#but it doesn’t matter! not liking it should be a good enough reason. it’s MY home
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CHAPTER SEVEN ━━ More Than a Friend
❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)
❀ ━ word count: 4.4K
❀ ━ warnings: allusions to sex, angst
❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist
❀ ━ author’s note: took her long enough
PAIGE COLLAPSES onto the bed, her chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. The sheets stick to her back, damp with sweat, and the coolness of the fabric against her overheated skin should be a relief, but it isn’t. Her limbs feel heavy, her body exhausted in the way it only gets after something physical and intense. She stretches an arm over her head, her hand grazing the headboard as her eyes drift to the ceiling.
The room is quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Hers is slow and measured now, but Celeste’s is lighter, almost content, a satisfied hum vibrating in the air. For a moment, Paige doesn’t move, doesn’t even look at her, as if avoiding it will somehow make the growing discomfort in her chest go away.
Eventually, she turns her head, her gaze landing on Celeste. She’s curled up on her side, her red hair spilling across the pillow in fiery streaks, her green eyes half-lidded and hazy. Her lips are swollen, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at the corners, her cheeks still flushed. She looks pretty.
Paige should feel something about that. She should feel good, even great. Celeste is undeniably gorgeous, all sharp edges and bold features, with an energy that draws people in effortlessly. The sex had been good. Objectively. Celeste knew what to do, and, even when she didn’t, Paige is good enough to guide them both into feeling good.
But instead of any sort of satisfaction, all Paige feels is this strange, gnawing emptiness.
Her eyes dart back to the ceiling, her throat dry as she tries to make sense of it. She replays the night in her mind, searching for something to explain the heaviness sitting low in her stomach. It wasn’t bad—there was nothing bad about it. Celeste was enthusiastic, responsive, and confident. Technically, it should have been great.
But it wasn’t.
Paige’s gaze finds Celeste again, drawn back to the red of her hair and the sharp green of her eyes, colors so vivid they almost don’t seem real. She watches the way Celeste’s lashes flutter against her flushed cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls in steady breaths. Celeste looks completely at ease, and for a fleeting moment, Paige envies her.
But as she stares, the unease in her chest only deepens. It’s not something tangible, not something she can name, at least not at first. It’s just there, this persistent, nagging feeling that won’t let her settle.
And then it hits her, creeping up slow and quiet before slamming into her with full force.
Her eyes are green.
And her hair is red.
Paige swallows hard, her chest tightening as the thought lodges itself in her mind, impossible to ignore now. Celeste’s eyes are a vivid, almost unnatural green, like gemstones catching the lights. But they’re not soft, warm brown. They don’t have that quiet, steady depth that Paige knows so well. They don’t look at her with that mix of amusement or exasperation, or light up when she says something stupidly charming without meaning to.
And that hair—bright, bold, unmistakable—is nothing like the soft brown waves that fall messily into the face Paige could pick out of a crowd with her eyes closed.
Her stomach twists, the realization settling like a heavy weight she can’t shake. The reason it didn’t feel right—the reason she feels so off now, so unsatisfied—isn’t complicated, not really. It’s actually painfully simple.
Celeste isn’t Jo.
The thought feels almost treacherous, and Paige immediately tries to push it away, to rationalize it. This isn’t about Jo. It can’t be about Jo. Jo’s her best friend, and Celeste is someone she’s been flirting with on and off for months. That’s all this is.
But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop the comparison, can’t stop her mind from drifting back to Jo. To the way her laugh sounds when Paige says something ridiculous, to the way her eyes soften when Paige is hurting and tries too hard to hide it. To the way Jo feels safe in a way no one else ever has.
Her vision goes blurry as she continues to stare up at the ceiling. This isn’t just a crush. It isn’t some fleeting infatuation she can laugh off or dismiss. The way her chest aches at the thought of Jo, the way her body feels like it’s caught between fight and flight—it’s too much to be anything simple. This is something deeper, something terrifying, something that feels like it has the power to completely ruin her.
Paige closes her eyes, willing herself to calm down, but it’s like trying to stop a flood with her bare hands. Every thought she’s been suppressing, every feeling she’s tried to bury, comes rushing to the surface all at once.
She likes Jo. She really, really likes Jo.
Jo is straight. That’s the first thing her brain throws at her, as if it’s some immovable fact that should end this line of thinking entirely. Jo has been with Asher since the eighth grade. Asher, who’s practically a part of her family, who’s been there for every milestone, every major moment in her life. Asher, who Jo is probably going to end up marrying and have perfect little babies with.
Paige’s jaw clenches at the thought and she tries to push it aside. But it’s not just that, though—it’s everything else. If she acted on this, if she said something, it could ruin everything. The team chemistry, the easy friendship they’ve built, the balance that holds her whole fucking life together—it could all come crashing down.
And even if—if—Jo liked her back, which she absolutely, definitely doesn’t, what then? What would that even look like? Relationships don’t work. Not for Paige. Not for anyone, really.
Her parents are the perfect cautionary tale. Their marriage had been a battlefield, full of screaming matches and screamed doors that Paige can faintly recall despite being so young. Eventually, they gave up and split. And then her dad remarried, and her mom remarried, and Paige got front-row seats to not one, but two more failed attempts at love.
She doesn’t do relationships. She doesn’t do love. It’s a joke, a setup for inevitable heartbreak, and she’s not stupid enough to fall for it.
But as much as she tries to convince herself, the thoughts keep circling back to Jo. To the sunshine in her veins, the sugar in blood, the constant smile on her face. She thinks about the way they’d slept last night, tangled up in each other like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Paige’s brain pulses in the confines of her skull, the overwhelming mix of emotions bubbling up until it feels like too much to bear. She can’t stay here. She can’t lie in this bed next to Celeste, her skin still tingling with the remnants of something that feels absolutely meaningless, and keep thinking about Jo.
Paige abruptly sits up, the sheets sliding off her as she swings her legs over the side of the bed. She glances around the dark room, searching for her clothes in the scattered mess on the floor.
Celeste stirs on the bed, her voice groggy as she props herself up on one elbow. “What are you doing?” she asks, her brows furrowing in confusion.
“I, uh…” Paige stammers, pulling on her sweatpants quickly. “I need to go. Something came up.”
Celeste sits up fully now, her confusion melting into mild irritation. “It’s, like, two in the morning,” she says, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What could possibly have come up?”
Paige doesn’t look at her, doesn’t stop moving. She grabs her shirt from the floor, yanking it over her head, her movements rushed and clumsy. “I just… I forgot I got somethin’ early,” she says vaguely, the words tumbling out in a way that even she knows sounds ridiculous.
Celeste sighs, her irritation softening into something more resigned. “Right,” she says, flopping back against the pillows. “Okay.”
Paige doesn’t even look at her as she finishes gathering her things. She knows she’s being rude but she hardly cares.
All she really cares about is getting out of there, away from the suffocating realization that has completely consumed her.
PAIGE PRACTICALLY sprints back to the dorms, the cool night air doing nothing to calm her racing mind. Her heart pounds, not just from the hurried walk but from the weight of, well, everything. She keeps pace, her thoughts a chaotic mess of Jo’s face, Jo’s laugh, Jo’s touch—Jo, Jo, Jo.
When she reaches her building and finally climbs the stairs to her apartment, she pauses, hand on the door handle. Jo’s probably inside, either in the kitchen making some late-night snack or curled up in the living room watching The Vampire Diaries and talking to Asher on speakerphone.
The thought makes Paige nauseous. She can’t face Jo right now—not with the realization still so fresh, so raw. She knows she’ll give herself away the second their eyes meet, and she can’t risk that.
So instead of opening the door to their apartment, Paige pushes herself up one more flight of stairs to the next floor, where Aubrey, Caroline, and Aaliyah live.
When she steps inside their apartment, the soft hum of a TV fills the air. Carol and Lili are nowhere to be seen, but Aubrey is sprawled on the couch with Azzi, the two of them laughing at whatever show they’re watching. Paige’s heart lifts slightly at the sight of Azzi—she hadn’t expected her to be here, but her best friend’s presence feels like a lifeline.
Both Aubrey and Azzi glance up as the door shuts behind Paige. They take one look at her face, and their expressions shift immediately, concern knitting both of their brows.
“You good?” Aubrey asks, sitting up straighter.
Azzi echoes the question, tilting her head slightly as she studies Paige.
Paige hesitates, her hand still on the doorknob, her throat tightening as her eyes start to well up. She can feel the tears coming before she even has a chance to fight them back. She bites her lip, staring at the two of them as the words she doesn’t want to say sit heavy on the tip of her tongue.
Finally, in a voice so quiet and pathetic it doesn’t sound at all like her own, she croaks out, “You were right.”
Azzi looks lost, scrunching her face up. “Right about what?” she asks, glancing between Paige and Aubrey.
But Aubrey’s already caught on, lips parting as the realization dawns on her. She doesn’t say anything, just leans back against the couch, giving Paige a look that’s equal parts knowing and sympathetic.
Paige presses her lips together, her chest tightening under the weight of Aubrey’s silent understanding. She glances down, blinking hard against the tears that threaten to spill, before finally crossing the room and flopping down onto the floor in front of the couch. She lays on her back, burying her face in her hands.
Azzi frowns, her confusion only growing. “What’s going on? What’re you taking about?”
Paige lets out a shaky breath, her voice muffled by her hands. “I like Jo,” she finally says, her throat thick with emotion. She pauses, her heart hammering as the words settle in the room, as real as they’ve ever been. “More than a friend. A lot more than a friend.”
It’s quiet for a long moment, the confession lingering in the air like a raw wound. Eventually, Paige hears the shuffle of the couch cushions, followed by the quiet creak of Aubrey leaning forward.
“So,” Aubrey starts carefully. “You like Jo. Like like her.”
Paige groans in response, dragging her hands down her face. “Didn’t I just say that?” Her voice is still muffled, but the frustration seeps through anyway. She glances up at them briefly, only to drop her head back down against the floor. “I’m so fucked, bro.”
Azzi shifts next to Aubrey, her long legs stretched out on the couch. She’s quiet for a moment, watching Paige with an expression that Paige can’t quite read. It’s not shock, though. In fact, Azzi looks almost… resigned. Like she’s been waiting for this moment to happen.
“I mean,” she says softly, “it’s not like it’s a huge surprise.”
That pulls Paige’s head up. Her eyes narrow at Azzi, her stomach doing an uncomfortable flip. “What’s that ‘posed to mean?”
Azzi shrugs, her expression neutral but her eyes betraying her amusement. “Come on, P. You’re not exactly subtle. The way you’re always looking at her, how you laugh at everything she says even when it’s not funny—”
“She is funny,” Paige cuts in defensively.
“Sure,” Azzi says with a small, knowing smile. “But it’s more than that, and you know it.”
Paige groans again, louder this time. Her eyes wander to the ceiling, the harsh overhead light making her eyes sting. “God, this is so—fuck, man.”
“Look,” Aubrey says. “I get it. Jo’s… she’s great. She’s funny and sweet, and yeah, she really pretty. But she’s got Asher. And she’s straight.” She pauses, letting the words settle. “You’re kinda setting yourself up to get hurt.”
Paige clenches her jaw, kissing her teeth. “You think I don’t know that?” she snaps, sitting up abruptly, her eyes a blue fire as she stares at Aubrey. “You think I don’t know that she’s got her perfect boy next door that she’s gonna fuckin’ marry and have kids with? You think I don’t know that this is never gonna happen?”
Her voice wavers, and she hates how vulnerable she sounds, how exposed. She looks down, her hands clenched into fists against her thighs. “I don’t want this. I don’t wanna like her. But it’s just now that I’ve, like, figured it out… Ion know how I’m ever not. Because she’s—fuck, she’s perfect. She’s just… she’s perfect.” Her voice cracks on the last couple words and Paige hastily wipes at a tear that’s managed to escape her eye.
Azzi and Aubrey share a glance, and Paige notices it. She hates feeling like a charity case, like someone they need to pity or fix.
Finally, Azzi speaks, her voice quieter this time. “It’s okay to have feelings, Paige. You can’t control that. What matters is how you handle them.”
Paige snorts, shaking her head. “Yeah, well, I’m handling them great, aren’t I?”
“Paige.” Azzi’s tone is firm, but there’s a softness underneath it. “I’m serious. You don’t have to beat yourself up for liking her. It’s not something you chose.”
The blonde lets a bitter laugh escape her. “Yeah, well, I sure as hell wouldn’t have chosin’ this.”
Aubrey sighs. “No one’s saying it’s easy, but you gotta be realistic. We just don’t wanna see you torture yourself over this.”
Paige wraps her arms around her knees as she looks between the two of them. “So, what am I supposed to do, huh? Just stop liking her? How do I do that? Someone, please fuckin’ tell me, because I’m losin’ my mind.”
Neither of them answers right away. Aubrey looks thoughtful, while Azzi stares at the TV, her lips pressed together. Paige feels the desperation clawing at her chest, her heart racing as the silence stretches on.
Finally, Azzi speaks. “Maybe you need space.”
Paige blinks, caught off guard. “Space?”
Azzi nods, still looking at the TV. “Yeah. Like… maybe being around her all the time will make this harder for you, just make your feelings grow. So, maybe you need to take a step back, give yourself some time to clear your head.”
Paige frowns. The idea of putting distance between herself and Jo feels impossible. But, at the same time, she can’t deny that Azzi might have a point.
“I don’t know,” Azzi continues, finally turning to look at Paige. “You’re going back to LA in a couple of days, and you’re gonna be there for a few more weeks. Maybe that’ll give you a better chance to figure things out without her right in front of you.”
Paige hesitates, her throat sore. She knows Azzi’s probably right, knows that putting some space between herself and Jo could be exactly what she needs. But the thought makes her ache.
“I’ll think about it,” she mumbles.
JO SITS cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her thighs, her fingers hovering idly over the keyboard. The document on her screen is due tomorrow, but she’s been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now. Her thoughts keep drifting, circling back to one person.
Paige has been distant. More than distant—aloof, like she’s there but not really. Jo hasn’t seen much of her since media day, which is strange. Paige always makes time for her, no matter how busy things get. They’re roommates, sure, but it’s more than that—they’ve become close, inseparable even, and it doesn’t sit right that Paige is suddenly pulling today. Especially this week.
Paige is leaving for LA again, and Jo was hoping to spend more time with her before she goes back. She wanted to squeeze in a movie night, maybe order some takeout and sit around laughing about dumb things like they always do. But instead, Paige has either been locked in her room or entirely out of the apartment for the last few days.
When Jo hears the door to the blonde’s room creak open, her heart lifts a little, and she shifts her gaze over, sitting up straighter.
“Hey,” she greets, her voice warm and bright, like always.
Paige barely looks at her, muttering a quick, “Hi,” as she heads toward the kitchen. Jo frowns, watching her move with a sort of stiffness that’s entirely unlike her. It’s not just that she’s quiet—Jo’s pretty sure that Paige is avoiding her, and she feels the sting of it more than she’d like to admit.
She doesn’t say anything, though. Jo isn’t the kind of person who pushes, not unless she has to. She’s learned that sometimes people need space, and maybe that’s all this is. Still, her chest tightens as she watches Paige pull a water from the fridge, looking like she’s in a hurry as she does so.
“Am I still driving you to the airport?” Jo asks, trying to keep her tone casual. She didn’t think she’d have to question it because they made the plan together, but considering the fact that they’ve barely spoken the past few days, Jo can’t help but wonder.
And it seems she was right to because Paige pauses. “Oh, nah,” she says after a beat, her voice flat. “Azzi’s taking me.”
Jo blinks. She’s not really caught off guard just because Paige has been acting so weird, but she still feels the twist of disappointment in her stomach. She was hoping she’d be able to talk to her and see her during drive, but clearly she doesn’t even get that.
Still, Jo forces a smile. “Oh, okay,” she says lightly, though she feels anything but.
Paige doesn’t offer an explanation, and Jo doesn’t ask for one. She watched as Paige retreat back to her room, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence in the apartment suddenly feels heavier than before, and Jo lets out a soft sigh, sinking back into the couch.
It’s fine, she tells herself. Paige is probably just stressed or tired or something. It’s not about her. It can’t be. But the thought nags at her anyway, like an itch she can’t stretch.
And it continues to nag at her a few hours later as they hug by the apartment door, saying goodbye. Jo hugs her tightly, normally, but she can feel how stiff Paige is, how oddly awkward the embrace feels. It’s like Paige is already halfway out the door, and Jo’s heart aches with the realization.
“Bye,” Paige says as she pulls back, her voice quiet.
“Bye,” Jo echoes, her smile faltering as she watches Paige pick up her suitcase and head out the door. The sound of it closing behind her feels final, like a book slamming shut.
Jo stands there for a long moment, staring at the closed door. Her mind raced, replaying every interaction they’ve had over the past few days, searching for something she might’ve done wrong. Something that could explain why Paige is acting like this.
She doesn’t come up with anything, but the doubt lingers, gnawing at her. Jo sighs, walking back to her bedroom and dropping down onto the bed. She presses her hands to her face, frustration and sadness bubbling up in her chest.
She tells herself that it’s okay, that it’s nothing, that by the time Paige gets back to Storrs in a few weeks, everything will be normal again.
She hopes so, at least, because she really doesn’t like the alternative.
IN LA, the sun feels sharp, unrelenting, even if it’s nearing November. Paige sits in her rental car outside the rehab facility, her phone in her lap, the screen dark but heavy. She knows what’s waiting for her in there—a grueling session of strength-building and balance work, another step toward getting back to basketball. But basketball hasn’t been the loudest thing in her mind for weeks now. It should be—God, it should be—but instead, it’s Jo.
Paige clenches her jaw and tosses her phone into the passenger seat, annoyed with herself. Thinking about Jo doesn’t help, not here, not anywhere. That’s why she’s done everything to avoid it: random girls in unfamiliar beds, their hands and mouths a fleeting distraction; sporadic texts to Jo, just enough to keep her from asking too many questions; ignoring every call, every FaceTime, and hoping Jo doesn’t notice the glaring difference between nearly every night and never anymore. She has to be catching on by now. Paige knows Jo isn’t stupid.
Still, the guilt doesn’t outweigh the distance. Paige grips the steering wheel, staring at the rehab center’s sliding glass doors but not really seeing them. Distance is necessary—it has to be. If Paige doesn’t put this buffer between them, if she doesn’t actively suppress everything she feels, she’s going to ruin things. She’ll make it weird, or worse, permanent. She’s trying to protect their friendship. She’s trying to protect the team. She’s trying to protect her own heart.
And yet.
Her chest aches every time she picks up the phone and sees Jo’s name, every time she types out a half-hearted excuse about being too busy to talk. Rehab has been fine, she supposes—her knee is slowly regaining its strength, her trainers say she’s on track—but Jo’s absence looks larger than it should. Paige didn’t realize how much Jo’s voice at the end of the day had anchored her, how their FaceTimes had become her favorite part of LA the first few weeks she was here, before she realized everything. She misses Jo more than she should—more than is safe—and no amount of flings with strangers or silent self-lectures seems to change that.
The worst part is that none of it is working. The random girls are a distraction, sure, but only in the moment. They don’t fill the void, not really. Every time Paige wakes up, whether that be alone or tangled with unfamiliar limbs, her mind inevitably drifts back to Jo. To her laugh, her smile, the way she tilts her head just slightly when she’s focused on something. It’s infuriating how vivid Jo feels in her memory, like she’s carved into Paige’s consciousness.
Paige exhales sharply and runs a hand over her face, the rough skin of her palm scraping against her jaw. She tells herself to get it together. She knows this spiraling isn’t productive, but the more she tries to stop thinking about Jo, the more Jo consumes her thoughts. She thinks of Jo’s hugs—warm, grounding, so completely Jo. She thinks about their so-called sleepovers, the two of them sprawled on either of their beds watching The Vampire Diaries, Jo throwing popcorn at Paige whenever she made fun of Stefan Salvatore.
