#but now it feels simultaneously too late and too early to get into all that

[astralprisms]

WHEN WILL I FINISH THIS GAME. WHEN. ARGH.

[rueclfer]

everything is embarrassing // izuku midoriya

when he doesn't know how to take control of his life

a/n: 6k+ words lmao i feel crazzzzzy ok bye

19-year-old izuku doesn't have the privilege of hopping around college parties on the weekends or enjoy the “college experience” like his friends do.

he can barely catch a break to breathe.

monday through friday he's in classes from 8:00am to 4:00pm, and for more than half of the week from 6:00pm to 12:00am, he's working at the campus library- simultaneously shelving returns, organizing files, and scrambling to finish his homework. on the weekends, he'll be at his part time job at the local cafe just down the street from his dorm building.

it hasn't been an easy semester for izuku. he's a year behind his friends and he wants nothing more than to be able to walk across that stage with them by the end of their fourth year, but nothing comes easy when you’ve been out of school for a year, no money, have a scholarship on the line, and a single mother at home to make proud.

he's watching the time go by. his eyes darting back and forth between the ticking needle on the analog clock and you sitting at your usual table with your headphones on, attention glued to your textbook, and the tapping of your pencil growing louder by the second.

occasionally, he'd let himself clock out and lock up about 5-10 minutes early if there was no one lingering around on his floor, and all of the day's work had been completed. no one stays as late in the library as you do. it annoys him. 

5-10 minutes is crucial to izuku.

he could get a head-start on his commute back to his dorm. if he walks quickly enough, he'd be back before 12:15am, be ready for bed by 12:35am, and he'd be able to get at least 6 hours of sleep.

if he's lucky.

but you. you were always there until the very last minute- sometimes even past closing.

it's 12:05am. how could anyone be so careless to not keep an eye on the time? can’t you see that it’s only you two left on this floor? did you not hear the 10 minute closing warning on the intercom?

if he wasn't running on a couple hour of sleep, a poor excuse for dinner, and 6 hours worth of brain numbing work, he wouldn't have the nerves to approach you so casually. he'd be replaying what he wanted to say in his head, stumbling over his words, and hope you wouldn't take offense to it.

"the library's closed." he bluntly says, still maintaining a few feet of distance.

you don't hear him or notice his presence at all. you're lost in that textbook and your mind is fumbling through these terms and definitions staring back at you.

izuku blinks once. then twice.

"hey." he starts again, taking a step closer and setting a hand down on the table right above your textbook.

you look up and catch the library worker’s tired eyes. your gaze immediately flickers to the analog clock hung on the wall past his shoulder.

12:12am

“oh shit!” you exclaim, ripping off your headphones. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, i lost track of time.”

you slam your textbook shut, rubbing your eyes against the back of your hand. how long had you been at it like this? studying the hours away in your own corner of the library?

“yeah.” izuku breathily chuckles, a sense of relief washing over him as he watches you haphazardly shove your books and papers in your bag. “sorry, i hate to interrupt a good study session, but i’m kinda tired, and if i stay here for another minute, the shelves might start talking to me.”

“god, don’t be sorry. i get it.” you laugh, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “i’m here, like, everyday. i’m sure everyone who works here is sick of me by now.”.

“yeah, me too.” he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck as you two make your way towards the exit. “here everyday, that is.” he quips, nervously running a hand through his tousled hair.

“look at us, so scholarly.” your voice dripping in sarcasm. you turn your head over your shoulder to meet his eye. “paying so much money for this university to drain us of all joy in life.”

“well, i’m on a scholarship.” izuku mutters. “so i guess i still have some joy left?

“yeah? well that’s actually even worse.” 

“is it?” he cocks an eyebrow.

“you have much more to lose.”

-

the next time you two see each other, he’s knelt over an open filing cabinet, digging through dividers for some sort of paperwork. 

since that night you’ve met, university life has felt a bit less lonely- something about taking a 20 minute walk to your dorm buildings, which happens to be right next to each other, complaining about how terrible of time you’re having adjusting to university life really brings people together.

“hey.” you cough.

izuku looks up to see you sporting a coffee cup in each hand.

“oh. it’s you. hey.”

you hold one out to him, waiting for him to take it, but all he does is give you a blank stare as his eyes flicker between your own and the cup outreached towards him.

“take it.” you chuckle. “i brought it for you. you looked like shit last time i saw you, so...”

the corners of his mouth quirks up into a smile, gingerly accepting the hot cup of coffee.

“...so this is your apology for staying past closing the other night?” he teases.

“oh definitely not.” you scoff. “i’ll be doing it again tonight too, don’t you worry.”

he nods his head, taking a deep swig of the bittersweet coffee. “see you at midnight, then.”

“see you at midnight.” you confirm, sending him a smile as you pull your headphones over your ear and head towards the back of the library where your designated table was waiting for you.

-

at 21-years-old, izuku goes to his first house party. it takes you about a week to convince him to give you one of his saturday nights that he’d usually reserve for studying or catching up on sleep.

“please.” you beg once more. “what are you going to say to your future students? how are you going to say you had the college experience without going to a single party?”

“with a degree?” he chuckles, slinging a rag over his shoulder. “you’re also distracting me. i’m on the clock, and my boss can come back anytime, you know.”

“oh, please.” you roll your eyes. “if toshinori was here, he’d be telling you to put your big boy pants on and get drunk with his favorite customer tonight. and if you agreed the first time i asked, i wouldn’t have to follow you to your second place of employment.”

��i’m sorry, i can’t. maybe next time?”

“please, izuku, just one party. i’ll help you get ready after your shift. we’ll leave anytime you want, but i can guarantee you’ll have so much fun. i promise i’ll never ask you again if you really do end up hating it.”

he can imagine it now- if someone asked him about his college experience, he wouldn’t mention the parties, the professors, or the time spent away from home. he’d talk about you.

izuku has a hard time balancing his life between keeping up with the workload and trying to not let his days blend into a muddy gray, but you had perfectly fit somewhere in between all of the chaos like a fresh breath of air.

izuku was tired, and you were a shot of espresso. how can he say no to you?

“fine.” he sighs in defeat, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter towards you. “but i can’t be out that late, okay? i have to be back here in the morning.”

-

“what the fuck happened?” you slam the door shut behind you, muffling out chatter of the crowd and heavy bass shaking through the walls. 

you twist a wad of toilet paper into a cone before plugging the stream of blood gushing from his nose.

“sorry, sorry, sorry!” he repeats, holding the toilet paper in place with a bewildered look in his eyes. 

“i don’t know what happened,” he starts in a nasally tone “maybe it’s all the smoke in the air or something. i heard that second hand smoke can be really drying for your nasal passages, especially if there’s not a lot of ventilation like in this apartment, i also haven’t been drinking a lot of water today and-”

“aht!” you interrupt, nudging him over with your elbow to rinse your hands off from the bloody residue. “my theory is that your body is shutting down on itself from the lack of proper sleep and nutrition. thoughts?”

izuku pouts. “stop it. i had a protein shake before we came, remember?”

“of course, how could i forget about the most rancid concoction you managed to blend together?” you mutter, wetting a wad of toilet paper and dabbing away the dried blood that had fallen onto his chin and t-shirt.

he cocks an eyebrow at you, holding up the red solo cup containing a questionable blue liquid that you shoved in his hands to hold when his nose started dripping blood. 

“wow, since when were you a chem major? since you know so much about ‘rancid concoctions,’ huh?” he deadpans.

“izuku midoriya, are you getting sassy with me?” you scoff, grabbing the cup back from his hands.

“maybe i am.” he presses his lips together to suppress a smirk. “or maybe i’m just making an observation.”

izuku had finally started learning how to bite back. somewhere within the last year, the skittish library worker who you enjoyed pestering had grown the confidence to return your relentless teasing.

you weren’t sure how to take it- how giddy it made you feel and how much more of it you wanted to draw out of him.

to him, it was all a front. he perfected the line delivery with ease, but at the cost of his chest tightening and stomach turning over the sight of your amused smile and lit up eyes. this made him anxious.

you have much more to lose

everytime he sees you, he’s reminded of your very first conversation together when you were first years. he’s acutely aware of how much he has to lose, but if there’s one thing izuku could not bear to risk losing during the worst few years of his life, it was you.

“uh, why are you looking at me like that?” he nervously chuckles, his ears growing hot from trailing your eyes as they glaze over his face.

“i love you.” you smile, the alcohol finally making its way to your head. “a lot.”

izuku’s breathing stops for a moment. his eyes widen, and the nervous giggles continue pouring out as his facade from minutes earlier crumbles completely.

“why are you laughing?” you chuckle, taking a sip from your cup, choking back a grimace.

“i…i don’t know.” he bites his bottom lip, suddenly aware of his nervous habit. “you’re just being a silly drunk right now."

“what? because i said i love you?” you cock your head with a lazy smile “the L-word got your panties in a twist?”

“don’t know what you mean.” he turns his attention back to the mirror, subtly swiping his sweaty palms on his thighs before unplugging the tissue from his nose. 

for the first time in his life, he’s simultaneously grateful and regretful for alcohol. grateful for the red sheen over his face to mask his blush. regretful for the carelessness it caused you with your words. 

he doesn’t have the time or energy to entertain it. that is the one thing he’s certain of. he wouldn’t be good for you- wouldn’t give you the time and attention you deserved. he loves you too. he loves you enough to not say it back.

