by the miracle that is you. 

He clears his throat, looking away, afraid that he’s going to be consumed by your light the more he keeps his gaze on you:

“Let’s go before we end up missing it.” His tone falters into something sweet, and his hand, too, falls into something kind—his fingers slipping into your own. You could only nod your head in response, afraid that your words would break in your tongue before you could even speak.

It doesn’t take long to reach the spot you were talking about. But it did feel like time moved slowly with the silence as neither of you let go of each other’s hand; you battled with your reasoning, thinking that it will help you walk better in the dark and not trip over anything even when you’re already familiar with the path. Or maybe it was just too cold, you don’t know; it’s not like you want to let go either.

(And in the same cadence of your thoughts, his soul whispers to you: “I don’t think I want to stop holding your hand.”)

Tonight, the stars are a witness to the wake of something foolishly beautiful. As the streaks of light fill the sky like a stroke of a painter’s brush on an empty canvas, lush grass forms into nothing as it sinks beneath your being, intertwined with his as he clutches your hand tight—the sky holds the stars as the earth bears your weight all the same. When the warm breeze leaves and when life all becomes nothing in the absence of indigo merging into golden, can you stand with him a little closer underneath the fading warm?

“Kuni.” What does his name taste like in your mouth?

“Hm?”

Scaramouche isn’t stupid, but you make him feel stupid, and he loves you stupid, like a loser stumbling over the stars in your eyes. He understands why poets write the mundane and how artists portray a fleeting moment bound to rot by time. It doesn’t take much but he spent a long time seeking comfort in the warmth to know the answer—he knew what it was when he wished you were with him to enjoy the sun.

You reside in the deeper parts of his soul, tangled in the loose threads of his being. Scaramouche prays—even when he doesn’t necessarily believe, but what is a god’s gaze for your love?—to whoever is listening that you’ll stay there forever. Can a human ever stop their heart from wanting? 

“Don’t you want to go home now?” You had asked him; the meteor shower has finished and the clouds are already hiding the vast blanket of stars above you. There’s not much left in this night, just silence and a pair of people who had nothing and everything at the same time, lying on the grass as if they’re the only ones who matter in the world. He has always existed right there beside you and he has belonged to you in ways that you may never know.

“I’m still not sleepy yet.” But his mouth gapes into a yawn and you laugh.

“Liar.”

Call him whatever you want, he just wants to stay with you a little longer.

Scaramouche may be a liar.

But he likes you, that much is certain.

taglist: @felibrary, @yunicide, @bittersweetmiko

© AZULLUMI 2024. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[ch33z3grits]

Crimson Obsessions | A Terry Richmond Vampire Series

pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson

summary: Terry shamelessly gathers allies and information to pursue Camille behind the scenes. Camille, no matter how hard she tries, can't help but develop a crush on Terry.

warnings: 18+ mdni, dark romance, manipulation, smut (male masturbation and p in v), obsessiveness/possessiveness, mentions of witchcraft, angst if you squint, stalking, breaking and entering, mentions of drugs and alcohol, AAVE, use of n-word

word count: 7,778

a/n: thanks again for all the comments and reposts on the last part! The reposts are fucking hilarious but idk how to respond to them if I even can 😭😭 but I appreciate the interactions fr. Ngl this is long lolll but enjoy :)

glossary

The Veil: the dark magic that enhances supernaturals’ ability to manipulate the human world

Terry’s song: No Heart-21 Savage | Camille’s song: Next Lifetime-Erykah Badu

Pt. Three

Terry

Terry had forgotten how annoying popularity could be. It had only been two weeks since he first onboarded with Watkins & Grant, yet he was already the firm’s shining star. His work ethic was constantly praised, as was his effortless charm when conversing with anyone. Every day, without fail, someone would drop by his office to shower him with compliments. He would laugh, a practiced chuckle that never failed to sound genuine, and put on an act of humble appreciation, making sure to make them feel special in return.

But as the days passed, Terry found himself increasingly irritated by the constant recognition. His colleagues, eager for his attention, bombarded him with social requests. Happy hours, family dinners, sporting events, casual coffee chats… invitations were always extended to Terry. He knew the drill all too well. Terry had mastered the corporate dance long ago, and he understood that maintaining these social ties was essential for his professional image. But despite the strategic benefits, the sheer volume and frequency of all those social engagements were draining his patience.

What bothered him most, though, was the growing realization that these endless interactions weren’t getting him any closer to the one person he actually wanted to see, the one who mattered far more than anyone else in the office.

In the past few weeks, Terry's interactions with Camille had been way too brief and far too professional. When she got in, she would quickly pass him in the hallway, squeaking out a small but warm "good morning" before Aston would lock her away in that fucking office of his. Their exchanges always left Terry feeling hungry for more. When those tiny moments weren’t enough to satisfy his craving for her, he’d find some bullshit excuse to walk down to her side of the office—grabbing a snack from the kitchen, admiring a different angle of the building’s view, or simply claiming he needed to stretch his legs. Each time, he’d sneak a glance into Aston’s office, and there she would be. Head down, furiously typing away or scribbling notes, working far too hard for Terry's liking.

Meanwhile, Aston would be making his rounds around the executive wing, greeting everyone with a hollow smile and kissing everyone’s ass but Terry’s. Terry wasn’t offended at all. The less he had to see the motherfucker’s face, the better. But he was going crazy trying to survive off his little interactions with Camille, watching as her professional life consumed her. Terry had to find a way to get some more time alone with her. Which is why a few days after he started, he was staying after hours to bend Stephanie Hodges, the secretary for Mr. Grant, over his desk.

After observing the social dynamics of the office, Terry discovered that Stephanie was one of the most influential people at the firm. At first, her interactions with Mr. Grant appeared strictly professional, nothing more than typical, formal exchanges. But Terry’s keen perception saw the subtle signs that hinted at something far more… inappropriate beneath the surface. He watched closely, noticing how Grant’s gaze would linger on her just a bit too long whenever she was near. Terry caught how Grant sniffed the air whenever she walked by, as if intoxicated by her presence. And whenever Stephanie wanted something, all she had to do was bat her lashes and throw a flirtatious smile at him. Every time ended with her getting exactly what she wanted and she would walk away with a triumphant smirk.

The professional relationship between Grant and Stephanie was nothing more than a carefully constructed facade. On Grant’s end, he was having an affair. On Stephanie’s end, she was enjoying a sugar baby arrangement. This knowledge solidified Terry’s understanding of her power and potential value to him, which he could leverage to his advantage. All he had to do was pull her into his orbit, which didn’t take much. Stephanie made her intentions very clear. She would come by his office every morning, making unnecessary small talk in a sultry tone. She would bend over to give him a perfect view of her ass or she would shove her cleavage in his face when she needed to show him something. Terry wasn’t particularly interested in fucking her. Stephanie was attractive, but office hook-ups often got messy, and Terry couldn’t afford the drama. But, Terry had no problem obliging her if it got him closer to his end goal. So if he had to fill her up with dick after everyone went home for the day in exchange for a few changes around the office, that didn’t bother him one bit.

“T-Terry, oh fuckkkk. F-Fuckingg...cu....c-cumming again,” Stephanie whimpered, her face pressed against the Mahogany wood of his desk. Terry rolled his eyes as he pumped his full length in and out of her with punishing strokes, feeling her pussy clench around him. She had came for the fourth time and all she could do was moan, shriek, and babble out incoherent sentences. The experience was much more than he intended. He didn't mean fuck her this good for this long. But his nut was taking longer than expected due to Stephanie’s high-pitched moans irritating the fuck out of him. And she kept fucking squirming. Frustrated, he firmly slapped her ass, causing her to cry out as the sound echoed through his office. “Stay still,” he hissed. “Damn!” 

He closed his eyes, trying to think of a way to make this more satisfying for him. An image of Camille bloomed in his mind, her face slack with pleasure, her mouth forming an ‘O’ shape. “Mmmm Terry, please.” The imaginary Camille moaned. “Please, please cum for me.” 

That got Terry across the finish line. His hips stuttered as he thrusted into Stephanie to the hilt and barreled into his orgasm. "Fuckkk," he groaned, pushing Stephanie flatter against the surface as he emptied his load into his condom. He pulled out of Stephanie quickly, the absence of his cock nearly making her slip onto the floor in a dick-drunk daze.

Good, he thought. Just how I need her to be. He discarded the condom in a nearby trash bin before sitting in his desk chair. He pulled her into his lap to soothe her as she caught her breath. She panted as she stared at him, a lazy smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

“Where have you been all my life?” She giggled, running a finger over his chest. He internally cringed, but his exterior played into her ego. “I could ask you the same,” he chuckled. She flipped her fiery red hair and laid her head on his chest, pleased by his comment.

“You know,” he started, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been watching you since I first started here and I’ve noticed that you’re the only one who gets everything they want. I mean, it's no surprise considering how beautiful and magnetic you are. But, how do you do it?” She laughed, shifting herself on his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Well Mr. Richmond, I’m not afraid to ask for what I want.”

“Is that so? I need to learn your ways. Because there is something that I want. Well, someone rather,” Terry let out a defeated sigh. Stephanie stiffened in response, making him smirk. “Wow, Mr. Richmond, someone else has caught your eye already?” Terry clutched his chest, feigning shock.

“You’re mistaken, Stephanie. I don’t mean it in that way.” He stated, looking into her eyes and petting her hair. He watched as her jealousy transformed into curiosity. “I guess you could say that I’m dealing with a little professional jealousy.”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What do you mean?”

“Camille's work ethic...I’m seriously impressed. The way she handles McCoy’s caseload, how she keeps the whole thing from collapsing under the weight of it all, it's something else. I don't have it as bad as he does, but I wouldn’t mind a little of that magic working for me. But…McCoy likes to keep her close. I mean, I get it, she’s his fiancée, after all." Terry tried to keep the bite out of his voice as he mentioned Camille’s engagement status. "But still, it feels a little…unfair, don’t you think? An associate gets to keep a paralegal like that all to themselves, and here I am, a visiting partner, left to do it all alone. I’d ask Grant or Watkins about it, but the whole ‘fiancée’ thing just makes it…tricky.”

He watched as the gears practically turned in Stephanie’s head, hoping he planted the right seeds. She tapped her fingers against his chest as she continued to think. “Well, I could always bring it to Mr. Grant’s attention. You’re right, it doesn’t make any sense for Aston to have more privileges than you.” Bingo.

Terry held back a sinister smile. “Really, you would do that for me? Would that even work?”

Stephanie’s cocky smirk returned. She sat up in his lap, her green eyes staring into his. “Of course! You said it yourself. I can get anything I want around here. Let’s test that theory.” She leaned in for a kiss, which Terry rewarded her with.

Hours later, just past 2:00 AM, Terry stood in the shadows outside of the luxury apartment building where Aston lived. On one of the rare nights when his colleagues hadn’t asked him out for drinks, he had followed Aston home, committing the address to memory. He returned the night after to watch the building closely, noting every detail. The concierge’s shift changed at exactly 2:00 AM. A handful of residents would collect late-night food deliveries until about 2:30, and the custodial staff took smoke breaks sporadically throughout the night. He had studied the rhythm of it all. Terry knew the patterns, knew the cracks in the schedule. He just needed the right window to slip through.

Tonight, he was prepared. Dressed head to toe in black, he ran his fingers over the leather gloves and ski mask tucked in his pocket. He wouldn’t need them just yet. But soon enough, they’d serve their purpose. For now, all he had to do was wait for the door to open. His eyes snapped towards the front entrance as he heard the grand door creak open. A cleaning lady, holding a pack of cigarettes, looked around momentarily. Convinced that no one was there, she grabbed a stone from a nearby bush and tucked it between the door and door frame. Then she walked a few feet in the direction opposite Terry, lighting a cigarette. Terry silently stalked towards the door, watching to make sure she didn’t turn around. He quickly slid through the open door, making sure it was propped open just like the woman had left it.

Once inside, he walked confidently over to the concierge sitting at the front desk. The man, who was busy doing crossword puzzles, stopped momentarily to see who was approaching him at such a late hour on a work night. Terry flashed a casual smile. “Hey, how are you doing tonight,” he spoke, placing his forearms on the marble counter separating them. The older gentleman looked at him with slight suspicion, but still engaged. “I’m fine, how about yourself?”

Terry let out a concerned sigh. “Actually, I'm not doing too well. My friend called me earlier, said he had a little too much to drink tonight and got himself into some trouble! I was just trying to check on him, but he won’t pick up. He only gave me the access code to the building, but I don’t know which room he’s in.”

The concierge paused, eyeing Terry with suspicion.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the man stammered. “But there’s nothing I can do.”

Frustration buzzed beneath Terry’s calm exterior, but he kept his voice steady, leaning in just a fraction closer. "Are you sure? I’d really hate to think something bad happened to him…” His words hung in the air, sharp with unspoken pressure.

The man’s gaze flickered, unease creeping into his eyes as his focus faltered. Terry inwardly groaned, knowing he would have to take matters into his own hands. He leaned in further, his fist tightening subtly, his focus sharpening. Swiftly, he conjured up the dark magic of The Veil, feeling it unfurl around him.

Terry watched with dark satisfaction as the man’s pupils dilated, his posture straightening rapidly. All emotion drained from the man’s face, signaling to Terry that he had control now. “That’s better,” Terry chuckled. “Now, bring me the master key and tell me what unit Aston McCoy is in.” Without a word, the concierge turned around and stumbled towards a room behind him. After a few moments, the concierge, moving like a brainless zombie, brought him a golden key fob and a slip of paper with ‘Aston McCoy, 608’ scribbled across it. Stuffing the items in his pocket, Terry gave the concierge another glance. “Stay right here and don’t talk to anyone.” Then, he pivoted towards the elevators.

Once inside, he slipped on the ski mask and gloves before using the key fob to get access to the sixth floor. He smiled when the doors slid open and stepped out into the hallway. Conveniently, the unit was only a few paces from the elevator. After approaching the door that displayed ‘608,’ he held the fob over the door’s keypad, and stepped inside once the door softly clicked.

Terry knew it was twisted. Breaking into his colleague's apartment to find the best, most personal way to ruin his life was abhorrent by human standards. But he wasn’t human. He hasn’t been human for centuries. So he didn’t give a fuck. Aston McCoy was the one thing standing in the way of him getting his hands on his prize.

Holding her.

Taking care of her.

Fucking her.

Worshipping her.

He vowed to move heaven and earth to have Camille all to himself. So if he had to pursue a little breaking and entering to set his plan into motion, so be it.

Terry's footsteps were silent to the average ear as he sauntered around the luxurious loft. He gazed at the expensive minimalist furniture, carefully curated wall decor, and the artificial plants that were strategically placed in the living area. The entire space lacked any trace of personality. Sterile, boring, and safe. The signs of a young white man who desperately wanted to be taken seriously and belong in the upper echelons of society. Terry smirked and shook his head. Throughout his long, long life, Terry had run into men like Aston at every turn. It was pathetic how they shaped their entire lives around getting more power, more status. Slave owners, military officials, mob bosses…white men who had the world at their feet but were always at the risk of slipping and falling. All it took was one blow from Terry and they were tumbling to the ground. Aston McCoy would be no different.

Although he found the apartment amusing, Terry grew irritated as he stalked through the space. Every drawer he opened, every closet he rifled through, only deepened his frustration. There were no signs of the vices he’d come to expect. No bottles of liquor tucked away in hidden corners, no baggies of coke stashed carelessly in drawers, no anonymous flash drives filled with illicit secrets. Nothing. Terry scoffed, feeling his eyebrows push together as he approached the last doorway in the apartment. McCoy’s bedroom. He entered the room lazily, expecting further disappointment. But his eyes widened as they settled on the central point of the room: the bed. On the left side, McCoy was bundled under a mountain of covers, his hair peeking out at the top being the only indication that it was him. But on the right side… laid Camille, looking like an absolute angel. Her body was completely exposed due to her fiancé's selfish hogging of the covers. McCoy’s actions at any other time would have Terry seeing red. But instead, they accidentally gave Terry the most pleasant and mouth-watering surprise he could have hoped for tonight.

Camille laid flat on her back, the side of her face perfectly highlighted by the moonlight pouring in as she snuggled into the crook of her arm. Her gorgeous dark brown skin seemed to glisten in the moon’s glow, asking, begging to be licked and sucked and marked. She was mostly bare, wearing nothing but a satin hair scarf and a satin nightgown that dipped dangerously low into her cleavage and hiked around her waist. Terry's focus on the task at hand faltered as his dick turned to stone. His tongue darted out of his mouth to moisten his lips hidden under his mask. Desperate to give himself some form of relief, he palmed his growing bulge through his sweatpants as he moved closer to Camille’s side of the bed. With a better view of the slumbering princess, Terry's eyes wandered to Camille’s pussy, tucked away from his sight by a lacy white thong, a present he ached to open. As if in a trance, Terry crouched down to run his gloved thumb over the waistband of Camille’s panties, careful not to awaken her.

You have no idea what you do to me, he thought, hooking a finger into the lacy fabric. His eyes snapped toward her face as he began to slowly tug the garment down. He was halfway down her thighs when she stirred, whimpering lightly. Everything in him froze except his dick. His dick jumped as the sweet sound echoed in his head. Camille’s brows furrowed momentarily, but her face relaxed and her eyes remained closed. Terry waited a beat to make sure she was still asleep. But his cock, heavy with excitement, beckoned him to continue removing her panties. So as swiftly as he could, Terry pulled the small fabric over her knees, down to her ankles, and then carefully slipped them past her feet. In a frenzy, Terry tugged the ski mask below his mouth and pulled the souvenir to his nose, inhaling deeply. Drool slid past his lips as he breathed in her scent. He held back a feral rumble in his chest, feeling his eyes flicker from their usual blue-gray to a deep red. Now isn't the time to lose control, he thought, suppressing the darkest parts of himself. With a shake of his head, he tucked Camille’s panties into his pocket, sending another shockwave through his lower region.

He backed away from Camille’s side of the bed, his eyes never leaving her enchanting face. He was just about to cross the bedroom’s threshold to walk back into the living area. But he heard the slightest vibration from the left side of the room. Terry cocked his head to the side and zeroed his focus on the phone on McCoy's nightstand. What kind of notifications could he be getting at two in the morning? He swiftly moved towards the phone, gently picking it up. He flipped it so the screen faced him and began to read the series of notifications. Banners from DraftKings, FanDuel, Prizepicks and other betting apps displayed several different messages:

Bet $20 and get 3x back on earnings!

Hurry now to get $1000 in casino bonuses!

Bet now, get instant deposit on all earnings!