The memory makes her chest twist painfully. She hasn’t even watched the show since she’s been in LA; it feels wrong to do it without Jo. It feels like cheating somehow, as ridiculous as that sounds. Besides, it’s just another reminder of the girl she’s actively trying to not think about.
But, like always, she’s thinking about her right now and it reminds her of the text she saw pop up on her phone last night that she never responded to. Sighing, she reaches for the device and opens iMessages, feeling bad for taking so long to even read the text let alone respond.
Ma freshie 💘
hey, how are you? how’s rehab??
it’s been a minute just wanted to say i miss you
Paige stares at the message. I miss you. She knows that Jo misses her. She knows that. But she also knows that she doesn’t miss her in the way that Paige wants her to.
Her thumb hovers over the screen. She wants to respond. She wants to say, I miss you too. Rehab sucks, I wish you were here. She wants to apologize for pulling away, to explain herself, but how do you say, Sorry, I’m avoiding you because I kinda think I’m in love with you and it’s ruining me?
Instead, she types a lie.
PB 😱😱
Sorry I’ve been busy as hell
Rehab’s going fine tho
Hope you’re good don’t have too much fun at practice without me
Her chest tightens as she sends them. Jo deserves better then this, and Paige knows it. But then Paige reminds herself that she does have better than this—she has Asher. Which is probably all she’ll ever need.
Paige shakes her head, grabbing her water bottle from the cup holder and stepping out of the car. She can’t keep doing this to herself. Jo is back in Storrs, living her life, and Paige needs to do the same. She needs to focus on her recovery, on getting back on the court, on being the best damn basketball player she can be. This thing she feels for Jo? It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter.
She slams the car door shut and heads toward the rehab center, trying to leave the ache in her chest behind. It follows her anyway.
#paige bueckers#uconn wbb#paige bueckers fic#uconn huskies#wcbb#wbb#uconn#paige bueckers angst#paige bueckers fluff#paige bueckers series#paige bueckers x oc#paige bueckers x reader#paige bueckers smut#wcbb x reader#ncaa wbb#nobody gets me#wlw#lgbtq
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stupid rant, ignore(╹◡╹)
I never seen these two interact once, Even in fanart they barely are in the same art piece. I searched everywhere and only 3 fanfics of these two exist from 2013 and the last one being 2014. Maybe I didn’t look in good enough but like, I checked pinterest, here and pixiv (I’m pretty sure) and not a single art piece of them. Except one, ONE. It was comic of skywarp throwing some m&ms at perceptor and that’s it, Something everyone bothering perceptor. WTF, WHY IS THERE BARELY FANART OF THEM TOGETHER?? I know it’s because it’s some rarepair thing but most rarepair ships would still have at least fanart. There’s barely ships with skywarp, most being astrotrain and megatron, etc.. I’m pretty sure astrotrain and skywarp also barely interact so liek… IM CONFUSED. Or it’s because people like perceptor with yellow guy, Brainstorm i thinks. Did i miss something, Is everyone avoiding shipping them because something happens?? am I an idiot or something??? I can make my own fanfics and art but like, I can’t write a fanfic for shit. I can only do “Skywarp and perceptor kiss maybe idk” That’s it, That’s the whole fanfic for u. It ends there. I don’t mind ships of skywarp and perceptor being with others, I like the other ships but like why not skywarp and perceptor?? The only reason why i decided to ship these two because i was like a big fan of skywarp and perceptor, One day I think “What if skywarp and perceptor like each other” and I searched everywhere and nothing. I’m crying why, nothing for them uggghh I feel like i’m the only guy who ships them in the new big funny year. What the sigma no skywarp and perceptor fanart or fanfic for me to consume. I swear if I missed something, Was there a agreement in 2014 that everyone should never let skywarp and perceptor together, I think they would be awesome together, At least from what I watched from season 1-2 in g1. Maybe It’s because I didn’t watch season 3-4 but I refuse idk why, But then again didn’t skywarp go bye bye in the movie and become purple guy. Maybe I missed something in the Idw comics??? whaaaaaaaaaa……… I can’t read the comics anyway, too hard to find. Their ship name would also be hard. Skytor? Perwarp? Percywarp? Skyceptor? perwarp? Can I make the ship name since I’m basically the only one? Fuck it it’s gonna be.. MicroWarp or microwave or something. Maybe Telescope, telewarp or whatever. Their names suck, I hate u. Is there also a ship of perceptor and starscream? They’re both scientists. Startor. Fuck u perceptor pick a better name next time, this is your fault. Can’t find a good ship name for this guy. A year in this fandom and still have no art about this ship. I love you perceptor but yk. maybe they aren’t meant for each other, But even if they aren’t, there are still ships that don’t make sense but people openly love. Almost like thundercracker and soundwave, Aren’t they also considered a rarepair? Not saying thundercracker and soundwave together doesn’t make sense but about how they barely interact. whatever, don’t matter. It’s not like I was waiting for a year for this ship to happen. Maybe there’s too many ships and characters and that’s why. Or it’s perceptor’s fault, Fuck you perceptor.
Also, First time actually drawing perceptor. I tried a new brush too. ♪(´ε` )
I love perceptor so much for a year now but it’s my first time drawing him. Thats crazy
first one to make the perceptor x skywarp tag, I WAS HERE!!……. i think
#transformers#fanart#transformers fanart#transformers g1#maccadam#tf fanart#g1 transformers#decepticons#tf seekers#perceptor#skywarp#tf skywarp#skywarp x perceptor#perceptor x skywarp
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lorenzo berkshire: how a relationship would be with my favorite male manipulator <3
(@mattnott this came out of the chat we had the other day LMAO ily zoya)
on the surface, lorenzo berkshire is just that guy. he’s effortlessly charming, polite, intelligent, and the kind of person who could convince anyone he’s the perfect human being. he’s the type who walks into a room and immediately draws everyone in—not by being loud or flashy, but by knowing exactly how to make himself seem approachable, kind, and maybe even a little vulnerable. but all of it is just a mask.
enzo is a master manipulator. he knows exactly how to get what he wants, and he does it by making people think they’re in control. he doesn’t argue or beg; instead, he plants ideas like seeds in your mind. “if that’s what you think is best,” he’ll say with a soft smile, knowing full fucking well you’ll second-guess yourself. he makes you feel like every decision was yours, even though he’s been guiding you the whole time. and the worst part? you don’t even realize it until it’s too late.
emotional manipulation and guilt-tripping
enzo doesn’t argue outright, but he’s an expert at making you feel like everything is your fault. when you expresses your feelings or doubts about your relationship, he deflects and twists the narrative.
“you’re overthinking again, love. you always do this—it’s like you’re looking for reasons to fight.”
“after everything i’ve done for you, this is how you see me? it just doesn’t seem fair, babe.”
the constant emotional exhaustion of always questioning yourself and feeling like the villain slowly pushes you to the edge.
subtle isolation
enzo doesn’t tell you to stop seeing your friends or family straight up—that would be too obvious. instead, he plants seeds of doubt about them, turning you against the people who care about you.
“it’s just… don’t you think your friends don’t really understand you? they don’t see the real you like i do. they’re only here for a good time. they wouldn’t stick with you when things are hard, like i do.”
“your sister’s always been jealous of you. it’s kind of obvious when you think about it. in fact… i think i she was flirting with me at the lake trip last weekend…”
over time, you feel more and more alone, with enzo as the only person left in your corner—and even that’s suffocating.
his temper leaks through
enzo prides himself on being calm and composed, but even he can’t keep the mask on forever. when you push back—when you really challenge him—his anger surfaces.
“you think you’re better than me now? after all i’ve done just to make you happy? you should be grateful i’m still putting up with you. no one else would.”
“you don’t get to treat me like this. i deserve better than your constant doubts.”
while he doesn't resort to outright aggression, the quiet, cutting anger and emotional coldness are enough to make you feel small and utterly helpless against him.
hypercritical tendencies
at first, enzo is the type to shower you with compliments. but once he has you, the nitpicking starts. he frames his criticisms as “helping” you or “protecting” you, but they’re really about control. he wants to cut you down until his words are the only form of validation you trust; the only ones that matter.
“that dress is nice, but it’s not really your color, is it?”
“i just think you’d be happier if you didn’t spend so much time on things that don’t matter.”
it’s not that he truly thinks badly of you; it’s just his way of slowly implementing his control. the constant criticism erodes your self-esteem, making you wonder if you’re ever enough for him.
dismisses your autonomy
enzo frames his controlling nature as “taking care of you” or “looking out for you,” but it’s really about stripping away your agency.
he might make decisions for you without asking, like ordering for you at a restaurant or canceling your plans because he thinks you “needs rest.” you simply don’t get a say.
“i only did it because i know what’s best for you. you’d do the same for me if you cared as much as i do.”
over time, you realize you don’t have control over your own life anymore—and that terrifies you.
you start to feel like you’re losing your identity. the things you love—your hobbies, your friends, even your sense of self—have all been swallowed up by enzo’s world.
his fear of losing control turns ugly
when you start pulling away, enzo’s fear of losing you makes him tighten his grip. he might start tracking your whereabouts, showing up uninvited, or trying to manipulate you into staying.
“you’re not yourself lately, baby. i think you need me more than ever right now.”
“are you seriously leaving me after everything we’ve been through? i thought you were better than this. i thought you loved me—was it all a joke to you?”
his desperation exposes just how deeply insane, how utterly selfish he really is—and how dangerous it is to stay—but you still can’t help loving him.
the breaking point: seeing the mask slip
your breaking point comes when you finally see enzo for what he truly is. maybe it’s a moment of anger where his charm gives way to cold cruelty. maybe it’s realizing how isolated you’ve become or maybe it’s catching him in a lie.
“you know what? you’ll never find someone like me again. you’ll never find someone who loves you the way i do—or touches you the way i do.”
“go ahead and leave. but don’t come crawling back when you realize no one else will put up with you.”
and suddenly, the illusion you’ve clung to—the one where enzo is perfect, where his love is worth the pain—is shattered.
enzo doesn’t beg you to stay. no, he’s far more subtle. he sets the stage so that if you even think about leaving, the world around you becomes a constant reminder of him. your friends adore him. “enzo’s perfect for you,” they say, oblivious to his carefully crafted facade, oblivious to the fact that he doesn’t even want them within 50 feet of you. your family loves him because he’s gone out of his way to charm them. “he’s such a gentleman,” your mom gushes after he brings her flowers for no reason at all.
and when you confront him? he doesn’t argue. he doesn’t yell. instead, he sighs, looking at you with those soft, sad eyes. “i just wish you’d trust me,” he says, and suddenly you’re the one apologizing.
and enzo’s love isn’t love—it’s obsession. he doesn’t just want to be with you; he wants to consume you. he integrates himself so deeply into your life that it feels impossible to untangle yourself from him.
he’ll listen to all your favorite songs and tell you how much he loves them too. “this one reminds me of you,” he’ll say, and suddenly, every melody feels like it belongs to him.
he’ll watch all your favorite shows, quote them back to you, and make inside jokes so that even your comfort series becomes a part of his web.
he’ll charm your friends and family until they’re all on his side. “you’re lucky to have him,” they’ll say when you confide in them. and if you ever leave? they’ll tell you you’re making one of the biggest mistakes of your life.
“i just don’t understand,” he’ll say if you call him out. “everything i’ve ever done was for you. because i love you.”
and here’s the thing about enzo: even when he’s truly, deeply in love, he’s still toxic. love doesn’t magically make him a better person—it just changes the way he manipulates you. instead of using his charm to pull you in, he’ll use his insecurities to keep you there. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he whispers, and it sounds more like a warning than a confession. almost like he’s saying he’d become worthless without you.
but love does soften him in some ways. his need for control isn’t about power anymore; it’s about fear. he’s terrified of losing you, so he holds on tighter. he’s still manipulative, still controlling, but now it’s because he genuinely believes he can’t live without you.
enzo’s love is messy and overwhelming. it’s the kind of love that makes you feel like you’re drowning, but at the same time, you can’t imagine living without it. and that’s the tragedy of lorenzo berkshire: no matter what he does, you can’t help but love him anyway. even when you see his true colors, you’re already too far gone.
© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.
navigation. masterlist. lorenzo berkshire masterlist.
#lorenzo berkshire#slytherin boys#lorenzo berkshire x you#lorenzo berkshire x reader#enzo berkshire#enzo berkshire x you#enzo berkshire x reader#enzo berkshire x y/n#lorenzo berkshire fanfic#slytherin#harry potter#louis partridge#character analysis#lorenzo berkshire x female reader
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My brain was thinking of that idea I had of “megop kid that only Megatron knows about” again today before I accidentally took a nap
I would put these thoughts on a reblog of that post, but I’m too lazy to go looking for it at the moment
But anyways my brain decided to concoct the angsty scenario I mentioned there, in which the kid joins the Autobots and Megatron almost kills them, until he realizes who this is
I think the specific circumstances here are the kid being a new recruit in the Autobot ranks, and them and Optimus going on a mission that goes horribly, with Megatron showing up and Optimus getting incapacitated, and Megatron decides to beat up the new person because why not (actually I never figured out the reason tbh, but it’s not important)
He’s right about to kill them, but something about their appearance causes him to recognize who this really is and his act drops briefly in shock. But he keeps up his composure for now (he can’t let the Decepticons potentially see a weakness in him) and decides to spare them, telling them to go back and tell the Autobots he has their leader, and then tells them specifically to never return. When asked why he decided to show mercy, he says it’s because it matters little whether or not they live, the outcome would be the same either way; he also will enjoy seeing the dread in their face if they ever cross paths again, now that they know what he’s capable of
Later on he has Optimus captured and he decides to “interrogate” him, aka talk smack to him. But also in this case, secretly actually interrogate him on whether or not he knows the truth about his new recruit, and whether or not Optimus knowingly put them in danger and made them a soldier. He finds that no, Optimus has no clue the significance of this younger bot, treating him as he would any new recruit
I’m unsure whether or not Megatron would tell him the truth or not here. I want to say no, and that he decides its best only he knows. But I also kind of want yes for the idea of Optimus now knowing this information, but has no clue what to do with it once he gets back to Autobot base. Because his source of information is Megatron, but this is also way too out there for Megatron to have just made up. Also that’s kind of a bombshell to drop on this kid who assumes they’re just some random Transformer from nowhere in particular. So he has to live with it and he isn’t good at keeping up lies
The kid might have gotten that something weird was going on with Megatron during that confrontation, but the best they can assume is that Megatron must have been reminded of someone when looking at them, because they shouldn’t have history with the Lord of the Decepticons
But anyways, after all this, when Megatron finally has a moment to himself in complete privacy, he does feel really guilty about the fact that he nearly killed his own child. Yeah he got rid of them a long time ago, and he’s never had much of a burning desire to be reunited with them or anything, but it still affects him. He’s got very mixed and complicated feelings towards them, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He’d rather they didn’t show back up at all, though it would have been worse if he hadn’t realized at all and he’d gone through with killing that recruit
Alright, done with the summary. Honestly, could probably make a fanfic out of it, but whether or not I will, that’s to be seen. As I’m sure y’all know, I come up with a lot of ideas I don’t actually do anything with. Also I don’t know if I’d do anything beyond this. If I were to go through with this fanfic, I should; feels like we need some payoff and learning of truths, but writing one idea into a fic is hard enough, actually continuing that story would be practically impossible for my scattter brain. Just look at the one fanfic I have written for Transformers
But yeah, it sounded neat. Though I remembered as I wrote this, I think the main idea surrounding the initial concept was Megatron not being able to say shit about other cross-faction kids due to his own secret one, and this stays a bit too much I think. But you know, still worth at least a fanfic concept I suppose
#maybe when I try sleeping more on this will come to me#I just felt like sharing since it sounded neat in my head before I fell asleep#or did I make it after I woke up? I’m not sure#anyways#transformers#megatron#optimus prime#megop#transformers sparklings#fanfiction#story ideas
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Lance and Keith are dating or married.
They get into an argument which ends in Keith saying something really hurtful and Lance giving Keith the silent treatment. Keith lets it go on for a while as he thinks Lance isn’t capable of keeping his mouth shut for too long. Keith even jokes about Lances silent treatment with his mom who just laughs. But it’s been a week and Keith is getting desperate to hear his lovers voice. He’s apologized more than once. Hundreds of times now at this point but Lance isn’t letting up. The look in Lance’s eyes, that Keith didn’t notice until now, he looks so sad and disappointed. Keith must’ve really hurt Lance.
What’s Keith gonna do to get Lance to talk to him again. What can he do to make it up to him. He keeps thinking back on the agreement. Thinking he shouldn’t have said this or that and jeez that was harsh and man I wouldn’t want anyone to say that to me so why would I said that to him.
Keith can’t stop thinking. Nothing but blue on his mind constantly. He’s distracted constantly with the blade, during chores, training exercising.
Hunk can’t help him this time cause Lance won’t even talk to HIM about it and Lance tells Hunk everything. Shiro gave some advice but it was useless. Pidge doesn’t care and Coran and Allura are busy.
Ultimately Keith comes up with a plan A. He doesn’t leave Lance’s side no matter where he goes at first but that just pissed Lance off.
So he goes with plan B. He traps Lance is a corner. Keith being the only thing blocking Lance from freedom. It wasn’t easy, as much as Lance plays dumb, he’s actually very intelligent. But, eventually Keith got him.
“Lance talk to me.”
…
“Lance talk to me baby.”
…
Lance just kept looking off to the side. Away from Keith.
Keith sighed and lifted Lance’s chin to face him.
“Blue. Talk to me.”
Lance looks as if he’s about to cry. Those pretty blue eyes swimming sadly like an beautiful blue ocean of diamond fish.
“I’m so sorry ��인. What I said was wrong and hurtful. I didn’t mean any of it. I promised you I’d never hurt you but I did and there’s no changing it. Unless I find a way to go back in time and slap myself but-“
“If you didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t have said it. That’s how you see me. That’s how you think of me. Why are you even here if you think so little of me. If you hate me so much why do you- I- I don’t understand. Is this relationship a joke to you? Did someone dare you to date(marry?) me? Is this a bet? I don’t understand.”
Keith stayed silent, as much as he wanted to interrupt and hush those negative thoughts, it seemed as though Lance had been holding it in for too long and Keith wanted to hear all of it. One so he could make sure Lance got it all out and two as a punishment for hurting Lance.
“Do you like seeing me suffer? I was thinking so hard, I thought maybe we shouldn’t be together. Maybe I’m just not good enough. But I love you so much. I can’t imagine being without you. Being alone again.”
After that Lance just slid down the wall and sat at Keith feet, openly sobbing. Keith standing frozen still in front of Lance.
‘Do you like seeing me suffer?’ That hurt Keith to his soul. But, what hurt worse was hearing that Lance was thinking they should separate. Over Keith’s dead body.
Keith sat in front of Lance after processing everything. He tried to hold Lance but Lance pulled away.
“My love for you isn’t a joke, a bet nor a punishment. I hate seeing you like this. I hate not hearing you talk. I hate not hearing you sing, whistle, I hate not hearing your footsteps around the house. I hate when I’m away from you. I hate seeing you suffer. Lastly, I hate being the cause of your suffering.”
Lance’s eyes softened but his tears didn’t stop.
Keith took Lance’s hands in his. Lance let him.
“Lance you’re my everything. You’re the reason I wanna come home every day and the reason I don’t want to leave. You’re the reason I wake up early when I’m not working and go to bed late. I’m not the best with words and I need to work on my temper but that’s not an excuse to say what I said to you, and I know no matter how many times I apologize it’ll never fix it. But, I’ll apologize till I’m in my grave and beyond. Because you’re worth it. You’re worth my time and my patience. It’s me that not good enough for you. But, I’m not willing to let you go. I am willing to do better. I will do better. You don’t deserve to be talked to like that and I’ll make sure I don’t do it again.”