“it stopped bleeding. i think i’ll have to leave soon, so let’s get back out there, yeah? i’ll make you a better drink, too.”

he shoots you a forced grin before grabbing you by the shoulders and ushering you two back to the party where you reunite with your roommates and mutual friends. you leave your drink in the bathroom.

-

on the day izuku turns 22-years-old, he finds out that he’s on track to graduate with you and his friends. after stepping out for a quick phone call with his academic advisor, he drunkenly cries into your shoulder mid-birthday party (that his boss at the cafe forced him to take the time off to have).

all of the hard work and courses he packed on during his first two years at university finally paid off. though, that doesn't mean he’s gotten any easier on himself.

he quits his job at the library and starts student teaching part time at the local middle school for college credit.

you barely see him now-a-days. more often than not, your texts go unanswered.

izuku is a busy guy.

you miss him. you didn't realize how lonely it felt to walk back to your dorm from the library at midnight by yourself- you haven't felt this way for a while, not since you met izuku. 

you wished he made it easier for you. your feelings for him never subsides, but instead grows into a longing ache. it’ll be like this until graduation. the occasional text message, running into each other in the halls with quick hello and goodbye, coming into his weekend job just to see him for a few reassuring moments- you know you both needed it.

he talks about you to his students a lot- “my best friend,” “someone important to me,” “my support system,” and etc. he’s always referring to you.

he missed seeing you all the time, but it’s all been so hectic for him he hates to admit that you barely cross his mind when he’s in the midst of a busy day. on top of his regular grueling school work, he has to lesson-plan for the days he’s teaching, grade papers, as well as check in with his professors and mentors.

he doesn’t know how he does it.

working in that library was excruciating, but he missed nothing more than the last half hour of his shifts where it’d just be you two, sending shy glances at one another until it hit midnight. he doesn’t even mind the rest of the 6 hour shift where you’re just sitting in the same spot that you always gravitate towards, head in the textbook for him to look up at every now and then.

you tell him you love him for the second time at the end of your graduation party when all of the guests have cleared out of your half empty apartment.

“what?” his eyes go wide, exactly like they did a year ago.

“i love you, izuku.” you ball the sides of your graduation gown, wrinkling the fabric in your hands.

you’re sober this time, which makes it infinitely more painful to say out loud.

his mouth gapes open as if he’s a fish gasping for water. he doesn’t know what to say.

“i have for years.” you fill in the silence, fidgeting with the silky material. “ever since you kicked me out of that fucking library, i think. i don’t know. maybe i’m being stupid, but i can’t help it. i love you, and i need you to know before… you know.”

it’s been three years, and you’ve waited until this night to pour it all out because you knew that in less than 24 hours, you’d be going your separate ways.

in a perfect situation, izuku would tell you that he feels the same. he’d run through an airport to stop you from leaving and beg you to stay with him. you wouldn’t have to go back home. you’d share an apartment. live in the city. start your entry jobs. you’d have time together.

“i’m sorry.” is all he says. “i’m sorry.” he repeats.

tears well in his eyes, and he grabs you by the shoulders to pull you into his chest.

“sheesh, you’re such a crybaby.” you choke out a half chuckle, your eyes running hot now. “don’t be sorry, okay? i get it. i know.”

your arms tightly wrap around izuku’s waist as you two silently sob into one another. his hand runs through your hair, stopping at the nape of your neck to pull you closer.

there’s something much more painful behind this confession to cry about. you’re leaving the city, and you have no reason to stay. for the first time in three years, izuku won’t be within arm’s reach and you’re left with the cold reality of navigating your future without your best friend by your side.

“you know, i..” he begins, pulling you back to look at your face, searching for the right words, or an answer. “it’s not that i don’t feel the same, okay?” 

his cheeks lightly dust over pink. it’s the first time he’s admitted that out loud.

“i know.” you sadly smile, your hand reaching up to wipe away the stray tears left on his cheeks. “we’ll be okay. we worked hard for this, izuku.”

izuku felt like throwing up. he had spent the last three years working himself into the ground with endless all-nighters, black coffees, and missed events to get everything he’s ever wanted for his future, so why does it feel like his world is slipping from between his fingers?

yes, he worked hard, but he wondered if it was all enough?

“i’m going to miss you.” he mutters, connecting your foreheads together. “i already do. you’re everything to me.”

“me more. i’ll miss you more.”

after that night, you don’t see izuku again for a long time. 

izuku jumps into his new position at the local high school in the same school district as the middle school he worked at during his last year of university. he feels a sense of relief everytime he walks into his school building- something that he couldn’t ever say during his years as a student.

you move back home and land an entry job at a startup tech company. it’s boring work, but at least it’s remote and your days don’t mesh into one- you made sure you would never have to go through that again.

you try to stay connected, but work is busy, and you’re both trying to figure out what life is supposed to look like post-grad. occasionally, you’ll send each other a meaningless “thinking of you” message, but you eventually lose contact after a couple of years of trying to plan visits and meet ups- there is just no time. there never was.

-

at 27-years-old, izuku is spending his late afternoon sitting in his empty classroom with one of his students. it’s half an hour past their scheduled parent-teacher conference time, and he’s wondering if he should just reschedule.

“are you sure your mom is coming? did you tell her the right time and date?” izuku sighs, resting his head on a propped elbow.

“duh. what kind of student do you think i am?” they scoff, glancing up at him from their phone.

“judging by your grades, i know exactly the kind of student you are.” he mumbles.

izuku’s trying to not panic, the kid clearly isn’t, but he’s wondering how far back this sets his schedule. he should be starting on the stack of papers to grade by now. he still needs to write out a lesson plan for tomorrow. maybe the kids deserve a movie day? maybe he deserves a movie day.

“don’t freak out.” izuku hears from outside of his door “you’re fine. it’s okay. seriously, chill the fuck out you weren’t interrupting anything, i needed a break anyways. i’m walking in right now. yeah, i’ll let you know how it goes.”

finally.

izuku straightens up, and tightens his tie. he whips open his laptop and pulls up the tabs of grades and assignments to discuss.

“i’m so sorry-” the voice falters at the end as it enters the classroom.

“don’t be, i was just-” izuku glances up from his screen and his throat suddenly closes shut.

5 years later, and the universe leads you back to one another. here. in his classroom.

“izuku midoriya?” you cough out.

for the first time in his life, he doesn’t like the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth. it’s hesitant. it sounds foreign. it makes him question himself for a moment. 

yes? that’s me, right? it’s me, izuku. your izuku.

“what are…uh.. you…here?” he stammers, unable to get the words out.

you take a step forward into the classroom. you could pass out at the sight of him. he still seemed as boyish as ever. maybe a bit broader, and taller, but his hair is still just as wild as it was in university. you can’t help but feel a twinge of insecurity as you wonder if you looked any different as well.

“uh…where’s mom?” your nephew glances back and forth between you two starstrucked at the sight of one another. “we have to look over my grades and stuff, you know.”

“right!” you exclaim. “your mom got caught up at work, so she asked me to come in.” you awkwardly shift in your position, your eyes never leaving izuku’s.

izuku’s face flares up in heat, snapping back into the present as his eyes flicker back towards his student.

“you know what? let’s reschedule that. you can go and i’ll see you tomorrow?” he quickly stands up, knocking over his chair and hitting his knee against his desk in the process.

“really?” they cock an eyebrow at the shift in behavior from the two adults in the room.

“yup! we’re running late and i have a meeting right now, so i’ll just email your mom to reschedule.” he forces a reassuring grin, making his way around his desk. “don’t forget to read over the syllabus to see what’s due, alright?”

“alright, i guess. see you tomorrow then, sensei” they shoot you a questioning side glance as they sling their backpack over their shoulder. “are you taking me home?”

“no.” you say, almost a bit too quickly. “uh, i have some errands to run before your mom gets back home, so you go on ahead i’ll see you at home.”

once your nephew leaves, unsuspecting of the thick line of tension running between his aunt and teacher, izuku quickly rushes over and shuts his door.

“whatareyoudoinghere?” the sentence leaves his mouth in an incoherent string of words. he grabs you by the shoulders and lets his eyes take in your face. every curve, every mark, every wrinkle, old and new.

you feel 19 again. you guess the urge to kiss izuku midoroya never leaves you, after all. 

“my sister just got a new job, so i’m living with her and helping her out with the kids while she adjusts.” you breathlessly stare at him. “i didn’t know you were still in the city.”

of course he’s still here- exactly where you left him after all these years. his grip on your shoulders tightens as a response. he’s scared that if he lets go, you’ll be gone for good, or at least for another 5 years.

“we should catch up.” you smile, grabbing onto his forearms as a warmth crawls up your next “when are you free? i mean, you’re probably really busy, but even a phone call-”

“tonight? how about tonight?” he blurts out. “we can go somewhere?”

izuku reassures himself that it’s fine. the kids can have a movie day, and he’ll spend that time grading papers and catching up on work. the only thing he needs is right in front of him.

seeing your face light up makes him feel nothing but nostalgic euphoria. he never wants to lose this feeling again.

“i’ll text you, then? you still have my number?”

he almost laughs in your face. your text conversation has been pinned to the top since the day you exchanged phone numbers.