Terry chuckled lightly, his eyes flickering to McCoy and Camille to briefly check if they heard him. They hadn’t. So you’re a gambling addict huh? He grinned widely as he glanced down at Aston. I can definitely work with that. Terry carefully returned the phone to its original position. Then he crossed the room once more, returning to Camille's side. He hummed slightly as he softly gripped her right leg, adjusting it to give him a perfect view of her now exposed pussy. Camille sighed slightly, shifting onto her side, unknowingly moving closer to Terry. Terry smirked, kneeling so his head was at the same level as hers. “You’ll be all mine soon enough,” he whispered, hoping that his words slipped into her dreams. She sighed in response, still in a deep slumber. With a final scan of her face, Terry pulled his ski mask back over nose, shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned to leave the bedroom. He grinned wildly as he began to conjure up the most sinister and wicked ideas to get Camille into his arms and into his bed.

He exited the apartment, carefully locking the door back into place. As he rode down the elevator, taking off the gloves and ski mask, he slightly chastised himself for not already knowing that they lived together. He guessed it never crossed his mind considering that they drove separately. And the address on her driver’s license didn’t match this building. Maybe she moved in with him recently, he thought.

Once the elevator doors opened, he looked toward the concierge’s desk, seeing that the man remained in the exact same spot. Terry approached the desk, placing the key fob in front of him. He would discard the paper with the apartment's information later. “You’ll be released from this spell in about ten minutes and you won't be able to remember the events of tonight. But before then, I need you to put this back exactly how you found out, and delete the security footage from the past hour once I walk through the front door. Understood?” The empty shell of a man nodded, already reaching for the master key. Terry turned toward the door and walked out, not bothering to look back.

Rather than feasting on one of the blood bags that stocked his fridge or sinking his fangs into one of his casual partners to end his night, Terry sat in his king-sized bed as he gripped his heavy dick, Camille’s thong hanging halfway out of his mouth. The garment muffled the groans in the back of his throat as his right hand jerked up and down his shaft and his left hand held his phone displaying a picture of Camille he found on her sister’s instagram. She stood in a bathroom, wearing nothing but a white robe and silver jewelry. One side of the robe hung off her shoulder, giving a teasing view of a breast he desperately wanted to lick. She looked up at the phone provocatively, her tongue peeking between her lips.

Terry was practically choking his cock as his hand gripped up and down his length, lotion and precum mixing together to give him the perfect amount of slickness. His hips bucked as he imagined her tongue dragging over the length of him from base to tip, flicking over the slit of the mushroom head. And the residual taste of her essence flooded his taste buds, making his head damn-near spin. With a few more thrusts into his fist, he released a guttural moan as warm, thick ropes of cum landed on his torso and hand. He panted softly, chest rapidly rising and falling as he came down from his high.

He pulled her panties from his mouth, using it to clean up his seed, before placing the fabric on the altar sitting across from his bed, which held an intense love spell he had been meticulously maintaining for weeks. Framed photos of her, capturing moments of her beautiful smile and radiant laughter, were abundant. Beside them, candles glowed softly, their wicks anointed with domination and seduction oils, each deep red flame flickering with an almost sentient desire. Protection wards, drawn in ancient symbols connected to The Veil, surrounded the space like a silent, invisible force, ensuring her safety from any harm. The display was an intricate ritual, a carefully crafted tribute to Camille, meant to pull her closer, to weave her into the very fabric of his world. Every detail was deliberate, every element chosen with painstaking care. All of this—his devotion—was for her, and her alone.

He gazed at the picture on his phone once more and shuddered, his semi-erect dick standing at attention once again. But even though his mind beckoned him to masturbate once more, his supernatural hunger gnawed at him. He had been ignoring his desire to feed for the past few days, prioritizing more pressing matters. But now, he was almost at a point where he could lose control. And he couldn’t go into work tomorrow and accidentally feast on a coworker. So, with a final glance towards his magical workings, he pulled on a pair of pajama pants and stalked towards the supply of O-Negative waiting in his fridge.

Camille

Camille woke abruptly from the sound of her alarm, groggier than usual. She already wasn’t looking forward to the day, considering that it started poorly. Aston woke her up around 4 AM, horny and in the mood for a quickie, which she reluctantly gave in to. He had already taken her panties off anyway. But it was rushed and unfulfilling. Aston had rolled after two minutes, falling back to sleep after reaching his peak. But Camille wasn’t so lucky. She tossed and turned for hours, her dissatisfaction keeping her alert. And of course, her vibrator was dead, leaving her with nothing to get her off.

Before her mood could sour even more, she threw off her covers and headed for the bathroom. Dreading the work day ahead, she went through her morning routine. It wasn’t just the workload that was getting to her. Ever since Aston found out he didn’t make junior partner, he’s been…stricter. Meaner. A tad bit bitter. He’d grown increasingly harsh with her work, constantly second-guessing her decisions, and questioning the few moments she took to breathe between the demands. And it wasn’t just the office that had become tense. At home, the smallest things seemed to set him off. Camille chalked it up to him having residual disappointment from Terry having the role he wanted, which she completely understood. She saw how he poured his blood, sweat, and tears into Watkins & Grant, yet it didn’t seem to be paying off. And although she gave him grace, she couldn’t deny that he was hurting her feelings often and she was beginning to burn out.

Giving herself one last look in the mirror, Camille hoped that something good would come out of the day. Something to break up the monotony.

At least, she thought with a small sigh, there was Terry.

She hadn’t fully admitted it to herself, but Camille was developing a crush on the new addition to the firm. And she often fixated on their interactions. Their exchanges, though brief, had become the highlight of her mornings. The way he would give her a quick, almost nonchalant ‘good morning,’ accompanied by that wide smile. It was nothing out of the ordinary. He offered the same greetings to everyone else in the office. Yet, every time their eyes met, her heart would skip a beat.

Once she got to the office, that moment she always looked forward to happened like it always did. Terry passed her as she came into the office, giving her that signature smile and quick ‘good morning.’ Camille savored the moment briefly, inhaling his passing trail of cologne. But she refocused and continued to Aston’s office, mentally preparing herself for the tasks she had to handle by close of business. She pushed open the glass door and made her way to her desk, feeling Aston’s eyes track her, his phone pressed to his ear. When his call ended, he softly called out to her. “Good morning, Millie.”

“Morning,” Camille replied, refusing to look up. Aston sighed, sitting back in his chair.

“Look baby, I know I haven’t been the best company these past few weeks. And, I’m sorry. It’s not fair to you at all.” This made Camille look up, meeting his gaze. “And I know the work has been hard. I… I’m just going through something, baby. And while that’s no excuse, I want to thank you for being so patient with me.”

Her eyes softened. “It’s okay, baby. We all have our off moments,” she said, sympathy laced in her tone. He smiled and blew her a kiss, making her giggle.

“You mind us taking a long lunch today? We can go get your favorite,” he suggested, making her perk up. Camille rarely got to go to O-ku, an elevated Asian fusion spot about twenty minutes from the office. She felt a little bit of her stress melt away, feeling moved by his apology. “Yea,” she smiled brightly. “I’d love that, Aston.”

“Great,” he returned, leaning deeper in her direction. “Let me make a reserva–” An abrasive knock on the door interrupted him. Camille’s eyes dragged towards the source. Mr. Grant, not waiting to be invited in, stepped inside.

“Aston, Camille. I’m glad I caught you two,” he said curtly, shutting the door behind him. Aston sat up straighter at the arrival of their guest. Of all of the executives, Mr. Grant was the harshest, and he was rarely impressed. As a result, he always had Aston on edge when he was around.

“Now I know this may be a sensitive topic, and honestly that’s because Charles and I let it go on for far too long,” Mr. Grant said definitively. Aston and Camille exchanged a glance, neither of them having a clue what he was talking about. Aston cleared his throat. “I’m sorry sir, but what are you referring to?” Aston asked.

Mr. Grant sighed, looking around the room awkwardly. “It’s time for you two to start separating.” Camille swallowed. Aston clenched his jaw. “With all due respect sir, Camille and I, we have a good system in pla-“ Mr. Grant cut him off promptly.

“I’m aware, Aston. And the firm appreciates how well you two work together. But this arrangement…it looks unfair to the rest of the team.”

Camille knew that working together would eventually come back to haunt them. They only got away with it for so long for three reasons: One, Aston was notorious for taking on more cases than anyone else, making extra help a necessity. Two, the McCoy family had contributed generously to Watkins & Grant charity events, which kept the firm a little more lenient on their setup. And three, Mr. Watkins, a hopeless romantic, had been all too eager to make sure their relationship survived in the high-pressure world of law.

For the past two years, their colleagues had turned a blind eye. But it was clear now that the situation had become an issue for others. Mr. Grant continued, “Charles and I talked it over this morning and we agree that it’s time for the distribution of the paralegals to become more equitable.”

Mr. Grant's focus shifted solely to Camille. “Now Camille, we don’t want to thrust you into a completely different workload, so we’ll just put you under one other colleague for now, just so you can get your feet wet.” Camille nodded, honestly feeling a little excited.

“But, we still want to push you and make sure you remain challenged, so we’re not going to put you under another associate. Instead, you’ll be working under Terry,” he stated.

Camille’s heart felt like it might jump out of her chest. She was going to work with Terry? She didn’t know if she’d be able to take it. What if I embarrass myself in front of him? What if I mess up his cases? Aston interjected, displeasure obvious on his face. “Mr. Grant, she's never worked with high level cases before or a different portfolio. Don’t you think this might be too big of a leap.”

Mr. Grant flicked his hand dismissively. “She’s been stellar so far, I can’t see her falling too far away from that. And don’t worry, we’re going to add another paralegal to your rotation,” Mr. Grant was obviously not going to be swayed. He turned back towards Camille. “Camille, quickly gather your things. We’re going to hop on over to Terry’s office and see if we can finalize a new schedule for you.”

Aston looked at her, visibly upset. But what could she do? Say no to their boss? She put her laptop and notepad in her work tote, then stood to follow Mr. Grant out the door. She walked quickly to keep up with him as they moved through the office. Once they got to Terry’s door, Mr Grant's demeanor did a 180. His no-nonsense pout turned into a small smile as he knocked on the door.

“Come on in,” that velvety voice made Camille’s thighs clench. Mr. Grant stepped inside with a bright smile, Camille following closely behind. “Terry!” he exclaimed joyfully. “Working hard or hardly working?”

Both men shared a laugh as Terry rose from his desk. They continued to joke amongst themselves as Camille swayed nervously, looking everywhere but at Terry. Their laughter died down and she could feel both of their eyes on her.

“How you doing, Camille?” Terry chirped, forcing her to meet his gaze. His head was cocked to the side, a playful gleam in his eyes. “I’m doing fine Terry. How are you?” She responded, unable to help her smile.

“I can’t complain, I can’t complain,” he said, staring at her intently and biting his lip absentmindedly.

Goodness, she thought. This man is going to be the death of me.

“It’s good to know you two are acquainted,” Mr Grant starts. “Terry, I wanted to drop by with a proposition. We know that you’re doing just fine on your own. But Charles and I wanted to give Camille an opportunity to work on some higher level cases and experience some topics outside of McCoy’s portfolio. Do you mind taking her under your wing?”

Terry’s eyebrows raised, his smile deepening. “Not at all. I’d be honored.” Camille quietly let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Mr. Grant chuckled at his response.

“Well great! I was thinking about her rotating between you and McCoy. Is three days with you and two days with him alright?” Terry nodded. “Absolutely, as long as Camille doesn’t mind.” They turned to her expectantly. Her cheeks burned as she spoke up. “That sounds great!” She said. Aston is not going to like this...at all, she thought.

“Great,” Mr Grant finalized. “I’ll leave you two to work out the details,” he said, backing towards the door. “By the way Terry, are we still on for golf on Sunday?”

Terry chuckled, leaning against his desk. “Yes sir, I wouldn’t miss it.” Mr. Grant smiled again, chuckling as he walked out of the room. As the door shut, Camille watched as Terry’s eyes focused on her, as if he was studying her.

“Damn, I don’t think I’ve seen you for more than five minutes since my first day,” Terry said, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. Camille felt a flutter in her chest but masked it with a grin, shrugging her shoulders. “What can I say? I’m always pretty busy.”

“Oh, I know.” Terry pushed himself off the desk, his eyes never leaving hers as he stalked toward her. Camille froze, the warmth of his proximity hitting her like a wave. Focus, Camille. Focus. His scent lingered in the air, making it hard to think. “Every time I pass McCoy’s office, you’re always buried in work.”

Camille let out a soft sigh, averting her gaze. She envied how her coworkers could wander the office freely while she seemed chained to her desk. “Yeah, it does get a little overwhelming sometimes.” She glanced back to find Terry watching her intently, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Sympathy flickered there, but something else too.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that with me.” His voice softened, the smile that spread across his lips sending a shiver down her spine. “I promise to keep your workload interesting, but light. That’s why your first task will be spending a day out of the office… on the firm’s dime.”

Camille’s breath hitched, her pulse skipping a beat. He can’t possibly be serious. But when he reached into his wallet and pulled out the Amex card that Watkins & Grant only gave to its partners, she knew he was.

“Terry, that’s… that’s so sweet,” she murmured, her voice betraying her. She shifted on her feet, feeling conflicted. “But I can’t accept that.”

“Really?” His voice dipped, teasing, but his eyes never left hers—holding her in place. “Should I tell Grant you’re already giving me problems?” The playful edge in his tone made her stomach flutter, and despite the tension in her chest, she bit her lip, trying to maintain control.

“I just… I would feel guilty. I’m supposed to be helping you, not taking time off,” she said, her words softer than she intended.

Terry tsk’d, stepping closer, holding out the card toward her like a quiet challenge. “But you are helping me,” he said with a wink. “You’d be clearing your mind, so you’re ready for my cases.” Camille swallowed hard, knowing he had her cornered. No matter how she tried to protest, he’d always find a way to turn it back on her. With a reluctant sigh, she reached out and took the card.

“Okay,” she murmured. “But what am I supposed to do all day?” Terry shrugged casually. “Whatever you like. But if you need to feel productive, you can always swing by the Law Library and do some light research on intellectual property or impact investing cases.” His gaze lingered on hers just a moment too long.

Camille chewed her lip momentarily. “Alright, that sounds good.” Terry leaned back, a triumphant expression crossing his already smiling face. “Great. Before you go, you want to set anything down in your office?”

Her office. Not just a small corner like in Aston’s room, but a full, independent space all for her. Camille’s lips curved into a grin as she allowed herself to feel the thrill of this new chapter. Terry led her across his large office towards a door on the far side of the room. His hand reached out to press it open, holding it wide for her to step inside.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she entered. The room was everything she hadn’t realized she was hoping for. Bright and spacious, equipped with a sleek wooden desk that already had a desktop on it. Behind the desk, a plush-looking office chair awaited her, a welcome contrast to the aesthetically pleasing yet stiff chairs in Aston’s office. Around the room, a few plants and decor added life and personality, filling the space with a sense of freshness—giving the room an almost personal touch.

“Do you like it, Camille,” Terry asked, her name rolling off his tongue almost making her swoon. She gazed up at him with a grateful smile. “Oh, I love it, Terry,” she gushed, stepping into the office further. He let out a deep chuckle, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m glad that you do. I’ll let you get settled. I’m gonna join a call soon, so you can just step out when you’re ready to go.”

“Okay,” Camille said, still admiring the room. With a final sigh, she placed her work bag in the office chair and grabbed her wristlet from the inside. She carefully placed the company card inside and grabbed her keys. As she left her new sanctuary, Terry silently waved her over to him, his phone pressed to his ear. He handed her a piece of paper with a number scribbled across it. “Call or text me if you need anything,” he whispered, before returning to his call. She grabbed the paper with a smile, noticing that her grumpiness from earlier had completely disappeared.

Terry

Terry had to give Stephanie credit. She worked fast. He didn’t expect Camille to be moved to work under him the very next day. But he definitely wasn’t complaining. When Grant brought her into his office, Terry’s heart skipped a beat, a momentary jolt of surprise. She entered the room like a breath of fresh air, her presence enough to make everything feel lighter. But Terry quickly masked his reaction, his cool demeanor slipping back into place.

As much as he wanted to keep her in his presence for her first day with him, he could tell she was feeling drained. Her shoulders curled forward. Her blinks were longer, more fatigued. And her smiles weren’t reaching her eyes like they usually did. Terry felt a need to take away that burden, if only for a day. He wanted to give her a chance to breathe, to relax without the pressure of deadlines. No work. No stress. And definitely nothing related to Aston. Just a day to herself. He would make sure of it.

Her reaction to her first work “assignment” kept replaying in his mind. She was so reluctant at first, probably thinking that a day out of the office with his business card blurred the lines of professionalism. But with some pressure, she gave in, letting excitement overtake her. It was precious.

It had only been three hours since she left, so when a knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts, he arched an eyebrow. Is that her? Back already? He called out, “Door’s open,” getting ready to tease her for returning so early.

But the guest at his door was the person he least expected to see: Aston McCoy. He entered the office with a tight-lipped smile, closing the door behind him. Terry returned a similar expression.

“Terry, good to see you!” Aston appeared genuine, but Terry knew better. “Aston, long time no see. What can I do for you?”

Aston’s eyes darted around the room, clearly searching for someone. Terry watched him with quiet amusement, knowing exactly who Aston was after.

“Is Camille around?” Aston asked, his voice dripping with false casualness. Terry grinned, picking up the small ball on his desk and tossing it from hand to hand.

“Nope,” he said nonchalantly, “She’s been out for a while on her first assignment. Probably won’t be back for a few hours.” Aston’s expression flickered for just a moment, confusion clouding his features.

“Her first assignment… outside the office?” he asked, clearly caught off guard.

Terry’s response was a lazy nod, his tone condescending as he addressed Aston like a child. “Mmhm, I thought it would be good for her. Camille looked so tired today. I'm sure you, of all people, noticed.” He watched with satisfaction as Aston’s eyes narrowed just slightly.

“Yeah,” Aston muttered, “I guess she was. She’s been working really hard lately.” Because you’re incompetent as fuck, Terry thought bitterly, but kept his face pleasant.

“Exactly,” Terry said, his grin widening. “So I figured she deserved a little break. A real one, not one of those quick lunch-hour escapes.” The air between them thickened, the underlying animosity barely hidden.

Aston's forced smile returned. “Well,” he said. “Did she mention anything to you about lunch? We were supposed to go together.”

Terry's chest tightened, a twinge of jealousy going through him. He leaned back in his chair, still tossing the ball casually. “Nah. You should probably call her.”