They’re making eye contact now. Lance’s tears have slowed and Keith pulls him onto his lap.
“Will you give me another try?”
“I just wanted you to relax but you were so focused on getting something done and month ahead of time. Why were you so angry.”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry baby.”
“Was there something on your mind?”
“I guess I just wanted to stay ahead of things. A little too far ahead now that I think of it. The migraine I had wasn’t helping my short fuse either.”
Lance hummed.
“Do you forgive me?”
The pause was killing Keith. But, he felt he deserved it. He made his baby cry.
After a short pause that felt like a million years Lance looked back up and nodded slowly.
Keith leaned in for a kiss but Lance puts a delicate hand between their lips. Keith kisses it anyway which earned him a small smile that was gone just as quick as it was there.
“Promise me you’ll never say stuff like that again. You know I’m insecure about stuff like that.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. I promise”
Lance moves his hand away and leaned in, but not all the way. Keith had to work for it.
Keith smirked a bit and connected their lips.
.
.
.
Possible makeup sex with Lance getting fucked in the corner he’s trapped in, EXTENSIVE aftercare and sleepy cuddles.
Thank you for coming to my ted talk.
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legitimately feel tri would have been way better received (and honestly just a legitimately better series) if it didn’t treat the 02 kids like that
#sorry watching the first couple scenes knowing the context of what they actually did with them??? does in fact frustrate me a lot. it really#felt like they chose to build up a mystery of what happened to the 02 kids but the thing is like. they didn’t get rid of the 02 kids because#it would be interesting or they had a good idea around it. they did it because they just didn’t want to deal with them. and you can just#kinda TELL by how sloppily they were handled.#and like legitimately I do not envy their position because I do think discarding the 02 kids was the RIGHT decision because it’s already#hard enough to juggle all the original 8 and the movie characters but it’s just. man. MAN.#I will forever think that they should have gone with the option of the chosen genuinely believed the 02 kids died like a few years ago or#something. especially because I think that would actually HELP inform the way they did choose to handle the characters.#I know a lot of people hate how they made taichi a bit unsure… less steadfast… and the implication they go with in tri is just that as he#grows up he becomes more aware of collateral damage and danger. and I guess that’s FINE but. why not give him a better reason? I feel people#would be far more forgiving of how they wrote taichi if his hesitance was born from the fact that some of his fellow chosen have DIED. the#danger has always been there. he’s always had to deal with brushes with death. he has already experienced the loss of many good digimon but.#I feel like this would hit him different. the fact that his sister and Takeru would have died too if they hadn’t been busy that day… it#still haunts him. he knows fighting is what’s right but it’s becoming harder to ignore the danger everywhere - he doesn’t necessarily care#what happens to him but… what about everyone else?#I think also in general it would drive a bit of a wedge within the chosen - the ones who think they still need to fight no matter what -#that it’s their DUTY - and the ones that are unsure. the ones that are losing their confidence that it will ever end. the ones who want a#normal life.#THAT’S MY FEELINGS AT LEAST.#I definitely need to rewatch adventure and 02 to fully gauge how accurate I feel this thought process is but. this is my current thoughts#for how I want to handle tri and the 02 kids in YAoYD. if I ever actually. write it.#dramon thoughts
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pertaining to the idea of tenax’s band of strays i do think it’s touching that the kids are the ones who saved him and waited outside the door to make sure he’s okay. for all tenax claims to be harsh and cruel it’s a fine indicator of his character that the kids won’t rest without him and are there every time he’s in danger.
#AND I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE I HAD THEM STEALING THEIR WAY OMTO#THE PLATFORMS WHAT DO YOU MEANNNNNNN oh i love being right#also that all the kids are there watching when he kills the guy whose name i forget because i simply cannot hold names in my brain but the#evil one. who i was like oh thank GOD he died i was so sick of this plot he kept killing everyone & i screeched when he almost got claudia#something something calla saying ‘you’re not a child anymore’ about tenax’s cruelty to the brothers (which in my twisted narratives. sorry.#there’s only one scorpus who KNEW the child tenax was. the child he’s still healing and caring for. all of the children whose eyes he looks#into and sees a hurt that’s just like his? the children tenax saved whether he’ll admit it or not? scorpus saved him. and that’s all)#(also this is a terrible thing to say i knew it about but like. oh i knew it about the master of the house. tenax making sure NO ONE#touches the kids or does anything with them really but Claudia and him—the people he trusts which also now includes calla but he makes sure#it’s someone he knows. also do we have a claudia backstory??? or would i just get to invent a reason why she’s there and what she’s doing#and why she’s so loyal to tenax. did she also see the child he was and that’s why she’s so protective of him but also why she gets along#with calla so well because the two of them see how he’s festered in that. like calla fully has the rights here i think she should rip him a#new one for his lack of decency and good qualities he can be corrupt without being cruel y’know. and he should be called out on his#peter pan ass behavior you’re not a child!! there are such consequences!!! dream a little bigger a little kinder!!! change the dream you#made up with scorpus when you were a young angry teenager and make it fit who you are NOW. the life you want NOW not the life you thought#you should have & deserved. what did you learn from growing up. what changed. what do you need now & what do you want. not the same things#and i too wish that this was 30k and covered their entire backstory#BUT IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION of i also need it to be 100k canon-divergent (presumably. i’m only through episode eight. but i can’t imagine#that they will follow the plot EYE would write because they need to have a second season & you can’t have that without conflict which means#titus overthrown scorpus is gonna die metaphorically or literally etc etc the gold faction in shambles but technically triumphant with#domitian on the throne and tenax in a position of patrician power accepted into their society but still not equal and happy. whereas lmao#domitian you’re getting shipped off to some other city because your plot to overthrow titus failed and yet he is merciful enough he won’t#kill you he just sends you and hermes together (at which point over the months long journey you forgive and re-learn each other bc titus#didn’t know of the betrayal he thought it would be kind to send your (ex-)lover with you. do we see how this works perfectly) & tenax falls#back into the underworld where he now knows he belongs because blood is everything except when it isn’t. when he realizes what he has is#worth more. no matter if the blood he has is tainted or patrician the blood oath he swore with scorpus iron on their tongues means more.#calla’s split lip defending him and their winnings. kwaame’s blood on the hard packed sand of the arena fighting to stay alive and to come#home to them. the fire in aura’s cheeks when she laughs at ivy. SURPRISEEEE EVERY NARRATIVE IS A FOUND FAMILY I GUESS IT SPRUNG ON ME TOO.#and tenax doesn’t mind a little dirt and bribery every now and then. doesn’t aspire to former heights and shining brilliant out of shadows.#the gaudiness of gold &flash of fools’ dreams. YES CAN I FINALLY PLS GET MY BLACK FACTION TO REPLACE THE ILL-FATED GOLD THATLL COLLAPSE W/D
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Do you think if I wish hard enough my mom will get electrocuted by a string of Christmas lights and just go up in a cloud of smoke. It’d be a Christmas miracle
#I’m not even DOWN THERE YET and I want to fucking KILL HER#I have to work Christmas Eve and the day after Christmas. I live four hours away from my family#I told her this MANY TIMES I said I’ll drive down after work on Christmas Eve be there Christmas morning but I need to leave by 3-4 to get#home at a reasonable hour so I can have time to unpack/catch up on a couple days of chores/get plenty of sleep#she called me last night and told me she didn’t schedule Christmas stuff until SIX PM#and when I said why tf did you do that I’m not staying that late#she got mad and upset and was like ‘it’s the only time everyone is free :(‘#BUT THEN proceeded to tell me we were having lunch with her HUSBAND’S family at noon#(ppl I am not close with never have been literally don’t talk to)#and everyone I know is like ‘just leave when you said you were going to anyways’#and like yeah I could but then my family is gonna be ENRAGED that I didn’t do Christmas stuff with them#and they’re like ‘well explain that your mom didnt listen to when you said you needed to leave’#but the thing is. no matter what. they’re going to take her side#I should sacrifice my time and comfort to spend time with them because they’re FAMILY#never mind that literally not a SINGLE ONE OF THEM has EVER come up to visit me#IM always expected to drive down there. but that sacrifice doesn’t count it’s not good enough#but if I stay that late I won’t be getting home until AT LEAST midnight or later#cuz my family has no fucking concept of time so if it starts at six that means it doesn’t ACTUALLY start until 7 so most of them might be#there by 8 so I’ll be expected to stay until at least 10 to sufficiently catch up with all of them#I’m going to scream I’m going to cry#if I leave early I’m the awful ungrateful terrible bitch who never comes to see any of them#but none of them could adjust their days by just a few hours to see me before I needed to leave#FOR MY FUCKING JOB !!!!!!!! SOMETHING COMPLETELY OUT OF MY CONTROL#and like the thing is. my piece of shit manipulative bitch mother#I KNOW she did this on purpose#I know she didn’t plan this until six to FORCE me to stay longer because she was mad I wasn’t staying long#(again… because of work… something I can’t control)#so she’s orchestrated this to put me in this position#where I have to suck it up and stay and be exhausted and have tired migraines for a week cuz I get only a couple hours of sleep and then#or leave and make everyone pissed. I hate her so FUCKING much
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i’ve complained about it before and the way it’s going, i’ll probably do it again. but i don’t like being recorded in my own home!! like yeah i’ll assert that every time no pause but i will complain about it because tell me why i have to do it soooo often
#personal#like i do have a reason beyond just not liking it#but it doesn’t matter! not liking it should be a good enough reason. it’s MY home#i just got home from a weekend trip for my sister’s sport event and my dogs were naturally happy to see me#and my grandma was filming the whole thing. fine if i’m prepared for it but i wasn’t#and this is not the first time we’ve had this issue. just the other day she though my hair wrapped up after a shower was sooo funny#and needed a photo#but today was a video and she didn’t like that i was like ‘i don’t want to be recorded right now’ in the video she was gonna post#on facebook. easy way around this is obviously to ASK ME.#so now i’m getting passive aggressive comments about how i ruined her video. and that’s just very annoying!!!!#like is this a response to having my old roommate have private conversations with me that she was broadcasting to her discord group#and a member of that group was also constantly streaming her discord calls to twitch? probably yes#also another thing i don’t want to get into. but it doesn’t matter!!! if i said no i said no!#if you don’t want it to ruin your video then ask me if you can take a video first#jesus fucking christ this seems so self evident i don’t know why it’s so hard to grasp
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I am god’s strongest soldier (<- really really does not like my friend’s girlfriend)
#he seems to really love her so WHATEVER MAKES HIM HAPPY IG🙄 but oh my god I cannot stand her#it’s giving .. do u have girl autism or boy autism#SHUT THE FUCK UPPPPP#purrhaps im being petty. she hasn’t done anything GENUINELY wrong I just . she just gets on my neerves I SUPPOSE#eye dee Kay… maybe I’m just bad with social cues but like. uhhghghgh. the reason I interact w her is cos she’s in a gc w me + other Friends#but yeah cues uh she interrupts me all the fuckinf time it’s so fucking annoying OH MY GOFFOSHSVDVDB#I cant tell if I just don’t know when it’s my turn to talk or if she just loves interrupting me🤨#I canr tell because typically I’m good in gcs.. I can tell when I should tlak or not .. as to not interrupt ..#whatever it doesn’t matter rambling gives me enough peace#sighs. I lvoe being a hater I love being petty#goodnight♥️
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GOJO SATORU: ONE FOR THE MONEY, TWO FOR THE SHOW
✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: you and satoru, your fake boyfriend, have awards to accept and places to be. so how'd you two end up fucking in a bathroom? NSFW
contents: fem!reader. semi-public sex, p –> v, blowjob, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, you two get walked in on at the end (kinda). references hungry for more. not proofread, ignore any minor mistakes. 3.5K words.
“you two are so cute together,” the interviewer sighs, looking at you and satoru in turn. “please, tell us more about your relationship!”
satoru laughs, resting his hand on your back and pulling you into his side. you put on a smile and instinctually put a hand on his chest, pretending not to notice the way he stiffens up at the contact. “where do i even begin?” satoru asks dryly, turning and looking down at you affectionately, and he’s almost a good enough actor for you to believe there’s any real emotion behind those cold blue eyes.
two weeks ago, satoru’s media team came to you with a request for you two to start dating as a way of gaining more attention from your fans. naturally, you declined—it’s not like you’d gain anything from the deal but the burden of being paraded around on the arm of the man you hated—satoru gojo, the cocky son of some famous actor in the 90’s. but after multiple increases in the amount of money satoru’s team was willing to throw at you, you finally agreed under the condition that this arrangement would end the second you wanted it to.
“i’m sure you’ve seen our latest movie on netflix,” satoru starts, looking back up at the interviewer, whose eyes have practically turned into hearts. “the one with the serial killer, yeah? well, it started from there and just grew into more.”
“i guess you could say the attraction on the screen wasn’t all acting,” you add with a knowing smile. good thing you were a decent enough actor to pretend as if you weren’t just lying through your teeth, otherwise the millions of dollars in your bank account would all be gone.
the interviewer laughs and turns to the camera, saying something about how the chemistry between you and satoru was what really made the movie a hit—in fact, it might even be the reason you’re both getting nominated for best actor and actress.
“well, if you’d excuse us, i think we should get back to the party,” satoru jumps in, nodding his head at the interviewer in thanks. he removes his hand from your back as you follow him to the main area, weaving through crowds of fans and interviewers on his way there. you walk at his side, heels clacking against the freshly polished floor. satoru dips his head and whispers, “hold my hand.”
you scrunch up your nose and shake your head. “no thanks, it’s not like anyone’s watching right now. it’s way too crowded.”
“just do it,” satoru mutters, grabbing your hand anyways. when you start to pull away, he fixes you with a stern look and adds, “they’ll think something’s wrong if you don’t.”
“ugh, fine.”
two hours pass, filled with other actors’ remarks on how good you and satoru make as a couple. suguru geto, one of satoru’s close friends who had played a cult leader in a recent documentary even said that you might be the girl who could fix satoru. yeah, right.
“so, when do awards start?” you ask satoru, swirling your drink and relishing the sound of the ice clacking against the side of the glass. he shrugs and takes a swig from his own cup, which looks suspiciously like apple cider disguised as champagne. “really? you’re nominated for like, four awards, and you don’t even know when you’re getting them?”
satoru laughs carelessly and looks you up and down, eyes lingering on the short cut of your dress. “at this point, i’ve got so many awards that it doesn’t even matter anymore. and by the way, you look really good in that dress. oh, wait, didn’t i buy it for you?”
“you’re not smooth.”
“then why am i nominated for best actor, huh?”
“because the system’s absolute shit, obviously. otherwise toji would win every time.”
satoru groans and drinks the last couple sips of his drink, rolling his eyes. “don’t even mention that piece of shit.” you shrug in response, hiding your smile behind your glass. a couple years back, satoru had lost a role to toji and to his despair, the movie did really well, despite what he’d promised to the producers who had turned him down. and it looks like he’s still bitter over that, and all of a sudden, the perfect plan to piss satoru off appears in your head.
“look, it’s toji right there!” you gasp, setting down your drink and hopping off your seat, walking over to toji while ignoring satoru’s warnings. “oh, hi, i’m a big fan,” you say to the tall, well-built man, smiling bashfully. toji turns and looks down at you, raising an eyebrow and smiling.
“hey, pretty, you’re the girl in that movie with the serial killer, yeah?” he asks, crossing his arms. you nod and internally marvel at how tall he is—especially compared to satoru, who, by any standards, is pretty damn tall. toji looks you up and down, taking his sweet time drinking in the way your dress hugs your figure. “that scene in the alley was really fuckin’ good,” toji adds conversationally. “you’re definitely winnin’ best actress for that.”
anyone who’s watched the movie knows that the scene he’s referring to is the one where you get fucked by satoru against a dark alley wall—and you’ve seen enough edits of the scene to know exactly why it’s getting all the hype.
“aw, thanks,” you say coyly, resting a hand on your hip and tilting your head. “y’know, i’ve always wanted to star in a movie with you,” you continue, hearing satoru come up behind you in the background. you ignore the sickeningly obvious way he clears his throat and flutter your eyelashes at toji, who’s eying you with interest.
“i’d like that. i can probably pull some strings,” toji replies with a smirk. his dark eyes flicker from you to satoru and his smile turns almost patronizing. “and who’s this?”
“her boyfriend. and i really hate to interrupt this friendly chat, but she’s not up for grabs,” satoru snaps, wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging you back to your spot at the bar. you shoot satoru an indignant glare, but receive no reply besides his tightening jaw. toji laughs and waves you off, mouthing “call me” at you when you turn back apologetically.
satoru drags you by the hand to one of the bathrooms, shoving open the door with the side of his arm and pulling you inside. there’s a long, shiny counter, which you become very familiar with once your fake boyfriend hoists you up and sits you on it. “the fuck was that?” satoru hisses, narrowing his eyes accusingly.
“what, we were just talki—”
“i don’t like the way he was looking at you,” satoru interrupts, crossing his arms tensely. he fixes you with a cold stare and you fidget uncomfortably with the hem of your dress, which you now realize is rather short.
“okay, and?” you reply irritably, starting to get annoyed by the way satoru keeps patronizing you. “it’s not like we’re even dating, gojo,” you snap, emphasizing the use of his last name.
“yeah? well, i don’t need my ‘girlfriend’ slutting herself out to the guy everyone knows i hate,” satoru fires back, taking a step forward. his palms rest on the counter on either side of your exposed legs, and you suddenly notice how red satoru’s face is. the flush in his cheeks wasn’t as noticeable underneath the bar’s dim lights, but here, it’s rather obvious.
“are you jealous?” you ask incredulously, unable to suppress the cheeky smile that finds itself on your face. satoru’s jaw slackens and his eyes widen, and that’s enough of a sign for you to confirm it—satoru gojo, your fake boyfriend, is jealous. he doesn’t reply immediately, so you laugh, throwing back your head and giggling at the way satoru’s petty rivalry seems to be only one of the reasons he was so eager to get you away from toji. “aw, that’s so cute, but we aren’t even dating, sweetheart,” you coo, reaching out and caressing the side of satoru’s face.
he instantly swats your hand away, rolling his eyes at your laughter. “well, we still have to act like it, you idiot,” he mutters, leaning over you and eying the low neckline of your dress. you instinctively cross your arms and glare at him, and satoru only cocks an eyebrow in return. “so, if we were actually dating, do y’know what i’d be doing right now?”
“what?” you decide to humor him.
satoru’s demeanor completely changes at your question, going from pissed and flushed red to almost playful.
“this.”
and just like that, satoru slips his slender fingers underneath the bottom of your dress and pulls it up, exposing your black, lacy panties.
“gojo, what the—”
“shh, it’s all for the show,” he whispers teasingly, brushing one finger against the warm skin of your thigh. you involuntarily shiver from his touch, and against all rational impulse, find yourself wanting more.
in the acting community, satoru was well-known for being a stuck-up brat, and when you two had first announced your relationship, plenty of actors doubted it. after all, how could you, the classy it-girl of the movie industry, date an asshole like satoru? but even you were surprised at how easily people started to believe it when you two interacted in front of them. you’ve been told that you two had a rather unexpected burst of chemistry together, and that your relationship might actually make it.
what a shame.
satoru hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, raising an eyebrow when you don’t protest. he maintains eye contact with you as he slides your panties down your thighs, exposing your embarrassingly-wet cunt. satoru looks almost as surprised as you do at how soaked you are, even as he runs two fingers over your slit before sliding them in. you hate how good it feels—it’s been a while since you got a chance to sleep with another man, especially since you’ve been stuck with satoru for the past two weeks.