“by heart.”

-

“tech? like you work in IT?” izuku’s face scrunches in disgust. he almost spits his drink out. “why the hell would you do that to yourself?”

“shut up!” you rub your face in your hands, snorting out a laugh. “it’s easy, i’m in a senior position, it pays well, and it’s remote. that’s all i care about for now.”

you two meet at a nearby bar. outside of his suit and tie, he looked much younger. he looks like the izuku you knew half a decade ago with his perpetual pink cheeks, slightly too large graphic tee, and red sneakers.

“so you’re now living with your sister… in the city.” he begins, looking into your eyes with a hopeful gleam. “for how long?”

“i’m not sure.” you shrug. “i’m still figuring it out, but my lease back home is up at the end of next month, so either way, i have to see what i want to do by then.”

“you should stay in the city.” the words slipped out of his mouth before he could process them.

“i mean- it’s just, you know, your sister is here, and her kids, and there’s more opportunities and stuff, and your work is remote anyways, and uh-” he stammers, words flowing out in an unstoppable stream.

“-and you’re here?” you tease.

his face flushes red.

“it is a possibility.” you sigh, shooting him a subtle smirk and saving him the embarrassment of coming up with a response. “i don’t know though. my sister wants me to stay too, but it’s a lot to think about.”

“i get it. my mom moved to the city to be near. it was hard for her.” he takes a sip of his drink. “not with me, though! she’s got a townhouse in the outskirts.” he quips.

you laugh. he definitely hasn't changed.

“speaking of, do you want to come back to my apartment? right now?” he shyly asks, avoiding your gaze for a moment.

“right now?” you look down and check the time displayed on your phone.

11:00pm.

“it’s a school night isn’t it?” you cock your head to the side. "i'm surprised you even wanted to meet up this late. thought i'd have to book office hours with you weeks in advance to catch up." you tease

izuku mentally curses at himself for being so forgetful, and so predictable. he doesn’t want this night with you to end, but that 7:00am alarm set for tomorrow morning is inching closer and closer.

“you’re right.” his confidence deflates. “i guess we should get going.”

you two pay your tab and make your way to the exit. you stand facing each other at the corner of the street, taking in each other’s presence once more.

there’s a faint buzzing in your ear from the lamppost hanging above you and your breaths come out in shallow puffs. you don’t know why you’re so nervous all of the sudden. you wish you didn’t have to leave again.

“so, can we do this again? can i see you again?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“you think i’d get to see izuku midoriya from beyond the grave and let you get away? for the second time?”

he feels like he could cry right now, so he pulls you in for a hug instead. you haven’t changed at all- not in the ways that matter anyways. his hand falls against the nape of your neck as he presses his cheek against your forehead.

“i missed you.” he mutters into your hair.

“me more.”

before you go your separate ways, i love you sits at the tip of his tongue. he wants to tell you. to finally say back after all of these years, but it somehow doesn’t feel right- not yet at least.

-

a few weeks later, you find yourself sitting in one of izuku’s classroom desks. the top button of his shirt is undone, his sleeves rolled up, and the soft late afternoon sunlight streaming through his window bathes him in gold.

from over your laptop screen, you see izuku mumbling to himself as he reads through essays while twirling a red pen between his fingers. the look of concentration had been plastered to his face since you were students- dark furrowed brows, unblinking eyes, a twinge of anxiety, and tightly pressed lips.

“you’re staring.” he mutters in between his incoherent mumbles.

his eyes snap up to meet yours.

“no i’m not.” you shrug, suppressing a satisfied smile as your eyes return to your own screen.

“I think i’ve gotten pretty good at noticing after spending all those years with you in that library.” he returns the smile, leaning back in his seat. “you don’t stare often, but when you do, you stare loud.”

“says you.” you roll your eyes. “you don’t think i ever noticed the thousand glances every hour?”

his face scrunches in embarrassment. 

“not like i could help myself.” he mutters, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. 

“ditto.” you halfway close your laptop and rest your head on a propped elbow. “but you knew that.”

the air in the room thickens between you two. you’ve been itching to have a conversation with izuku about your last moments before you left the city 5 years ago, but there hasn’t been a good time to bring it up. you weren’t even sure if you should at all.

“i don’t think i ever noticed.”

“noticed what?”

“that you liked me.” he pressed his lips together, nervous to bring up the past. “like that at least. i didn’t have a clue before you took me to that party.”

“how could you?” you breathe out a chuckle. “you were drowning in your work and studies, there was no time to even sleep let alone have anything romantic.”

a beat of silence passes.

“sorry.” he mutters.

“don’t be.” you shrug. "i loved you enough for the both of us. you were my best friend, and i wouldn’t change anything. maybe i would’ve forced you to take more naps, though.” you chuckle.

he doesn’t like the past tense termage of this conversation. it makes him feel a bit nauseous thinking that he really did lose it all, even with you here in front of him.

“i told you i felt the same, didn’t i?”

“mmm.. i guess so.” you mutter. “but it’s different. it was a goodbye.”

“i’m sorry.” he says again, with a pout this time.

“stop that.” you launch your pen in his direction, bouncing off of the chalk board behind him. “i’m here now. you’re here. you’re still my best friend. everything’s the same, except we’re a little bit older and have 5 years to catch up on. isn’t that enough?”

you two danced around the conversation for a few more minutes before returning to your work in silence. there was no clear answer as to where your feelings for each other stand now, but he feels just as sick as he did the day of the grad party.

but isn’t that enough? to just have you here now?

on a saturday night in his apartment, just days before you have to go home and sort out your living situation, izuku tells you he loves you for the first time.

you’re staring at him, unsure if maybe you heard him wrong or if it was the television in the background.

“huh?” your mouth gapes open. “what’d you say?”

“i..i love you.” his voice shakes as the words leave his mouth. “i love you, okay?”

for a split second, there’s a sequence of images that flash through his mind. his body would learn to wake up at 6:55am every morning despite his alarm being set for 7:00am. he sees you peacefully sleeping next to him, and he can’t bring himself to let that alarm go off and disturb you.

he’d start the coffee pot- enough for two, obviously. maybe he’d leave a nice note for you to start your day off with. maybe a grocery list if you’re up for the trip, but you’d insist that you go to the market together on the weekend. you’re very distracting, and he knows this, but you’d somehow always meet at the dining room table or his classroom to do work together. 

he’d come home to you softly singing in the kitchen while making dinner. every now and then, he’d surprise you with flowers when he comes home from work, but he’ll brush it off and say it’s “for the apartment” just out of pure nerves. movie nights. falling asleep on the couch together. waking up in the afternoon with a split second of panic- but it’s the weekend and he doesn’t have a class to get to. he’d see the sunlight pool against your face as you slowly wake up from your slumber with fluttering eyelashes. he’d kiss you in that unsuspecting moment. he’d say he loves you with every breath leaving his lungs. he’d always have time for you.

“izuku.” you sadly smile, turning over to the stove and extinguishing the flame. “you don’t have to do this, you know?”

his heart sinks to his stomach.

“i know- no it’s not like that.” he stammers. “it’s because.. i’m saying it because…”

he makes his way around the kitchen island to you, firmly gripping your shoulders. he wants to make sure you hear this from him properly. after all of these years.

“because i love you, and i think i alway have.” he bites his bottom lip. “and i think i always will, and you’re here, and i’m here, and i know it’s hard because i kind of really messed things up in university, but to be honest, i regret everything because yeah i love my job and i’m doing okay now, but i lost you for 5 years and thought i’d never get to see you again and i should've-”

he stops himself when he sees his reflection in your eyes. he’s doing it again- the rambling.

“sorry.” he mutters. “but do you…do you understand?” he almost pleads.

“i understand.” you nod your head, a long exhale following your reply.

for a moment, you’re 22 again, and the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over are no longer apologetic, but now hopeful.

you can’t help but pull him into a hug, running your hand up and down his back as he sniffs back his tears.

“always such a crybaby, izuku.” you muffle into his shoulder. “i love you, too. you know that.”

“i feel so stupid.” he chokes out. “5 years is so long, and i feel like i blacked out for the entirety of that time and now that you’re back, i’m alive and can't do it without you again.”

he pulls away, looking back at you with furrowed brows and tear stained cheeks.

“please stay in the city. please.” 

your eyes widen at the request- the same request you wished left his lips all those years ago.

“you want me to stay?”

“selfishly, yes.” he bites down on his bottom lip. “here. with me.”

you take a moment and let your eyes wander around the apartment. you eye the half cooked dinner on the stove, the pile of unopened mail sitting on the counter, the row of dead plants lining the living room window.

izuku follows your eyes. he knows you’d settle in nicely, almost like the final piece in a puzzle. he feels it in his gut. he also feels the panic bubbling in his stomach the longer your gaze lingers at the chaos behind him.

“is that too fast?” he breaks the silence. “sorry. i don’t mean to jump from ‘i love you’ to ‘move in with me’ in the same night.” he awkwardly laughs, releasing you from his grip. “uh, maybe we’ll talk more about that after dinner.”

his face burns into a bright red- snapping out of his love dazed state and back into the reality where he just confessed to his best friend on a random night in.

“maybe after dinner, you can give me a proper tour of the place?” 

for the first time in izuku's life, he feels content knowing that time passes and the world continues to turn.

with you, it feels a bit gentler.

with you, it's worth it.