Aston hummed, a low, almost frustrated sound as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” he muttered, shifting his gaze to the office, looking around with wonder. “You know, this is a really amazing office,” he sighed.

Terry leaned forward slightly, taking the opportunity to be petty. “It really is! Maybe one day, you’ll have one like it.”

Aston visibly stiffened, his smile cracking, just for an instant. Terry resisted the urge to laugh.

Aston opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Terry’s door opening. Stephanie waltzed in like she owned the place, her eyes settling on Terry. “Aston,” she greeted dismissively, not even bothering to look in his direction. “Terryyyyy, are we still going to lunch?”

Terry nodded, feeling annoyed by her flirty tone. “Yes ma’am.”

He gave Aston a final look. “Anything else I can help you with?” he asked sarcastically. Aston gave him another forced smile. “No, that’s all.” Terry grinned, “You have a great day then,” dismissing him.

Terry watched as he turned on his heel to walk past Stephanie and finally leave his office. Bitch ass nigga.

Camille

Camille let out a contented sigh as she drove home from work and reflected on her day, feeling better than she had for a long time. After leaving the office, she started at the law library, eager to dive into research and take her time with it. She moved leisurely through the shelves of law books and case archives, feeling the rare luxury of not being rushed. The peace of it all was almost meditative, and she reveled in the quiet rhythm of flipping through pages and making notes.

But after two hours, she'd exhausted all the references she could find. Knowing Terry wouldn't be pleased with an early return, Camille decided to take a break at a nearby park. She settled onto a bench, letting the crisp air declutter her mind.

When she grew hungry, she texted Aston, suggesting they meet at O-ku. After forty minutes of silence, she figured he'd probably gotten caught up with something. No matter, she would enjoy her own company. She treated herself to a happy hour special, savoring each bite and sip as she gazed out the window. It was then that her eyes caught a glimpse of a charming flower shop across the street. The idea struck her suddenly, some fresh flowers for her office would be a nice touch. But would it be appropriate to buy herself flowers using her boss’ card? Technically, she thought, they wouldn’t be from Terry, they would be from the firm.

With a gorgeous arrangement in hand, she had made her way back into the office, feeling lighter as she set the flowers on her desk. Terry noticed her good mood when she returned his card.

“That's the Camille I like to see,” he chuckled, warming her heart.

As she walked into her apartment that evening, she felt as though the day had ended perfectly. Until she was met by Aston’s scowl when she entered the kitchen.

“Hey…,” she started cautiously. “Is everything alright?”

His lips tightened. “Something about that Terry asshole doesn’t sit right with me.” Camille’s jaw dropped. What could’ve happened at work today that would prompt him to say that?

“Woah, Aston. Let’s just take a deep breath, okay? What happened today?” she said, sliding into the barstool next to him. He glanced at her before glaring off into the distance. “He separated us on purpose.” His tone was definitive. Sharp like a razor. But despite his seriousness, Camille couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh. His eyes snapped to hers, narrowing. Her smile faltered, and she instantly regretted it. She hadn’t meant to make light of it.

“Baby, that’s a little absurd, don’t you think? What would Terry even do that for?” she asked, confused on how he came to that conclusion. She rubbed soothing circles into his back. He placed his chin in his hand, looking deep in thought.

“I don’t know why, but I-I know he’s behind it,” he muttered, as if he was speaking more to himself than to her. “At first, I thought it was because he had a crush on you. But I went by his office and saw Stephanie drooling over him and how he entertained her. The way they were acting, they’re obviously sleeping together.”

Camille’s stomach dropped. Terry and Stephanie were seeing each other? How long had that been going on? A cold wave of shock and an unexpected rush of jealousy filled her chest. But these feelings were quickly followed by guilt. How can I feel this way? I'm literally talking to my future husband. I shouldn’t be jealous of a single man dating whoever he pleases, no matter how big of a crush I have on him.

To distract herself from her inner turmoil, Camille ended the evening trying, with no luck, to get Aston to abandon his theory about Terry. He couldn't possibly have been behind their new workflow, right?

------------------

@nayaesworld @slvt4her @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @23jammy @kaylaahisthebestest- @theogbadbitch @wabi-sabi1090 @hotgyalaroad @nubiagurllll @lovedlover @dimepiece09 @lavaniiii @simplyzeeka @susanhill @next-bex-bet @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @ranikyani @loveschrisbrown20 @daddyslittlevillain @blackchickinthedesert @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @hello-therree

lmk if i missed you!

[luvsupa]

“SUKUNA-SAMA..”

tags: heianera!sukuna, trueform!sukuna x fem!reader, kissing… lots of kissing, smut-ish (?),readers called little one, ermm lmk if I forgot sum

w.c: 800

a/n: reposting my fics on here from (@luvsupas) !!

part one here!

sukuna's voice continues to linger in your mind, his gaze making you feel as if he's watching your every move. what did he see in me? why was i spared?

the walk toward your new estate is a journey through confusion and fear. trailing behind uraume and the guards, you glance around the dimly lit corridor, trying to make contact with the other servants and concubines who are already giving you dirty looks and whispering.

when you finally arrive at your quarters, uraume unlocks the door and motions for you to enter. “uraume," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "why did sukuna spare my life?"

uraume's gaze sharpens, a flash of disappointment in their eyes. “you are to address him with the correct honorific." your heart sinks. how am i already managing to piss them off? "i assume sukuna-sama was intrigued." your mind races with questions, but before you can ask any, uraume and the guards depart, leaving you with no further explanation.

pacing back and forth alone in the dimly lit room, your mind is filled with millions of thoughts, but this time, it's about him.

finally, you've had enough of your mind racing, and you make your way toward the wooden door. carefully opening it, loud creaks echo through the hallway. peeking your head through, you see the corridor is empty, the only sound there is the crackling torches lining the hallway.

as you walk down the hallway, you feel his presence, his eyes boring into the back of your head, causing you to stop in your tracks. taking a deep breath, you prepare yourself to look into sukuna's eyes, but when you turn around, you see nothing but a dark corridor.

eventually, you come to see sukuna’s chamber doors, wide open, almost as if he’s baiting you to enter his domain. building up the courage, you step inside, your footsteps barely heard against the stone floor. familiar torches line the steps to his throne. this time, he’s sitting there—eyes closed? he sleeps here? i expected him to have a larger chamber. just as you think you might be safe to turn back and leave, his voice slices through the stillness,

“did you truly think i wouldn’t notice you, little one?"

your heart sinks, and you slowly turn around to see the king of curses' scarlet eyes gazing down upon you. "i didn’t come here to be unnoticed," you retort, mustering the courage to show him you do not fear him. “why did you spare me?"

sukuna looks at you with amusement. the audacity you have to talk back to him is thrilling. “come here," he purrs.

you obey, walking up the steps while maintaining eye contact, feeling the tension thicken. the air feels electric, charged with an unspoken challenge. suddenly, his two lower arms grab your waist and place you on his thick thighs, closing the distance between you. “you want to know why i spared you?" he hums, tilting his head to look at you more closely. you eagerly nod.

his lips curl into a smile at your eagerness, as his upper arm rises and brushes against your cheek in a gentle yet possessive manner. “your lack of caution fascinates me," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, "it awakens my curiosity."

his hand moves down, tracing the outline of your jaw, as his eyes follow his movement with a dark, hungry intensity. “you fear me," he continues, his fingers now at your throat, your breath hitching at the sensation. “and yet, there is something else, isn’t there? that draws you to me." his words send a rush of heat through you, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, your body betraying your mind. he chuckles softly, his lips dangerously close to yours.

in that moment, the tension between you snaps. his lips crash onto yours, claiming you with a fierce, demanding kiss. his lower hands snake around your waist, grinding up against you, making you moan loudly at the friction that ignites a new level of pleasure.

sukuna growls in response, continuously rutting against you, causing you to whimper from the intense feeling. his kiss becomes even more demanding, drawing another moan from your lips as you feel him harden underneath you. when he finally pulls away, you are left breathing heavily, his scarlet eyes blazing with a passion that makes your knees weak.

“remember this," he says huskily, "you belong to me, body and soul."

with that, he dismisses you, leaving you with your mind filled with thoughts of him. the taste of him lingers on your lips, a reminder of the power he holds over you. as you turn to leave, you can feel his gaze burning into your back, a silent promise that this is far from over.

[alisonwritesimagines]

Wonderful Christmas Time ~BatFam Imagine~

Summary: The kids think of a present for you for the Christmas holiday.

Author’s Note: Happy holidays everyone!

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: fluff

Do not repost this anywhere!

When you adopted your children, you assumed that they didn't have a nice Christmas given their background. So you made it a mission to make sure that they would have the best Christmas every year.

But because you always made their Christmas special, it was your turn to make it special. The kids had asked Alfred to take you and Martha out of the manor while they planned on what to get you.

"We need to one up mom's Christmas gift this year," Dick says.

"What should we get her? Bruce gets her whatever she wants anyway," Cassandra points out.

"Well, I don't know if you guys would be down. But I remember my mom loving everything I made for her for Christmas," Duke mentioned.

"But would mom love it though?" Jason asked.

"Ummi loves the art projects I make from school," Damien says.

"I got it!" Stephanie says out loud, making everyone looking at her. "Let's make mom a scrapbook! Put in all the memories we have with her and put them in a book for her."

"How should we make it then?" Tim asked.

"We each make a page for her and put them in the book," Stephanie said.

"That's a great idea! Let's go get the supplies!" Cassandra says to her as they headed out.

To make sure you didn't see any of the pages, the kids would make their pages when you were either out or when you were asleep. Luckily, Martha was a handful so your focus was with her.

When Christmas finally came around, you and Alfred prepared for your Christmas dinner while the kids got your scrapbook ready and wrapped.

"She's going to love this," Cassandra says.

"Kids! Where are you! Time for presents," you say into the manor coms.

"We're coming!"

"You better be wearing the matching pajamas!" You yelled.

You sat on the couch with Martha as Bruce grabbed some presents for you and Martha. The kids came down with the present and handed it out to you.

"For you ummi," Damien says. Your eyes widen a little as you looked at the present and your kids.

"What's this?" You asked.

"We didn't know what the perfect gift for you would be but we have this for you," Dick says. Bruce sat down next to you and took Martha.

You took the present and unwrapped it. You stared down at the scrapbook before opening it up. You began to tear up as you looked through the pages.

"You guys made this for me?" You asked them as you looked through them.

"Yeah. Bruce always gets you everything you ask for so we decided to make you something instead," Jason says.

"I came up with the idea," Stephanie mentioned.

"I love it," you say, crying from joy.

"You always make Christmas here feel special. The least we can do for you is to make something from the heart," Tim says.

"Don't let Martha see me cry. She's gonna cry as well," you say, hiding your face.

"Aw mom," Cassandra says, hugging you. The kids hugged you making you smile at them.

"I love it. Now, you kids open your gift!" You tell them.

The kids got what they had asked for which they all loved. Bruce had given you new jewelry as well as some new clothes.

"Let's do some pictures before we eat!" You say as you took out the camera.

The kids sat in front of the tree as you, Bruce, and Alfred got Martha's attention to look over at your direction. You quickly took the pictures before Martha finally began to cry.

"And she's hungry. Let's eat now," you say as you picked her up.

Bruce smiled around as the kids talked to each other and to you and Alfred. You sat across from him as you fed Martha. You smiled over at Bruce as he made eye contact with you. Bruce got up from his chair and walked over to you.

"It's your turn to eat. I'll take her," Bruce tells you.

"You sure?"

"Go ahead," Bruce says, kissing your head.

"Thank you."

After eating dinner and having dessert, everyone sat around the living room for a Christmas movie. You lied next to Bruce as Damien handed a blanket over to you.

"What movie should we watch mom?" Jason asked.

"Let's watch the Muppet's Christmas Carol," you tell them.

"Got it," Tim said, putting on Disney+. You got under the blanket with Bruce while the kids took turns in holding Martha.

"Merry Christmas my love," Bruce tells you as he kissed your head.

"Merry Christmas," you say, smiling softly up at him.

[tasteleeknow]

BETWEEN

PAIRING: minho + chan x fem!reader GENRE: smut. fluff. f2l. roommates au. threesome/poly. CONTENT: 18+ minors dni. WORD COUNT: 5k

SUMMARY: Your two roommates are your best friends in the world. You’d also love nothing more than to be sandwiched between them. Queue tension and smut with feelings.

do not repost to other sites, including translations.

It’s laundry day, a day you’ve put off a little long. You end up grabbing a shirt from Minho’s clean clothing he’d left in the dryer to throw over your head as you wait for your own load to finish. Neither of them were around. You’re leaning over the counter to grab a paper towel when the front door opens. You peak around the corner just as Chris is throwing his shoes aside. Okay, this is fine. The shirt is just long enough to hang over the tops of your thighs, covering the pale blue underwear you’d slept in.

There’s no escape. You’re going to have to face your friend in your underwear. Be casual about it, you tell yourself. It’s not a big deal. You really needed to stop putting off doing laundry. 

You continue with your task, wiping down the kitchen bench as your eggs fry. “Are you hungry?!” you call out. “I’m making breakfast if you want anything.” 

He was always up before you and Minho, spending his early mornings at the gym. 

“I’m starv…ing….” he trails off from behind you. Alright, so he’d noticed the no pants thing. Act casual. 

“Good, I’m making extra. I thought—” 

Then he’s behind you, not quite touching, but hovering so close you're forced to pause your cleaning. He leans over you. “You can wear mine, if you like,” he says, tugging a little at the hem of Minho’s t-shirt. 

Then he’s gone. The shower starts just as the dryer announces your clothes are ready. 

—

You’d hoped your regular nightmares would be left in childhood. But as you’d grown out of your favourite shoes and your allergy to soy, your nightmares had stuck. The first time you’d crept into Minho’s room after a particularly bad one, you’d nudged him awake hesitantly. He’d welcomed you under his covers, unquestioning. They stayed away with him, with Chris too the few times he’d fallen asleep in your bed. It was only when you were alone that your sleep was disturbed. 

Minho is curled up on his side when you crawl under his sheets, shuffling as close to him as possible without touching. He still stirs when you roll over to face the edge of the bed. He would always wake up when you joined him. He connects his front to your back, as always. But then, with a small contented noise from his throat, his hand slips up under the hem of your shirt—his warm palm resting against your stomach. 

This is new. 

“Min?” you whisper. 

When he doesn’t respond, you roll over. His hand slips to rest on your back. You reach up to brush his hair behind his ear, tucking the soft strands away from his eyes. His hair was longer than you’d ever seen it. He hadn’t bothered getting it cut. He hums, almost a purr. He’s awake. “Does it bother you when I sleep here?” you whisper.

His brows pull together slightly and then he tugs you a little closer, pressing you right up against his chest. You have a feeling that’s all the answer you’ll be receiving. 

You watch as he drifts off. It only takes him a few minutes. His features go slack, lips parting slightly as his breathing evens out. You follow him shortly after. 

It’s only a few hours later that you find yourself staring at the ceiling—Minho’s legs tangled with your own. The nightmare that had led you into this room had been particularly bad, startling you awake with a racing heart. You’re usually fine after joining Minho. But not tonight. It’s enough that you find yourself creeping from his bedroom in the early hours of the morning, completely giving up on more sleep. It’s unsurprising when you find Chris awake, lounging on the couch with a book in his hands. He often had a worse time with sleep than you did. 

“Nightmare?” he says as you settle into his side, resting your head against his shoulder. 

“Mm. Nothing new, it was just… more intense.” 

He lifts the woollen blanket off his legs and drapes it over you. “Intense?” he questions. 

“He-It… stood right over me. It usually just gets to my door before I wake up but… it walked right up to my bed and just… stood there. It felt like he was going to lunge at me any second… it was—” you cut yourself off as you bury your face in his shoulder, a shiver running up your spine. 

“You’re alright,” he soothes. “Promise.” 

“I know. I just… I hate sleeping alone.”

Minho chooses that moment to stumble into the room, fluffy socks sliding along the floorboards as he runs his fingers through his hair. He collapses onto the couch beside you seconds later, dropping his head into your lap as he stretches out as much as he can along the cushions.

Chris huffs out a breathy laugh beside you, draping his arm over your shoulder—book forgotten. “Problem solved,” he says. 

“Where’d you go?” Minho mumbles from your lap, eyes closed. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” you answer as you brush his hair from his face, the soft brown strands a pleasant occupation for your hands. 

A bolt of lightning lights up the room, drowning out the soft glow from the lamp Chris had been using to read. “The storm?” Minho questions as you play with his hair, stroking some of the strands around his temples. 

“My dreams,” you correct. 

“You don’t have them with me.” 

“I know… but the one I had earlier just lingered, I guess.” 

All three of you are quiet as rain starts falling, the type of rain that falls heavy with no build up—creating a curtain between you and the world.

“Stop sleeping alone, then,” Minho says. “Just stay with me.” 

You take a moment to process his meaning. Then, “Everynight?” 

“Mm.” 

The corner of your mouth lifts a little. They were so good to you, both of them. “Love you,” you whisper as your fingers brush the shell of his ear. 

He says nothing, his upper lip twitching a little. 

You told them both as often as you could. You loved them more than anyone on earth. They had to know. It had morphed though, the type of love. That was always how you knew you’d end up loving someone. You had to know them so completely that you were safe, comfortable. Love them as friends, then as lovers. 

It was the way Minho would keep one eye on you in public, when he knew you’d get overwhelmed. He always managed to catch onto when you wanted to leave before you’d even had a chance to voice it. He was quiet with his love, softly spoken words of comfort that you’d absorb without moving a muscle. If you moved, he might startle—shrink back into his comfort zone. 

Chris’ attention was a little different. Rambling words, tripping over himself as he told you about his day. A hand on your back as you made your way through the busy weekend market. While Minho kept his eye on you from a distance, Chris was up close—physical contact and direct questioning. 

A clap of thunder rumbles through the sky as Chris detangles himself from you. “Hot chocolate?” he asks. 

“Mm, thank you.” 

“Minho?” he prompts.

The man in question grunts out something that Chris interprets as a yes. “Three hot chocolates,” he says as he disappears into the kitchen, leaving you with a half asleep man in your lap. You continue playing with his hair as the storm intensifies. You’d always liked storms. They formed a protective barrier from the rest of the world. The air was washed clean, the suffocating heat of summer days was quashed, and no one expected anything from you.

You begin tracing over the tiny scars and imperfections that mark Minho’s face, little traces of evidence from his life before you’d met. It was hard to imagine that you’d ever been without him. It was only out of ignorance that you’d endured it. 