“shit, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” satoru murmurs, scoffing in mild disbelief as he meets your eyes and smiles. he curls his fingers upwards, causing your thighs to reflexively close before satoru reopens them. “so, wanna explain, sweetheart?” he tsks, tapping your thigh with his other hand.
you make a face and look away, cheeks heating up the longer satoru waits for a response. “it’s probably from toji,” you snap back after a moment. satoru laughs sarcastically, shaking his head almost condescendingly and pulling out his fingers.
“nice try, hon,” he says sweetly, lifting his fingers to his mouth and licking off your slick in one smooth motion. satoru exhales heavily and swallows, taking his time in doing so. “want me to go grab toji to join us?” satoru asks, forcing a smile on his lips. “i’m sure he’d love to watch you beg—”
“shut it, gojo,” you interrupt, swatting away his hand, which somehow found its way back in between your thighs. “we have an award show to get to, there’s not enough time for this bullshi—”
that was a mistake. satoru instantly lifts you off the counter and, ignoring the rather wide range of curse words you throw at him, sets you on the ground and starts unzipping his pants. “shh, we got all the time in the world. they can’t give an award to someone who isn’t there, right?” satoru cooes, threading one of his hands through your hair and pulling you closer to him. his other hand finishes unzipping his pants, freeing his already-hard dick.
you look up at satoru, forcing yourself to act unimpressed—even though you know damn well he can see through your half-hearted attempt at hiding your real feelings. “s’ that all?” you ask, hating yourself for the crack in your voice when satoru laughs at you.
“ah, i think it’ll be more than enough for your pretty face to handle. now c’mon, open nice n’ wide for me,” satoru instructs you, reaching down and tilting up your chin as he guides his dick into your mouth. against all rational impulse, you let him, all while glaring daggers at him from below.
you run your tongue over his flushed red tip, and satoru sucks in a harsh breath, chest tensing as you continue kitten-licking him. his hand moves from your chin to the top of your head, and he pushes your mouth farther onto his dick, jaw tightening the more your tongue laps at him.
sure, maybe you shouldn’t be sucking off your fake boyfriend in a bathroom where anyone could walk in at any time, but it’s the first time you’ve felt this way in too long, and you weren’t ready to let this feeling go just yet. so you humor satoru and moan, smiling when you feel the way his whole body loosen up at the soft vibration. “f-fuck, didn’t think you’d actually know how to give a man a good time,” satoru mutters through gritted teeth.
“really?” you ask, pulling away from his dick for a moment to catch a breath. “we fucked for that movie, though, and you seemed pretty damn satisfied then, didn’t you?” you say in-between heaving breaths. satoru scoffs and shakes his head, pushing your mouth back onto his dick.
“yeah, but that was for a movie. this isn’t,” he clarifies, eyes fixed on the mix of spit and pre-cum dribbling down your chin as you continue sucking him off. “fuck, why are you good at this?” he hisses, almost incredulously—it’s as if he was hoping you wouldn’t be this good for him for some reason, but now’s not the time to reason through it or wonder what’s going on in his mind.
satoru shudders around you, and you feel the hair threaded through your hair tighten. it’s not enough to be painful, but his grip still makes you whine from the increased pressure. his breathing becomes more shallow as you run your tongue over his length, and his foot starts to bounce on the floor as he gets closer to cumming down your throat. “shit, baby, m’ close,” satoru confirms a moment later, tilting his chin back and glaring at the ceiling.
“fuckin’ hell, i—” he cuts himself off with a loud, lengthy groan, pushing your head even farther on his dick and tensing as the full force of satoru’s orgasm hits him. he lets loose a flurry of curse words as he cums in your mouth, filling you up to the point where it starts dripping down the side of your face. it’s hot and salty, two sensations that you normally wouldn’t put together, but in this moment it’s all you can think about as you slide one hand downwards towards your throbbing pussy.
still reeling from his surprisingly quick orgasm, satoru leans back onto the counter and pants for air. as for you, you’re starting to want some of his pleasure for yourself—so you slip two fingers inside your cunt and pulse them back and forth, needy moans slipping out of your lips at every thrust. “gojo,” you call, looking up at him and licking his cum off your lips. the sight of you kneeling in front of him, cum dripping down your lips and fingers knuckle-deep in your cunt is enough for satoru to cum again, but he forces himself to maintain some level of control.
“jus’ call me satoru,” he murmurs, reaching down and tugging you up to your feet. it’s hard to stand while your legs are trembling, but thankfully, satoru does most of the work for you by positioning you against the wall, back facing him as he aligns his still-hard dick in front of your dripping pussy. “say it,” satoru mutters in your ear, resting one hand on your waist and the other on the wall just above your shoulder. “say my name f’me, sweetheart.”
“s-satoru,” you breathe, and a moment later, your fake boyfriend—who doesn’t feel so fake anymore—shoves himself inside of your welcoming cunt. you’re already wet enough to the point where he doesn’t really need to prep you at all, but you’re still just tight enough so that every thrust feels like he’s breaking you down in the best way possible.
“y’feel so good,” satoru groans, resting his chin on your shoulder and snapping his hips back and forth, setting a steady yet harsh pace. you stutter out satoru’s name again and again as your vision goes blurry, with your only thoughts revolving around the dick shoved up inside you and the man praising you in your ear.
satoru curses when he feels your walls clench around him, breaths growing shallower with every thrust. “arch your back for me, princess,” he mutters, eyes fluttering rapidly as he squeezes your waist. “yeah, jus’ like that,” satoru praises, breath brushing against the side of your face as he continues thrusting into you. “how’re you feeling, pretty? s’ this all right with you?”
you nod shakily in response, swollen lips hanging wide open as you gasp for air. satoru clicks his tongue and slows his pace, dipping his chin and studying your face. “gonna need you to use your words, angel.”
“m' good, i wanna cum,” you mumble, a loud moan slipping through your lips when satoru laughs and resumes fucking you a millisecond after you answer.
“i’m gonna fill you up, baby, i promise,” satoru whispers, and his words are barely audible over the lewd, sticky sounds coming from everywhere. all your senses are directed at satoru—the man you really shouldn’t be fucking right now, but all your inhibitions fade away as you feel your stomach start to tighten as you approach your orgasm.
“fuck, satoru, m’ close,” you whimper, arching your back even more and clenching your teeth shut. satoru sucks in a sharp breath as he confirms that he’s also about to cum, and his thrusts grow sloppier the closer he gets. “don’t stop, please, i—”
from there on, your words mix themselves together, with the only understandable word being satoru’s name. your fake boyfriend spills into you first, cum leaking from his tip and mixing with yours as you both chase your releases. and it hits you hard—if it wasn’t for satoru, you would’ve crumbled to the ground from the sheer force of your orgasm. all you can see is white as satoru finishes emptying his load inside of you, and the sticky, viscous liquid trails down the warm skin of your thighs as it overflows from your abused hole.
“shit,” satoru mutters, stumbling backwards and eyeing his now-soiled clothes. “this was a couple thousand dollars, damn it.”
you exhale a breathy laugh and turn around, leaning against the wall and meeting his half-lidded eyes. “you kidding? my dress was way more than that, and there’s no way i can wear that out now.”
satoru grins, running a hand through his ruffled hair and walking back towards you, touching your waist and sliding a finger over your dripping cunt. “you were so good f’me, baby. what were we arguing about again?”
“i have no idea,” you mumble, watching satoru lick his finger clean. he’s shameless—even as clarity returns to both of your minds, he still insists on dragging the moment on. not that you mind—that was the best sex you’d had in a while, even if it was too fast and in a bathroom.
“we should get back to the ceremony,” you say distractedly, pulling down your dress and frowning at the new wrinkles. “can i wear your suitjacket? i don’t want people to see this.”
satoru sticks out his bottom lip and pouts, looking you up and down. “but i like it. you look like you just got fucked by a really hot guy. oh, wait, that’s me!”
“you’re an asshole.”
before satoru can reply, the bathroom door opens, and you both jump out of your skins. thankfully, satoru had time to pull his pants on, otherwise it would’ve been significantly more embarrassing. suguru pokes his head in the bathroom and rolls his eyes when he sees you and satoru, and an exasperated sigh slips out of his lips when he sees your fucked-out states.
“are you two seriously fucking during the awards?” suguru snaps, amber eyes glittering with dry amusement. you look away bashfully, tugging down your dress even farther out of embarrassment. satoru shrugs nonchalantly and walks over to suguru, offering his hand in search of a fistbump.
suguru eyes him dubiously and crosses his arms. “did you wash your hands?”
“heh, no, not yet.”
ignoring satoru’s smug grin, suguru swats his arm away with the back of his hand, disgust evident all over his face. “gross, fuck off.” he turns to you and arches an eyebrow, looking you up and down disapprovingly. “you two should clean up before coming outside, otherwise they’ll probably take away your awards,” suguru adds, wrinkling his nose. “i’ll tell them you’re on your way.”
“okay, thanks,” you mutter, face warmer than ever. suguru nods in response and leaves, and when you and satoru finally return to the awards ceremony, there’s plenty of whispers about you two, and most of them aren’t very family-friendly.
well, at the very least, nobody’s gonna doubt that you two were a couple now!
#osaemu#gojo smut#jjk smut#satoru gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo x reader#jjk x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#jjk x you#satoru gojo x you#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#gojo x y/n#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#satoru gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x y/n
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voice | m. sturniolo
i had this idea a million years ago, please enjoy!!
summary: chris wonders if you can tell his and matt’s voice apart
warnings: super fluffy!! a bit suggestive at the very end, i’m questioning if it’s good or not
wc: 1.6k
gif by @mattsturnioloarchive !
“i call shower first!” you exclaim the second the garage door is open, sprinting past matt up the stairs to his bathroom.
“there’s three showers,” chris says matter-of-factly as you blow past him on the steps, holding a hand out in confusion.
matt sighs and follows behind you, passing chris as well, “yeah, but you don’t have to share,”
you’re already on the mainfloor, running into matt’s bedroom to grab the change of clothes you’d left earlier.
“i’m so glad i don’t have a girlfriend,” chris mutters, earning a smack upside the head from nick, “jesus, fuck, what,”
“you’re just annoying,” nick says, deciding it’s a good enough explanation and getting a laugh out of matt.
“agreed,” matt’s still chuckling when they reach the kitchen table, setting down the take out the four of you had gotten on your way back to the house. he hears the water turn on in his bathroom, accompanied by the soft sound of your voice as you sing along to your music.
“oh she’s a nicki fan,” nick says to no one in particular, referencing the tik tok sound when he notices you’re listening to a nicki minaj song.
matt looks up from the bag of food and laughs.
chris sinks into the couch but looks over at matt, arm slung over the cushions, “i wonder if she could tell our voices apart,” he says after a second.
“what?” matt asks, thinking the question is mildy rediculous.
“like do you think she could recognize your voice?” chris explains, wandering into the kitchen now. opening a pepsi and leaning up against the counter.
nick chimes in now, having been fiddling with the vlog camera and battery, “like compared to you and me?” he asks chris, glancing back at matt as if to say ‘is this guy for real?’
“yeah,” chris nods.
“yeah, obviously she’d be able to tell my voice apart from yours,” matt is looking back at the food again, tone matter-of-fact, as if what he’d said was absolute common sense.
chris is quiet for about half a second and matt thinks that’s the end of that absurd conversation. it isn’t, of course.
“should we test it out?” chris asks through a sip of soda.
matt officially gives up on trying to set the food up, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before turning to chris, “and how are we gonna do that?”
chris shrugs, but nick has an idea, “chris, you could like, just go ask her for something, if you left something in the bathroom—“
“absolutely not,” matt shuts it down immediately with a shake of his head, “you're not going in the bathroom when my girlfriend is showering,”
“i won’t even go all the way in!! i’ll cover my eyes,” chris promises, but matt is still skeptical. “i’ll just like poke my head in the door and ask if i left like..a belt or some shit in there,” is chris’ next offer.
matt sighs and thinks about it, weighing the pros and cons. of course you can tell his voice apart from his brothers…right? he’s making himself nervous, pysching himself out and worrying they all sound the same to you. it upsets him for some reason, he can’t quite decide why.
“fine,” he agrees after a beat of silence, convincing himself you know whis voice well enough to separate it from chris’, and if you can’t, he thinks he might actually feel a sick twinge of unjustified jealousy.
“yes,” chris mutters under his breath, always excited to pull a prank on anyone.
“this is definitely going in the vlog,” nick says, still messing with the camera and coming to sit at the kitchen table where matt is now.
“i can’t believe i agreed to this,” matt mumbles, rubbing his eyes and taking a deep breath. he stands from his seat and walks over to the wall where he can see the bathroom door, feeling some what protective, like he needs to supervise chris to make sure he doesn’t wander too far into the bathroom.
“what should i say?” chris turns back arms pulled in close to his body as if he’s nervous. he’s already grinning and trying to keep from laughing.
“ooh, call her sweetheart, matt always does that,” nick suggests, wiggling his brows in matt’s direction to tease him.
“oh my god,” matt groans softly, rubbing at his eyes, “i fucking hate you guys,”
“okay, i’m going in,” matt drops his hands at that, eyes on his brother immediately. chris puts a hand over his eyes, just as he said he said he would before knocking on the door. nick has the camera out to record and is trying to stifle his laugh in the collar of his hoodie.
at the sound of the knock matt hears your voice, calling out for him, no doubt thinking it’s him at the door. he has to cover his mouth, partly out of nerves but also to keep himself from saying anything.
“yeah,” chris starts, needing to take a second before continuing because he’s already making himself laugh. “yeah, sweetheart, did i leave my belt in here?” he asks, barely stood in the doorway of the bathroom.
“uhh, i think it’s in your bedroom?” you say after a slight pause, about to poke your head out from behind the shower curtain, but chris has already mumbled a ‘thanks’ and essentially sprinted out of the bathroom, closing the door and crumbling to the floor in giggles.
“you’re not fucking real,” matt shakes his head, laughing softly himself and pushing off the wall to go back to the kitchen table. he’s a bit bummed that you didn’t realize it wasn’t his voice, but he keeps that to himself.
nick pans the camera over to matt’s face, which seems expressionless, even with both his brothers cackling outside of the frame.
you come out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, heading into matt’s bedroom to drop the clothes you’d changed out of. matt is instantly sitting back up, the legs of his chair scraping along the hardwood floors.
“ooh, someone’s pissed,” nick turns the camera to himself, eyeing the now closed door.
“that was too fucking good,” chris says after a deep breath, still recovering from laughing so hard. he pulls a chair out next to nick and the two start to explain what had happened to the camera, eyes flicking up to matt’s door every few seconds.
in the bedroom you’re putting your dirty clothes back into your bag when matt comes in, looking a little bit pouty, “hey baby,” you turn towards him, laughing at the slightly pathetic look he gives you, “what’s up?” you wonder.
“m’ tired,” he tells you, slumping up against you for a hug. you wrap your arms around him and rub his back, letting him lay his weight into you.
“we’ll eat and go to bed, yeah?” you give his back another little pat when he nods against you, “mkay, let’s go,” you kiss his cheek quickly, only to have him turn his head in search of a real kiss. you oblige of course.
nick and chris have already started eating and updating the vlog on their day when you and matt come out of the bedroom. matt joins them at the table but you head for the fridge to grab a drink. “oh, did you find your belt?” you ask matt, still digging around.
“what?— oh yeah” he mumbles, gaze turned down to his fries.
“okay good. by the way you sounded so much like chris when you came in— it freaked me the fuck out” you say with your head in the fridge, still searching for the diet coke you know you left inside the door, “did one of you drink my coke–”
“wait what?” matt’s head snaps up, food forgotten.
“hmm?” you turn around to find all three boys looking at you. nick’s mouth open in a half smile and chris clearly trying not to burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. matt’s just staring at you with eyes a little bit too wide before he speaks up.
“what do you mean i sounded weird?” he asks, leaning forward. you notice nick’s shut up about whatever he was saying to the camera earlier, pointing the lens at you now.
“i dunno, when you said sweetheart it just sounded super fucking weird— why are you guys looking at me like that–” you have to ask, feeling slightly weirded out by the intensity of their gazes
“i knew it!!” matt cheers, punching the air and doing a silly little dance as nick doubles over and starts hitting the table.
chris’ jaw drops and he presses his fingers into his eyes as he laughs next to his brother, leaning on him.
matt bounds over to you with a grin, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the ground slightly.
“whaaaat,” you giggle, clearly confused by their reaction.
“it was me,” chris manages to say between bouts of laughter, “we– we were trying to see if you could tell our voices apart.”
“of course i can tell your voices apart, especially your voice,” you turn towards matt, saying it like it should be obvious, like it’s silly they doubted you for even a second.
matt’s just grinning at you, feeling a strange sense of pride swelling in his chest, “i knew you could,”
“bullshit!” chris exclaims, both him and nick still leaning against each other as they laugh.
“he’s right, you were freaked the fuck out,” nick manages to say between giggles, “you watched chris like a fucking hawk when he opened the bathroom door,” he looks over at you, his smile contagious, “he was definitely freaked the fuck out,”
matt groans and drops his head against your shoulder. you brush your fingers through his hair and chuckle to yourself, “awe matt,” you coo, “i definitely know your voice, i’ll probably be hearing lots of it later anyways.”
tags ! @st4rswrld @urfavvev3lyn @mattsturnioloarchive @averysbestyears @its-jennarose
#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt struniolo x you#matt sturniolo blurb#matt sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo
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Can you please write dumb/subtle/random/cute things batboys will do while they are crushing on reader?
♯ FEEL YOUR LIPS CRUSH . . .
— gn!reader, fluff
© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified
BRUCE WAYNE
becomes overly observant but awkwardly obvious
bruce wayne is a master of observation—trained to notice the smallest details in a room, a person, or a crime scene. but when it comes to you, this skill becomes more of a curse than a blessing. his crush transforms his usual precision into something downright awkward as he hyper-focuses on the tiniest parts of your life.
it starts innocently enough. you’ll be in the middle of a casual conversation when bruce interrupts, his deep voice breaking through your train of thought.
“you’ve switched your coffee order recently,” he says matter-of-factly, his piercing blue eyes locking on yours.
you blink, momentarily confused. “uh, yeah. i wanted to try something different.”
“it’s good,” he replies, his tone completely serious, as if your new preference for caramel flavored coffee over vanilla is a critical observation.
sometimes his comments catch you so off guard that you don’t even know how to respond. like the time you came into the room wearing a pair of old sneakers. bruce, who was leaning against the kitchen counter sipping his coffee, glanced down and said, “those laces are frayed. you should replace them.”
you laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking. “uh, thanks for the tip?”
but bruce wasn’t joking. “i’ll send alfred to pick up new ones. you don’t want them snapping mid-step.”
he tries to play it cool, he really does, but his constant streak of seemingly random observations only makes his feelings more obvious. one afternoon, you find him glancing at your notebook while you jot something down. without even looking at you, he says, “you press harder with the pen when you’re tired. your handwriting’s smaller today.”
you set your pen down, giving him a skeptical look. “do you . . . keep track of my handwriting, bruce?”
his face doesn’t change, though you swear his ears flush the faintest shade of pink. “no,” he says smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee. “it’s just. . . noticeable.”
it’s the way he says it—quiet and genuine—that sends your heart fluttering. he doesn’t realize how much he’s revealing, but his small, awkward comments and laser focus on the details of your life make it abundantly clear.
the funny thing is, you’re not the only one noticing. alfred, who’s known bruce wayne longer than anyone, often raises an eyebrow or hides a knowing smirk whenever bruce starts one of his “random” observations.