-

bonus ssrryy i have to be indulgent lmao:

the first time izuku kisses you, you're on your way back from a late night outing from the bars with his coworkers where he introduces you as his partner for the first time.

"you sure you're okay?" he laughs as you rub your hand against the back of his neck from the passenger seat.

"super peachy, zuku." you hiccup, twirling a green curl between your fingers. "a few drinks got nothing on me."

izuku presses his lip into a wobbly smile.

from his peripheral, he feels your stare burning into his side profile, only making him more nervous by the second. he thinks about teasing you and calling it out for a moment, but he remains silent for the rest of the drive back home.

izuku parks the car, shutting off the engine and letting the overhead light dimly illuminated the space between you two.

he leans over to meet your eyes and rests his elbow over the center console, taking a second to silently debrief from the night's social outing.

"thanks for coming out with me." he whispers, reaching down and shyly interlocking his index finger with yours.

"i love a good excuse to drink." you laugh, leaning in and letting your foreheads connect.

izuku only had a single drink several hours ago, but he suddenly blacks out. with his other hands, he reaches up and tips your chin up and lock his lips with yours.

it takes you off guard, but you don't hesitate to reach up and rest your hand on the side of his neck.

when izuku pulls away, his breathing is heavy and face grows red. your finger remains interlocked.

"um. i love you." he coughs, briefly meeting your gaze before darting away. "uh, sorry i should have asked" he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

"i love you, izuku midoriya." you say in a teasing tone, leaning further over the center console and into the driver's seat.

izuku leans away until his back hits the soft interior of the car door.

"uh, we should.. we should go in? right?" he starts, eyes widening as you inch closer.

you reach over and grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him into you.

"yeah, we should." you say before crashing your lips into his, feeling him accept the defeat with a nervous laugh as he lets his hands find the soft skin of your cheek and warmth of your neck.

[ssahotchnerr]

girl i am BEGGING you to write a hotch story with his beard and reader doesnt know he has it because he never told her and when he comes back shes more in love with him!!! you can take it any direction you want

off guard

hehehe 🤭 cw; fem!reader, established relationship, heavy suggestiveness, fluff and bearded aaron 😵‍💫<3

after what felt like forever, came the long awaited knock on the door.

"finally." you breathed out as you threw the door open, immediately tucking yourself into aaron's chest and wrapping your arms around his middle.

the longer he was in your hold, the more you tightened your arms - as if you would blink and he'd be right back in pakistan, miles and miles away from you yet again.

it was late, or early depending on how you looked at it. the moment you received the message aaron was back in the states - prematurely and under urgent circumstances - you had insisted the second he had wrapped up, no matter the time, to come directly and strictly to your apartment.

lucky for you, he had already planned on doing so regardless.

"god i missed you." aaron sighed out in relief just as much as you, the empty void in his heart filling at last, making him feel whole again.

he had spent countless nights fantasizing of you being in his arms, the feeling near and distant simultaneously, as if he could reach out and grasp it. for the first month overseas, he had difficulty sleeping even, so used to sleeping beside you - the familiar weight of you laid on him, matching his breathing to yours, or the fact you were simply near.

the longing for you had been torturous. and at last here you were, right where you belonged.

"i almost can't believe it," you mumbled into his t-shirt, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "five months was too long. too, too long."

you loosened your hold, just enough to peer up at him, just now getting a look at him. however, you found yourself taken aback, any eased, impending cries halting at once.

it was your aaron - your loving, wonderful aaron - staring back at you, but it didn't look like him.

his hair was longer, his body a bit more lean, but the major difference; a beard graced his face.

you've seen aaron with some stubble - not shaving during a weekend off, or his occasional five-o-clock shadow. but that was the result of a mere few days. this was months in the making, and it wasn't unwelcome in the slightest.

endless words could describe the sight before you, but your mind and mouth had run both dry. it was hot, to put it bluntly.

"jack hates it too." aaron admitted as his hands fell to your waist - not daring to part contact, mistaking your hesitancy for dislike. "i was going to shave it, but you did say to come right over-"

"hey- no." you blurted out, blinking up at him. "who said i hated it?"

his eyebrows furrowed, surprised. "you don't?"

"absolutely not," you insisted, looking almost offended at the proposition. you touched his cheek, feeling the coarse hair under your soft fingertips and igniting something deep within you. "quite the opposite, actually."

"really?" a pleased smirk formed on his face, his eyes darkly intrigued and amused.

"just when i thought you couldn't get more attractive." you smirked right back, toying with his shirt. "trust me, i like it more than you know."

aaron's fingers dug into your hips, backing you into your apartment, kicking the door shut behind with his foot.

"please tell me you have tomorrow off, because you won't be stepping outside this apartment if i can help it." you pleaded, your voice coming out as an eager whine.

"well, the team is to be evaluated by the senate committee, hearing date pending. so for the foreseeable future," aaron bit down on his bottom lip lightly, his eyes locked on yours. "i'm all yours."

"good. mainly because i missed you, but that," you eyed his beard again, a heavy breath escaping you. the ends of your lips quirked up into a mischievous smile, and aaron's lips found yours hungrily. as he frantically continued to back you towards the direction of your bedroom, you mumbled into his lips. "we can have fun with that."

[theorphicangel]

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐈'𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. | sukuna x gn!reader

word count: 1k

tags: fluff, slightly mean 'kuna, he calls reader 'stupid' :(, modern au

synopsis: you call sukuna pretty knowing all too well how much he hates it when you say that. (or does he?)

You wake to a warm hand wrapped around your waist. Molded into a moon’s crescent, your body is wrapped within a warm embrace. Sukuna’s grip is firm despite currently being under the authority of slumber. The early August sun streams in through the blinds, welcoming you to another day with the sounds of city traffic leaking through the windows of your apartment. 

It seems like the two of you ended up falling asleep on the couch after staying up late the previous night, the tv screen glows with white letters reading  ‘Are you still watching?’

The scent of a husky cologne fills your nostrils, a classic scent of your partner. You don’t dare move to stir the man beneath you. In a deep rhythmic pattern his chest rises and falls, gentle snores leave his parted lips. You take the opportunity to study Sukuna’s features starting with his black tattoos intricately designed on his body and face. 

This may be the single moment where you fail to witness his usual grumpy expression on his face. Instead of the usual crease between his brows or the squinting of his eyes and his lips overturned into a grimace; Sukuna’s expression seems to be one of pure tranquility, unusual from his regular look of disapproval. You take note of the softness of his lips, pink and plump and ever so kissable. His cheeks are slightly puffy from sleep, you fight the urge within yourself to pinch them between your fingers. His overall demeanor is relaxed as he  unconsciously lets his guard down, a rare sight. 

The room remains so quiet you can hear his heart repeatedly thump in your ear, the rhythmic beat provides the gentle temptation of lulling you back to sleep. As stubborn you are, you fight to keep your eyelids open whilst simultaneously tracing over the black tattoos across Sukuna’s arm. With controlled caution, your fingers trace lightly over his skin. You’ve yet to ask him the meaning behind his tattoos wondering whether there’s a sincere backstory or if they were merely a creation from an impulsive moment. 

 In the early stages of dating he had subtly confessed that his first tattoo was an act of rebellion against his parents and as time passed he simply got into the habit of obtaining the rest.

Glancing up to his face, you study the intricate tattoos placed on his chin. You wonder if he designed them by himself or had aid from someone else. What prompted him to do it you wonder, where did he get his inspiration from? How did his parents react to the rest of the tattoos? But you know all too well how little Sukuna cares for others' opinions. 

Nonetheless, you find them pretty to look at. Whether he’s doing some mindless task or lazing with you on the couch, your eyes always fall upon his hypnotic black patterns. And it seemed he always caught you in the act. 

Even now.

“You’re always staring at me, creep.”

His voice is low. Raspy enough to send vibrations across your body. A stirring feeling in your lower gut appears ever so suddenly. So caught up in your thoughts you failed to notice the man beneath you stir awake, heavy lidded eyes gazing at you. A subtle pinch on your waist announces his return from slumber.

“You’re pretty.”

The words leave your mouth before you could even comprehend them. You feel his body stiffen beneath you before hearing a tut leave his mouth and witness him turning his head away. Presumably to hide the way that his cheeks burn up  and how the tips of his ears turn pink. 

Majority of people would be honored to hear a compliment, offering their gratitude or perhaps extend one back.

But not Sukuna. He got frustrated anytime you paid him a compliment. Instead of a compliment he throws back an insult.

“You’re stupid.”

“That’s mean, ‘kuna.”

“That’s mean, ‘kuna.”  he mimics despite his voice still being thick from sleep. A low groan leaves his throat, his arm leaving your waist temporarily to stretch above his head. 

A double tap on your waist indicates that he wants you to shift over, off from his chest. 

A simple pat on your head is given before he rises from the couch. His warmth immediately leaves  your body and a sudden craving sensation fills your body. His footsteps thump off to the bathroom to freshen up and his infamous scowl appears on his face paired with the crease between his brows. You observe his pink locks as he runs a hand through it.

 Messy.  Just the way you like it. Pretty, just the way you like it. 

It takes everything within your body to hold  back from calling him pretty again knowing all too well that he would end up irritating him further. 