“Do you really not mind if I sleep with you?” you ask, hoping he won’t retract his offer. “You won’t get sick of me?” 

His eyes flutter open, long dark lashes visible even in the dim light. “I like it,” he says simply. I love you, you hear. 

—

It’s an easy routine to fall into. Your room becomes a glorified closet as you spend each night in Minho’s instead. He even puts up with your pillow talk, and on nights where he’s particularly energetic, he offers a few thoughtful comments in addition to his hums of acknowledgement. 

The feeling of the mattress dipping as someone sinks into the bed behind you wakes you. It’s the smell of his shampoo that tells you it’s Chris that wraps around you. “You awake?” he whispers. 

“Mm, couldn’t sleep?” 

“Yeah,” he confirms. 

Minho makes a small noise before draping his leg over you, smacking his lips before stilling again. You’re completely enveloped now, two warm bodies sheltering you from the darkness. Chris didn’t join you often. You’d spent a few nights with your back to the dark room wishing he would. Minho’s bed was centred in the room. You preferred having yours pushed against the wall. It felt safer. 

Chris makes a small contended noise as he presses up behind you.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispers after a moment, breath ghosting over your neck. “You bent over the counter… your thighs…” It takes you off guard. You know what he’s talking about, despite it being weeks ago that he caught you in Minho’s shirt. You find yourself unable to breathe, heart thumping so loud you're sure he must hear it. “It’s wrong—dirty to think about you that way,” he continues. “I know. I know I shouldn’t.” 

“Why?” 

A pause. “What?” 

“Why is it wrong?” 

He’s quiet. Then, “Because you don’t want it.” 

“How do you know?” 

His hand rests at your hip, a comforting hold. He’s quiet as you reach down to take his hand in yours and guide it up to your lips. You press a kiss to the side of his hand, just below his thumb. A slow kiss, one you hope conveys all the meaning you intend it to. 

When you release him, he doesn’t move. Not apart from brushing his thumb over your lips. He can’t see at all what he’s doing, still behind you in the dark room. He goes by feel, playing with your lower lip until—with a tiny amount of pressure—he pushes inside. Your lips wrap around him, taking his thumb as he presses it to your tongue. 

Then he starts whispering, “I wanted to hold you down, press you into the counter and lift the shirt a little higher.” 

You hum around his thumb, wrapping your own fingers around his wrist to hold him there. You’re not dreaming, you’re sure of it. You’re awake and sandwiched between the two people you love most. It’s surreal. This was always the way it would have gone. Chris was always going to be the one to bring you all together, finally.

He continues, “How would you sound?” His breathing is heavier now. “If I fucked you against it? Would you make pretty little noises? Would you say my name?” His thumb moves in and out a little as you suck at it. “I can’t stop thinking about it. How warm are you… how would you suck me in…” 

Minho makes a small noise and you both still, waiting to see if he’ll wake. 

“Have you ever heard him whine your name?” Chris starts again. His low whispers are a little more hushed now. “He tries not to. He tries so hard. He usually does it in the shower, when he knows you aren’t home.” 

Your grip tightens on his wrist. 

Chris continues, “You know how he is: he’s shy.” Warm lips to your neck, a firm press. “He wants you though.” His nose brushes the skin behind your ear as he nuzzles a little further into you. Then he laughs, quiet and breathy. “He was so casual when he said you should sleep here, like he doesn’t wrap his hand around his cock and imagine he was brave enough to fuck you into the mattress.”

You pull your lips from his thumb, leaving it wet. “Are you—Are you sure?” you whisper, attempting to turn your head to face him. His hand wraps around your throat, holding you in place and preventing you from turning. 

“I’d never lie to you, baby.” His fingers are gentle at your neck, his thumb stroking your skin slowly. “I love you.” It’s surreal hearing those words in such a new context. Whispered into your neck as his wet thumb traces patterns against your throat. “Should we wake him up? We’ll have to be gentle,” he murmurs into your hair. “Don’t want him to startle.” 

“Chris?” It’s almost a whine. 

“Mm?” he hums, hips pressed right up against you now. 

“Love you too.” 

His fingers press slightly into your neck as he adjusts himself behind you. “Mm, I know.” Then his hand drops from your neck, across your hips, to your lower back. He pushes you a little, moving you across the mattress towards Minho. He still has one leg draped over yours. “Make sure he does. I’m not sure if he knows the same way I do.” He nudges you a little more. “Go on.” 

Minho’s lips are parted. You reach to brush his plush upper lip with the tips of your fingers. Then, with far too much gentleness for someone trying to wake a person, you snake your hand around the back of his neck and into his hair. “Min,” you call gently as your fingers caress his scalp. “Minho.” 

You watch his brows furrow as he stirs. Then his eyes flutter open. His lashes were visible even in the dim light. As you watch them flutter you’re reminded of a morning you’d awoken to find him half draped over you, his face buried in your neck. As his eyes had blinked open only minutes later, you’d felt them—his lashes tickling your neck like the fluttering wings of a butterfly. 

“Mm?” he hums now, still blinking himself awake. 

“I love you.” 

He frowns, then grumbles something under his breath before rolling over away from you. You suspect he doesn’t understand how you mean it, that you don’t mean it exactly the way you always do. Another tactic then. 

“Do you think about me in the shower?” 

You feel the bed dip a little, Chris moving behind you. A tiny muffled noise follows. He was laughing into your pillow. 

Minho is still. 

You attempt to repeat yourself, “I said do you—” 

“I heard,” Minho says, still facing away from you. His voice is rough from sleep. “What is he doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” the man in question answers from behind you. “Was kept awake by thoughts of bending our girl over the kitchen counter.” 

Our girl. Our girl. Our—

Minho sits up. So quickly it startles you.

“Are you gonna answer her question?” Chris prods. 

Minho rubs at his eyes as he turns to face you. You sit up, partly just so you can reach up and smooth down a tuft of stubborn hair that sticks out from his temple. He licks his lips. “What’s happening?” he mumbles. 

“I love you,” you repeat. He looks at you now, in that way that clearly betrays the cogs are turning. You press your lips together in poorly suppressed fondness as he processes. 

“You… love me?” he says finally. 

You press a kiss to his cheek in answer, an innocent peck. 

“Answer the question,” Chris says from his reclined position on your pillows, clearly enjoying the show. You don’t turn to him, but you can picture the grin on his face clear as day. 

Minho blinks. You decide to help him a little, “In the shower?” 

His eyes drop, breaking eye contact. 

“I have too,” you offer. “I’ve thought about you.” His eyes are back on yours. You’re half tempted to call a pause so you can flick a light on. The darkness is stealing the depth of his brown eyes from you. “I only ever think about either of you—both of you sometimes. I felt a little guilty… I-I didn’t want you to—”

“Both… of us?” he interrupts. 

You can only nod. What do you say to that? 

Then he’s looking over your shoulder, engaging in a silent exchange with Chris. They did this often. You wonder if they’re able to communicate without words because they were merely remembering conversations they had when you weren’t around. Had they had a conversation about you? About this? 

An arm snakes around your waist. Chris drops a soft kiss to your neck, pressing himself so close behind you you’re practically enveloped by him. Safe. Minho reaches towards you, it’s hesitant and you hold your breath as his fingers brush your cheek. Don’t startle him. 

“Me more though, mm?” he asks with a small tilt of his head and a lopsided smirk. 

Chris rocks you to the side a little as he laughs, detaching Minho’s palm from your cheek. That’s the way he was: Minho. Layers of wit and charm blanketing a soft interior. You don’t give me a chance to retreat any further, falling forward out of Chris’ arms and forcing Minho to catch you in his own. He helps you settle in his lap, lifting you a little as you rearrange your limbs. 

“This doesn’t mean I wanna share with anyone else,” you start as you brush the hair from his face. “Just us, yeah?” 

He nods. His eyes flick over your shoulder and then drop to your lips. “Just us,” he agrees. Then his lips are brushing yours, teasing just like his words so often are. You pull him to you properly by the back of his neck, his grown out hair offering you plenty of leverage to hold him where you need. He lets you take from him, lets you guide him. Teasing… and then giving. That’s the way he was. 

Chris settles himself behind you. He litters your neck with kisses as you squirm a little in Minho’s lap, attempting to have more, more, more. Your arms are practically wrapped around his head as you lift a little on your knees, grasping at his hair until Chris is pulling you off him. You take in the way you’ve left Minho as you’re tugged back against the other man. His hair is a mess, lips wet and slightly parted as he catches his breath. You’re tempted to reach out and grab at him like a baby reaching for candy. 

But then you’re distracted, tipped onto your side and pulled tight against a solid torso. “There’s no rush,” Chris says with a breathy laugh. “He’s not leaving.” You meet Minho’s eyes as Chris returns his thumb to your mouth. “There you go,” he encourages. “Good girl.” 

Your breathing settles back into a normal rhythm. He was right. You’d been frantic, desperate. If you rush it’d be over—the last thing you want. You can’t help rolling your hips a little though, not when Minho is looking at you the way he is, watching as you suckle on Chris’ thumb. They were yours. Take your time. 

You reach for Chris’ wrist, wrapping your fingers around it as Minho lays his head on his pillow. Chris rolls his hips into you as you pull his finger from your mouth, slowly, right to the tip. He presses his finger back in before you have a chance to do it yourself. You tug him free of your lips. “I thought there was no rush?” you whisper.

His lips ghost over your earlobe as he speaks, “Am I being greedy?” 

“You stole her,” Minho answers before you can. 

“I saved you,” Chris argues before pressing his lips behind your ear. “She was devouring you.” 

“Maybe I wanted to be devoured.” 

You reach for Minho’s hand and bring his finger to your lips, pressing a kiss to his fingertip. Chris resumes his grinding as you slip Minho’s finger into your mouth. Devour. It feels like an appropriate description as you lay there sucking on his finger with Chris leaving messy kisses at your neck. “What would you like?” he mutters between kisses. “Tell me what you want.” 

It’s a loaded question. You decide to answer as simply as you can, distracted by the way Minho watches you suck on his finger. He licks his lips as you pull him from your mouth. “Fuck me like this. Just like this. Surrounding me.” 

“Surrounding you?” Chan questions, his hand at your stomach holding you firm against him. 

“Mm. Feels safe.. I-I like being between you.” 

He presses his face into the hair behind your ear. “You’re safe, baby.” His hand slips into the waistband of your shorts. “Always.” 

Minho shuffles a little closer to you, close enough that he can replace his finger with his lips. You go practically limp as they each prepare you—Chris with his fingers playing with your cunt, and Minho with his tongue in your mouth and his hand up your shirt. Surrounded. It’s so easy to lose yourself like this, to roll your hips and grasp at Minho’s hair, to forget about any shame as you let small whimpers escape into his mouth. Chris is playing, it’s the perfect word to describe the way his fingers prod and swipe at your cunt. He must feel how you drip for him, how his fingers slip easily through your folds, but you’re alone with the desperate pulse—the emptiness that begs to be filled with a dull throb. 

Minho makes a small noise as you tug a little too hard at his hair. He squeezes your breast in his hand as punishment, his palm warm and perfectly sized to hold you. “Are you getting desperate again?” Chris mumbles into your neck. “Be gentle with him, baby.” 

You whimper a little, nipping at Minho’s lip in defiance. He pulls back a little and a flood of anxiety floods into your chest at the thought he might be leaving, that you’d pushed it too far. But then he’s shuffling down the bed and lifting your shirt up, tugging the fabric up above your tits. He stays there, his breath warm against your nipples as his fingers trace patterns across your skin. 

“Listen,” Chris whispers. His fingers speed up without warning, strumming at your entrance—too low to brush your clit. His goal is clear when the wet sounds of your slick fill the room, his fingers stopping their rapid strumming to prod at your hole every few seconds. You should be embarrassed, you would be in any other situation. But not here. Not with them. 

You feel Minho’s whispered, “Fuck.” His breath is hot before he latches onto your breast. It’s a wonderful distraction as your shorts and underwear are tugged down your legs and discarded, as Chris aligns himself behind you and slips his cock between your legs. The tip brushes your click as he grinds into you like this. Minho’s head is perfectly placed to entangle your fingers in his hair and hold him to your chest as he continues sucking at you. 

It should be overwhelming. It’s all new and so much, so, so much. But it isn’t. You’re home. You’re surrounded. You’re with them. You practically float as you’re pressed between them, as they consume you. 

You’re grateful Minho insists on sleeping with the air conditioning going, now more than ever. Heat surrounds you. Minho’s hot mouth at your breast. Chris’ cock hot between your legs and his warm chest pressed to your back. Heat. 

“Do you want me now?” Chan says, voice a little strained. His cock nudges your entrance, tip prodding and retreating over and over. “You want me to fuck you into Minho, hm?” 

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes.” 

His teeth graze your skin as he pushes in, the ghost of a bite—followed by a low moan. You cling to Minho as you’re filled, holding him to your chest as his tongue laves at you—devouring.

You squeak as Chris pulls out and fucks back in suddenly, shoving you slightly up the bed. Minho makes a small sound before reattaching himself, determined not to be disturbed. Chris is a little gentler after that, deep and slow rolls of his hips that have you pressing into Minho each time. Eventually he detaches from you and moves up the bed. You expect him to kiss you. Instead he keeps just fair enough away that you can’t lean forward and capture his lips. He watches your face, traces his eyes across your features as Chris fucks you from behind. 

You should feel exposed. But you don’t. You always liked when his eyes were on you. He reaches to lift some hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear as Chris fucks into you. Then he leans in, so close his lips brush yours. Each thrust of Chris’ hips bring you tantalisingly close to joining. Teasing and giving, that was Minho. You wait for him to give. It only takes a minute or so longer. Then he’s pressing right up against you, practically crushing you between their two bodies as he bites into your shoulder. 

You cum with Chris’ fingers on your clit and Minho’s teeth on your neck. 

“Do you want my cum?” Chris groans. “I’ll make you all messy for him. Do you want that? He can fuck it back inside you for me.” 

All you can do is nod, a weak noise accompanying it. Minho’s lips are on yours a second later, wet and messy as you let him take what he needs. He swallows the whimper you release as Chris shoves into you one last time and releases inside you. You’re surrounded by heat, pressed between them tightly. 

Chris grinds into you again for a moment, panting into your neck as you lay full of him. “Love you,” he murmurs finally. 

Minho leaves a peck at the corner of your mouth. “Okay?” he asks. Your fingers massage his scalp a little as you hum in response. 

“Need you though.” 

“Now?” 

“Mm. Now… in the morning… tomorrow night too.” 

He smiles, lopsided and satisfied. “Why?” 

“Love you.” 

He drapes a leg over you as Chris slips from behind you and disappears into the bathroom. “Sorry?” Minho questions with a smirk. “Couldn’t hear you.” 

You tug at his hair. “Don’t be a brat.” 

He rolls you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress. “I do think about you,” he says, voice taking on a softer tone. He switched like that often, letting his walls down without warning. “Not just… not just in the shower. I think about you when I’m at work… when something happens and I’m stressed or—” he pauses, lowering himself onto his elbows. “I think about you a lot.”

“About fucking me?” 

His nose scrunches as he drops his eyes. “Not just that. Just… in lots of ways.”

“I love you too.” 

He drops his face to your neck as Chris reenters the room. You roll Minho back onto his side, allowing Chris to resume his position behind you—how you liked it.

It’s a little slower when Minho presses his body to yours and fills you. Less frenzied than Chris had been. He grinds his cock deep, pressing you into Chris’ chest. You silently curse the years you’d spent in your own bed, all the nights you could have been pressed between them like this. It was only out of ignorance that you’d endured it. If you’d known how it felt to be sandwiched between them, to be full of one’s cum as the other fucks it deep inside—

“How does she feel?” Chris asks as his fingers wrap around your throat, a gentle cradle. 

Minho groans in response, reaching to your hip to give him leverage as he sheathes himself right to the hilt. You forget to breathe as he speaks, “Hot… Hot and dripping, fucking sloppy.” Your breath is forced back into your lungs as he suddenly pulls out and fucks back in. “Listen.” He jostles you into Chris as he speeds up, filling the room with the wet sound of his cock fucking the cum into your already wet cunt. He was shy. He was your shy best friend and he was demonstrating how wet you were to the man pressed to your back. 

You latch onto his neck, forcing him to slow as you press your teeth into his skin. His hips stutter a little before he resumes, a scattered pattern much less controlled than the one he’d started with. You lick at the bite mark when you’re done. “You’re so good,” you whisper. “You’re mine.” 

When he cums it’s with a gasp of your name. You imagine it’s how he sounded in the shower, how he’d sounded all the times he’d thought of you. Had he ever thought of you like that a few hours before you’d crept into his bed to seek comfort. 

Chris reaches over you as Minho catches his breath. “Let me feel,” he whispers before his fingers are on you, playing with your dripping entrance and strumming at your clit until you cum with his hand around your throat.

[katsukistofu]

my caffeine mix-up! pt. ii

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ hawks x fem reader. fluff. slightly suggestive. you accidentally pick up the number two hero’s coffee so picks you up instead. | part i

note: fukuoka is the canon location of hawks hero agency

You stare at the text for what embarrassingly feels like at least the tenth time this hour.

pick you up at 8 ;)

Was sent mere moments ago from the contact Hawks, that had several hearts next to his name that you don’t remember him putting, saved in your phone after he dropped you off at work this morning.

Nearly giving your coworkers who just so happened to be looking out the windows at the time synchronized heart attacks in their cubicles, which would’ve been very hard to explain to your boss.

Who, thank All Might, was not here today.

But the millisecond you walked out of the elevator onto your floor, their nosy natures quickly won over their states of disbelief.

Desperate for the juicy details, nothing could stop them from swarming you like a group of hungry piranhas, and you’re flooded with a sea of questions you’re simply at a loss for how to answer.

“How did you meet him?” “So when’s the wedding?” “Were you rescued in a villain attack that wasn’t on the news yet?” “Oh my god, did you two—?”

“Guys!” You cut them off with a frantic wave of your hands, you did not need to hear the end of that sentence. “We just happened to meet. I, uh.”

Your coworkers look at you with expectant eyes, eagerly waiting to hear your no doubt heart-racing meet-cute story with the hero so popular, that when the paparazzi got a picture of him sipping kombucha tea, the drink went out of stock in stores nationwide faster than you could even say its name.

“I accidentally took his coffee order.”

You cringe a bit as you finish, and you’re met with the most comically shocked faces you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

“You WHAT!?”

“Damn I literally just tweeted ‘my coworker stole Hawks’s coffee’ and it already has a hundred reposts.”

“Oh honey, you’re lucky our boss is out sick today. He’d fire you for that.”