( “perhaps master wayne should focus on his own handwriting.” bruce glares at alfred, but his lack of a comment only makes the butler’s smirk grow wider. )
finds excuses to be helpful
bruce’s wealth is something he wields with the subtlety of a battering ram when he’s crushing on someone. his intentions are good—he genuinely wants to help—but it often comes off as over-the-top or hilariously unnecessary. for someone as logical and composed as the bat, using his money to make your life easier feels like a no-brainer, but he doesn’t realize just how obvious it makes his feelings.
it starts small at first. you might casually mention needing to replace something—your laptop is acting up or your phone is outdated. the next day, without fail, a box will mysteriously appear at your doorstep. inside, you’ll find not just a replacement but the absolute best version of the device, meticulously selected and clearly expensive.
“bruce,” you say, holding up the latest model of a WE laptop you can’t imagine ever affording on your own. “did you do this?”
he looks up from his work, his expression calm and unbothered. “it’s practical,” he says, as if that’s a reasonable excuse for gifting you a piece of technology worth more than your rent. “your old one was slow. it’s inefficient to struggle with outdated equipment.”
when you try to protest, he waves it off, as though spending thousands of dollars on you is no more different than buying a cup of coffee.
but it doesn’t stop there. one morning, you’re sitting in the kitchen with him, absently complaining about how your car keeps breaking down. it’s an offhanded comment, something you don’t think twice about, but bruce takes it as a challenge. by the time you’ve finished your coffee, he’s already pulled out his phone to make arrangements.
“wait,” you interrupt him, narrowing your eyes as you catch him murmuring something to alfred over the phone. “what are you doing?”
“nothing,” he replies too quickly, but later that day, you’re startled to find a sleek new car parked outside your home, the keys and a handwritten note from the butler sitting on your counter.
“bruce!” you exclaim, storming into the study to confront him.
he doesn’t even look up from his computer. “your old car was unreliable. this one is safer.”
“that’s not the point!”
“it’s just a car,” he says with a small shrug, though there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
despite his attitude, it’s clear he’s putting an incredible amount of thought into everything he does for you. his gestures are less about showing off his wealth and more about making sure you never have to struggle, even in the smallest ways. because to him, it’s just logical—he has the resources, so why wouldn’t he use them to make your life easier?
DICK GRAYSON
finds excuses to touch you
for someone as physically expressive as dick grayson, touch comes as naturally as breathing—but when he’s crushing on you, it’s a whole new level. he’s not even aware of how much he does it at first, but the moments start to add up. it’s little things at first: the way he always seems to find a reason to brush his hand against yours, the casual way his shoulder bumps into you when you’re walking side by side, or the way he’ll lean close when he’s explaining something, his hand ghosting over yours as he gestures.
but then, it becomes less about the accidental and more about the intentional. when you’re sitting on the couch together, he’ll sling an arm over the back of it, his fingers close enough to brush against your shoulder. he’ll offer his hand when you’re stepping out of a car or climbing over something, even if you don’t need it, the contact lingers just a second longer than necessary.
“careful,” he’ll say, his voice soft and teasing, even though the step you’re taking isn’t remotely precarious.
“you know i can walk, right?”
he grins, squeezing your hand briefly before letting it go. “just being chivalrous.”
and then, there are the moments when he gets so wrapped up in the conversation or your presence that he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. like the time you were sitting together, and he absentmindedly started playing with the hem of your sleeve. it wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he looked down, startled, his ears turning pink as he quickly let go.
“sorry,” he mumbled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “didn’t realize i was doing that.”
but the blush on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know.
for dick, touch is a way of expressing what words sometimes fail to say. every hand on your shoulder, every playful nudge, and every lingering hug is his way of saying, i like being near you. i like you. even if he hasn’t quite found the courage to say it out loud, his actions make it impossible to miss.
teases you relentlessly (but gets flustered when you tease him back)
teasing is how dick shows affection, how he keeps things light, and, more than anything, how he tries to get your attention. when he’s crushing on you, though, his teasing takes on a new level. every little thing you do seems to give him material to poke fun at, not in a mean way, but in a way that makes it clear he’s paying attention to everything about you.
if you trip over a word while talking, he’ll immediately smirk. “careful there, shakespeare,” he’ll quip. “do we need to enroll you in a public speaking class?” or if you drop something, he’s ready with a dramatic gasp. “wow, butterfingers, do you need me to carry everything for you? i could be your personal assistant, but i charge by the hour.”
it’s playful, yes, but it’s also consistent. he’s always looking for ways to make you laugh, even if it’s at your own expense. like the time you were struggling to open a stubborn jar of jam, and he swooped in, popping the lid off with ease.
“guess i’m just the stronger one here,” he said, flexing his biceps with an exaggerated grin. “it’s okay; not everyone can have these guns.”
but if you so much as raise an eyebrow or fire back with your own jab, the tables turn in an instant. one day, after he’d spent a full five minutes teasing you about your choice of coffee ( “a triple-shot vanilla latte with almond milk? fancy. are you sure you don’t need a royal escort to carry it for you?” ), you finally snapped back.
“oh, and i suppose you’re the coffee expert, mr. regular black coffee? real creative. i bet the baristas have your order memorized.”
the grin on his face faltered for a split second, his eyes widening just slightly. then came the blush—the faint pink hue creeping up his cheeks as he tried to recover, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
“hey, black coffee is . . . classic,” he mumbled, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.
and that’s the thing about dick grayson: as much as he loves dishing it out, he can’t always handle it when it’s directed at him. the moment you tease him back, especially if it’s about something he’s sensitive about (like his perfectly styled hair or his need to one-up everyone), he turns into an awkward, flustered mess.
“you spend how long on your hair every morning?” you asked him once, teasingly ruffling his carefully combed locks after he made fun of the mismatched socks you were wearing.
he froze, his hand shooting up to fix the damage. “it’s not that long,” he protested, his voice defensive but light.
“oh, come on! i bet you use at least three different products. don’t tell me you don’t have a favorite brand of gel.”
his cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, “i—you know, it’s just . . . maintenance! can’t all of us roll out of bed looking flawless, okay?”
you laughed, and he groaned, muttering something under his breath about how you were “way too good at this.”
JASON TODD
acts nonchalant but is always nearby
jason todd is many things—brash, sarcastic, sometimes even reckless—but when it comes to feelings he doesn’t fully understand, he defaults to keeping his distance . . . or at least pretending he’s keeping his distance. the truth is, when he’s crushing on you, he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, always finding an excuse to be wherever you are without making it obvious. or so he thinks.
take your quiet sunday afternoons, for instance. maybe you’ve settled on the couch with a book, enjoying the rare peace. jason walks in, all nonchalant, like he’s just passing through. he glances at you—just a quick flick of his eyes, like he’s making sure you’re still there—and then he settles in the chair across from you, a spot he never uses otherwise.
“what are you doing?” you ask, watching as he pulls out a book of his own, the same one he’s been pretending to read for weeks.
he doesn’t even look up. “reading.”
you roll your eyes but say nothing, knowing full well he’s barely getting through a page. you can feel his gaze on you every few minutes, like he’s trying to memorize the way your brow furrows in concentration or how you chew on the corner of your lip when you’re focused. and if you catch him? he quickly snaps his attention back to his book, pretending obliviousness.
“didn’t know you liked this spot so much,” you tease, gesturing to the chair.
a smirk plays on the edge of his lips, though there’s a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “what, i can’t sit here now? thought it was a free country.”
it’s always like that—his attempts to mask how much he cares come with a side of sarcasm. but the truth slips through in the little details. like how he never actually leaves the room until you do. or how, even when you’re sitting in silence, he finds a reason to linger. maybe he’s scrolling through his phone, flipping through a magazine, or staring at the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. but really, he’s just soaking in your presence.
and then there are the times when he doesn’t even bother pretending. like when you’re sitting in the kitchen, finishing up some work, and he wordlessly sits down across from you, arms crossed and chin propped in his hand.
“what?” you ask, glancing up at him.
“nothing,” he replies, though the slight curve of his lips gives him away.
it’s not that jason is afraid to admit he likes you ( although there is a possibility he is but we don’t talk about that )—it’s just that he doesn’t know how. so instead, he hovers. he sticks close enough to feel like he’s part of your world but not so close that he risks giving himself away. so while he might act nonchalant, the truth is, he’s anything but. every glance, every lingering moment, every excuse to be near you is jason’s way of saying he cares—he just hasn’t found the words yet.
fixes things you didn’t even know were broken
jason’s way of showing he cares is a little unconventional, but it’s always in the small, unspoken ways. he’s the type to notice things that no one else would—things that have been lingering for ages in the background of your life, just waiting for someone to fix them. but because it’s jason, he’ll never bring it up. he’ll just do it, no questions asked, and then act like it never happened.
it starts with the little things. your chair in the living room? it’s been squeaking for months now, but it’s not something you’ve gotten around to fixing. it’s one of those annoyances you’ve learned to ignore, a piece of background noise that doesn’t really bother you enough to take action.
until one day, it suddenly stops.
you sit down in the chair, and for the first time in ages, it’s silent. your eyes narrow. you didn’t fix this—so who did?
“jason?” you ask, glancing toward him as he lounges on the couch, pretending to be deep in whatever he’s doing.
he doesn’t even look up. “what?”
“the chair. it’s. . . quiet now.”
he pauses for just a moment, but it’s enough to catch the shift in his demeanor. he shrugs, barely concealing the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “must’ve gotten lucky. or maybe it fixed itself.”
you know it didn’t. but before you can press him on it, he’s already back to whatever he was doing, like the whole thing is no big deal. it’s almost as if he’s trying to play it off, hoping you won’t notice that he’s been quietly fixing things in your life, one at a time.
the next thing happens a few days later. you walk into the kitchen, only to find that the light above the sink, the one that flickers every time you try to use it, is now working. perfectly.
you stop, standing in the doorway and just staring at it. there’s no way you fixed it. and it certainly wasn’t broken enough to need replacing. so once again, you turn your gaze to jason, who’s now sitting at the kitchen table, eating a snack and acting entirely uninterested in your investigation.
“jason, did you—?”
“no,” he interrupts and continues watching the video essay he turns on every time he eats.
“uh-huh,” you say, narrowing your eyes, walking toward the light and testing the switch again just to make sure you’re not imagining things. it stays steady, glowing without hesitation.
he’ll never say it out loud, but each fix—each thoughtful act—speaks louder than any words could. the broken things don’t matter, because jason is here, fixing them in his own way, piece by piece.
TIM DRAKE
gets shy when you’re too close
tim drake is usually the picture of composure. he’s calm, collected, and can handle himself in just about any situation, but when you’re too close, all that confidence seems to slip away. it starts small. you’re sitting beside him, maybe sharing a space while working on something, and without thinking, you slide just a little bit closer to him. maybe your arm brushes against his, or your knee nudges his under the table.
it’s enough to throw him off, just for a second. his heart rate picks up slightly, and he tries to hide it behind the screen of his laptop, pretending to focus harder than he really is. but he knows, deep down, that he’s hyperaware of you now—of the way you’re sitting, of the way your presence seems to fill the space between the two of you.
his eyes flicker toward you, but quickly dart away, like he’s afraid you caught him staring. it’s an involuntary reaction, the nervous little shift in his posture as he tries to seem as casual as possible. he clears his throat, his voice slightly quieter than usual. “uh, sorry, was just—just making sure the laptop was charging.”
it’s obvious to you that he’s not really talking about the laptop. he’s trying to act like it’s no big deal, but every time you’re too close to him, tim’s body betrays him. the way his leg shifts a little away from yours under the table, or how he tries to subtly angle his body so there’s just a little more space between you and him, even if he doesn’t want there to be.
you might not notice the subtle movements, but tim does. and every time you get close to him, whether it’s by accident or on purpose, he feels a flutter of nerves that he can’t quite explain. it’s not that he doesn’t want you near him—far from it—but the proximity messes with him in ways he doesn’t understand. his thoughts get jumbled, and his usual calmness slips, replaced by the flustered feeling he’s not used to.
if you ever catch him looking at you, his gaze quickly drops, and a soft blush creeps up his neck. “i—i didn’t mean to—uh, just making sure you’re not too cramped.” he mutters, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his laptop, anything to distract himself from the fact that he’s suddenly very aware of you being so close.
sometimes, when you get too near, tim will just freeze for a moment. it’s like his body can’t process the closeness, and the little awkward silence stretches between you two. it’s not uncomfortable—far from it—but it’s a vulnerable thing for tim, this closeness he doesn’t know how to handle.
but if you keep talking, or even just touch his arm gently when you lean over to look at something, tim’s composure slips even more. he shifts in his seat, trying to act like he’s calm, but his hand might twitch toward yours for just a second before he pulls it away like he’s afraid you’ll notice how he’s reacting.
follows you around during patrol
it’s late at night, the moon casting faint silver light across the streets, and the only sounds are the hum of city life and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. you’re out on a walk, maybe trying to clear your head or just enjoy the quiet, unaware that someone is watching you from the shadows. tim, clad in his suit, has been tailing you for a while now. it’s not that he’s trying to be creepy or intrusive, but rather, he’s just . . . concerned.
tim is the kind of person who can’t turn off his instincts, and tonight, for whatever reason, they’re telling him to stay close. he’s perched high above you on a rooftop, watching you walk along the street below, trying to remain unseen. his red robin suit blends into the darkness of the night, the shadows making him nearly invisible to anyone who might be looking.
he’s not sure why he’s doing it—it’s not like you’ve asked him to keep an eye on you—but there’s something about the quiet stillness of the night that has him on edge. maybe it’s because you’ve been a little distant lately, or maybe he’s just worried something might happen to you in the dark. either way, he’s got his eyes on you, and he won’t stop until you’re safely back where you belong.
he’s quick, agile, moving like a shadow himself. you might hear a faint creak of a fire escape ladder or the flurry of footsteps just out of your line of sight, but when you look, there’s nothing there—just the empty street, the soft glow of streetlights, and the ever-present hum of the city.
it’s when you stop for a moment, distracted by something—maybe you’re checking your phone or admiring a nearby storefront—that he’s closest. in that moment, tim takes a chance, moving closer to you, just a few feet away in the darkened alley. he’s not trying to startle you, but there’s something in his gut that tells him he can’t let you out of his sight, especially when it’s this late, and the streets feel a little emptier than usual.
he’ll hover just out of view, giving you space but never quite leaving you alone. if you keep walking, he follows, keeping his distance but staying close enough to ensure you’re safe. when you stop at a crosswalk or glance around, he’s already a few rooftops away, peering down at you from above, making sure you’re not being followed.
the closer you get to home, the more relaxed tim feels, but he never lets his guard down entirely. even when you reach the safety of your doorstep, he lingers just out of sight, making sure you get inside without any issues. he’ll remain in the shadows for a moment longer, watching as you lock the door behind you, ensuring you’re safe before finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
only then does he disappear into the night, his heart still racing, his mind replaying the images of your walk. he’ll retreat to his hidden vantage point, slipping into the dark corners of gotham once more, but the small weight of relief that you’re safe settles deep in his chest. even though he doesn’t want to admit it, there’s a part of him that feels content knowing you’re okay—even if you’ll never know how closely he’s watched over you.
#bruce wayne x y/n#bruce wayne x you#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne fluff#bruce wayne fic#bruce wayne headcanon#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x you#dick grayson fluff#dick grayson fic#dick grayson headcanon#jason todd x y/n#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#x reader#reader insert#jason todd fluff#jason todd fic#jason todd headcanon#tim drake x you#tim drake x reader#tim drake x y/n#tim drake fic#tim drake fluff#batman x reader#nightwing x reader#red hood x reader#red robin x reader#dc comics x reader
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Good Pup
human!minho x puppy!reader x puppy!seungmin
synopsis: Minho is certain that no matter how much you disagree, your new weredog friend, Kim Seungmin, is not someone he can get along with. However, they have no choice but to team up when your first heat makes its way into the night. Maybe you were right, they do get along, even if it's just a little bit.
7.3k words (damn)
warnings! MDNI 18+, fem!reader, 3some, PIV, no protection, knotting, biting (slight blood), jealousy, bff!minho, coworker!seungmin, double penetration, heat, sex pill, pussy eating, humping (brief), super light mxm themes, minho and seungmin don't like each other
In this world, Minho thinks there are two types of people. And no, it doesn’t have anything to do with what kind of job you work or what your passion is. It doesn’t even matter if you’re a hybrid; the ones mixed with all sorts of animals with human DNA. No, none of those matter to him. People, fully human or not, all boil down to one thing.
Cats or dogs.
See, Minho likes to think of himself as a cat person. Someone who prefers to have leisure in their own time. Someone who doesn’t need constant stimulation from people or conversations. He’s content with being alone, satisfied even. Maybe Minho doesn’t have a furry tail or pointed ears that flick at the slightest sound unlike the werecats he sees daily, but his human identity doesn't stop him from thinking of himself - or anyone for that fact - as either cat or dog.
Despite living a rather secluded life, Minho doesn’t mind the few friends he keeps close, both human and feline. He does, however, mind dogs like any cat would. They’re too noisy, too needy, and too happy for no god-damn reason. Being surrounded by so much energy drains him quickly, and although Minho likes to think of himself as a lover of all animals, dogs are just… difficult. So you being one of his closest friends is such a mystery to him.
It doesn't matter how many times you’ve seen Minho. Your tail always swishes when you see him approaching, even now through the crowd of people. It wacks the nearby pedestrians walking and you embarrassingly apologize, grabbing your shaggy tail to try and prevent it from moving. And no matter how many times Minho sees you get so giddy just by looking at him, he smiles.
Just a little bit.
“You’re gonna kill someone with that thing,” he says once he’s close enough. You roll your eyes at him, the complete opposite of the thumping of your tail in your grasp. “Oh shut up. You made me wait in this heat. I should kill you for that.”
“In front of all these witnesses? You’d make a terrible hitman.” Minho can tell you’re irritated even with your happy tail. Your floppy ears are down, sweat beads on your forehead, and trickles down the sides of your face. The nails on your fingers are darker and sharper than usual. He recalls you complaining about the heat, but the forecast showed cloudy skies. Minho would hardly call it a hot day, not even a warm one.
Something’s up.
But like any cat person, he doesn’t say anything about his observations. “I say we get out of the sun and into the convenience store before you start plotting my murder. I’ll pay.” It’s his way of trying to make you feel better with whatever you’re stressed about. It seems to work by your nodding. Your tail is relaxed enough for you to set it down, using the back of your hand to wipe the perspiration that drips down to your neck. “That sounds good. And you don’t have to worry about tonight. The company’s paying for the dinner and drinks.” That familiar wolfish smile finds your lips, pulling back enough to show pointy canines.
Minho is always captivated by your mouth. The way it can twist so inhumanely from the plumpness of your lips to the sharpness of your teeth. His eyes lower just for a split second before he says, “Even for me? A plus one?”
“I’ll make sure,” you say with certainty. “They’ve been working me like a dog, no pun intended, and this is their way of making up to everyone busting their ass to make deadlines. If I don’t get my Scooby-snack, I will actually kill someone.”
That sputters a laugh from him. Minho takes his place beside you to begin your journey to the market while giggles keep spilling. “If you’re Scooby, does that make me Shaggy?” There’s still a smile on his face even when you shake your head, following his steps. “Nah. You’re more like Scrappy-Doo.”
-
Okay, there is something definitely wrong with you. Minho is well aware that weredogs enjoy being in close proximity. There have been multiple occasions of your tail tickling his arm, of your skin brushing against his while you walk. Hell, he’s even indulged in kinship by patting your head and letting his fingers caress your ears. It usually doesn’t take much for you to be satisfied with those simple touches, but today you seem…needy.
And it’s not just Minho who notices. Customers, humans and were-creatures alike, see how much you cling to him. The tail that was happily dancing half an hour ago now wraps around his torso. He can feel it against his back and he finds himself enjoying this strange hug.