At least that’s what he lets you think.

He wouldn’t ever admit it to you but each time your lips sound out another compliment it takes every bone within Sukuna’s body to not to hold you down and keep you hostage by laying you down and planting kisses all  across your body. 

 It takes everything in him to not reveal how much of an effect your words have on him; how as soon as you call him ‘pretty’  he creates a distance between the two of you, keeping you far away enough so you don’t hear the rapid beating of his heart; so you don’t see the way he avoids eye contact or the way that the tips of his ears burn.

You seemed to be some sort of illness that he couldn’t get rid of.  Something that he couldn’t find a cure for. 

But of course he would never admit that to you. Not ever. Not even if the entire world caught on fire.

But you’re okay with that.  Because even if the entire world did catch on fire, you’d still turn and call him pretty one last time.

And he’d still like it. 

thank you for reading!! reblogs are much appreciated!!

[austinbutlerslovers]

Heavy

Label Mature 18+

Summary Being smashed and teased relentlessly by Austin Butler with his recent muscle gains because you are easily distracted and overstimulated.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut ❤️‍🔥. teasing•pinning•edging•restraint•brat reader•distracted reader•neurodivergent reader•orgasm denial•fingering•size kink• simultaneous orgasm • rough sex• mild suffocation creampie•internal vibrator• forced orgasm in pubic

📖 Proof reader @purejasmine 🫦 Smut consultant @burnthheparaphilia 💝Inspired by @magicovento

You wake up early in the morning due to the sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains of the penthouse condo. You're staying with Austin in New York where he’s filming his new movie Caught Stealing.

You stretch naked in the soft sheets turning over to find the king sized bed empty and you sit up realizing Austin is gone.

He invited you to be with him on set this morning but you realize you slept in and he must already be filming now.

“Shit!” You whisper cursing yourself. Austin is always making plans to include you and somehow you always let him down. To be sure you reach for your phone on the nightstand to check seeing there is a text from him:

“Morning Baby, I’m on set now I’ll be back at 11. I need you ready by that time, we have reservations with Zoë and Channing for lunch we can’t be late.”

You feel relieved laying back down, it’s only a little after nine and you feel a sense of satisfaction that he didn’t mention you sleeping in. You really do need the rest feeling your body still sore and recovering from what he did to you last night.

Lazily, you play on your phone, scrolling through social media, catching up on videos and messages lying comfortably in the plush bed. You’re in no rush—until you glance at the time.

“Oh Shit,” you say again your panic rising, realizing it’s almost half past ten. On top of missing events you also have a habit of making Austin late, which is big no-no with his agency.

It’s not that you intend to, but sometimes you just… zone out. You can’t help it, especially during his movie premieres, mid-conversation with his co-stars, or when he’s in the middle of his Q&As. His world moves at such a fast pace that your mind struggles to keep up, constantly overstimulated by the hectic schedule of his life.

Your most recent blunder was for His Dune Part 2 Q&A last night. It was a simple mistake really:

You were already cutting into his time, running a little late as you finished getting ready. Austin gave your waist a gentle squeeze to remind you of the time as you curled your hair at the mirror. 

“The team just arrived in the lobby baby,” he said, his eyes momentarily on you before he made a few quick texts, lost in his phone.

You couldn’t help but get distracted stealing lingering glance at how he was dressed for the event. The white tee he was wearing was tight in all the right places, the fabric stretching over his broad chest and arms, showing off just how much he’d filled out lately.

The months of training for his new role in Caught Stealing had completely transformed him. He looked stronger than ever, his body defined in ways that made it impossible not to notice.

His hair had grown longer too, now casually tucked behind his ears, falling just shy of his neck and framing his sharp jawline perfectly.

As he placed his black cap he was going to wear on the counter, It was hard not to let your eyes roam over his sculpted frame as he stood there, focused on his phone, unaware of your lingering gaze.

Then he suddenly leaned in and gave you a quick kiss, his eyes still focused on his screen. 

“I need to head down and meet them, come as soon as you’re ready, they’re adamant we can’t be late again” he said, giving you a knowing look that meant keep it timely. You nodded seeing he was waiting for your confirmation and with that, he quickly made his way out the door, leaving you to finish your routine.

A few minutes later, as you were grabbing your purse, you received a text from him:

“Babe, grab my black hat bring it down.”

You glanced at the message, knowing he wanted his favorite hat. But before you could move, you frowned, noticing your phone’s battery was low—you’d forgotten to charge it overnight again. 

With a sigh, you headed back into the bedroom, grabbed the battery pack, plugged it in, quickly making your way to the elevator.

As soon as the doors opened on the bottom floor, your eyes found Austin. He was standing near the entrance, casually chatting with his team. The moment he locked eyes with you, a knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“My hat?” he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

You froze, realizing your mistake. “Shit, Austin! I forgot it I’m so sorry,” you said, your heart sinking with panic.

He grinned, giving you a look as he shook his head. “Of course you did,” he said, his voice filled with a familiar tone knowing you all too well.

“I’ll be right back, I promise!” you called out, already repeatedly clicking the elevator button to close the doors as quickly as possible.

Once the doors shut, you let out a frustrated sigh. How could I forget something so simple? you thought, shaking your head. After searching frantically through the closet wasting time, you finally remembered it was where he last placed it on the bathroom counter. Retrieving it quickly, you rushed back down already knowing he was well behind schedule at your expense.

By the time you both arrived at the Q&A, Austin was the last of the cast to step in and was quickly rushed onstage to join his Dune Part Two co-stars Timothée and Zendaya. 

You stayed behind, watching from backstage, tucked behind the curtains as he and the rest of the cast fielded questions from the host.

Your eyes stayed locked on him, the rest of the room fading into the background. Even from a distance, you could see how the spotlight caught the contours of his face, the way he sat in his chair, exuding a relaxed but powerful presence.

His biceps flexed subtly whenever he moved, the months of intense training evident in every shift of his body. The sharpness of his jawline, the practiced ease in which he handled himself—it was impossible not to admire him.

Despite the calm exterior he projected to the audience, you noticed how his eyes kept glancing backstage, searching for you through the shadowed curtains. 

He played it cool, but you knew him all to well. Each time his gaze found yours, there was a flicker of nervous energy, subtle but unmistakable. You watched as his hand gripped the arm of his chair firmly running his fingers along the fabric—a telltale sign he was unsettled.  

His answers were a little slower, his gestures were unsure, and you felt a pang of guilt knowing that making him late had thrown him off balance.

Austin thrived on punctuality and routine, and small mishaps like this one always made him falter, even if only for a moment. His usual rhythm had been disrupted, and the tension was clear in the way he held himself. 

But then, just as he always did, he started to warm up. You slowly saw the shift as his shoulders relaxed, his posture loosening. He began to smile more, his grin widening as he made jokes with Zendaya and Timothée. 

His voice grew steadier, his gestures more natural, as he finally settled into the rhythm he had been searching for and as he regained his stride you let out a sigh of relief.

He began feeling more confident with each question, and every time he leaned forward to answer, he casually rolled up his sleeves, his thick biceps flexing with each movement, drawing your attention. The  sight was impossible to ignore and it made your pulse quicken distracting you from the guilt you had been feeling earlier.

You couldn’t help but admire how much he’d changed physically. He had gained so much muscle since he started filming and you wanted him—not just the feel of his touch, but the overwhelming presence of his body against yours, the intensity you knew he could bring, the anticipation building with every glance.

The Q&A seemed to stretch on forever, and you found yourself zoning out, your mind drifting to the thought of being back at the condo with Austin.

When the Q&A finally ended and you drove back to the condo Austin had the same idea.

As you both walked through the door, you barely had time to react before he pulled you close, his lips on yours before you could catch your breath. 

His kiss was fierce, his lips moving with deep intensity, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His grip was firm but playful as he guided you toward the couch, his mouth never leaving yours, each kiss more demanding than the last.

Before you could say anything, he gently pushed you down onto the couch and was on top of you in an instant, the weight of his body keeping you in place as he leaned in  lips hovering just above yours as he grinned with a teasing edge to his voice.

“You enjoyed making me late, didn’t you?” he asked, his tone low and playful, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Austin, I didn’t mean to,” you stammered, your breath hitching as his grin widened, clearly unconvinced. 

“I— I just—”You started, but before you could finish, his hands moved swiftly, pushing your dress up and pulling your panties to the side with a practiced ease holding you firmly in place as your breath caught in your throat.

“You can try to explain all you want,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with intent. “But it won’t change what’s about to happen,”

His grip tightened on your hip keeping you pinned beneath him, and he lifted himself up, his movements smooth and deliberate as he pulled you with him, positioning you so your legs were spread apart, draped over his lap.

His eyes locked onto yours, the heat in them unmistakable as his hands slid up your thighs, teasingly slow. The anticipation built with every second, your breath catching as his touch lingered.

“I’ve told you so many times I can’t be late, and each time you’ve made sure it happened ” he said, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “So let’s see how you like having to wait,” he said, his voice low and thick with intent.

With a controlled push, he slid his fingers inside you reaching depth that left you breathless, thrusting them in at a pace leaving you completely at his mercy his eyes never leaving yours as you began to moan in pleasure.