“Yeah, Hawks is his all-time favorite on the charts since All Might.”

You groan. “I know! He was so nice about it too, I still feel bad.”

“You should be.”

All your coworkers simultaneously glare at your company’s front desk receptionist that somehow snuck up to your floor, who for some reason takes that as a signal to continue.

“I could never be illiterate enough to take his order if I was in that coffee shop.”

“No one cares, Janet,” everyone says in deadpanned unison.

Janet huffs and turns to leave, but not before pointedly throwing another withering look at you.

She never did like you ever since you politely corrected her grammar in that passive aggressive email she sent when you were a new hire.

Not illiterate your ass.

Throughout the day, you answer more emails, calls, and print papers in a daze.

When you go to forward an email, all you can think about is how his strong arms felt on your waist. When you go retrieve ink to refill the printer, all you can think about is his gentle yet firm grip that he had on your thighs.

This could not be healthy.

But what if it was? You’ve never been touched so intimately, so softly before, like you were something precious, even in your fleeting experiences with relationships.

No one’s made you feel this safe like he does from just being in their presence.

But you blame that on him being a hero. He was probably trained on how to calm civilians down, especially during rescues.

You don’t really think that applied to people who stole his coffee, but maybe that was just you trying to feel special.

With a shake of your head, you straighten yourself in your chair. You had to get it together.

No more thoughts of Hawks on company time until it’s time to clock out!

But it seems like the winged flirt had other plans.

hawks ♡♡♡ [12:00]

hey

[sent an image]

hawks ♡♡♡ [12:01]

saw a pretty flower on

someone’s roof and it

reminded me of you :)

You freeze when you see the notification pop up, mid-bite through the food that you picked up from your favorite aesthetically pleasing cafe for lunch.

With a mouthful of sandwich, you click on the message to text back, when suddenly the realization hits you.

You had no idea what to wear for the date.

Oh my god, what were you even supposed to wear? Was there some kind of etiquette for this?

I mean, it’s not like he’s taking you to the Hero Gala. It’s just a higher end homey sushi and ramen place, but still.

Pinterest probably didn’t have “cute date outfit ideas for going out with the freaking number two hero” in their search results.

In your mind, you nervously run through different casual but still elegant clothes to wear. Maybe that nice blouse you had been saving, the one with the ruffles on the sleeves? You bite the inside of your cheek. No, maybe your classy sleeveless turtleneck midi dress instead?

Ugh, but you’ve already worn it out too many times last month. Not to mention the current ninety degree weather would cook you alive in that.

You pray that the paparazzi wouldn’t dare to stalk you on your date, but imagine if they did and took a picture of you two?

Caption: Hawks takes girl that never wears anything else out on date.

Even worse, caption: Hawks seen taking girl that can’t dress if her life depended on it out on date.

Nope, not on your watch.

The further you brainstormed, the more each piece of your wardrobe seemed less and less fitting to wear for such an occasion.

An idea pops into your head.

What was Hawks’s favorite color? You could base an outfit off of that instead.

Thinking about it, it was probably red. Hell, if you had pretty crimson wings like him you’d forget every other color in the rainbow.

Should you text him and ask?

After a little mental wrestling yourself, you muster up all the courage you could possibly have on a Monday afternoon.

[12:20]

you

that’s so cute :((((

thank you <3

you

also random but what’s

your favorite color?

hawks ♡♡♡

ooh we playing twenty questions? ;)

you

lol i guess we are ;)

hawks ♡♡♡

hmmm ok then

hawks ♡♡♡

my favorite colors

probablyyy red

you

i knew it

hawks ♡♡♡

oh?

hawks ♡♡♡

been thinking about me

have you, pretty girl?

you

……..maybe

hawks ♡♡♡

you’re so cute when

you get all shy

Your cheeks warm at that, and you physically have to put down your phone for a moment to cool off.

[12:34]

hawks ♡♡♡

my turn

hawks ♡♡♡

whatcha having for lunch?

you

[sent an image]

sandwich :)

hawks ♡♡♡

ooh that looks yummy

you

it is!!!!

you

it’s from the cafe across

the one where i nabbed

your coffee lol

hawks ♡♡♡

ah when fate brought

us together by my overly

sweet latte

hawks ♡♡♡

i’ll make sure to stop by

it after patrol tomorrow :)

you

yay!!! lmk what you think

i want a full review

hawks ♡♡♡

yes ma’am (︶▽︶)7

you

what are you having for lunch?

hawks ♡♡♡

[sent an image]

just chicken lol

Of course he was. It did look good. The fried edges were perfectly crispy, and it was a nice golden brown color and—

hawks ♡♡♡

but i wish it was you instead ;)

you

!!!!!?1!?)$1&1$@-

hawks ♡♡♡

aw, you embarassed right now?

you

YESOHMYHOF???

you

YOU CANR JUST

SAY THAT

hawks ♡♡♡

whyyy nottt

hawks ♡♡♡

it’s true though! :(

you

oh my god i’m going to die

you

and this sandwich is

going to be my last meal

hawks ♡♡♡

noo don’t die

you

i will

hawks ♡♡♡

id miss you :(

you

then know that it

was all YOUR fault.

hawks ♡♡♡

pffft you're so cute

hawks ♡♡♡

wish i could see your

flustered face right now

you

STOP

you

i think i'm going to

have to block you

you

this isn’t good for my heart

hawks ♡♡♡

D:

hawks ♡♡♡

noooooooo!!!!!!

come backkkk!!

You had to bite back a fond giggle, feeling warm all over. How was it fair for him to be this cute over text and in person?

hawks ♡♡♡

okok but before you block me

which i don’t think you will

hawks ♡♡♡

send me your address so

i know where to pick up the

most beautiful girl alive <3

you

oh u smooth ass mf

hawks ♡♡♡

for you? always

you

UGHHH

fine here it is

you

123-4567 fukuoka, tenjin,

chuo ward, 8-91

hawks ♡♡♡

perfect

see you soon birdie ;)

After an eventful day at work, you’re turned around, glancing at your back in the mirror.

Even though the scarlet dress that falls just below your knees hugs your figure in all the right places, you still feel a little self-conscious in it.

You honestly haven’t touched it since you bought it at the mall with a friend, who insisted that red was your color even when you had wrinkled your nose.

But as you admire the smooth, soft fabric of it now, you can’t help but be reminded of a certain someone’s beautiful wings.

You think you were really starting to warm up to the color.

A spritz of your favorite perfume and slight touch up of your makeup later, you hear a knock on the door to your balcony.

That must be him!

You excitedly unlock the sliding glass, and you’re finally greeted with the sight of Hawks’s signature grin that you missed all day.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you say back, a bit breathlessly.

As if you were the one who flew all across the city just to see him.

He takes the moment to look you up and down, not in a hungry, lustful way like you’re used to when you’re around other men, even when you’re not exposing much skin.

Hawks admires you.

Like you’re a statue of a goddess, made of the most pristine marble. Like you’re a beautiful cherry blossom tree at peak bloom, with the wind serenading your soft pink petals.

Like you’re something so divinely beautiful and enchanting, you deserve to be revered.

“Wow.” Hawks opens his mouth, but no other sound comes out. The bouquet he’s hiding behind his back for you goes limp in his hand.

For a man who never runs out of words to say, he’s been rendered speechless.

There’s a tingle of anxiety at your neck and you’re suddenly a little nervous. “How—How do I look?”

Hawks takes a deep breath, and finally speaks.

“You look absolutely, astoundingly gorgeous.”

Hawks’s lips curve upwards softly when you visibly melt, his touch sweeter than the caramel of his eyes as a hand tips your chin up to meet his warm gaze that the summer heat had nothing on. 

“And that’s the least interesting about you.”

─────────

“This is really good.”

Is what you ultimately decide when you’re on the fourth piece of the unagi roll you ordered.

Hawks grins, you looked cute with your cheeks puffed up like that. “Isn’t it? I knew you’d like it.”

You nod while covering your mouth, chewing slowly to savor the delectable taste of the sushi. “I’m literally going to gatekeep this place so hard.”

“Good.” He reaches across the table for your hand with an amused laugh. “It can just be our little spot, then.”

You softly smile back at him.

“Our little spot.”

At that moment, the waiter comes over with Hawks’s shoyu ramen. “Enjoy!”

“Thanks!” Hawks beams at him, then turns his attention to the bowl in front of him.

Then a slight frown appears on his face.

You tilt your head. “What’s wrong?”

His worried eyes meet yours.

“You sure just sushi is enough? You can always order something else, it’s on me.”

“Oh no it’s okay!” You wave a hand. “I’m not really that hungry—“

“I don’t believe you.” A hint of a teasing smile plays on his lips. “Could hear your tummy growling a bit earlier.”

“You heard that?” You whine. How embarrassing.

“All the more reason to share my ramen with me.”

Your eyes widen. “You want me to?”

“I do.” Hawks stubbornly says, picking up his chopsticks to grab noodles with them. He holds them up to your lips, a growing smirk on his handsome face.

“Say ahhh.”

Throwing a quick glance around the restaurant, your cheeks flame. “Hawks!”

“What?” He’s still wearing that casual, shit-eating grin. “It’s just us and a few other people here, c’mon.”

You huff. “I can feed myself!”

“I know you can, birdie.” Hawks holds your gaze with piercing but warm eyes. “But I want to do it.”

You fiddle with your own chopsticks, looking at anything but his eyes.

“Please? Let me take care of you.”

Finally, you cave at his pleading expression.

“Okay.”

He feeds you, and you’re not still not sure why he’s so happy to do so, but you let him.

The owner of the sushi and ramen place laughs as he looks over at the booth you two had occupied a few hours before closing.

As always, there’s a generously heavy tip left on the table and this time a new, small note.

thank you, boss :> we’ll be back!! - h

─────────

It’s summer, again.

Keigo flies you back home in his arms after his patrol and your nine to five, and as you touch down on your balcony, the sky is starting to turn a brilliant gradient of orange, pink and purple as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

His eyes are lidded as he pulls you closer to him by the waist on the couch.

“You like when I’m this close to you?”

In the privacy of your apartment with the only sound being the breeze from your air conditioning and the faint chirping of crickets outside, it’s like the both of you are in your own little world.

“Yeah.” You sound muffled while hiding your burning face in his chest. “You still make me nervous.”

“I make you nervous?” His low voice is lilting as he tilts his head, and pulls you even closer to him with a firm hand now on the small of your back.

Keigo smirks, drinking up the sound of your little gasp. “I’m gonna take that as a yes, little dove.”

You blink dreamily, disorientated by his warmth seeping through his sleeveless turtleneck and the feeling of his firm chest against yours. He was so cozy. “Dove?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause they symbolize peace, and you’re my safe place.” Keigo’s eyes soften at the way you snuggle into him in response. He was yours too, your comfort person. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

“Mmm.” You’re resting your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. “Tell me again.”

“As many times as you want.” He leans down to whisper in your ear.

“You’re perfect.”

You let out a laugh, his breath was tickling your ear. “Kei, why’s your heart beating so fast when you say that?”

“Mm.” He offers you a sly smile, hand tracing circles on the small of your back as you lay on top of him.

“Guess you just do something to me when we’re together, birdie.”

Your eyes start to feel heavy, and you hug him even tighter at that.

“I’m so glad I stole your shitty excuse of a coffee that day.”

And it’s when he laughs from deep within his chest that you know he is too.

— Courtship feeding is believed to function as ceremonial pair bonding. The male bird usually feeds their female mate, and the resulting nutritional boost contributes to more and healthier offspring.

[thoughtfulfiction]

Little Duckling

Author’s note: reposting my old work on this side blog! Let me know if you’d like to read a specific one. Thank you for reading!

Warning: pregnancy and childbirth

Saturday 10pm

Justin had been asleep for almost two hours as you folded laundry and put it away in the nursery. Your induction was scheduled for Monday morning promptly at 8am and everyone within the Chargers organization knew that this was happening because your husband absolutely hated taking the day off. But this was understandably a special exception to the rule. You’d spent the last 9 months mentally and physically preparing yourself for this moment but the idea of having a human being relying on you for everything was still such a daunting task that you almost wished the day wouldn’t come. Not until you felt completely prepared at least.

And then the ache in your back and hips reminded you that your baby girl was quickly running out of room and would be making her entrance soon, whether you and your husband were ready or not. On the bright side, your stomach had dropped significantly in the last few days, allowing you to breathe easier and for Justin to poke fun at your pronounced waddle. He affectionately started calling you Mumble last week, from Happy Feet. The dad jokes were coming in strong.

You heaved yourself out of the chair you were parked in and were headed off to bed before a slight pain wrapped itself around the base of your stomach. The pressure moved from the back to the front, settling on a spot underneath your belly button. You stopped walking and used the wall to support yourself, rubbing small circles around the area until it passed. As a Braxton-Hicks veteran, you continued your trek to the bedroom, completed your nighttime routine and headed off to bed.

Sunday 2am

It happened again. The slight twinge of discomfort had you holding your breath for about 15 seconds before letting go and you had to take several deep breaths to recover. After a few minutes everything was normal again and you had to turn around to make sure that Justin was still asleep next to you. Throughout your pregnancy he’d become a much lighter sleeper, often waking up at ungodly hours to get you snacks or a few nights when you caught him talking to your belly, whether it was talking about the playbook or just telling her he couldn’t wait to meet her, it warmed your heart just the same. But you were thankful for now that he just missed that entire exchange because you were definitely not in labor…right?

Sunday 7am

You were definitely in labor. On a Sunday, when the Chargers were playing the Broncos at home. Of course. You’d experienced three contractions so far, just about four hours apart so you had plenty of time. There was no way in hell you were telling Justin. As soon as it was appropriate, you scooted yourself out of bed and went down to the home gym for some prenatal yoga and a good stretch, hoping it would provide a boost of positive energy. Then you hopped in the shower, allowing the warm water would relax your tense muscles and maybe help you delay the inevitable.

By 8:30 Justin was awake and making breakfast for the two of you while you sat on the couch watching New Girl. He brought your plate and a cup of orange juice to you which you were grateful for, but the thought of putting anything but the juice in your body made your stomach turn.

“Are you alright? You’ve barely touched your avocado toast and you’ve been devouring it the last few days.” He ran a gentle hand on your forehead like he was checking your temperature and caressed your cheek when he realized you weren’t abnormally warm. “I can make you something else before I leave if you want?”

“No, I’m fine! Just not hungry yet, I’ll probably eat later.” You lied through your teeth, desperately hoping that he would let it go. The excuse seemed to satisfy him enough for him to head back upstairs to watch some film and get ready. An hour and a half later, he headed downstairs just in time to find you stretching out your back, the cramp beginning to wash over you.

He replaced your hands with his own, slightly lifting your stomach to take the weight off for a bit. “Your stomach is hard as a rock,” he observed furrowing his brows and starting to piece things together. “Are you sure everything is ok?” His soft voice attempted to mask his worry filled words.

“Yeah I’m having a fake contraction, you know they’re so common these days.” You rushed out, attempting to use his extensive research against him. He could probably write his own version of “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” with his newfound pregnancy knowledge. It was both impressive and scary how much he had grown to know what’s going on in your body before you did.

Although he nods his head in understanding, his face is still full of distress. And you could tell he was analyzing your words and tone of voice for any sign that you were lying, leaving you to mentally curse at the fact that he knew you so well and you’d need to work extra hard to convince him to go on like this was a normal day.

Although he let out a deep sigh, he didn’t ask any further questions. “I know, I just hate the thought of you being in pain and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

You tap his wrist so he can slowly drop your belly and you turn around in his arms. “You’re so cute, but it really isn’t that bad. A lot less painful than playing with ankle that’s hanging on by a shoestring I can tell you that.” You chuckle, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back and you felt compelled to return the favor, sensing he too needed some comfort. “Here’s what’s gonna happen today though. You are going to go and kick Denver’s ass then you’re going to come home, we’ll celebrate and then tomorrow you’ll be on your way to being the greatest dad to ever live. How does that sound?”

Justin chuckles, giving you a peck on the lips, nose and forehead. “If I’m half as good a parent as I know you will be, then I know I’ll be golden.”

“Stop it before I start crying, you know I’m super hormonal right now this isn’t fair.” You mumble, tears brimming your eyes. He gives you one last kiss before reminding you to call your friend Dani to stay with you, even though your moms were on their way to your home.

Once he pulled out of the driveway you could relax, letting out a deep sigh and patting your swollen middle. Crisis averted.

For now.

Sunday 12pm

Contractions were officially every hour and Dani was trying her best not to freak out in order not to freak you out. But she was definitely freaking out. What started out as more intense period cramps were becoming a lot sharper, so much so that you couldn’t even focus on Encanto, which was the last sign you needed to know that this was the real thing. You did manage to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and take a nap while she was with you, fluffing your pillows and telling you that you were doing amazing. Three hours later, there was a knock at the door and Dani went to open it for Holly and your mom. The two becoming best friends was probably the cutest thing in the world and your mom had even flown to Oregon three days before just to spend time with Holly and drive to California with her. They were the sweetest. And of course they brought snacks. There were lactation cookies for you in the freezer already but they brought more and they brought an abundance of food to eat during the game, which usually would have made your day, but today all it did was make you want to stick your face in the toilet.

You greeted the two women with hugs as Dani helped set up their spread and they immediately asked how you were feeling.

“I just woke up not too long ago so I’m feeling great now. Very ready to not be pregnant anymore so I can see my f—ohhh wow. Ow.” You groaned, one hand on your contracting belly and the other gripping the counter for dear life.

Dani’s eyes bug out of her head as she moves to rub your back. “That was the roughest one yet.” She was right, this one left your whole body sore, a loud reminder that things were definitely moving along.

“This one?” Your mom questions, looking between you and Dani. Then, she and Holly exchange a look.

“Oh my gosh sweetie, you’re in labor!” Holly exclaims, “we need to get a hold of Justin immediately. I’ll call Mark, I’m sure he’s already at the stadium.”

You cannot shake your head fast enough, “there’s no need to call him yet, that was the first bad one. And this game is important.”

“It’s Justin hun, every game is important,” Holly laughs, giving you a loving squeeze.

“But you know what’s even more important to him? You and that baby girl that’s getting ready to meet us soon. Are you sure you don’t want to tell him now?”

“I’m sure,” you sigh, allowing your mom to guide you back to the couch, sinking down into it with a groan. “Once the game is over he’ll be here and we’ll go have a baby. But not a moment before.”

Admittedly, it was getting harder to focus. Justin was playing great, but of course so was Bo Nix. The Chargers would score and the Broncos would answer. The Broncos would get a stop and the Chargers would force a punt. You were entertained but the battle happening within you was the most interesting one to the people in your house.