Minho would usually say something. Maybe tease you and tell you to keep your tail to yourself, but something tells him that isn't the best idea right now.
You’re hardly talking. The yapping puppy he’s so familiar with is nowhere to be seen even though you're right next to him. Standing so close that he can feel your body heat that he swears is hotter than usual.
Maybe he should enjoy the peace and quiet that he rarely gets with you, but Minho is itching for his pup.
“You okay?”
There, he said it. Minho is so used to you talking without being asked to the point that he covers his ears just to drown out your words. You would whine, ears pulling down while tugging at his arms. “Listen to meee!”
But instead he has to coax it out of you this time. You pull your attention away from the snacks to look at him. “Huh? Yeah no, I’m good. I have been feeling out of it recently but I think it’s just my job. Sorry, am I being boring?”
Reassurance. One of the most common needs for a weredog. To hear that they’re needed with some praise. To put it in simple terms, you want to hear that you’re being a good girl. At this point, Minho is willing to do and say anything to get you back to normal.
“Boring? I never said that. Hanging out with you is the highlight of my week…even if your furry friend keeps smacking my back.” And just like that, your eyes shine with both happiness and embarrassment. You take back control of your tail and scold it, “Stop annoying my friend.” You swat at it gently and push it back down behind you.
Minho doesn’t even notice his hand reaching out to pet you before he can stop it. His soft palm makes contact with your hair, ruffling it before moving to your ears.
People nearby stare but Minho hardly cares. There’s something about bystanders knowing the reason for your soft rumbling and gleeful expression is because of him. Weird want, but Minho’s heard that weredogs just have that type of effect on people. Plus, Minho’s your friend. Friends are always there to help each other out and Minho just happens to be your best.
It doesn’t take much after that to get you back to your talkative self.
“Like, I just feel bad, ya know?” You say, reaching for a meaty sandwich in the deli section of the convenience store. “No one talks to him at work and he’s always alone at lunch. Like, yeah he has a scary face and doesn’t talk to anyone, but that doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.” A triple meat sandwich catches your attention and Minho watches your curved nails reach for the packaging.
Minho inspects the drinks. “Maybe he has that scary face and doesn’t talk to anybody because he doesn’t want to talk to anybody.”
You roll your eyes, adding your find to the small basket looped around Minho’s arm. “Yeah, and I could say the same thing about you.” You poke his broad chest with a nail. The pain is hardly there, but Minho fakes a wounded expression and grabs his pec dramatically. “I'm bleeding!”
“Oh shut up. You’re just trying to change the subject because you know I’m right.”
“Right about what?” Minho ditches his act. “About the fact that I don’t like talking to anybody? Good job, Sherlock.” The good job makes your tail sway just slightly and Minho smiles when he sees it.
“Oh? Then what are you doing right now with me?” You cross your arms and stare at him.
“Replying.”
“Which is…”
“Communicating.”
“And another word for that is…”
“...Moving my mouth.”
“You’re impossible.” you laugh. “Anywho, he just reminds me of how it was when we first met. You being brooding, quiet and me being awesome, of course.” The two of you venture further down the aisle. “What is it that you once told me? Something about people being dogs and cats?”
“Dogs or cats,” he corrects. “What about it?” Minho abruptly stops his steps when he sees jelly. Despite being human, you can practically see his pupils grow wide at the sight of them.
“So based on the description I gave you, which do you think he is?”
Minho doesn’t answer immediately, can’t when his favorite dessert is quite literally on display. So many choices, so many flavors. He should buy one of each for taste testing. A couple of seconds go by before he registers your question. “Oh. Um, you said he’s like me?”
You nod, “Mhm.”
“Then cat, obviously.” Minho chooses a coffee and vanilla flavor. He imagines you’ll prefer the coffee one. When he turns to face you, he’s surprised to see that you’re smiling, as if already knowing he was going to say that.
“But get this,” you hop on one leg to the other in weredog behavior. “He’s a were-dog! Like me! I don’t know what breed but I’ve never met a fellow pup so…cat. You might like him.”
Minho scoffs at your playful wink, “Don’t try setting me up on playdates. I’m fine with the friends I have now.”
You whine, a high-pitched noise coming from the back of your throat. It used to startle Minho, but now he’s grown accustomed to ignoring your complaints until you’re both at the counter emptying the basket.
The cashier is a young werefox. He has slender eyes that stick out, enhancing his hard jaw and smooth skin. As if tired of the day, the said fox scans the items lazily, saying a standard, "Is that gonna be all?” before shoving the goodies in a black bag.
“Well, whatever,” you smooth your puppy ears. “He’s gonna be at the dinner tonight, so you’re meeting him regardless.”
For some reason, the fox suddenly looks interested. He picks his head up and looks between Minho and you. He sniffs and jolts. Minho narrows his eyes, subtly tucking his head to his armpit and smelling. Does he stink? Minho’s thinking about changing his body wash when the cashier sniffs again, but his eyes lock on you instead.
In all werefox manner, the cashier shifts his gaze to Minho and gives a sly smile. “These are on the house.” He snatches a package so quickly off the counter that Minho can’t tell what it is as the cashier shoves it inside the bag. The fox slides the purchases to Minho, looking at you once more before winking, “Have fun tonight.”
Minho is quick to get you both out of there. Your ears are up straight, tail hanging loose between your legs while looking back. Since your tail isn’t tucked between your legs or abnormally stiff, Minho thinks he shouldn’t be too worried. But the encounter was strange, no matter how brief.
“Did you know that guy?” You say once you’re waiting for Minho to unlock his car.
He shakes his head, “Nah. Let’s just go.”
You don’t argue with that. Your ears flick at the sound of the door unlocking and you quickly find your seat inside the warm car. The image of the cashier crosses your mind and you look at Minho. “What’d he put in the bag?”
But Minho had already tossed the said bag in the backseat. He shrugs, “Don’t know. I’ll check it out when I get home.”
Short sentences, indirect messages to tell you to drop it. Minho is in his cat mood as he ignites the car to life and puts it in reserve. Normally, you’d crack a joke. Saying something to lighten the mood or change the subject, but you’re starting to feel hot all over again. Minho had just put the A/C on, but the warmth of the car has you heating up even more. You feel nauseous and Minho’s human scent plays no aid. Sometimes you get car sick and you’re assuming it’s one of those times. You close your eyes and breathe, telling yourself that you’ll feel better once you get home and take some medication.
It doesn’t matter how sick you are, you have a company dinner tonight that your best friend is attending and you’ll be damned if you missed just because of a little bug.
-
Minho is absolutely not taking his eyes off you tonight and no it’s not because of how good you look. Sure, maybe your button-up shirt stretches at the top because of how tight it is against your chest and yeah, maybe the black pencil skirt does wonders for your ass but those are not any of the reasons why Minho is watching you like a hawk. No, he’s stuck watching how you’re trying your best to pretend like you aren’t on the verge of turning into a puddle of sweat.
Even the other were-dog you mentioned earlier, Kim Seungmin, notices your strange behavior. Minho sees that his ears are up and that his tail swishes unsure. Still, none of that matters from how giddily you seem chatting it up with him. Something about managing to meet deadlines and confusion about the new code in the system, but it’s all white noise to Minho.
You’re close to Seungmin - a little too close. Minho tells himself over and over that weredogs have an instinct to want to be close, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy with it.
It looks like your tails are dancing together as they swish, though yours is more erratic. Seungmin’s eyes travel everywhere and Minho is so close to leaning over you just to push him away.
“And the new code we have to use?” You groan. “I absolutely hate it.”
“You?” Seungmin challenges. “Hating something? I don’t believe it.”
Minho watches you scoff, watches the color of your face flush. It’s from your fever, he thinks. He hopes.
Why on Earth would you think he would be able to get along with someone like Seungmin? He was far too quiet when you happily introduced Minho - you’re best friend may he remind you - and didn’t so much as ask what type of job he works. Seungmin may be a cat, but Minho is starting to think he’s beginning to prefer dogs.
The male weredog leans closer to you and Minho straightens. He can hear how deep he inhales before Seungmin turns his head to the side, one ear flopping over. “Are you wearing a new perfume? It smells nice.”
“Oh, thank you.” You turn to your side, finally looking at Minho and smiling at him. His heart squeezes at the sight, how your eyes shine just looking at him. “Minho got it for me a while ago, but I only wear it on special occasions.”
The smirk on Seungmin’s face vanishes once he makes eye contact with Minho. And just like that, the moody expression Minho once wore turns smug. There’s a brief moment between the two men that you don’t see. A dirty look, a sneer, a smirk. It’s such a short interaction that speaks volumes.
Seungmin may be a dog on the outside, but that deadly look screams cat.
“God, why is it so hot in here?” You fan yourself with a hand, looking between your two friends. “I feel like I’m turning into a swamp.”
Minho glances at other people nearby. Your co-workers are drinking, eating, and talking about anything but how hot it is. Your fever must be getting out of hand and Minho is planning on asking you if you two should leave before Seungmin says, “When did your fever start?”
“Um,” you rub your hands together in an attempt to get yourself to stop feeling so antsy. Minho places a friendly hand on your knee. Nothing he’s never done before to soothe you, but you react as if he’s burned you. It feels like his hand sends shivers throughout your body and you can’t help but jolt. A soft whine leaves your lips, and poor Minho who can’t seem to notice that your distress is from his touch, decides to rub his thumb onto your skin.
What feels like buckets of arousal seep your underwear. You get the sudden urge to hump, a stupid weredog antic that you can never seem to get rid of. Your legs tense and you almost close them in an attempt to get some friction with Minho’s hand before you remember that Seungmin asked you a question.
“M-maybe a week ago or something? I think I just ate something bad.” But when you look at Seungmin for his response, he isn’t even facing you. His focus is on your lower half, watching with a predatory look in his eyes as Minho gently strokes his thumb on your thigh. Maybe you should feel weird that your co-worker is looking at you in such a way, but it strangely adds to the sensation Minho’s providing.
Seungmin inhales and groans, too quiet for the chatter of your company to notice but enough for you to accidentally snap your legs closed with Minho’s hand captive.
Then finally, Seungmin looks up between you and Minho and nods to the front door.
“Meet me outside.”
He doesn’t wait for a response before he grabs his jacket and leaves. A few coworkers complain and question him, but he silences them with a mere glare and a respectful, apologetic bow to his boss.
You and Minho look amongst each other and he carefully slides his hand out from the crease of your thighs. The two of you miss the warmth from the touch, but Minho is a little more concerned with how you’ve started to paw and grasp at his hand to get it back on you.
There was such a sense of urgency in Seungmin’s voice. As much as Minho was irritated with how he was looking at you, there was genuine worry there. It would be easy for you two to ditch Seungmin and leave on your own, but something tells him there’s more than just a stomach bug going on.
Minho takes his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers. He nearly hisses at how hot your skin is, but you only howl with satisfaction.
He stands, taking you with him, but your boss is quick to stop you from leaving. “Hey! Now where are you two going?” Shit, of course it wouldn’t be as easy to leave.
“I think she’s had too much to drink, sir.” A lie. You haven’t touched a single drink, but no one here is sober enough to know that. “It would be better to have her sleep it off so she can make it to work tomorrow.”
Minho hopes his excuse is enough and from the belly laugh that your boss gives, he thinks it is.
“I like the way you think! Make sure you take care of her. We’ve got a big project coming up and I need my best workers.”
A thank you, a quick bow, and Minho is quick to grab your things and lead you outside. To his luck, you play the drunk girl perfectly. Your full weight is on his shoulder that you’re leaning on, breathing into his neck and trying to nip his skin.Your tail is so out of control that you whack him and you as Minho walks to Seungmin.
No, this isn’t a fever.
And Seungmin is quick to confirm that the moment he sees how much you’re clinging onto Minho. He covers his mouth and nose with his hand. “Fuck. Your heat's getting bad. Why the fuck did you come in the condition?”
“I-I…no! Seung, I’m not. I can’t.” That seems to snap you out of your trance enough to answer him, but not enough to separate yourself from Minho.
“Heat?” Minho looks at you questioningly. Didn’t you tell me the doctors said you that your animal DNA is too small for heat periods?” Which he believed without question. Minho has known you for years and you’ve never had a heat in that time. Not so much as a story to tell or any suppressors he’s seen.
You look like you’re about to cry even with the hazy look in your eye. “They did! It’s way too late for me to experience my first heat. I’m just sick.”
Seungmin scoffs. “Sick? I don’t think so. Listen, the point is, you need to leave. I don’t mean to sound like a dick, but you’re going to attract were-males with your pheromones.” He looks around protectively and then back at you, putting his hand down. “Okay, I don’t mean to come off weird, but do you think you can…handle it on your own?”
There’s a silence between the three of you. Minho blinks rapidly. Did he hear that right? Is Seungmin, this man he just met tonight, really asking to hook up with you? In front of him? Your best friend?
He must have a death wish. “What the fuck are you saying, man?”
Seungmin averts his gaze to the other male. “Was I talking to you?”
“Seungmin!” You scold.
“Nah, you don’t get it, human. She’s in heat. You’re not going to be able to properly calm her down, or worse, she’s gonna go into a frenzy because you can’t.”
This is exactly why Minho can’t stand weredogs. They’re too obsessed with something that’s not even theirs. “And you think just ‘cuz you’re a dog you can? You don’t know me and you don’t know her. Get your snout out of our business.” Minho pulls you closer. “We’re leaving, let’s go.”
He only manages to get a few steps away before Seungmin spins him around. Being so close to him, Minho realizes he’s taller, but not by much. The ears add the illusion of extra height. It’s the piercing gaze, however, that makes Minho feel small. “Tell me, Minho, have you ever been with a were-female?”
“That’s none of your business. Fuck off.”
“I’ll go ahead and give you the benefit of the doubt and say sure, maybe you have once or twice. But have you ever been with one during their heat? During their first heat? Do you know what a weredog even does in heat? What they need? For fuck's sake, your stupid nose can’t even tell the difference from last week to this week.”
Seungmin takes a step closer until his chest is almost touching Minho’s. So close that you can smell how your heat is affecting him.
“I’m not doing this for a quick fuck and I’m sure as hell not doing it for you. Despite what your little human brain might think, I care. I care enough to make sure that she’ll go home safely and get properly taken care of. I’m not thinking of myself, unlike someone.”
It feels like a slap on the cheek. Minho’s jaw is so clenched that his teeth begin to ache. He wants to tell Seungmin that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, that he’s wrong - but shit, is he really? Minho isn’t well-versed in weredogs outside of friendships and the hookups he had were all feline or human. It hurts to admit, but he doesn’t know. Minho doesn’t even know what to do with you still clinging onto him and dipping your hands up his shirt to feel his skin.
Fuuuck this.
Minho lets out a deep sigh, almost as if it hurts him to say, “You're not getting in my car. Just follow behind.”
And follow Seungmin does. On the road driving far too fast the speed limit, on the sidewalk leading up to Minho’s house, to the front door that you wobble to, up the stairs that inevitably lead to Minho’s room that you barge into.
The bed is the first thing you go to. Neither of the men have a chance to lay down any ground rules before you bury yourself between the sheets. Minho stares as you inhale his blanket, grabbing his pillow and biting down on it with your canines. It only takes a second before you roll onto your stomach and grind on it, effectively humping his favorite pillow.
No, he isn’t staring anymore, he’s gawking. Minho nearly flinches at the amount of drool his poor pillow has to endure.
“Are you just gonna stand there or what?” Seungmin rasps out. The voice breaks Minho’s attention, and although he knows the weredog beside him is male, he still jumps at the sight.
Seungmin is full of want. His ears are up straight, his tail swishes as if he’s watching a prey, his teeth are bared with a hint of saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, and if Minho looks down, he could see the outline of a bulging-
“Mmm sorry,” you whine. “Smells so good. Min’ smells so good.” Your hips press up and down deeply, getting that nice friction on your clothed cunt. It looks cute, strangely, to see how desperate you are for a release. Minho would have liked to enjoy the scene longer if it wasn’t for Seungmin losing his patience. It takes a mere three strides for Seungmin’s long legs to reach you, his eyes pupils blown wide.
Within a second, Minho is beside him.
“Don’t get any-”
“Praise her,” Seungmin chokes out. “Pet her, touch her, fuck! Just do something. I’m going crazy.” He forces himself to back away from you, opting to pace around Minho’s room, trying to look for anything to distract himself from the rut he’s about to go in. Seungmin reaches for the bottom of his shirt and begins to hastily undress. He doesn’t even spare a glance at the human when he says, “Get her undressed. Weredogs need skin contact during their heat.”
Easier said than done. You’re clawing Minho’s skin affectionately and reaching for his belt. He feels like he’s wrestling you if he ignores his boner. He manages to unbutton your top, shaky hands reaching back to unclasp your bra but you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close. Your legs wrap around his torso and bring him in, his cock to your cunt through the many layers of clothes.
“No, takes too long. Just put it in me. I’m so wet already.”
Your voice is a whisper in his ear. Minho realizes it’s because you don’t want Seungmin to hear. To sweeten the deal, you grind on his crotch. Minho’s knees are fully on the bed, giving you a much better angle to hump him instead.
You let out the smallest whine. The tiniest sound of pleasure from something other than masturbating, but Seungmin hears it. He whips his head quickly and rushes to you two with a small package in his hand.
Minho’s able to make it out when he gets closer. It’s from when you and him went to the convenience store earlier. When the fox cashier shot his sly smile and said, These are on the house. Have fun tonight.
“I don’t even want to know where you got these pills,” Seungmin tosses the package to Minho. “Take it now. It should have an effect within 5 minutes.”
Knot Cock! The package reads. INSTRUCTIONS: take 5-10 minutes prior to intercourse with weredog. Do not mix with other genitalia-morphing pills. drowsiness and mild pain are-
“Jesus fuck,” Seungmin moans. “Your pussy smells so good.”
Minho rips the package open and discards the warnings. He can read it later. Right now, he’s focused on dry swallowing the pill, finally removing his clothes, and helping Seungmin take off your skirt.
Strings of arousal stick to your underwear as the material goes down your legs. You whine at the cold air, but Seungmin is quick to reassure you. “Good. Good. You’re doing such a good job. I’m almost done, baby.”
A scowl appears on Minho’s expression when he glances at Seungmin. It’s hard to just look at his face when the two men are naked. It’s far too easy to notice the flush in Seungmin’s chest and cock. How different, yet similar, it looks to his own.
They’re doing this together, why is he taking all the credit? He’s not even supposed to be here, he’s just helping. “I got you,” Minho emphasizes. He places his hand on your bare thighs and gently spreads them apart.
In all its glory, your cunt shines with arousal. For a brief moment, the men stare. There’s no arguing with your pussy doing all the talking, wetness seeping through your folds as if it’s crying. It’s only seconds they take time drooling over you, but too many seconds too long. You impatiently reach your hand down and spread your lower lips, using your other hand to rub your fluttering hole.
“Please, pleaseplease-”
Seungmin moves first, much to Minho’s displeasure. A growl emits from his chest as Seungmin peels your hands away from your cunt. Saliva drips down his chin - down his neck. Minho thinks he might eat you, but Seungmin opts to devour your cunt.
The sound that leaves you is more of a howl than a moan. A noise of appreciation and pleasure at every swipe of his tongue. Seungmin’s throat vibrates with his grunts, it bobs with every gulp. You thread one hand into his hair and the other entwines with Minho’s fingers. Minho can’t tell if he’s squeezing your hand or if you're squeezing his, but it doesn’t matter. Not when a foreign haze begins to take hold of his senses, a pressure in his cock he’s never felt before.
Minho tears his gaze from Seungmin eating you out to see his cock enlarged. He’s never seen it so big and red. He’s especially never had a ring at the base, a near-identical state of Seungmin’s. The shock almost distracts him from the urge he’s getting - the urge to push Seungmin aside, to have you close to him in every and any way possible.