He edged you over and over again until you were clenching around his fingers, pleasure rolling through you in waves as you were about to come. Then, just as you reached the brink, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you desperate. Your hips bucked against nothing as you cried, “Austin, please,” only for him to start again.

“How does it feel not to get what you want?” he asked, his voice tense with control as he watched you squirm beneath him.

“Austin, please… I can’t take it ” you whined, your body shaking with the thrust of his fingers, only for him to slip them out once more, leaving you trembling with need.

“You gonna make me late again?” he asked, his voice low and commanding, his eyes locked on yours.

Your breath caught, the desperation building inside you to a peak. “Please… Austin, I won’t make you late again,” you promised, your voice barely above a whisper, your body aching for release.

“You gotta do better than that if you want to come,” he replied, the control in his voice making you almost orgasm as you whimpered.

“Please, I need you… I can’t take it anymore. Austin please .” The words trembled on your lips, your entire body tense with longing, your mind consumed by the overwhelming need for him.

A wicked smile tugged at his lips as he finally gave in, leaning closer. “That’s my good girl ,” he said unbuttoning his jeans. He released his thick cock from its confines and slicked his tip along your soaked entrance before pushing deeply within your walls. You tightened around him as the overwhelming pleasure hit you hard, your body reacting instantly to the sensation.

“Austin!” You cried in a breathy moan feeling the raw power of his body as he began to thrust. Every muscle in his chest, arms, and back flexed, his strength unrelenting  as he fucked into you with determination. 

“Such a spoiled brat” he panted above you. “Enjoying every bit of this punishment aren’t you?” He asked as his powerful thrusts left you gasping, your body trembling as his strong hands gripped your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted.

“Y-yes Austin!" You answered your words barely able to come from your mouth as you felt the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over as you moaned in pleasure.

You could feel every inch of him, his muscles tensing as he drove deeper, his body relentless and commanding. His presence, his control, was intoxicating, and all you could do was hold on, completely overtaken by him as his body worked powerfully against yours.

As the pleasure built to a breaking point, his grip tightened on you, and with one final thrust, he groaned deeply, finding his release as you both came together, your body trembling as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you.

He collapsed beside you, both of you catching your breath. A satisfied smile spread across his face as he pulled you close, his lips brushing gently against your forehead. “Tomorrow—you better be on time or your punishment is going to be worse than this.” he grinned, his tone carrying an unmistakable edge and the way he held you firmly made it clear—he fully expected you to follow through

You nodded, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. Wrapped in his strong arms, a sense of relief washed over you, knowing you would follow through on your promise and before long, the exhaustion of the day settled in. The two of you made your way to bed and as soon as you curled into him you drifted off to sleep in his arms.

Now the very next morning you’d already missed his request for you on set. You know you definitely can’t let him down again and quickly you get out of bed, straightening the sheet and duvet and then rushing to the shower.

You go through your full body routine, exfoliating and moisturizing then step out of the shower, blow-drying your hair until it’s perfectly dry 

You add a few curls with a styling wand then sit at the vanity, carefully applying makeup, making sure everything is blended seamlessly until you are satisfied with your look.

You know you’ll be spotted in public, and you have to look your best. The paparazzi love snapping candid shots of the two of you, especially since you’ll be going to lunch with Channing and Zoë.

Wrapping up in your towel, you head to the bedroom, ready to pick out the perfect outfit for the occasion. 

As soon as the closet comes into view you are startled by none other than Austin. You shriek as he easily picks you up in his strong arms.

“Austin!” you gasp, but before you can say more, he lands you down on the bed climbing on top of you, his body pressing down, taking over you completely. His muscles are hard against your softer frame and you feel every inch of his toned body as he settles on you.

“You don’t check your phone?” He asks, his voice low and smooth his eyes full of mischief as the weight of him pins you in place holding you captive beneath him. “You’re always on that thing.” He confirms

“I—I was in the shower…,” you stammer, watching his eyes darken with intent as they lower to your neck. Your breath catches in your throat as he leans in, brushing his lips lightly against your skin.

His breath is warm, as his mouth lingers, teasing the sensitive spot just below your ear and making your pulse quicken as his lips graze your skin, heightening the tension between you.

“I told you to be ready,” he says, his voice low and dangerous and you can feel his smirk against your skin, a silent acknowledgment that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He’s shirtless, with only a pair of loose sweats clinging to his hips and that’s when you realize—it’s well past eleven and he’s already been back from set for a while, but you hadn’t even noticed, lost in your own routine, oblivious to the texts you missed.

“I… I didn’t realize the time,” you whisper your voice trembling as his tongue flicks out licking a warm stripe along the soft column of your throat.

You sigh in pleasure beneath him, trapped under the delicious weight of his hold as his body presses down on you. His lips move slowly along your neck, gently sucking and kissing, the teasing leaves you craving more of him, your body instinctively arching toward his, desperate for the intensity you know is coming.

“I should punish you now for not being ready…”he breathes, his voice low and dangerous, sending a jolt of anticipation through you. The very thought of his words has your pulse racing. Your body reacting with a deep ache as the anticipation keeps building inside you. 

He shifts his weight, his biceps solid and powerful smothering you in the best way possible. Every inch of his body radiates dominance, and you’re lost in the intoxicating mix of desire and restraint.

His grin is wicked,  as he watches you begin to struggle beneath him savoring every bit of control he holds over you. “Look how, completely helpless you are,” he teases, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

You can see the way he delights in your reactions—the way your body squirms under him, pinned down and completely at his mercy, as his gaze drinks in every shudder, every gasp.

The feeling of being crushed beneath his weight and the overwhelming presence of him, is intoxicating.

Your breath quickens as the tension builds, your body tightening beneath him until you’re gasping, struggling for air, overwhelmed by the intensity. Just as you lose your breath, he lets up, giving you just enough space to catch it again.

You’re completely aroused, eyes deep with desire, your mind rendered senseless by his dominance. Every inch of you burns with need, craving more of the control he wields over you.

“Was that my punishment?” you ask, trying to hide the delight in your voice, though it slips through in your breathless tone.

He grins down at you in amusement “Punishment?” he asks as his smile deepens and his voice fills with promise. “No that comes later.” He confirms.

His gaze lingers on you as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “What I want now ”He says his lips hovering near your ear “Is  a reward for working on set today while you were sleeping in” he says with a teasing tone as he shifts his weight lowering his sweats.

“After all,” he continues, his tone softening to a seductive whisper, “I should be satisfied for my hard work. Don’t you think?” He asks as he captures your gaze.

He taps his heavy cock against your clit, startling you, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core as he awaits  your response.

“Yes, Austin, please!” you moan, your voice trembling with need.

“Thats what I thought” he says as you feel him slowly push the head of his cock into your wet entrance. His pace is achingly slow as the thickness of his cock fills you inch by inch. 

You grow impatient with his teasing and want to have it all. Without even thinking, your hands lower to his waist, gripping him hard to pull him deeply inside of you. The sudden tightness makes him groan loudly, your moans echoing beneath him as he begins to thrust.

You keep pulling him into you, again and again, until his restraint fades entirely. You’re both moaning, voices tangled together as he forgets to hold back, his full weight pressing into you, his cock heavy and powerful as he pounds into you without hesitation.

He’s so strong, every thrust leaving you breathless as his muscles flex, keeping you pinned beneath him.

Pathetic little cries begin to escape your lips, and he responds by driving into you even deeper, snapping his hips forward with so much intensity your body begins colliding with his on each thrust.

“Austin!” you cry out in pleasure , your voice broken and desperate as you cling to him, controlling the depth of his thrusts with your hands, guiding you both closer to your release.

The sensation builds to a peak, your body quivering with each deep, powerful thrust of his cock, and just as the tension becomes unbearable, you feel yourself begin to explode into a mind-numbing orgasm.

Your body trembles uncontrollably, your walls clenching around him, every muscle tightening as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

Your mind goes blank, your breath ragged as you gasp for air, lost in the intensity of it all as you moan uncontrollably.

His thrusts become desperate, his groans more primal, until finally, with one last powerful drive, his cock pulses inside of you as his body shudders.

His hips buck against you as he comes and he rests his full weight on you, making it hard to breathe after your orgasm, your chest tight as you struggle for air.

“Aus!” you squeal, and he chuckles, his cock still twitching inside you as he enjoys every last bit of his release, feeling you wriggle beneath him. His grin is wicked as he finally lifts up just enough for you to take a deep breath.

“I thought you liked being squished,” he teases, his voice full of playful satisfaction as he watches your flustered expression.

You're still catching your breath as you respond “Not after an orgasm like that, Austin,” you admit with a playful smile tugging at your lips

He smiles in return and kisses you, then placing his hands on your hips, as he slowly pulls out. He sits at the edge of the bed pulling his boxers and sweats back on. 

“Get up and get dressed—we’re going to lunch with Zoe and Channing,” he says and you blink in confusion. “Austin… what?” you ask, sitting up baffled by his statement.

He wraps his arm tightly around your neck, his nose touching yours. “I lied about the time,” he admits with a satisfied grin.

“Austin!” you say, shocked, but he just smirks, sitting up and letting you go. You shake your head in surprised disbelief as you head to the closet, quickly getting dressed. Then, you head to the bathroom, re-fixing your makeup and hair.