Your mom had gone down to find your birthing ball, which helped for about half a quarter, just in time for a Ladd McConkey touchdown to put the Chargers up by 10. By the end of the third you were forced into a squat behind one of the couches, spreading your legs to hopefully ease the increasing pressure on your hips. You breathed through the contraction, the sensation sending a pins and needles feeling near your tailbone. Holly made sure you stayed hydrated, having secretly texted her husband halfway through the fourth quarter when the game was firmly in hand to have their son home as soon as humanly possible. Contractions creeped on 30 minutes apart, leaving you panting and groaning in discomfort until your muscles relaxed.

Fifteen minutes later, you were pacing around the living room and you had to stop to hold onto the couch again, your mom helping you roll your hips as you felt thin beads of sweat building around your hairline. Things were getting real and scary and you needed Justin.

“What time is it?” You murmured, cupping your stomach with a hiss as the baby moved.

“It’s 7:15 and he’s on his way home, baby.” Your mom whispers, sensing your increasing distress, “he’ll be here soon.”

“My back hurts,” you state suddenly, a slight tremble in your voice. “Everything really hurts.”

Your mom grabs at your hips, squeezing them together to apply counter pressure, giving you momentary relief.

Dani was in charge of timing contractions and all you knew was the moment in between them where you could actually form a coherent thought. Time was no longer real. You headed upstairs for some time to yourself and a wave of nausea hit you and you emptied probably everything you’d eaten the entire day, which in hindsight probably wasn’t much. But you weren’t in the headspace to think clearly right now. You walked back towards to the bedroom and clutched the doorway, visibly feeling the heaviness of the baby moving down, almost sending you to your knees if it weren’t for the solid, calming presence that was suddenly in front of you.

“Hey babe.” You breathe out, feeling a little unsure that your legs were capable of holding you up until you could sit on the bed.

He pulled you into his arms as close as your belly would allow and pressed his lips your forehead. “Hi. Glad I could make it back in time. I knew something was off with you this morning,” he narrowed his eyebrows at you when he pulled away, walking you slowly back into the room placing a firm hand on the small of your back, making circles with it while holding your hand with the other. “Alright baby…how long have you been in labor?”

You let out a dry laugh at his disappointed dad look. “Since 10 last night I think? But let’s focus on the important things, you played great and you won but man you guys really took a minute to shut the door on ‘em.”

“Right, the important things.” He says with a knowing smile. “I know you love football as much as I do now, but if you told me earlier I would’ve been at your side in a heartbeat. You know that, right?”

God, you hoped your baby had his caring heart. “I do know that, I really do. But I also knew that you’d be able to do both. The Chargers are your family too and—”

A contraction creeped up on you, leaving you to hold onto your husband’s forearms with a sharp sound of pain, the pressure reaching an overwhelming peak that you hadn’t experienced before.

“Squeeze as much as you want, it’s okay.” His voice attempts to soothe you but you couldn’t hear him over the animalistic grunt that escaped you. Your body tensed involuntarily and he could see your stomach hardening as the tension continued to build. There was nothing more he could do than hold you through it, until something gave way and the floodgates opened…literally.

Even he sounded breathless by the end of it. “Your water just broke.”

Sunday 10pm

Contractions in the house were terrible. But contractions in the car, with no cushion from the water bag made it feel like she was right between your legs.

“Justin, you have to go faster. Please.” You panted out, desperately clutching the grab handle and leaning your head back with a loud moan. “Can you turn on the air, I’m dying in here. And I need to put the seat back, my back is killing me, I’m sorry.” You felt like a turtle stuck on its back, waiting for someone to turn it over and set it free.

“Yeah, yeah do whatever you need. And you don’t need to apologize,” he pats you on the leg, “do whatever makes you comfortable, we’ll be there soon.” He kept looking between you and the road, slightly worried that he’d have to deliver the baby in the car. The only thing that slightly reassured him the whole drive was your sigh of relief when the fan came on. First babies were supposed to take a while but he’d missed the entirety early labor, so from the sounds that he was hearing he figured you were in or at the very least extremely close to the transition stage. His grip on the steering wheel tightened and remained that way until the birthing center came into view. Your parents had called ahead and would meet you there when given the word, so all you had to do was check in and you were brought to your private suite.

Seven centimeters dilated and without painkillers made your husband question any football toughness he thought he had. You were so close to meeting your baby and he was a mix of anxiousness, nerves and excitement. Most of all he felt so much love and admiration for your determination and strength. Holding off on telling him you were in labor so he could be there to get the job done with his teammates was one thing and it was a complete whirlwind to be there with you while you worked to bring your baby into the world.

Once he was finally able to tear his eyes off the baby’s heart monitor, all of his focus was back on you. He wasn’t going to say anything but the agony in your voice was really starting to take a toll on him. Months of mental preparation for this moment was nothing like the real thing and he felt utterly helpless, desperately trying to maintain some sort of control and be helpful in any way.

“Honey you’re shaking, are you cold?” Without even giving you time to answer he was up on his feet, reaching for his bag to grab the blanket he’d seen you drape over yourself on several movie night occasions.

You shake your head while your teeth continue to chatter, reaching for his left hand, “I think it’s the adrenaline. I’m okay I promise,” you shift uncomfortably in bed, trying to just go along with how your body is feeling and reacting. Your belly tightens, a white hot pain generating an unexpected moan as you palmed your stomach. Justin places his hand on top of yours, whispering to you that the contraction is almost over and constantly reminding you that you’re doing great.

The two of you decided to use gravity to your advantage and walk around the building since the entire floor was closed off at your husband’s request. He couldn’t risk anyone leaking the most private and cherished moment in his life.

“I can’t believe this is our last night as a duo.” Justin whispers, walking at a snail’s pace while you waddled alongside him. “It’s been a great ride, pal.”

“Wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else. And I have a feeling this ride is going to get a lot more interesting from here on out.” You gave your belly a soothing pat.

He strokes your back as you sway your hips again, “thank you for choosing me to be the one that gets to do this with you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, more than anything in the world.” You grin, pulling him in for a soft kiss. His hand cups your face as he pulls you in even closer. The kiss oozed joy and gratitude. Your husband wasn’t a man of many words, but his actions spoke volumes.

You squeeze his arm again suddenly as pain bubbles deep in your core and you rip yourself away from him to press your lips together to stifle a yell. “We need to get back to the room. Now.”

The noises leaving your body would have horrified you if you weren’t already sitting backwards on the toilet wearing only an oversized t-shirt, with your legs spread and the man of your dreams digging his thumbs into your back. “Harder please,” you groan, feeling like your tailbone is seconds away from shattering.

“I’m not getting a break,” you cry, clenching your jaw, leaning back and asking him to help you up. He hooks his hands under your arms and basically lifts you to your feet. “It’s not stopping, I can’t—oh fuck.” It felt like you were going to throw up, but out of the other end, which could only mean one thing. “She’s—Justin she’s coming right now. I have to push.” You took a breath and focused completely inward, your entire body going rigid, shaky straining sounds of effort pouring out of you.

The quarterback immediately sprang into action,“easy babe, breathe. I’ve got you.”

You held onto one of his hands and moved into a squat on your shaky legs as he pressed the red button on the side of the bathroom door, allowing your midwife to come in.

The baby felt like it was seconds away from falling out, everything suddenly feeling like it was moving a mile a minute. The midwife was saying something but the ringing in your ears was so loud you couldn’t focus on anything but getting your baby delivered.

After another throaty shove, you came back to yourself a little, feeling a gentle hand rubbing your shoulder. “Babe? You gotta slow down. Take a second, I can already see her a little bit you can give yourself some time.”

“I can’t, the pressure is too much!” Tucking your chin to your chest, you let out a yelp as you push again, using him as a solid wall to rest against as you spread your legs to give your baby more room. “Holy fuck your baby is huge,” your husband and the midwife both laugh, “I’m sorry it’s just—this is really hard.”

Pushing felt good, even though it left you shaking like a leaf in a cold and sweaty frenzy. At some point during the delivery he’d pushed your hair back with his lucky headband that was always around his wrist if it wasn’t on his head. It was the most intense experience of your life but you took one look at those bright green eyes and he reminded you that he was with you the entire time and you knew you could do anything with him by your side.

Remington Grace Herbert was born Monday morning at 1:42am with those exact same eyes that you fell in love with.

“Hi Remi,” Justin sobs, kissing her cheek. “We’ve been waiting for you, baby girl.”

“She sure knows how to make an entrance.”

You hand her off to her dad after scooting over to give him more room on the bed. He wraps a free arm around you, securely holding her in his other one, totally in awe. “She’s so perfect. You’re perfect. You did so amazing, I’m so freaking proud of you.” He kisses the side of your head.

You cuddle into him with a content sigh, “Our perfect little duckling is finally here.”

[berfgrimm]

staring at the sun: payback | choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x reader

pairing: choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x f!reader

warnings: smut, oral, unprotected sex, face sitting, some overstimulation, deepthroating, fluff, dirty talk.

notes: surprise to everyone including me, inspiration struck, so please enjoy! another deleted scene from staring at the sun, and the phone call scene as well if you haven’t read that yet. (also I just posted this with an ask but the formatting was weird so I deleted and reposted. pretend you didn’t see that.)

———————

Sneaking into Seunghyun’s hotel room at night didn’t happen frequently, but when it did, it was thrilling. The night after your prank on Seunghyun was no different. You dressed like you were hiding from the police: dark closed with a hood pulled over your head. Seunghyun laughed when he opened the door to let you in.

“Are you running from the police?” he joked when he pulled you into the room with him.

Seunghyun pulled the hood off of your head to get a better look at you, but his hands never stopped, dragging the zipper of your sweatshirt until it was open. His eyes stayed focused on his task of removing your hoodie and your shirt, before he began to unbutton your pants. But he stopped, gently placing his hands on your hips to get your attention.

“Relax,” he whispered, peering into your eyes. “It’s like undressing a mannequin.” It was impossible not to laugh at his comparison, because you hadn’t realized you were quite so stiff.

Once you loosened up, Seunghyun undressed you down to your bra and panties before he sat on the foot of his bed staring at you. You weren’t sure what he had in mind when he threatened that you ‘owed’ him, but you knew how you wanted to pay him back.

You were on your knees before he spoke. Seunghyun set his hands on the bed behind him, resting his weight onto them so he can intently watch the way you rubbed his thighs. When you unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, you finally looked up at Seunghyun from under your lashes.

“You couldn’t wait, could you?” he teased, and the way he spoke made your heart flutter. “Is that where you like to be? On your knees?”

“As long as I get to look up at you.”

“Hmm,” Seunghyun hummed, staring intently at you for a moment until he sat up straight again, beckoning you to meet him halfway. When you leaned your body towards him, he gently took hold of your jaw to hold you steady while he kissed you. “I didn’t bring you here for this,” he muttered against your lips.

“I know,” you replied, kissing his cheek and keeping your mouth close to his ear. “Consider it an apology before you collect on what I owe you.”

Seunghyun watched you slowly stroke his length, staring at you like he’d won the lottery. He told you later it was the first time that he actually watched while you got him off, so he was transfixed. He said the way you took your time, and paid attention to how he reacted made him think you loved it as much as he did. Of course you did.

That day, however, you gave him a little extra. It was sloppy and deep, because you could not get enough of the way he moaned. Each time he hit the back of your throat, he would let out moans and groans that made you wetter every second. You didn’t realize at the time but you were moaning along with him, hungry for him in a way you had never completely shown him at that point.

“Don’t move,” he muttered out during one of the occasions where he was pushed deep into your throat. You did as you were told, relaxing your throat to keep him as long as you could, listening to the soft, shaky breaths he let out. “No wonder your first instinct is to get on your knees,” he struggled through his words. “You’re too good at this.”

You pushed yourself until you had to back off, sliding his length from your mouth to desperately drag in a few ragged breaths broken up by coughs. Seunghyun stroked your cheek soothingly, smiling down at you as he watched with lust filled eyes. You tried to keep sucking him, but he stopped you, much to your disappointment. All you were able to do was give him a pleading look, but he only smiled in response.

“If I let you keep going, then you’ll make me come, and I’m not ready for that yet.”

Seunghyun switched places with you, tucking himself back into his pants so he could lay you down on the bed. The way he stalked around the bed for a few moments, staring down at you, was an image that burned itself into your brain; he looked like he didn’t know where to start, too overcome.

”Let me see you,” he nodded towards you, gesturing for you to remove the last of your clothes.

When you were naked, on display in his bed where his eyes drank in your whole body like it was the first time, he climbed into the bed. His fingers traced along your skin delicately enough to cause a chill to spread through your body.

“You’re beautiful just like this.”

The first orgasm he gave you that night was only with his fingers. He straddled one of your thighs and stayed knelt with his hand braced against the bed to support his weight — just so he could watch your face while he got you off. It made you feel vulnerable and you would have been embarrassed if you couldn’t feel him gently grinding himself against your thigh.

You grabbed handfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer to you as you came. Seunghyun smirked when you kissed him, not slowing his fingers working until he was satisfied. He pressed his forehead to yours when he slid his fingers into your mouth, watching you intently as you cleaned the taste of you from them.

“I want you,” you breathed, hoping that your pleas would convince him, but he only shook his head, now kneeling between your open thighs. “Please.”

“You have me,” he said, kissing down your neck towards your chest. “Just because I won’t let you have me exactly how you want me doesn’t mean you can pout.”

The stern voice he used leaned towards smug, but he was right; you’re at his mercy after your prank. Besides, you liked when he was in charge, and you trusted that he would give you what you wanted.

Seunghyun stopped at your breasts, giving some attention to your nipples. You weren’t sure how he was so good with his mouth and his fingers but you were thankful that you got to experience the benefits. You’d never gotten much excitement from having your nipples played with before but Seunghyun had a way of making you feel things that you weren’t used to feeling. Sometimes you wondered if you could get off on nippleplay alone.

Seunghyun is still fully dressed, a fact that you became aware of when you also realized that you were grinding yourself against his clothed torso. You tighten your legs around his body, trying to keep him close to you to get more friction.

“Easy,” he breathes against your skin, rubbing your hips. “I’m almost there.” He continues lowering himself down your body, kissing and occasionally biting your skin. “Don’t be too loud, baby,” he warned, pausing for a moment to peer up at you. “Daesung’s room is next door.”

“I promise,” you whispered, cupping his face and stroking his cheek with your thumb.

You felt his smile when he pressed his mouth to your clit, nipping at the already tender nub. He sucked softly for a few moments before his index and middle fingers pushed into you again, shallow thrusts to his first knuckles. You whimpered and moaned as quietly as you could, rocking your hips against his face.

Seunghyun’s hot breaths and quiet moans got lost between your thighs, his insistence in getting you off slowly making your head spin. He took his time, not moving as fast as he was for your first orgasm but still you felt the tension building up inside of you.

When it finally hit you, it was better than the first, slowly creeping through you, making your joints numb. You rolled your hips with each wave of pleasure, grabbing a pillow to cover your face in an effort to muffle your moans of his name. Even after he stopped, your body shook with pleasure, but an ache still pounded between your thighs. You needed more.

Seunghyun surprised you when he climbed from the bed, leaving you alone and confused. He wasn’t gone long, returning with a cup in his hand that he placed on the side table.

“Make room,” he said. You sat up, scooting towards the other side of the bed to allow him the space to climb beside you, where he laid on his back. When he looked at you expectantly, you were even more confused. “Well?” he asked. “Climb on.”

“Your—?”

“My face.”

You were sure you could have passed at that moment. It wasn’t something that you’d tried with him or anyone else for that matter. As if he read it on your face, he grinned at you, beckoning you over with his finger. You leaned over and he met you halfway, kissing you softly.

“Do you trust me, my good girl?” he whispered against your lips.

“Of course.”

“Then let’s go for a ride,” he grinned. You shook as you straddled his head, resting on your knees as you waited for him to tell you how he wanted you. Seunghyun’s hands rubbed your thighs, his hungry eyes fixed between them. “The cup,” he said.

You grabbed the cup from the table and peered inside to see it filled with ice. When you glanced down at Seunghyun, he opened his mouth, holding his tongue out. When you realized what he was planning, it was the second time that night you thought you might pass out.

After placing a cube of ice into his mouth, you put the cup back onto the nightstand, keeping it within reach. You could hear him crunching on the ice as you turned back to settle into place once again. As soon as Seughnyun’s arms locked around your thighs, pulling you down against his face, you held your breath.

The fragments of ice on his tongue made contact with your clit first, and you jumped at the contact. Your hands instinctively wrapped around his forearms, fingers digging into his skin. His tongue worked passionately, alternating between teasing your clit and circling your entrance.

You both knew it wouldn’t take long for you to climax for a third time, and you can tell that he wants to make it worthwhile. His eyes fluttered open, looking up at you to find your gaze already on him, so he squeezed your thighs to signify for you to move.

“Mmm,” he hums, when you shift your weight back to your knees. “Ice.” His mouth opened up expectantly and you quickly popped another piece of ice onto his tongue for him to crunch again. Seunghyun yanked you down on top of him again, his tongue, covered with ice, sliding into your entrance.

“Oh, fuck!” you gasped out, louder than you intended. He chuckled against you, but gave a warning smack to your thigh. “Sorry, baby,” you breathed, leaning over him and pressing your hands to the mattress to support your weight. “It feels incredible. I’m so close.”

Seunghyun let you ride his face, his cold tongue licking you closer and closer to your climax. When you tugged his hair with one hand, he groaned against you and squeezed your thighs tighter, his mouth working you more furiously.

You clamped your hand over your mouth to silence your moans as you reached your third orgasm of the night. The vibrations of Seunghyun’s moaning against you works through your whole body, buzzing in your hips and your stomach in a way you’d never felt before. He kept tonguing you until you pried at his arms, pulling yourself away from him for even a moment’s reprieve.

“Oh, my god,” you panted, collapsing onto the bed beside Seunghyun. You felt like you couldn’t catch your breath and still all you wanted was him. “Please,” you begged, reaching for him to drag him on top of you. “Fuck me. Please.”

You noticed the smirk on Seunghyun’s lips when you pulled him in for a kiss. His face was wet with your juices and you savored every taste of it that you could, kissing around his mouth. While you were distracted by the kiss, Seunghyun worked his pants and briefs down his hips to free his cock once again.

He knew you wouldn’t be able to take any teasing and he was on the verge himself, so he only rubbed his length through your wetness a few times before he finally pushed himself inside of you. It felt like it was the first time again, his size stretching your walls that clamp down around him.