Crap, the pill is working a lot better than Minho would have guessed.
To try and fight the effects, Minho leans down to get a taste of your cunt. The scent of you grows stronger, but Minho isn’t able to get his lick in when Seungmin pulls away to growl at him. Much to Minho’s horror, he growls back. The men bare their teeth, a clear sign of intimidation and Minho doesn’t back away from even with Seungmin’s sharp canines.
You, however, notice the clash of pheromones. You hear the snarls loud enough to pick your head up and focus your dilated pupils. Roughly, you move your hands to grip the back of their heads and force them into your cunt. They bonk their foreheads slightly, a soft whine coming from Seungmin and a final snarl from Minho before they succumb to your taste.
They can’t notice how their tongues mix and clash, or maybe they do, but sucking on your clit outweighs the fact. You can’t find yourself to care when their tongues move as if they’re fighting. One muscle pushes the other out of the way just for it to do it back. It’s almost cute if it was in any other situation, but you still smile and moan when one tongue flicks your clit.
Without needing to speak to each other, the men silently agree to move together to hear you again. Starting towards the bottom of your clit, Minho and Seungmin glide up. You tremble and squeal when the tips of their tongue continuously flick at your bud, but they graciously dip back down. Looking at how they suck your clit only amplifies the feeling of pleasure, but you can’t look away. It’s a hypnotic sight, watching their tongues lap up and down, watching the saliva spread to your thighs and pelvis from how much they lick.
You could cum just like this, looking into their eyes with your cunt in their mouth, but you don’t want to finish like that. Your heat makes it so that it feels painful to be empty no matter how their tongues tease your entrance. The only thing you need to be satisfied is to be full. So full of cum that it leaks for weeks after. To be stuffed and properly bred into with any male. They may have fought in the beginning, but you’re beyond elated for your first heat to be with them.
It’s far too hard to use words, not when you're panting and moaning with every lick, but you manage to get out small, nonono’s that make Seungmin’s ears perk up. Minho takes the opportunity to fully be on your cunt, sucking and dragging his tongue while Seungmin paws up to you.
He doesn’t have to ask, his eyes say it all with the worry and arousal in them.
“Fuck me.” Gosh, you’ve never been so direct before. “No more licking just please. It hurts.” You place a hand on your stomach, emphasizing the emptiness. “Wanna be full.”
Minho swears when Seungmin rips his head from your cunt. He;’s forced off with Seungmin’s fingers in his hair. Minho might have snarled again, but he heard your begging. Heard how the two of them eating you out did little to help your heat. It was only a matter of time before either of them was inside you, but the real question is who. Maybe Minho would have been more open, thinking more logically, about letting Seungmin go first, but the drug in his system makes it so the most important thing is having you to himself.
The look Minho gives Seungmin is deadly. “I’m going first.”
Seungmin doesn’t so much as acknowledge his words - can’t when he’s already stroking his cock and balancing himself on his knees. Minho hates how he succumbs to the drug, shoving Seungmin so hard that he nearly falls off the bed. “I said -” But Seungmin doesn’t let Minho finish, interrupting the older male with a just-as-hard push.
“Stop,” you all but whisper. They look at you and the expression on your face makes them obey, save for the teeth. “I…I want both. Can’t I have both?”
Is that even possible? Minho can only imagine how difficult it would be to take two cocks, let alone knots that will surely have your pussy expanding. It seems like Seungmin is thinking the same thing based on his confused expression, but his rut makes him just as clueless as Minho.
The men look at each other, eyes clear for the first time in a while. No words are needed to come to a silent agreement. Minho tucks himself between you and the bed, flipping you the other way until you’re chest-to-chest with your best friend. Seungmin stays on his knees on the bed, his cock pointed at your entrance. It takes a bit more adjusting before you’re nicely sandwiched between the two and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Their scent covers you perfectly with their skin on every inch of yours.
You’ve never gotten the experience to nest, but you assume it feels something like this.
Minho’s erection sits between your thighs, hot and heavy. You should feel weird, gross even, having your closest friend getting ready to fuck you. That feeling never happens. Not even as you lift your hips for Minho to grab his cock and angle it towards your cunt.
“Tell me-” He moans when you slide your cunt against his tip. “T-tell me if it hurts.”
You would have laughed if you could. Feeling genuine pain seems impossible in your state, but you nod anyway.
Minho doesn’t waste time rubbing his dick on your cunt. His cock is throbbing so painfully that the only relief is sinking into you.
Inch by inch, he enters. The tip flares more than it normally would, not that you would know, and the stretch has you whining into his chest. His scent calms you and you suck on his skin to further soothe yourself. Minho isn’t going as slow as he wants to. He’s trying to open you up gently, but your cunt is so warm, so soft, that he can’t help himself from fucking into you until his artificial knot prevents him from going deeper.
Veins bulge from Minho’s neck. He’s never had sex like this - he’s never had such an urge to claim, to breed. His cock is unbelievably sensitive and your pussy feels like heaven. He groans, hands going to your ass to squeeze the pulp flesh.
It’s then that he feels a different set of hands that he’s reminded of the actual male were-dog. “I’m in. You can-”
Seungmin, who’s been patiently sitting, pushes into you without any further instruction. The intrusion makes you yip from surprise. Minho’s ears pick up on the sound and a sense of inhumane protection overcomes him. He thinks you’re in pain from the small howl, but you moan almost immediately after. Seungmin thrusts into you much quicker, much faster than Minho had initially.
“Finally.” It sounds guttural from Seungmin’s throat. “Been waiting forever.”
Unlike Minho, who at least tries to savor the feeling of your walls wrapped around his cock, Seungmin ruts into you. The force of his thrusts makes you rock against Minho’s length. You let out little squeals and whimpers with every move right into Minho’s ear. If he wanted, Minho could finish just like this. With Seungmin’s cock rubbing against his own and your pussy moving just enough for some friction.
But Minho doesn’t want to just cum.
He wants to carve himself in you. To make his mark in the deepest part of you. Minho places his feet flat on the bed to properly thrust. It only takes one time to have you biting down his chest, your sharp teeth digging painfully into his skin.
“Fuck!” Minho’s flesh tastes of salt and desire. “Fuuuuck…”
Seungmin puts his hands on your lower back, causing you to arch at just the right angle for their tips to kiss your cervix. They buck up into you with different tempos, one going in while the other goes out. It’s an endless feeling of being filled. You swear you can feel them touching the back of your throat with how deep they are.
Distantly, you can feel the wetness of Seungmin’s drool dripping onto your ass. Pulling your teeth from Minho’s chest, you turn back to see just as you thought. Seungmin’s eyes are blown wide, tail stiff and pointed upwards with his flat tongue hanging out. He probably doesn’t even notice the mess he’s making on your back with his eyes locked where you three connect.
Minho groans at the welt from the wound you’ve left, but the pain is quickly forgotten at your tightening walls. He's astonished, truthfully, at how much your cunt can open. How eager it is to be pumped and used until it’s satisfied. Words can’t seem to leave him though, he can’t tell you how much he loves feeling your cunt and Seungmin’s cock working together.
No, instead, the noises he’s making are eerily similar to Seungmin. To try and quiet himself, Minho buries his face into your neck. He licks and sucks the skin there, gripping your ass harder as he manages to finally match his pace with the were-dog.
With your scent (and with the help of the pill) he understands why you bit him. What better way to claim you than both on the inside and outside? His teeth graze the sensitive part of your neck. You whine, lifting your neck higher to allow Minho better access. It’s not as easy to do with your body jolting from their thrusts, but Seungmin is quick to help.
He uses a hand to grip your hair, lifting you so high that your chest completely lifts from Minho’s. You whimper at the sudden movement, but the men are quick to kiss each side of your throat in apology. The new angle has you gushing overwhelmingly. Minho might have to buy a new mattress entirely.
“Feel that?” Seungmin glances at Minho. “Feel that pussy clenching?”
Minho can’t find the will to pull his lips away from you, so he looks back at Seungmin in acknowledgment.
“That’s her telling us to cum in it. Ready to be bred like a good pup, huh?” He shakes his fist with your hair in his hand.
You let him wiggle your head, nodding along with the movements. Seungmin grunts with approval and keeps your neck bare to them. Their movements grow sloppy, suddenly unable to keep a solid rhythm with their cocks pushing deeper and deeper until you know it’s only a matter of time before their knots fill you. You feel your saliva drip down your chin and Minho is gracious enough to kiss the drool away.
Seungmin’s claws dig into your back and scalp and Minho’s blunt nails squeeze the flesh of your ass. They snarl, though this time, it’s far from how it was before.
“Shit. How are you still so tight with two cocks in you?” Minho grunts out. His teeth nip your throat and Seungmin mimics on the other side. “So close, pup.” Seungmin sucks harshly on your bruising flesh. “Gonna take our knots so good.”
“So good,” you confirm. “Give it to me. Min’... Seung’. I need it.”
It’s in unison that they bite you. Minho’s dull teeth hurt compared to Seungmin’s pointed canines, but the stinging on your neck is nothing compared to the stretch between your legs when they force their knots in. You nearly scream from the intrusion, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you finally, finally cum with every cell in your body.
Your cunt expands with the spurts of cum from their cocks. It’s impossible for anything to drip out of your cunt, their dicks are perfectly made to ensure your pussy swallows everything. Their growls are loud in your ears, possessive and satisfied with their knot being buried in you. Minho is first to pull his teeth away from you, licking the mark better until he moves to a different spot to suck. Seungmin, on the other hand, opts to bite harder, ensuring his teeth will leave marks you’ll have to cover up. It’s not until he tastes the familiar metallic tang that he pulls away and pacifies the sting with his lips.
Seungmin releases his grip and you collapse on Minho’s chest. The men give shallow thrusts to further guarantee that you’re stuffed before you whine and twitch. Their hands soothe your body to coax you further into relaxation.
Minutes pass by before Minho thinks he’s ready to move. He tries to pull his cock out, but he’s met with resistance as if his dick and your pussy are actually molded together…with Seungmin’s, unfortunately.
You bark out a cry from pain - not the good kind - and Seungmin growls with annoyance.
“What the fuck?” Minho looks bewildered. His confused eyes find Seungmin’s. “Why can’t I move?” You’d laugh if you weren’t so fucked out, or if the throbbing between your legs was bearable. Seungmin clicks his tongue and laughs colorlessly. “Cuz we’re knotted, pretty boy. You’re gonna be stuck with me for a while. Literally.”
#smut#skz smut#stray kids smut#stray kids#skz#skz hard thoughts#skz hard hours#skz seungmin#skz minho#minho smut#seungmin x reader#seungmin smut#minho#lee know#seungmin#seungmin stray kids#stray kids minho
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VELVET FUZZ 、ა h.k
it’s strange that you find a teary-eyed, pink-nosed man outside your house while coming home on christmas eve. even stranger that he’s got antlers sprouting up from his head. ˒ ´-ྀི
⚞ ᪖ ˒ 𐔌 🪡 ꒱ ・ 5.4k
𝓟airings ˒ reindeer hybrid!hueningkai x reader
𝑔 ; smut ˒ fluff
𝓦arnings ˒ soft dom!reader, hand job, kai cums on his belly, quiet sub!kai, usual hybrid stuff like scenting and all that, pretty sweet all the way through, dry humping, jealous kai a little bit?, he’s clingy, happy trail mention (mmm), i really don’t know if i’m missing anything cause i’m writing this at 5am >.< lmk!
✎୭ ashlynn's note thabk you to the lovely anon that requested this one! OH MY GOSH. this one was not meant to be super long, and i felt awkward writing fluff at first (not my strong suit, but i sorta strengthened that muscle here!) but i grew so attached to this kai by the end!! how do we feel?
﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist
Dazed and sad-eyed, there’s a man on your porch.
With your keys still jingling against each other, you freeze. Your feet ache in your work heels, and your shirt collar is irritating your neck. It’s already bad enough that you’d worked a full shift Christmas eve, but coming home to this? Today is never going to end.
Maybe you should be worried that there’s a man hanging around outside your home, but to be quite frank... You’re more concerned with the very odd, very realistic antlers that seem to just... sprout up from his brownish tangle of hair. It looks incredibly heavy, just to be set on a headband.
“Can I help you with something?” you say, taking measured steps toward your front door. You’d already slipped once on your way out from the office today—crashlanding now, when you’ve made it most of the way, would be a shame. A thick, pristine layer of snow fluff sits pretty over the grass, thicker toward the edges of the concrete path up to your house where you’d shoveled it off.
He perks up, turning to you with a pink button nose and round eyes.
The look on his face tugs at your heart. Frantic and fidgety—maybe he’s gotten lost? It’s just neighborhood here, though. No matter how he might’ve gotten lost, it shouldn’t be that hard to find his way around. Not to the degree that he’d be looking at you like you’ve come to save him as he is now.
Tall and lanky, he opens his mouth to say something a few times, but nothing comes out. Despite his frost-bitten nose and the snow dusting his hair and shoulders, he doesn’t shiver. You’ve only just came from your heater-blasted car, and your bones have already started to chatter. That’s the second strange thing you note about him.
“Are you okay?” you say, voice going gentler. “Do you need help?” The chill on the surface of your skin begins to seep deeper. You cross your arms and tuck your fingers between the space between them and your body to conserve your own heat.
When he opens his mouth, the words finally fall out in a surge like blizzard. He was having a hard time getting them out before, but once he gets one out, they all come tumbling out after it. “They left me behind!” he says. His voice is pretty, even as it wavers. “They left—and they can’t... make any stops! I can’t believe they forgot me,” he says. Toward the end, his voice breaks.
Tugging your scarf up over your nose, you say, “Who? Who left you?” It muffles into the red cashmere. “Slow down. I want to help.”
Obviously, he’s been left behind by his friends as some sort of mean-spirited prank. It doesn’t seem like they’re good friends, either, if they have him panicked like this. He really believes they’re just going to leave him here. You frown at the funny aching in your chest. For whatever reason, one you decide not to delve into, that irks you. Taking in his wobbling lip and screwed up face, it makes you angry—it makes you want to make sure he’s alright.
You make split-second decision, looking at the state of him. He doesn’t seem dangerous. Actually, not one ounce of you believes that he could be. Maybe it could be a clever act, tugging on the heart strings of young women to take advantage of them. You’ve heard of plenty of that. But, you’re grown and have your own intuition. “Do you want to come inside? You look frozen.”
He nods.
“Okay,” you say, ushering him in with a hand gesture. “Let’s get inside. Warm up.”
Following you inside, his tall and nervous figure trails. You kick off your heels and peel your work attire off piece by piece by the door, shedding until you’re just in your skirt and blouse. The skin everywhere but your legs, where you have a pair of thick tights pulled on, prickles in the heater’s embrace. Your scalp sighs in tandem with you as you let your hair down.
Once you’re ten pounds lighter and comfier, you turn to him. He’s watching you with curious, sparkling eyes.
“What’s your name?” you say. “And why did your friends leave you?”
Continuing to watch you as you push past him and into your home, he sniffles and says, “They’re not my friends. They don’t like me; they think I’m useless. They did it on purpose—I know it. They left me here on purpose, and I can’t get back until next year!”
Whatever he means by not being able to get back until next year, you’ve got not even an inkling. “What’s your name?” you repeat.
“Kai,” he answers, eyes low.
In his hair, there’s a twitching. You frown. “Here, do you want me to take that? It looks heavy,” you say, offering your hands out in a gesture up at his antler-headpiece-costume-thing. “I can hold on to it for you.”
Shooting you a strange look, he says, “Take them? They’re my antlers.”
The two of you blink at each other for a moment, both lost for wildly different reasons, it seems.
“I mean, yes, I know they’re yours. I’ll give them back; I promise,” you say. “But while you’re here, we can put them on the counter or something. Y’know, just ‘cause it looks heavy.”
Wiping at a teary cheek, says, “You can’t take them off.”
Reaching up to his head, Kai tugs at one of those thick antlers. It doesn’t come off.
Opening your mouth to speak, you don’t know what to say. Laugh? You’ve never seen anybody secure a headpiece so well to their head. He’s really serious about this costume. “Can I touch?” you ask.
Jutting his lips out in a why not? sort of frown, he nods.
With an investigative hand, you reach up over his head. The antlers aren’t so tall—maybe a few good inches on his head. Smooth fuzz meets the pads of your fingers. You run them up the grooves and ridges, all solid and made soft with the velvet of genuine antlers. You pause.
Kai’s eyes linger on you. His voice is light and airy as he says, “You can tug on them, if you want. It doesn’t hurt.”
You don’t even ask him why it might hurt if you tug. Like this, running your fingers over the unnervingly realistic length of it, a seedling of something unbelievable plants. Wrapping your hand around it to tug, you water that seed.
It doesn’t budge. In fact, it’s so solid against his head that it can’t be anything but grown from it.
“See?” he hums, unperturbed with your exploring hands.
You don’t answer him. Not when, from his fluff of hair, you spot something even harder to explain away. Ears. Your mouth falls open as you take on into a gentle hand, running your thumb over it. It’s soft, warm, and real under your touch. It twitches, moving like attached to a living thing, too. Reeling, you step back.
“You’re—how did you do that?” you say. “Make it like that?”
Sweet face twisting into a puzzled frown, he says, “What do you mean? They’re my antlers and my ears. Every reindeer has them.”
Taking another step back, you shake your head and narrow your eyes down on him. “No... No, I mean make them feel real.” At the edges of your fingertips, the echoes of warmth linger. You think and think, and what you come to believe...
You begin to believe something absurd.
“They are real,” he tells you.
Letting that materialize inside of you for a moment, you say something stupid. “You’re a reindeer. The other reindeer left you.”
Cheeks a rosy pink, he nods dutifully, despite that being what he was telling you this whole time. “They don’t like me. It... was my first Christmas, and I’m new, and they all...” Making himself sad all over again, his shoulders droop heavy.
For the defeat and abandoned twist to his glossy eyes, you believe him. Maybe that makes you stupid, or maybe gullible. But you believe him, and so does your heart. It aches at the look on his face. Mending those steps you’d taken away from him for fear, you inch closer to him and take his face in your hands. His cheeks are plush against your skin. Over his nose and cheeks are a spackling of dusty freckles, and his eyes are shiny and hold bare trust for you even as you touch him. Innocent trust, though he’s lost and vulnerable, and you’d only just met.
You can’t mistreat that trust. You won’t. He’s a stranger in your home, and this is absolutely not where you thought you’d be, coming home on Christmas eve. But your intuition speaks once more to you, and you willingly follow. Or, perhaps it’s not intuition speak to you. Maybe it’s those big, twinkling brown eyes, and the tears brimming in them.
It’s just you living here, anyway. No roommates, hardly any friends over... You’d told yourself you’ll start putting yourself out there—to get a boyfriend to make the walls of your home a less isolating sight. But it was always later. I’ll do it tomorrow, I’ll do it next week, I’ll do it next year... You never really made good on that aspiration. Instead, you fill those gaps with soul-sucking hours at the office.
“When will they come back?” you ask. “Would you like to stay here until they come back?”
Wringing his fingers out, he nods. He stands there all reserved and meek, still so hurt, but his big eyes sparkle like he holds the Christmas sky in them. With emotion.
“Okay,” you say. “Okay. You can stay here.”
Perhaps you don’t have anything for him. No male clothes, especially none that will fit his frame, no extra bedroom or bed, and hardly enough groceries. But, what you do have, it’ll be enough. Just until they realize they’ve left him behind and come back to retrieve him.
You could hardly leave him out there the way you found him.
༄
Blinking your eyes open, you focus your bleary eyes on the broad figure in your doorway.