Once ready you return to the bedroom, finding Austin already dressed, a mischievous glint in his eye, holding a small remote-controlled vibrator in his hand. “Come here,” he gestures, curling his finger with a grin.

Curious and already knowing he’s up to no good, you walk over to him, and he kneels down, slipping your panties down to your thighs.

“Now for your punishment,” he says, lifting the front of your dress. His eyes never leaving yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as his fingers trail along your inner thigh before slipping the small vibrator inside of you, pressing it in just deep enough to hit that perfect spot. The sudden sensation makes your breath catch, your body tensing in response.

He looks up at you with a wicked grin. “Let’s go to lunch,” he says, pocketing the remote and standing up, his eyes sparkling playfully as you feel your pulse rise with the silent acknowledgment of what he has planned

When you arrive at the restaurant, all thoughts of the little surprise inside of you vanish as soon as you see Zoe and Channing.

Star-struck, you hug them both, grinning with excitement, and the four of you sit down. Austin and Zoe begin chatting about their movie Caught Stealing the conversation drifting into a detailed discussion on the nuances of Hank Thompsons character arc. You try to focus, but your mind starts to zone out as you push your food around your plate, the topic a bit dry for your taste.

Just as you’re about to completely drift off, you feel it—a soft, hum inside of you. Your fork falters in your hand, and you glance up in time to see Austin throw a quick, knowing look your way. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize exactly what’s happening.

The humming stops suddenly, and you exhale, relieved for the moment. As Austin begins talking about practical effects your brows knit as you really try to follow the conversation this time, but luckily, Zoe and Channing are carrying it, allowing you to fade into the background again.

The moment is short-lived because soon enough, Austin brings up the Dune Part 2 Q&A that you made him late for.

He glances at you as he asks, “Remember, baby? The question they asked about how I knew the way I wanted to portray Feyd Rautha?

Before you can even answer, the vibrator kicks back on, this time stronger. You grip the edge of the table, your fingers trembling as the dishes rattle, drawing startled looks from Zoe and Channing.

Austin slowly grins as the intensity builds, the sensation sending a wave of heat over your body as you struggle to form words.

“Y-yes…Yes …I remember!” you stammer, swallowing hard, though you don’t actually remember at all.

“Which scene was it again baby I love how you tell it.” Austin says knowing full well you didn’t pay attention during the Q&A and pushes the intensity higher.

You fight to keep your composure, your brows knitting as you shoot him a pleading glance.

“It’s a pivotal scene in the movie, baby,” he says and you feel the vibrator buzzing so intensely now that you have to press your legs together, feeling every muscle in your body tensing up as you lean forward.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Zoe asks, her face full of concern.

You nod stiffly, almost ready to come, biting your lip hard to stifle any sound. When you glance over at Austin his eyes are delighted by the control he’s holding over you.

Your mouth opens in a silent cry, your hand sliding across the table and knocking your fork to the floor with a loud clatter. Both Zoe and Channing turn to stare, confused.

Before Channing or Zoe can put two and two together, you reach under the table, your hand slipping over Austin’s thigh grabbing it in a desperate gesture for him to strop.

But he pulls your hand away, grinning wickedly, refusing to let up. He increases the intensity once more, pushing you to the brink.

You’re trembling as you bring your hand to cover your mouth. You look down at your plate, a silent orgasm rushing through you, causing your hips to slightly rock beneath the table. You use all your willpower in attempt to stifle the faint little whimpers that escape you.

“Are you not feeling well baby?,” Austin says, playing it off as you struggle to regain control of your breath. You nod softly, agreeing, even though your heart is pounding in your chest, the intensity of the moment still rushing through your body.

Slowly, you look up, your face flushed after the release and lean  back in your chair, trying to hide the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you.

Austin casually continues the conversation with Zoe and Channing, unable to hold back his mischievous grin whenever he glances at you.

You don’t say much for the remainder of the meal, but you listen intently to every single word as they talk about the scene they’re shooting tomorrow—a bar fight for Austin, followed by another scene where he’ll be in a car discussing their plans for retribution and  a romantic scene with Zoe at the bar.

Suddenly, Austin places his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. “And you’ll be with me on set tomorrow on time right baby?” he asks, his grin widening with a knowing look.

Zoe claps excitedly, her eyes lighting up. “Finally! He’s been talking about bringing you on set nonstop,” she reveals, smiling warmly.

You glance at Austin, a soft smile spreading across your lips, your voice still a bit shaky as you reply, “Yes, I’ll be there on time Austin.”

💖END💖

🔗 Master List

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[amnestria-the-elf]

So we're all just supposed to be fucking grateful that Larian gave us "new Wyll content" (evil ending for a man who is canonically incorruptible, what the fuck) and simultaneously broke him again (giving low approval greetings to a romanced PC, what the fuck).

I... I just... the simultaneous feelings of rage and utter hopelessness are overwhelming.

Listen, if you've read any of my posts you know I have a pretty clear "Don't yuck anyone's yum" policy. If you think an evil Wyll ending is interesting, fine. But here's why it falls flat for me.

First, like I said above, Wyll is canonically incorruptible. It's literally the entire basis of his character. He is a man who was coerced into making an infernal contract to save a city and had to pay a horrible price for doing so, then spent seven fucking years alone in the wilderness doing his damned best to protect the people of the Sword Coast, while all along telling his horrible, abusive patron to just fuck off already.

Now, could you argue that during the events of the game, Wyll develops a taste for evil? Sure. There are plenty of opportunities for his villain origin story to unfold. But they never do. His moral compass never wavers. Turned into a devil? He feels shame, because it's an outward sign that he was doing things for Mizora that were morally wrong, and he didn't see it before. His approval rating for the PC shoots through the roof if you save Karlach, a sure indicator of his true moral compass. His father kidnapped? Fuck that noise, we're gonna save him. Rescue Zariel's "asset"? Ugh, fine, but don't get distracted from the real reason we're here. His father gets tadpoled? Oh hells no, we're gonna take down these assholes and save the godsdamned world. His father accuses him of being an agent of a devil and is super pissy about it? "Everything I did, I did for the people of the Sword Coast."

For fuck's sake, he will leave the party if the PC gets too evil, even knowing it means he'll probably turn into a mindflayer immediately. Even if he's romancing the PC. Unwavering moral compass. So giving him an evil ending without also going back and changing everything about his character just feels like lazy writing to me.

Which brings me to the second reason all of this rubs the wrong way. Wyll deserves so much more content. More romanced greetings, more reactions to other characters' choices, a final boss battle that is actually about him, a default ending that actually makes fucking sense (I have another post cooking about the Avernus ending, so I will leave it for now.)

And please, spare me your "But Wyll was rewritten after early access" bullshit. That's Larian's problem. They chose to listen to feedback and do a late-stage rewrite. They then chose to implement it poorly and never fucking fix it. Other characters, who already have far more content than Wyll, have had even more added over the course of the seven released patches. Wyll, on the other hand, has been sitting around completely ignored until now when we get this evil ending.

Many have rightfully pointed out the inherent racism steeped in all of this. I want Larian to be better. But as Maya Angelou said, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them." I already didn't have much hope about Patch 7 for Wyll, but this... honestly, this is worse than him just being ignored again.

The thing that kills me the most is that this is just going to be more fodder for the fandom to completely mischaracterize Wyll, for those who already haven't bothered to think critically about his character at all to just be like, oh, cool, Wyll is evil now. Nope. You've completely missed the point.

I'm just... so tired. I've worked very hard to put this little bubble of Wyll enthusiasts around me (hi friends I love you all!) so that I can hold on to some shred of sanity in this fandom. The world needs heroes of color. Just let Wyll be the hero in peace.

[03jyh23]

🌊⌇such a lonely heart┆kim hongjoong

married, hongjoong x gn!reader

│synopsis: if you can't find another reason to stay, then i know i'm gonna always have a lonely heart

│genre: hurt no comfort, angst

│trigger warnings: emotional distress, heartbreak, relationship conflict

│words: 4.1 k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there my lovely people! it feels like forever since i last posted, and oh god, i’m so happy to be back! my hiatus ended up lasting much longer than i intended, and coming back after such a long time is honestly nerve-wracking. this piece of writing took me a long time to complete, but i’m really proud of it. once again, it’s a hongjoong angst with a personal touch, and i think hongjoong will always have that cathartic role in my stories. i hope you guys can feel the emotions i’ve woven into it. thank you for sticking with me—i can’t wait to hear what you think.

love, mon ♡

It was late Thursday night. You were curled up on your bed, blanket wrapped tightly around you, staring blankly at the wall. It was unbearable. Was your mind numb, or was it so full of thoughts that they all clashed together, making you feel overwhelmed and empty simultaneously? You let yourself break again, letting the flood of thoughts and feelings consume you whole. You were drowning, unable to stop the spiral of despair that clawed at you. 

Eighteen times. 

Hongjoong ignored your calls eighteen times tonight. 

And that was your breaking point.

You felt the weight of each ignored call like a stone in your chest, pressing down, making breathing hard. The silence from his end was deafening, drowning out even the sound of your own heartbeat. You wondered, with a bitter taste in your mouth, if this was what it felt like to be truly alone. It wasn't anything new, you spent your nights alone, most of them sleepless as the lack of warmth in your husband's body made it impossible to get some rest. After tossing and turning, you would eventually catch a few hours of sleep, only to wake up in an empty bed. The routine had become painfully familiar. The cold sheets on his side of the bed were a constant reminder of his absence. You'd reach out, hoping against hope, but your fingers would only meet the cool fabric, untouched and undisturbed. 