“You feel incredible,” Seunghyun muttered against your lips, starting a steady pace of thrusts, forcing in all the way to the hilt. “Do you think I can make you come one more time? It will be a new record for us.” You grabbed his face with both hands, keeping him close.

“I want to see you come and then I’ll come for you,” you breathed, repeating what he’d said to you early on in your relationship. Seunghyun licked his lips, his eyes locked on your mouth.

“Inside of you?” he asked. “Tell me you want it inside of you, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Come inside of me,” you begged. “I need it.”

It was a new experience for you, feeling him come inside of you while you came as well. You both struggled to keep your moans to a reasonable volume, and decided to silence one another with your mouths. His moans rattled in your mouth while he kept fucking you hard until he couldn’t more anymore.

Your body was exhausted, aching all over. You weren’t sure you’d even be able to move if you wanted to, and with Seunghyun collapsed on top of you, kissing your collarbone and leaving little bites, you were content with staying where you were.

“How are you so good with your mouth?” you rasp, combing your fingers through his hair, gently scraping your nails along his scalp. “I don’t know how you didn’t get tired.”

“I’m a musician,” he responded, nuzzling into your hands in a moment of vulnerability that you want to remember forever. “I’m accustomed to using my mouth for long periods of time.”

You both stayed tangled together for several more minutes until Seunghyun unfortunately pulled away. He climbed from the bed, excusing himself to the bathroom and leaving you practically melted into the bed. After a few moments, he returns to the room, now only wearing his briefs, carrying a towel and cloth.

You could have fallen asleep while Seunghyun gently cleaned you up. It was so tender and slow, it almost brought tears to your eyes. When he finished, he placed a loving kiss to your lips before slipping back into the bed beside you, snuggling your bodies together under the covers.

He told you later that it was one of the sexiest and most memorable nights of his life, and you were inclined to agree.

[benkeibear]

『 Good little toy 』

☼ synopsis: All he needs from you is to be quiet while he uses you to his hearts content - his favorite cum dump.

☼ wc: 1.6k

☼ cw: fem!reader, sub!reader, reader wearing a collar, oral (reader giving), face/throat fucking, clit and face slapping, cum eating, thigh riding, humiliation, degradation, no prep sex, breeding/creampie, choking.

☼ notes: repost from my Kinktober 2023 | yes another repost of one my fave pieces I wrote 💫

The deal with Toji was simple - he takes his pent up stress and anger out on you and you get the filthiest sex of your life, allowing you to break free from your good girl image you had to uphold in your 9-5 life. Moments with him were a sweet escape from your boring life and allowing you to let go, to give yourself over to him entirely. A small smile formed on your lips when he texted you during a meeting, making it hard to focus for the last few hours, your thighs already rubbing together in anticipation as the words of your boss became background noise, thinking about how he will humiliate you today. The second your meeting was over you clocked out and made your way to the address he sent you, yet another fancy hotel, another big bed you'll wake up alone in, enough cash on the nightstand to pay for breakfast and maybe to treat yourself, that would depend on how well you behave.

Toji gave you a lopsided smirk when you finally came into the door. “Took you long enough, princess” he cooed and his eyes drifted to the little bag that sat on the desk in the corner, catching your attention now as well. “Take a shower and change into it” he ordered, legs sprawled out on the bed as his back rested against the headboard. All you could do is grin and nod, knowing exactly that he bought you yet another set of lingerie that might not make it out alive from this encounter. Grabbing the bag you disappeared into the luxurious bathroom to take a hot shower in the rain shower, LED lights illuminating the dark tiled room in a beautiful purple as you lathered your body up with the lavender soap Toji bought for you. When you finally stepped out of the shower you took care of your skin and got dressed in the black lace lingerie he got you, the fabric barely covering your skin. The leather collar with a small chain caught your eye when it fell out of the bag, heat creeping up your neck when you gently put it on, a chain in the front enabling him to choke you later on and the thought of this alone made your head spin as you stepped out of the bathroom.

Your sweet scent filled the room and Toji already sat at the end of the bed, hungry eyes watching every move. “Crawl to me” he ordered with a dirty grin, loving to see you so submissive when you got onto all fours, crawling towards him as ordered. When you arrived at the bed he carefully reached for the chain at the collar, tugging it so you'd kneel “Remember to use the safeword if it's too much” he reminded you, voice laced with something that could resemble care and the moment you nodded you felt his broad hand connect to your cheek in a harsh slap “use your words, bitch” he hissed which made you smile “yes, Toji” you spoke up confident which earned you a satisfied smile and he released the grip on your collar to free his already aching cock. He’s been desperate for you since he got up, stroking himself through the fabric of his trousers as he waited for you to emerge from the bathroom and the sight of his thick cock, hanging low from the sheer weight it held almost made you drool. “That's right… you know what to do” he hummed and tapped the leaking tip against your soft lips, his hand wrapped loosely around the base.

He didn't need to tell you twice, eagerly parting your lips to let your tongue collect some of his leaking essence before wrapping your sweet lips around his tip, slowly lowering yourself until he hit the back of your throat to which he only gave you a warning glare, expecting you to take his entire length… and you tried, you really did but the last inch or two just wouldn't fit, making him pull you off by your hair, his glare now dangerously dark as he manhandles you onto the bed, your pretty head hanging off the bed. “Open up or do I need to make you?” He growled, ready to force his thick length into your mouth if needed but you willingly opened your mouth already “that's my good slut” he praised and pushed himself into your awaiting mouth with one harsh thrust, heavy balls slapping your face. A loud groan escaped his lips when he saw the outlines of his dick inside of your throat, gently thrusting his hips against your face before picking up the pace and making you gag repeatedly, leaving him chuckling as he enjoyed your discomfort.

One of his broad hands found their way to your dripping wet cunt, the crotchless panties giving him easy access but he didn't give you your release just yet, fucking your throat without mercy as he delivered one sharp hit against your puffy clit, making you squeal around him. “That's it, slut” he groaned, your throat contracting so beautifully around his shaft when you squeal, causing him to give your poor cunt a few more slaps until he came deep inside of your throat, strong arms keeping you in place as he rode his high out, making sure to pull out only once you swallowed everything he so graciously gave to you.

Your face was stained in saliva when he helped you sit up, his lips coming down to the crown of your head for a small kiss, a way to praise you for being so obedient before he sat back down onto the corner of the mattress, patting his thigh gently. “Sit” he ordered you around like a dog and you gladly took a seat, straddling his bare thigh, his pants pooling around his ankles by now. “You were such a good girl to me… now reward yourself. Go on, sweetheart” he mused, watching you struggle to grind your aching folds against his toned thigh, your clit highly sensitive from the slaps. Tojis strong hands helped you move at first before you found your rhythm, helplessly mewling into his neck as your arousal spread over his leg, making it easier for you to hump against it. He enjoyed how you got yourself off so eagerly, chuckling in amusement “look at you… humping me like a little bitch in heat and causing such a mess” he said cold, making you whimper but he was right - you were so desperate for relieve right now you'd to just about anything for him now if it means you'd get your sweet release. The movement of your hips got erratic, your moans now growing in pitch as you panted, amusing him further only to be pushed off right before the knot inside of you snapped. Your face was pushed against his wet thigh, rubbing you over the wet patch of his skin “clean your mess up, bitch” he growled and you hesitated for a moment, your entire body shaking from yet another denied orgasm but your tongue still darted out to taste yourself, licking his thigh clean from the remnants of your arousal before you got pulled around by your collar. “You're so pathetic” he slapped your face once more, the same hand forcing itself between your thighs to make sure you're still wet, his smirk growing when you whimpered from that alone, your folds dripping with your juices. “If you wanna act like a bitch in heat, I should breed you like one, don't you think?” He asked you amused, your brain not even thinking straight anymore when all you wanted was his fat cock buried deep inside of you.

Toji pushed you over the corner of the bed and pushed himself into your neglected cunt without warning or preparation, a silent scream leaving you as the stretch he provided you tossed you head first into an orgasm, crying out his name in ecstasy. “That's my good little slut. Gonna breed you nice and full now” He groaned, hips slamming against you harder with each thrust. Your body jolted each time, only the weight of his body keeping you in place as you helplessly wailed and screamed at the intensity in which the tip of his cock rammed against your cervix and letting you see stars, the knot inside of you tightening once more. Toji pulled on the back of the collar, choking you when he reached his high, his hot cum painting your walls white which pushed you over the edge another time, breathlessly screaming his name like a lewd prayer only for him to pull out the moment he filled you up. A satisfied smirk on his scarred lips as he watched his cum run out of your abused little hole in thick globs, pulling out his phone to take a quick picture. “You're so fucking pathetic” he chuckled, smearing his release over your folds, eliciting whines of overstimulation from you while he pulled his pants up with his free hand, ready to leave you there in the puddle of your combined juices - he was never a man for aftercare after all. All he came for was to use you and you enjoyed every second of it. A lopsided smile on your face when you heard the door shut behind him.

[aislebewithshu]

love kitty

x gender neutral reader.

wc: 486

cw: yandere x yandere, stockholm syndrome, obsession, codependency themes, references of being caged, directly based on love cat and love kitty

author notes: hii i love biz's songs too much.. lowkey proud of my loveit? prompt so i made a love kitty one :3 happy reading ! not beta read, scroll if uncomfy <3

“i’m so happy to see you come home, your highness! welcome back, dear [name]~”

your beloved love cat who is always eager to wait for you to come home to your shared abode- offers you your ‘meow’ in exchange for the love he oh so craves from you. after all, this codependency you share, it's inescapable.

he was a bad, naughty kitty at first, seeking affection from others when you're right there for him! at least, he has learned his lesson right? he is now collared to you, anyway. sure he was a bit... confused at your actions at first? terrified? no one knows. he's a dear, fickle cat that doesn't know the true meaning of love, but that's alright, you're here to teach him.

“running off's fine, but back home's so scary”

he would avoid the moments that you give him your twisted love at first. it was suffocating, intoxicating. as if you both are playing a staring contest, so manic that both of you would lose to each other in this game of lamenting captivity.

third time’s the charm, that’s what they say. it’s like he is now hypnotized by you, you’re invading his mind and heart in no time! why won’t you go away? is it because he was trying to spend time with someone else? he knows you would not let him, crazed feline eyes with irises having a slit. putting a collar on him, you have branded him as yours.

he would try to fight you back at first, but he becomes more domesticated, as time goes on. he’s slowly falling for it all, consuming sin and punishment, whispering love to each other.

“even if you turn away, it's still alright. you are my very own "love cat", that's that.”

he has learned to love you unconditionally. your very own love cat, who is encaged with you for eternity.

"please love me, hey."

"i'm scared, can't step out of the cage anymore."

maybe he would also leave a mark on you as you left yours on his! let him have a bite, maybe? he's willing to bare his fangs. the more this goes on, the more twisted this love gets, and you are both hungry for it. he was insatiable when it comes to your affection, like a cat that is needy of its owner’s attention.

he cannot stand to live without you- he needs you too much to the point that his life now depends on you. like a clumsy love cat, he wants you so much, too much that it's getting ridiculous. you haven't seen any other guys worthy of being your 'pet cat', right? good, he gladly plays that role for you without hesitation, anyway. because if so, he won't hesitate to draw his claws out to eliminate them.

after all, both of you are in too deep in to the pit of hell that is called love.

enstars - kagehira mika, sakasaki natsume, sakuma ritsu, hakaze kaoru

twst - azul ashengrotto, idia shroud (? idk he has the vibes)

bllk - alexis ness, shidou ryusei, michael kaiser (HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE)

+ your faves.

©AISLEBEWITHSHU on tumblr. do not repost / feed to AI.

[wave2tyun]

meddle about | ☆

pairing: idol!yeonjun x idol!reader

genre: idol!au, best friends to lovers, some fluff but also a bit suggestive (?) towards the end

prompts: – “you’re blushing”

– “i can feel how fast your heart is beating right now”

warnings: none!

word count: 1.8k

a/n: the inspiration for this came from a wonho photoshoot behind the scenes clip that i randomly saw on ig reels........😟 i hope there aren't any mistakes left in this because i've been lazy and going only by trust when i repost fics asdbhja

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

you and yeonjun didn’t exactly meet…under the greatest circumstances.

as txt’s fame was continuously on the rise, there was no way you had never heard of yeonjun, or the name tomorrow x together. however, it was only when you had your comeback stage at inkigayo that you finally got to see yeonjun in real life, and not just on a screen.

you expected things to go smoothly. yeonjun was going to just take your interview, and then you were going to simply perform with your group on stage, as usual.  

realistically speaking, that was supposed to be it- nothing more than a polite, professional interaction, he was the mc after all. you didn’t even think you’d cross paths with him throughout the day again. but the lunch break had something -quite staggering- in store for you:

the inkigayo sandwich. those words still make you shudder.

as an idol, you had to have one, at least once. it was the talk of town after all, even though the combination of egg, crab and strawberry jam- all squished together between 3 pieces of white bread- didn’t exactly sound appealing to you.

you gulped as you looked at the piece of food in your hands; the smell wasn’t that appetizing either, and you wondered how it was possible for them to have such high sales for a shitty product.

you didn’t want to do it, but the thought of wasting your money without at least having a bite was haunting you. you closed your eyes, anticipating the worst outcome imaginable as the sandwich came closer and closer towards your mouth.

“hey- at least remove that paper before you start eating” one of your members said, making you frown. paper? what paper? the ingredients of the sandwich were already weird enough, what did they add that paper for?

confused, you opened your eyes again, a small note had been carefully placed somewhere between the plastic wrapper and the bread. grossed out, you removed it, moving towards the trash can to throw it away, only to get a glance of a phone number written on the back of it, making you stop in your tracks.

‘call me ;) - choi yeonjun’

now, you see- you only knew that the inkigayo sandwich was famous, you didn’t know why it was famous. 

you angrily searched for choi yeonjun around the cafeteria, shoving the sandwich towards his chest once you found him “what the fuck is this?” you hissed appaled by his actions. not sparing him a single moment to respond, you instantly got into a rant about how you were ‘put in danger’ by him for placing something (almost) inedible in your lunch.

he stared at you with big eyes and raised eyebrows, panicking that you’d blow this out of proportion even more if he excused himself before you were done blowing off some steam. he knew very well not to argue with a sleep deprived person who was also hungry.

“that actually wasn’t meant for you…” he muttered in the end, biting his cheek.

“oh.”

on the way back to the dorms, you swore you’d never step foot back into inkigayo ever again, or at least not until yeonjun stepped down from his position as an mc.

despite the seemingly traumatic event, you still kept the piece of paper containing his number, jam stain and all. you fiddled it around your fingers as you rolled around in bed, unable to fall asleep. it was way past midnight, and the remorse you felt for not having apologised to yeonjun was keeping you wide awake. you had been too embarrassed to utter any more words after hearing his reply and used the first opportunity -which was a member calling out for you- to leave the room. 

the guilt was eating you up, and, in the end, you decided it was best to at least say sorry to him through text. and so you did- not exactly expecting much besides getting blocked by him. 

turns out yeonjun found the situation more amusing rather than infuriating. he accepted your apology with ease, and you promised that you’d buy him lunch the next time you visit inkigayo, as emotional compensation.

yeonjun, however, lied to you that day. the phone number in the sandwich was, in fact, meant for you. he heard from his seniors that ‘back in the day’, this was a particularly popular method to start dating between idols. when it was announced that you’d perform on the day he was mc-ing, he found his chance, took it, then pretty much failed miserably. his attempt at getting to know you better was somewhat saved by your apology text. after the whole ordeal, he decided that it was better to take it step by step and develop his friendship with you before dipping his toes into the dating scheme once again.

bit by bit- yeonjun began to reveal his flirty nature. first, he started bringing food and drinks to your company whenever you told him you had to stay up late, practicing overnight. then, he made sure to always compliment how you looked in music videos or album teasers, sometimes even sending coffee trucks to the filming sites to support you. finally, he started bringing you flowers whenever you were done with comeback stages. the change in his attitude was making you question the status of your relationship. still, knowing how risky this all was, you decided it was foolish to jump to any conclusions- although a part of your heart did cling tightly onto the hope that he did this because he saw you as something more than a friend.

it was no surprise to the public eye that the two of you were close friends in the industry. so, when elle korea wanted a photoshoot between a pair with good chemistry, yeonjun ran to his managers, begging to convince some of the higher-ups to recommend the two of you. not a single soul in the company was able to resist him, so he successfully scored the spot. however, you were only informed that you received an offer for the photoshoot, not that yeonjun had been involved in this whole ordeal.

the concept was not quite what you were expecting.

when you heard the words “a pair with good chemistry” you were expecting a fun, bubbly photoshoot, something colorful maybe- not a sensual, romantic theme. you choked on your spit when they showed you the outfit you were supposed to wear, then choked again when you saw yeonjun’s outfit: black pants and a blue satin button-up shirt that had more than 3 buttons left open, exposing the skin of his chest. 

and -as if the revealing clothes weren’t enough- there was one more detail left that would supposedly “tie this all together”: a kiss mark. on yeonjun’s neck. 

the staff handed you a tube of red lipstick, shoving you and yeonjun in a private dressing room before you could even process the situation.

you stole a look at yeonjun, who pursed his lips, trying to contain his laugh as he made eye contact with you.

“did you know about this?” you asked him with a serious face, pointing the lipstick towards him. why were you the only one baffled here?

yeonjun couldn’t help but let out tiny squeaks as he struggled calm down, your shocked, accusatory expression all too entertaining for him “no” he snickered “why? are you nervous? think you can’t do it?” he crossed his arms.

the attitude with which he said that only earned him a scoff from you “of course i can do it” you said as you walked towards the mirror. once you were in front of it though, you were suddenly way more aware of how sweaty your palms were getting, hands trembling a bit as you put the lipstick on.

yeonjun was never one to shy away from physical touch. you were used to receiving hugs from him, sometimes even having him hold onto your hand or arm, swinging them playfully whenever you walked together. but this? this felt…different. 

intimate. 

it was like a possible breach within your friendship. and while you weren’t exactly nervous about the situation itself, you were definitely afraid about what was going to happen between the two of you after.

yeonjun was already behind you once you finished putting on the makeup and turned around. the playful smirk he’s had ever since you both entered the room never left his face. he lightly quirked up an eyebrow, provoking you to make the move- curious to see if your earlier statement was the truth or whether they were just empty words. unsure what to do with your hands, your fingers didn’t let go of the lipstick tube, playing with it in a restless manner as you inched closer towards yeonjun’s neck. the citrus fragrance of his perfume still lingered on the skin, and you closed your eyes as you left a quick kiss there, the touch too light to leave a mark visible enough. 