For the entirety of the night, Kai trails you. His eyes roam over your home, and his nose twitches as he takes in the scent of it. Into the kitchen to grab a quick snack, into the living room to click on the T.V., you hardly were able to get into your room alone to tug off your work clothes. When you stepped out in something comfier, he was hovering around by the door and perked up as you emerged.
He didn’t talk much as you winded down, either. When you’d first seen him outside, he was a frantic, rambling, fat-teared mess. He’s gotten quieter, just acclimating to the place. You ask him if he’s comfortable a few times and offer him snacks, but... well, the situation is strange. You’re both a little thrown off.
Eventually, you fluffed up the couch and made it nice with thick pillows and fur blankets for him. Usually, you’d unplug the tree before beg, even on Christmas night. You left it lit up for him.
Kai, stood in your doorway, tries to muster up what he wants to say. He shifts, antsy.
Your limbs and brain are still heavy with sleep as you say, “What’s wrong, baby?” It’d only been a good... thirty minutes since you left him to sleep on the couch. Drained to the bone by your day’s work, you knocked out pretty much as soon as your skin hit the sheets.
“I’m sorry...” he mumbles, silhouette meek in the doorway, where the dim light of the tree illuminates the edges of him. “I... This is the first time I’ve slept anywhere but the North Pole. I’ve never slept alone.”
If letting him stay in your home was already insane, then letting him sleep in your bed was even more so. Scooting lazily over on the bed, you pat the empty space it frees. Who cares? You know what it is to be lonely. “Wanna sleep in here?” you say, lips slow and lethargic.
“Can I?” he says. The steps he takes toward you are hesitant.
You tug the blankets back over your shoulders and hum. “Mhm...”
The bare side of your mattress dips beneath his weight. He shifts around and tries to get comfortable, shifting around until his antlers don’t scrape the headboard and he’s settled.
Body heat beside you, or just to sleep beside somebody... you haven’t had that in a long time. Everything feels both thrown for a loop and more familiar.
“Do you miss it?” you ask. It’s a stupid question; of course he does.
Drooping lashes fluttering down onto his cheeks while he blinks and looks around, uncertain where to rest his gaze, he nods in answer. His shag of hair brushes over his cheeks, dangling as he lets his head rest on a pillow. “Yeah. It’s so different here.”
Tracing his features, the curve of his cheek made soft and glowy in the clear, wintry moonlight, the rest of his face in shadow, the strain of an old ex’s shirt you’d given him to change into around his shoulders, and his eyes. They’re not so nervous, now. They digest you and your figure, just as he’d digested the rest of your home. You’re sure it is strange—getting left behind in a place so far from home. If it were, you might be the same. Worse, actually.
It’s good you found him. People treat the things they don’t understand awfully. None would believe him—they’d slam doors in his face or worse. You’re still not entirely settled on the reality of it, anyway.
“Maybe I can show you what this part of the world is like,” you mumble, relenting to the heaviness in your eyes. “Before they come and get you.”
He doesn’t answer. You’re not sure if he reacted at all; all you see is the black of your eyelids and the wispy tendrils of sleep beckoning you.
You sleep warmer on Christmas night than you have in a long time. Sometimes, you think you wake up to the weight of a hand on the curve of your pajama-clad hip, or maybe the puffs of sleep-ridden breath in your neck. In the center of your chest, your heart glows and flutters when his sleepy fingers skim over the bare skin of your waist where sleep had ridden it up. You don’t say anything—you don’t have the heart to.
He feels nice up against your back, anyway.
༄
Christmas comes and goes. Nobody comes to collect Kai. Strangely, selfishly, you’re happy for it.
No different from the first day, he trails you everywhere. The only difference is that he doesn’t look so shaken. He’s gotten used to you and the home. When you get up in the mornings to leave for work, he complains and rambles about, what if they come while you’re gone? and that he doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. You think he doesn’t want to leave—you hope he doesn’t, at least.
Coming home to someone waiting for you, who greets you with a slow smile as you kick off your shoes... You’ve gotten used to it. Things don’t feel so hollow, and your life doesn’t feel like a husk of what a life should be anymore. Rather than returning to a house that echoes your lone sounds back to you, you return to a home. The house has begun to smell like him, musky and coveting
You really hope they don’t come back to get him. It feels awful to admit to yourself, but to pretend that it’s anything else would be dishonest. If they had any intentions to, they would’ve by now anyway.
“Which?” you say, holding a glittering skirt and a silvery, ruffled one in front of you. “I think the silver one makes more sense for New Year’s.”
Kai sits on your bed. For some reason, his shoulders sag. “I don’t understand,” he says, toying with the fabric of the sweats you’d bought him. “Why can’t you have fun here? With me?”
You place the red one over yourself again, and then the silver one, and furrow your brows. Preoccupied by images of your outfit with either, you throw your words over your shoulder. “Just wanna see some friends, Kai. I won’t be out for too long. I’d bring you, but... I don’t think you’d like it.”
The silver one it is. It’ll go nice with the baby tee. Discarding the other in a pool on the floor, you collect the pieces of your outfit into your arm to change.
When you turn to head into the bathroom, Kai looks utterly dejected. He watches you, brows furrowed and he’s worrying his lip.
“Kai, baby,” you say. “It’s okay. I’ll go just until midnight, and then I’ll be back here with you.”
Staring at you for a few minutes more, his face sours. His hair, a gentle fall of loose curls, moves with a shaking of his head. “It’s not...” he starts, but some thought he has deters him. “Never mind. I’ll just take a nap.”
Before heading into the bathroom, you run your fingers through his hair and scratch a bit just behind his ear. He leans into it, pushing his head into your hand with utmost care to not snag you with a branchy antler. “Sounds good,” you say. “I promise it won’t be that long. I pinky swear it.”
Nose crinkling, he asks you, “Pinky swear?”
You offer him your pinky. “Give me your pinky. I’ll show you.”
When he does, you intertwine them to solidify your promise. “I pinky promise that I’ll be home soon, and celebrate the rest of New Years with you.” You press your thumbs together. “Now it’s a real promise. Okay?”
He nods and smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
Truthfully, it’s not that you want to go out that bad. You’d honestly rather be back here when it strikes twelve. But your friends insist that you go out. It’s been half a year since you’ve put yourself out there like this—you understand why they do.
Clicking the door closed behind you, you begin to drop your home clothes off to exchange them for a new, glittering skin. You reemerge from the bathroom a creature of the night. Your eyes glitter as you blink, and your skirt is a true, daring New Year's length, and you wear the print of your nipples against your little shirt like an accessory, and you smooth your hands down the slip of soft belly between the waist band of your skirt and the hem of your tee. His eyes find each and every one of those things.
“There’s snacks for you, and I’ll bring you home something to eat. You’ll be good here for a bit?” you say, wobbling on one kitten heel as you tug the other on.
“Yeah,” he says, falling flat. “I’ll be good.”
Fluffing your hair, you try and let his grumpiness roll off your shoulders. He gets like this when you leave. In just a few days, he’d grown so utterly attached to you that only the few hours away have him ruffled. You know he depends on you because you’re the only person and thing that he knows here, but... you don’t think they’re coming back to get him. Not this year, at least. And you can’t be home all day, so you need him to get used to functioning at home by himself.
Letting your voice into something both reprimanding and playful, you look at him through your lashes and say, “See you later, Kai.”
His eyes burn holes through you as you go.
༄
Pink-cheeked with liquid bliss heavy in your veins, you step from the nippy air and into the embrace of home. You’re not drunk enough to stumble or slur; you’d left that back at the bar. Still, you feel the buzzing like static between your thoughts.
Your heels and toes riot as you slip your feet from your heels. Should’ve brought a backup option... Kitten heels usually would’ve been enough to save your feet, but you were standing all night. You’re worn down to the bone.
Tucking your hair back out of your face, you blink heavily through a scan of the living room and kitchen. Usually, Kai’s right here at the door waiting for you. Today, he does not.
You frown. “Kai?” you say, projecting your voice.
He’s not on the couch, nor in the kitchen, nor in the bathroom as you investigate. You begin to be worried, until you find him in the same place you’d left him.
Except, now, he’s a tangle of blankets. You can’t see him. With your blanket wrapped up so tight over him, he’s just a mound on the bed. Strewn across the floor and over the bed and around him, there are a number of your clothes. Clothes that hadn’t been there when you’d left earlier.
He shifts. Before you even say anything, he knows you’re here. He’s got some good hearing, you’ve found. And smell.
“I’m home,” you announce, pulling the blankets off him. “You sleeping?”
As you peel back the covers, he sits up. His hair is a mess, and his eyes are drowsy. Rather than scooting over to let you slip into bed with him, or smiling to see that you’ve gotten home, his nose twitches and he tugs his lips back in a smear of disgust.
“What’s wrong?” you say. “Sorry for waking you up...” Gesturing around at the mess, you add, “What’s all this? My clothes are everywhere...”
“Why do you smell like that?” he says.
You flounder. It’s the snappiest you’ve ever heard him. “Oh...” you say, smoothing the tangles in your hair. “I... was dancing a bunch.”
Eyes sharp and negative, he says, “No. You smell weird. I don’t like it. Like other people. You don’t smell... Like you.”
“I don’t know...” You shrug a dismissive shoulder. “Maybe you’re smelling my friends. Does it bother you? I’ll go take a quick shower.”
“You promised that you’d be here soon,” Kai says. When you reach an arm up to soothe his sleep-tangled hair, he avoids it with a dip. “You smell awful. Like... you don’t smell sweet, you smell like a man.”
Still stung, you let your arm drop. It’s well past twelve. You’d broken your promise. Wincing, you sift through the memories of the night. You think maybe the closest you got to a man was a playful kiss with a friend to welcome the new year. You supposed you’d also hung around him the whole night...
“I’m sorry, I lost track of time,” you say. It’s a bare apology; you offer him no excuses.
Kai, shoulders stiff, does not loosen up. Emotion brims in his eyes like liquid frost. “Why am I not good enough? Why do you like him more than me?”
You go to answer him, but you’re not sure how to. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that you’d slipped up your times, but breaking his trust was. He’d been left behind by the only thing he’s ever known, and now that he’s settled here, he thinks you’ll do just the same to him. The twitching of his lips does a terrible number on your chest.
“Kai.” You whittle your voice into something breathy and gentle. “I’m not gonna leave you. You can stay here forever, even if they don’t come back.” You know he’s begun to realize that maybe they won’t be bringing him back home, as you have. Still in your itching skirt and smeared in a thick, going-out layer of makeup, you dip your knees into your side of the bed. “Forever. Maybe I break small promises, and I’m sorry, but I won’t break that one.”
How had he carved the shape of himself into your heart so fast? So well?
“I don’t want to go back there,” he says, colored thick with conviction and sullied memories. “I never want to go back there.”
Like the weight of the world on your shoulders, your body longs to crumple under it. You lay your hair on the pillow and beckon him down, too. “Then, don’t...” you mumble. “Stay here. Forever.” You repeat the word like mantra, so that maybe he’ll let it seep into his bones and patch up the wounds left there.
He curls up over your back, pressing his mouth into your shoulder. You’d thought the first night would be the only that he joined you in your bed, but you’ve got a tender heart. He runs warm-blooded as a creature of the snow, and you run cold. He’s a good heat source.
That’s your excuse, anyway.
Like all the other nights of the week he’d been here, he takes your hip in a hand and slips the other under your neck like a pillow.
This night is the same; until his breaths quicken behind you. His frame goes rigid once more, a solid wall at your back and a big hand pinning your hip to the bed. He presses his nose to the exposed length of your neck, puffs of hot and angry breaths fanning out here and there. Like he’s caught a scent.
“Kai?” you say into the dark of your room. It’s half a laugh, half real question.
Your lungs stutter when the drags of his nose turn to drags of his cheek, and he’s pressing himself harder into you. That’s when you feel it: the rock-solid hardness of his cock against your ass.
“I don’t like it,” he whines, wrapping you in him. His scent. “I don’t like that smell. Can’t sleep...”
You have a decision to make: to go brush him off and sleep as though it were nothing, or to address the barely-there grind of his hardness against you.
Like all of your other decisions, the one you land on is the absurd one. You push your ass back into him. He gasps, a sucking in of air, against your neck, and digs his fingers harder into your hips. He brings you back into his hips as they grow more daring.
“Missed you so bad...” he says, sliding that one hand on your hip down so that his forearm presses into your belly. He uses that as leverage to grind against you, instead. “Missed your smell... None of your clothes smelled like you... N’ your blankets started smelling like me, too. Why did you stay away for so long? You promised. Promised...” A shuddered breath prickles the hair on your neck. “Promised, and now you smell like someone else. I hate it.”
“Baby,” you say, reaching a hand up over your shoulder to cup his cheek. “I’m sorry. Wanna make it better? Want me to help you?”
He whines from the chest, sitting up quick to look at you. His pupils are wide, and you know just by the look of him how much it’s been bothering him.
“Scoot back,” you say. Your belly does a wild crash. If you were to tell yourself two weeks ago where you are now... You would’ve laughed in your face.
Eyes glazed over and his cheeks a dusty sort of pink, he does so until his back is at the headboard. He moves with a clumsy excitement.
You tug your skirt down your legs, kicking it off your ankles so that you can crawl over to him better. In your neck, your pulse flutters wildly. He watches you approach, and then tug his sweats down. His cock pops right out, long and pretty pink at the tip and weeping glistening tears. He hadn’t even been wearing boxers. Kai’s squeak when you brush your fingers just up the underside of it and then take it in your fist is sweet.
“Poor baby,” you say, knitting your brows together and looking up at him through your lashes. “You waited all day for me, just for me to come home smelling like somebody else... You did so good, I think you deserve to feel good.”
His lips glisten with his wet tongue. When he fully takes in the sight of you, face-to-face with his cock, a shudder shakes him. “I wanna...”
Pushing his shirt up to reveal the softness of his belly, you say, “Wanna what, Kai?” You press sweet open-mouthed kisses up the dainty trail of hair just under his belly button, and then you scatter a few extra like glistening presents over his hip bones and abdomen. His chest jumps and falls with each.
“Feel good,” he says. His length does a twitch, as if just the thought of you helping him like that was just like touch.
You press the final kisses up his length, from the base of his cock up until your lips meld against his cockhead, right over the wet tip. Savoring the salty musk of his precum, you say, “You’re such a sweet boy. M’ sorry I made you feel bad. Want me to smell like you? Would that make you feel better?”
He opens his mouth to say yes; you see it in his eyes. Your lips wrapping around the hot pink of his tip ruins his plans. The way he twitches his lips and shifts goes right to the hotness between your own thighs. Encouraged, and truly wanting to make up for how you’d treated him today, you release his tip and smear the mess down his length with a few pumps. As soon as each slide is slick and obscene, you turn from languid pumps to purposeful flicks of your wrist.
Kai bucks his hips up into your fist and lolls his head back, eyes screwed shut. The digging of his teeth into his plush bottom lip is what draws your eye most, though.
“It’s okay to make sounds if you feel good, baby,” you coo, kissing over his chest and neck. “You don’t have to be quiet around me.” You adjust your grip and change the angle of your slick jerks until one has a sound catching in his throat and a hand of his flying up to curl around your wrist. “Like that?” you ask. It’s not taunting—it’s a genuine wonder.
It takes him a few moments, adam’s apple bobbing, but he pants a little for you finally. He nods frantically. “The....There,” he grits out.
So, you continue to fuck him on your fist. Sometimes you stop just to collect the slow, oozing white droplets that he can’t help but produce, and sometimes you reach your fingers up to brush the hair out of his eyes to better see his glassy eyes and red cheeks. The sounds really are obscene; your ears burn red just hearing them. Your cunt throbs at it, too.
“Feels... please—” he gets out, rustling against the headboard harder and bringing his hips up to meet your fist half way. “M’ so—happy to be here. Love you—love you! Gonna cum, can I cum? Please?”
Stomach doing wild flips at the cracking in his voice and the tightening of his soft belly, you loosen up your strokes and try to help him toward it. “Of course. Cum, baby. Go ahead. Feels good?”
Your wrist aches once his jaw goes tight, the muscles there twitching in the moonlight, and he spills his seed in white, sticky spurts all over his belly. His fingers go tight around your wrist when you continue to jerk his cock even as he cums, working him well through it and urging him to spurt a few more stray shots on himself with wild jerks of his hips. He heaves whines and his cock throbs beneath your fist, pretty face screwed up tight.
“There we go,” you coo, admiring the scene of him, covered in his own seed and his bangs damp. You’re sure you smell entirely of him, now, with his mess wet and nasty over your palm.
A parade of sweet thank you’s spill from his lips once he finds his mind again, breathy and full. You just press your cheek into his chest, feeling every frantic thump of his heart against you. Perhaps it’s a bit sappy, but all you can think to say is:
“I’m happy you’re here, too, Kai.”
﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist
✎୭ ashlynn's note TJIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING SUB IDOL AHHH. kinda nervous. can you tell? i’m not sure why, i love that shit. it’s just how the dice have rolled hehe.
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#꒰🥮꒱ ࣭ ٫ ashlynn’s twelve days of christmas#txt fanfic#txt x reader#fem reader txt#hueningkai hard thoughts#hueningkai hard hours#hueningkai x you#hueningkai x y/n#hueningkai fic#hueningkai fanfic#hueningkai smut#hueningkai x reader#txt ff#txt fanfiction#txt fic#txt smut#txt imagines#txt hard thoughts#txt fluff#txt hard hours#hueningkai fluff#hueningkai imagines#hueningkai hybrid#txt hybrid smut#txt hybrid#txt scenarios#txt christmas
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Today’s Good Omens posting is about *spins wheel*
how Crowley’s self-loathing colors the way he sees Aziraphale’s interactions with him and how we should take that negative bias into account
I’m not even gonna talk about the whole final scene/misunderstanding because we’ve all talked about that one by now. Instead I want to talk about Crowley’s description of the 3 reasons Aziraphale calls him:
(Paraphrasing) “you’re bored; you need to tell someone about something clever you did; something’s wrong”
this is a succinct breakdown and it lowkey paints Aziraphale in a bad light; Aziraphale only calls Crowley when it’s beneficial to him; this is a transactional relationship
but like, I think, to some degree, those 3 reasons are simply the only reasons Crowley can actually imagine Aziraphale being interested in talking to him. The last one is a common song and dance between them, sure, but what about the first 2?
Aziraphale calling out of the blue, rambling about how things have been slow and quiet in the neighborhood of late and wanting to take that time to catch up - Crowley can’t fathom ‘Aziraphale missed my voice and wanted to make sure I was doing okay’ and turns it into ‘Aziraphale is just bored obviously’
Aziraphale calling, absolutely giddy, talking a mile a minute about something clever he’s done can’t possibly be ‘I’m the first person he wants to share his victories with, the person whose opinion matters the most to him now and always’ so instead it’s ‘Aziraphale just needed someone to tell this to before he popped’
(There’s an interesting thing implied here as well, which is that it’s Aziraphale calling Crowley regularly and yet we talk about how Aziraphale isn’t taking initiative in the relationship but I digress)
Point is, I think Crowley knows that Aziraphale likes him, it’s part of what makes everything so heartbreaking - the way he ends up being rejected in spite of that - but just like I think he misunderstands Aziraphale’s heaven proposal because he can’t see that Aziraphale thinks he is better than heaven already, he misunderstands any reason Aziraphale would possibly reach out to him as some level of wanting something rather than… just wanting to talk to him. He doesn’t recognize that he is Enough for Aziraphale, no strings or acts of service attached.
We just need one amazing kiss conversation to set this straight
#good omens#good omens season 2#ineffable husbands#Crowley#Aziraphale#im not saying Aziraphale doesn’t need to communicate better he sure fucking does#but I think Crowley also has a thick skull and deep layers of self loathing that make it even harder lol
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