“you’re blushing” yeonjun chuckled, tilting his head as he looked in the mirror behind you, clicking his tongue “that’s not right…” he muttered. his gaze was fixated on your face for a few seconds, admiring the pink dusting your cheeks. then, they trailed off to your hands, snatching the item to cover his own lips in that same crimson color. “this is how you do it” he whispered, dipping his head down, arms sneaking around your waist simultaneously. warm breath on your neck, chest flushed against yours, yeonjun could feel your racing pulse underneath his lips as he pressed a long kiss on the hot skin. the chilling sensation running down your spine had your hands unconsciously reaching out for his forearms, holding onto them to keep yourself steady and not slip away from his grasp. 

“i can feel how fast your heart is beating right now” he breathed out, fingers tracing lines along the small of your back. seeing that you weren’t pushing him away, his face didn’t leave its close spot to your body. instead- his lips travelled along the skin, pressing featherly kisses along the way- nibbling, lightly biting, the red marks blooming being hidden away by the lipstick covering them.

the mirrors, the vanity lights, even the photoshoot itself, they were all turning into a hazy memory as you were becoming more and more enthralled by him. completely absorbed by his touch on your body, you felt like you wouldn’t be able to breathe properly again until he carried on with the next step. “jun-” the sound of the nickname was enough to send an electrifying jolt throughout his heart. his own breathing was irregular as he stopped, distancing himself a bit from your neck to lift his head up, plush lips and smudged lipstick coming into sight. 

“we’re not leaving this room until you kiss me on the lips”

taglist: @huekalover3000

[scar-lie]

Threesome Pt. 2 {Natasha & Maria}

Summary : Natasha is making sure she fulfill her lovely baby's wish

Pairing : Natasha x Maria x Fem!Reader

Warning : P and V, Nat has penis, creampie, talk of babies, oral (reader), use of toys

Word count : 1,663

NO one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know.

Cherrylemontober

Standing in front of the mirror in the bedroom, picturing yourself with a baby bump, turning left and right, hands on your belly—you don’t know, but these past few weeks you’ve been thinking of babies, you looking pregnant and glowing, and the babies and cute baby things on your FYP are not helping at all; it only adds to your already obsessive baby fever.

“Hon? "Nat interrupted you in your moment when she saw you looking at the mirror with your hand on your belly for a hundred times already.

“You ok? ”You didn't turn around nor move an inch from where you are; you just looked up at her for a second, then back down on your belly while humming.

“Yeah,” you softly said. Nat being the sweet and caring wife she is, she walked forward, standing behind you, and wrapped her arms around you from behind, resting her hand on top of yours.

“You've been doing this for the last few weeks now... What's on your mind hmm?"She whispers, resting her chin on your shoulder after she kisses it and looks at your eyes on the reflection.

“I-I...I want a baby...I've been picturing myself with a baby bump, carrying your child for some time now.” Natasha caught surprise for a moment but recovered immediately, smiling and wrapping her arms around your tighter with your hands linked to hers.

“What do you think? "You ask, nervous of her answer, thinking maybe... just maybe she doesn't want it or is not ready yet.

“I think you will look perfect being pregnant.” Natasha starts to kiss your shoulder up to your neck and under your ear, whispering to you that gives you goosebumps.

“Your belly swelling with my babies, your tits full of milk, and your puffy pussy who will be hungry for my cock... Yeah, definitely perfect.” This makes you gasp for air, looking at her reflection with lust in your eyes, legs starting to rub together.

“You like the thought of that? "She whispered, biting your earlobe, and you nodded, making her chuckle and start to kiss your neck and jaw that turn into sucking, making you moan, holding her arm that's still wrapped around your midbody.

“Me filling you up with my cum...pumping you full...and maybe...maybe I’ll just stay inside of you, making you cockwarm my cock day and night, making sure I’ll knock you up..mhh? You want that, don't you? "You clench around nothing, and your knees get weak, tilting your head to the side so she has more access to your neck while moaning a mess at the thought she's putting on your head.

“Yes…yes please... want that, Daddy,” you moan, rubbing your butt against her harneding cock.

“Please fuck me,” you whine, turning around and kissing her. She squeezes your hip, pulling you closer and kissing you hard.

"Oh, getting started without me, huh? "Maria smirked when she opened the door and saw you two eating each other's faces.

You quickly push Natasha a little, getting embarrassed and turning around so Maria wouldn't see your flushed face.

"Ow, our soon-to-be mommy is getting shy.” Natasha teases and makes you turn around, going behind you and resting her hand in your stomach.

Maria smirks at you; seeing you all shy and embarrassed makes her heart flutter. You three have been talking about having a baby for the past few weeks now.

Maria's comments were casual; she said she's in, but she doesn't want to carry one ever. She sure wants to have her own baby, but the thought of the long, painful, and sleepless night for being pregnant wasn't her ideal 9 months.

You, on the other hand, are excited and happy to carry as much as Natasha wants to put in you; this is your dream to have a baby of your own who will grow inside you. Plus, you've been obsessing over anything related to babies; Maria and Natasha can tell too.

And Natasha is more happy to fill you up with her babies, but as much as Natasha wants to just impregnate you one after another, she knows that's not ideal for a family, and two to four is more than enough for her.

“How cute! "Maria walks forward and kisses your cheek, then proceeds to whisper to your ear.

"Well, why not start the baby making? I’m sure Natasha will impregnate you in no time, mhh,” Natasha smirked, and she couldn't help but squeeze your hip and pull it on her aching bulge.

"Oh, I will definitely fill you up as much as possible every fucking day,” you gasp, then bite down on your lower lip, squirming a little because you're feeling you're getting sticky.

"Pl-please,” you whisper, clenching around nothing and pressing yourself back to Natasha.

"Oww, she's getting needy, Nat. I bet she's soaking wet,” you whine while the two chuckle and Maria start to kiss your neck while Nat roams her hand around you, making you moan.

"Well, there's only one way to find out,” Nat whispers to you and kneels behind you while hooking her fingers in your shorts and pants, then pulls it down around your ankle.

“Mhh mmm,” Nat hum when she spread your butt cheeks apart, seeing your butthole and glistening pussy, making her thirsty.

“Well? "Maria, go around and join Nat, looking at your private area, making you shy and embarrassed, but never dared to move away or hide. 

"Tasty,” they both mumble, standing up but not before having a lick to taste you, which makes them hum in satisfaction when they taste their favorite meal.

"Perfect,” Nat whispers to you, then pulls up your shirt and guides you to the bed with Maria.

“Please... Please, Daddy,” you whine, backing up to position yourself in the middle. 

“Already begging,” Maria sat besides you, lapping your upper body while Natasha took off every piece of clothing she had on and got in the bed. 

"Well, she's a good girl, isn't she? "You nodded. Maria quickly pulled you down a bit and started kissing you.

"Pl, please...bred me,” you whine, squirming and rubbing your thighs together to create a friction that quickly snatched away when Natasha parted your legs to see your glistening pussy, ready to be taken. 

“What a glorious sight,” Natasha chuckles and quickly dives down to lap up every juice that's spilling out, licking and eating you out to get out the juice she oh-so-loves drinking straight from the source.

"Mhh, please, Daddy, put a baby in.” Natasha hums at the taste and deliciously lapping every juice while Maria keeps stimulating your breast and creating hickeys.

“You sound beautiful,” Maria whispers, and you whine, bucking your hips to Natasha's face while tugging on her hair.

“God, I’m so hard for you,” Natasha groans, then sits up and positions herself between the two your thighs while stroking her cock.

“Put on some good show for me, will you?"Maria smirked at Natasha, and she quickly got the vibrating dildo on your drawer and positioned herself besides you two while having a better view of Natasha entering you.

"Oh, I will,” Natasha smirked down at you while rubbing her cock on your folds.

"Please,” you whine, bucking your hips up and down in hope to make her enter you, and this makes the two women chuckle.

“Very impatient,” Maria said, turning on the vibrating dillo.

“Don't worry, my darling, the wait is ending,” then Natasha thrust her dick forward, making sure you take every single inch from tip to base in one thrust. Her hands are locked on your hip to pull you back and position your hip up.

You throw your head back and have a tight grip on the sheet, and her wrist, mouth wide, and eyes roll back at the back while Natasha keeps pounding you, never giving you time to adjust or get used to the feeling.

“God, I love this pussy; it’s perfect; it's taking me to the hilt fuck,” Natasha groans, then reaches out to Maria and pulls her in for a messy kiss.

You whine seeing how beautiful they are when kissing; you bite your lower lips and reach out to the dildo and start to push it in and slowly fucking her with it.

“Fuck, baby,” Maria moans. She has a tight grip on your wrist, but you didn't stop. You lazily fuck her with it while Natasha keeps pounding you.

Her cock reaches a new spot; she's now abusing your cervix like her cock wants to enter it; her tip keeps slamming your cervix, making you a moaning mess; and your rhyme of fucking Maria is already long gone; you're just laying there, taking everything Natahsa gives you.

“Gonna….mhhh gonna cum Daddy,” you moan, trashing all over your spot, wanting to get away from Natasha because it's getting all too much.

“Go on, baby cum,” Natasha groans and settles to a slow but hard thrust; she is also near her orgasm.

With a few hard thrusts, you both cum, your shirting squirting all over Natasha and her painting your wall white. She leans in and starts to kiss you.

"Mhhh,” Maria moans, nearing her orgasm too, so Natasha reaches out and takes out the toy and replaces it with her hand.

“Go on, cum baby,” Natasha whispered and started to finger her, her palm bumping on her bundle of joy while her three fingers were curling inside her, making sure to hit her spot.

“Shit, gonna cum...fuck,” Maria moans and cums, her body shaking and gripping her fingers tight.

“Good girl, good girl,” Natasha praised with the two of you, and Maria lay down beside you.

“My two beautiful ladies,” Natasha said, lying down beside you, not wanting to pull out of you because she wants to keep her cum in, making it stick.

“Rest dear, I’ll clean you up later,” Natasha whispers, taking a plug, then plug you up, making sure not a single drop will go to waste.

[hioriri]

-cuddles!-

featured character ☆ itoshi sae

tag(s): fluff! ☆

divider @cafekitsune

apologies if this is out of character.

༊*·˚

        No joke, period cramps hurt a lot. What's included in the monthly cycles are also mood swings, you're definitely ten times extra sensitive when it's that time of the month. Well today, you woke up quite late, maybe around eleven o'clock or so. Next to the wooden night stand, there's a white envelope. You take it and gently ripped off the cute little pink heart sticker on it. Then, you reached for the folded white piece of paper. The note read;

༊*·˚

Y/n, you probably woke up to see this note by the nightstand. Around this time I'm probably not home. I may come home around nine o'clock, do whatever you'd like for the whole day. As always, I love you.

-Sae

༊*·˚

        You smiled reading the note and the "I love you" that Sae wrote down in black ink. After being fully awake (maybe lying in bed for an extra 10 minutes), you straightened the bed sheets and comforter then started feeling hungry and so, you headed down to the kitchen and made some breakfast. After eating some toast with avocado and eggs, you decided to take a shower and do some skin care. Finally, you just plop on the navy blue sofa and decided to just binge watch Tales of the Nine Tailed since it seemed interesting. You got your phone and scrolled on Twitter to see if there's anything new. Maybe after one or two episodes of Nine Tailed, you got sudden cramps. It felt extremely agonizing to the point where you thought you were on the verge of death. So now change of plans. For the entire day you're not going to be binge watching some k-drama but you're simply just going to wrap yourself in a blanket, tightly clench on your stomach while lying on the couch, play dead, and wait for Sae to come home. 

༊*·˚ around 9 o'clock

        You hear the keys jingling and the sound of a door opening and closing. "I'm home" Sae calls out but it was dead silent. "Saeee..." you whine. Sae heads over to the couch and sees you lying down, wrapped in a white fluffy blanket. You sniffled, there were dry tear stains on your cheeks and he could clearly see them, your eyes were also quite puffy and red. "Angel, what happened?" Sae looks at you, a very concerned look on his face. "Cramps..." you pout. Sae gently strokes your head then heads to the kitchen to warm up some milk and a hot water bottle. A few minutes later, he then proceeds to give you a mug with warm milk and a plush-like hot water bottle. "Thank you." you then take a sip of the warm milk from the light colored orange ceramic mug. "You're welcome. Is there anything else you'd like?" "Hug..." you looked away, feeling a little embarrassed. Sae then kisses you on the cheek and embraces you in his arms for a long long time. You nuzzle against his neck, much like a cat. "Is there anything you'd like to do or watch?" your face instantly glows up. "I want to watch Spirited Away with you!!" A smile appeared on Sae's face. "Of course."

        About 50 minutes left, you fell asleep against Sae. Sae grabs the remote and turns off the TV, afraid that the sound and brightness would wake you up. This all ends when he whispers a "I love you" and slowly falling asleep next to you. 

i have little info about sae's personality so i apologize if it's very out of character. but anyways, tysm for reading :3

-fuyuko 

©fuyukohasnocreativity do not copy, repost, or translate. likes and reblogs are accepted and appreciated!

[thef1diary]

Congrats on 3k!! Could you possibly do "Have I told you I love you today?" "Yes, but please say it again." and VCARB Danny? Smothering him with affection and cuddles to keep him happy after some ups and downs these past few months 🥹

Reassurance | D. Ricciardo

a/n: this one was a bit painful to write. I received another request with the same prompt but with mclaren!daniel: happy 3k!! i wanted to request '"Have I told you I love you today?" "Yes, but please say it again."' and mclaren!daniel 🥹 the neediness for validation and cuddles.. thank u 🫶 & this request too that fit perfectly: I didn't find anything fitting on the list for Daniel, but I have been thinking about him being insecure about getting a seat next year and just reassuring him that he won't be alone, no matter what happens.

prompt: "Have I told you I love you today?" "Yes, but please say it again."

wc: 1.1k

warnings: very brief mention of ed, mclaren!daniel (yes that’s a warning because of the horrors we went through)

masterlist 3k celebration

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

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2022

You watch as Daniel returns home from yet another simulator session, his shoulders slumped in a way that makes your heart ache. He's been trying so hard, pushing himself to the brink, but it seems like nothing is going right for him at McLaren. The once bright spark in his eyes have dimmed, replaced by a weariness you haven't seen before. A part of you wonders if it'll ever return—no, you hope it will, it has to. After all, his happiness was a part of him, and as the months went by, you could see that he was losing that part of himself.

The late nights, the early mornings, the gruelling workouts—he's given everything he had, but the results were still disappointing. You've noticed the subtle changes, the unhealthy habits creeping in as he tries to cope with the mounting pressure. The missed meals, claiming he wasn't hungry even though he cooked with you. The dark circles under his eyes from the nights he laid awake, tossing and turning beside you until he decided to leave the room so he doesn't disturb you. He's burning out, overworking himself, and you're worried for him, scared even.

As he stands in the kitchen, holding a glass of iced water, staring blankly at the wall, you step up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He tenses at first, but then you feel him relax into your embrace, his free hand coming up to cover yours.

"Hey," you whispered, you voice soft and full of love. "Have I told you I love you today?"

For a moment, it's silent. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his body against yours. Placing the glass on the countertop, he turns in your arms, his eyes meeting yours. The exhaustion is evident, but there's a flicker of something else there too—something that makes your heart break.

"Yes," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "But please, say it again."

Your throat tightens with emotion, and you reach up to cup his face in your hands. "I love you, Daniel. So much."

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he surrenders. His arms wrap around you, holding you close in fear that if he lets you go, you'll walk away from him too. You feel the tension slowly ebbing away from his body as you run your hand up and down his back.

You guide him to the couch, pulling him down with you, and he lets himself fall into your embrace. You hold him tightly, your fingers running through his hair, whispering words of love and reassurance. He clings to you like a lifeline, his breath coming in shaky gasps as he lets himself break down.

"It's okay," you whisper, kissing his forehead. "I'm here, I've got you."

He buries his face in your neck, his arms still wrapped around you, afraid to let go. For a long time, you hold him, letting him spill out all his thoughts—the negativity he's been keeping to himself, the self-doubt—even though you disagree with his harsh criticism of himself, you listen. You feel the weight of the world slowly lifting off his shoulders, replaced by a fragile hope. You know it'll take time for his confidence to fully return, but you also know that sometimes, a little bit of hope and a lot of love can make all the difference.

2024

After rejoining the RedBull family nearly a year ago, Daniel felt a sense of familiarity, a feeling of being home again. But despite the warm welcome and the support of the team, the inconsistent results start to gnaw at him. He has good races and bad ones, which cause the doubts to creep back in, whispering that maybe he's not good enough anymore.

One evening, after a particularly tough race, you find him in the living room, staring blankly at the wall. His shoulders are slumped, and the light in his eyes is dimmer than it should be, reminding you of a time that sent shivers down your spine. You walk over and sit beside him, your heart aching for him.

"Hey," you say softly, reaching out to take his hand. "Have I told you I love you today?"

He looks at you, and for a moment, you see the pain and doubt reflected in his eyes. The words bring back memories of that night in your arms, and it shatters your heart to see him struggling again.

"Yes," he whispers, his voice filled with vulnerability. "But please, say it again."

Your eyes fill with tears, but you blink them away, determined to be strong for him. You lean in, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. "I love you, Daniel. I love you so much."

He buries his face in your neck once more, his grip on you tightening. "I'm so scared," he admits, his voice trembling. "What if I don't get a seat next year? What if these ups and downs mean I'm not good enough?"

He pulls back, a look of horror crossing his face as he struggles to string sentences together to express his thoughts. "The team, they believed in me. What if I let them down?"

You shake your head, pressing a finger to his lips to stop him from speaking another word. "You are more than enough," you state firmly. "You belong here. The team still believes in you, and so do I."

He opens his mouth to speak, but you don't let him. "It's okay to have doubts, but don't let them consume you. As for your seat, there are still plenty of races left to show your worth. You deserve it."

He nods, his breath warm against your skin. "I just don't want to let anyone down," he murmured.

"You won't," you assure him. "You're an amazing driver, and you've come so far. Sometimes things don't go perfectly, but that doesn't mean you're not worthy. And no matter what happens, I'll always be here for you."

He sighs, the tension slowly leaving his body as he melts into your embrace. "Thank you," he whispers. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have to worry about that," you say softly, kissing the top of his head. "I'm not going anywhere."

Wrapped in your arms, Daniel closes his eyes, allowing himself to let go of the anxieties that have plagued him for so long. You stay like that, cuddling and comforting him until he starts believing your words.

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