Anyone would have thought you'd get used to it by now - Hongjoong leaving early for his office and coming back too late to spend time with you. But he would always text that he was doing extra hours or going out for a beer with friends. Tonight, however, was different. There was only radio silence. And nothing hurt more than the quiet. The absence of his usual messages left an ache in your chest that you couldn't ignore. You found yourself checking your phone obsessively, hoping for any sign of communication. But the screen remained stubbornly blank, a stark reminder of the growing distance between you. 

As the hours ticked by, your mind raced with possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last. Was he okay? Had something happened? Or was this simply the new normal - a silence that spoke volumes about the state of your relationship? 

The sound of the door creaking open finally pulled you from your thoughts. Through the narrow gap between the door and its frame, you saw a thin line of light, and then your eyes drifted up to see your husband. Hongjoong stepped into your shared apartment, his ginger hair damp from the rain. He ran his hand through it, pushing the wet strands away from his face, before peeling off his soaked beige coat and slipping off his shoes. You swallowed the lump rising in your throat at the sight of him, tears prickling your eyes again. You blinked rapidly, trying to push them back, gripping the blanket tighter as if it could shield you from the wave of emotions crashing inside you. The fabric pulled up to your chin, a flimsy barrier between you and the ache that had settled deep in your chest. 

The light went out as Hongjoong moved further into the apartment, past the door of your bedroom without a word. He didn’t even glance in your direction. What was wrong? Or was he simply trying to avoid waking you, assuming you should be asleep instead of quietly falling apart? One way or another, it was far too late for him to walk back in like nothing had happened. The silence that followed felt colder than before, sinking into your already worn-out body. 

You could hear him in the living room, the soft rustle of the wardrobe doors opening. Was he planning to sleep on the couch again tonight? You untangled yourself from the blanket, standing quietly before slipping out of the bedroom. The weight of exhaustion and frustration clung to you as you made your way to the kitchenette. You didn’t want to fight. Not tonight. You poured yourself a glass of cold water, grabbed the bottle of painkillers from one of the drawers, and swallowed a couple of pills, hoping they’d dull the throbbing in your head. You glanced at Hongjoong as you set the glass down. He had stopped mid-motion, his hands frozen on the pillow he was arranging on the sofa. Your eyes met briefly, the silence between you thick with unspoken words. As you had guessed, he was indeed preparing to sleep on the couch tonight. The realization sent a fresh wave of pain through your chest. You averted your gaze, unable to bear the weight of his silent stare any longer. The distance between you felt insurmountable, even though you were just a few feet apart in the same room. 

You stood in the dim light of the kitchen, hands gripping the edge of the counter as you tried to steady your breathing. Then, the words you’d been holding back for too long slipped out before you could stop them. "Where were you tonight?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of all the unanswered calls and unread messages. 

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before continuing. "I called you eighteen times, Hongjoong. Eighteen. And not once did you pick up or call back. What's going on?" Your eyes met his again, searching for any sign of explanation or remorse. "Are we... are we okay?" The last question came out softer, more vulnerable, betraying the fear that had been gnawing at you all night. The words felt like they had a life of their own, carrying the weight of nights spent alone, of unanswered calls, and of the slow unraveling of something you once thought was unbreakable. You didn’t dare turn around, didn’t want to see the look on his face. Whether it was guilt, anger, or indifference, you couldn’t handle any of it. 

The silence stretched longer, and every second that ticked by only made your heart sink deeper. 

Finally, you heard him shift behind you, his footsteps hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how to approach the fragile moment. The tension in the room felt suffocating, but you stood your ground, gripping the counter tighter, waiting for him to say something—anything—to break the silence. 

But nothing came. 

Tired. You were both tired—of the silence, of the distance, of pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep this up, but at that moment, you didn’t have the strength to do anything more than stand there, waiting for an answer that might never come. 

You didn’t turn around as you felt his presence behind you, the warmth of his body radiating in the small space between you. You held your breath, waiting for him to say something, to explain, to apologize—anything to break the suffocating silence that had enveloped you both. One of your hands traveled to your temple, trying to massage away the pounding headache that wouldn’t relent, as if easing the physical pain might somehow dull the ache in your heart too. 

The silence dragged on, and you could feel him standing there, just out of reach, but still not saying a word. It was suffocating, the space between you filled with unspoken thoughts, unresolved arguments, and the growing distance that neither of you seemed able to close. 

"I kept waiting. Waiting for you to call back, to walk through the door, to say something—anything." you continued, voice trembling as you let your hand fall from your temple, now gripping the edge of the counter again.

Hongjoong let out a breath behind you, but it was small, almost inaudible. You could sense his guilt, but guilt alone wasn’t enough to bridge the gap. "I didn’t know what to say," he admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper, and you could hear the weight of his own struggle in it. 

"You didn’t know what to say?" You turned around slowly, finally meeting his eyes. Your own were burning, a mixture of exhaustion, anger, and desperation swirling together. "Do you think that makes it any better? That just... ignoring me was the right thing to do?" 

He looked down, running a hand through his damp hair again. His hesitation was killing you. You needed him to fight for this, to fight for you. 

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. Hongjoong's eyes finally met yours, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. 

"Are you giving up on us?" The words tumbled out of your mouth, raw and vulnerable. Your eyes searched his face, desperate for any sign that he still cared, that there was still something worth fighting for. 

Hongjoong's eyes snapped up to meet yours, a flicker of pain crossing his features. For a moment, he looked as lost and scared as you felt. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken fears and fading hopes. "I..." he started; his voice barely audible. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. "I want a divorce, Y/N," Hongjoong finally said, his voice cracking slightly as he forced the words out. 

The world seemed to stop spinning for a moment. You felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you gasping. Your eyes widened in disbelief, searching his face for any sign that this was some cruel joke. But all you saw was a mixture of pain, guilt, and resignation in his eyes. 

"What?" you whispered, barely able to form the word. Your hands gripped the counter behind you, needing something solid to hold onto as your world crumbled around you. 

Hongjoong took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of his words was physically pulling him down. 

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat. All those ignored calls, the nights spent alone, the growing distance - it all suddenly made sense in the worst possible way. The realization hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you struggling to stay afloat in the sea of emotions threatening to drown you. 

"A divorce?" The word felt foreign on your tongue, heavy and bitter. You shook your head, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. "How... how long have you been thinking about this?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with the weight of your shattered world. 

Hongjoong's eyes flickered with a mix of guilt and sadness as he answered, his voice low and strained. "For a while now... I've been trying to find the right moment, but there never seemed to be one." He paused, running a hand through his hair, a gesture that once seemed endearing but now felt like a painful reminder of what you were losing. 

The words hit you like a physical blow, and suddenly, all the pain and frustration you'd been holding back came rushing to the surface. Your eyes flashed with anger as you stepped towards him. 

"Empty promises," you spat, your voice quivering with emotion. "Is that what our vows meant to you? Because I meant every single word, I said on our wedding day!" Hongjoong flinched at the intensity of your words, but you couldn't stop. The floodgates had opened. "I said I wanted to spend forever with you, Hongjoong. Forever! And I meant it with every fiber of my being. But for you? Were they just pretty words to say in front of our families and friends?" Your voice cracked, tears streaming down your face. "I promised you my life, my love, my everything. And you're throwing it all away like it meant nothing. Was any of it real for you?" 

The silence that followed was deafening, heavy with the weight of broken promises and shattered dreams. 

Hongjoong's shoulders slumped, his eyes cast downward as if he couldn't bear to meet your gaze. The weight of your words hung in the air between you, a tangible reminder of the promises made and now broken. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of regret and resignation. "It was real," he said, his voice barely audible. "But sometimes... sometimes love isn't enough." He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "We've grown apart, Y/N. We're not the same people we were when we made those vows." 

"Don't bullshit me now, Hongjoong! It was two years ago! Two years!" Your voice rose, trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "Why did you even bother to fucking marry me if you were going to give up so easily?" Your words echoed in the small space between you, raw with emotion. Your hands were clenched at your sides, your whole body shaking with the force of your outburst. The tears that had been threatening to fall now streamed freely down your face. You searched Hongjoong's face, desperate for any sign that this was all a mistake, that he didn't really mean what he was saying. But all you saw was a mixture of guilt and resignation in his eyes, and it only fueled your anger and hurt more. 

Hongjoong took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of sadness and determination. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I truly am. I didn't marry you with the intention of giving up. I thought... I thought we could make it work. But we've changed, grown apart. The passion, the connection we once had... it's not there anymore." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "I've tried, we've both tried, but it feels like we're just going through the motions. Don't you feel it too? The distance between us, even when we're in the same room?" His voice softened, a hint of vulnerability seeping through. "I didn't want to hurt you, but I realized that staying in a marriage that's lost its spark would hurt us both more in the long run. You deserve someone who can love you fully, completely. And I... I'm not that person anymore." Hongjoong's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued, "I know it's not fair. Two years isn't a long time, but it's been long enough for me to realize that we're not making each other happy anymore. And isn't that what marriage should be about? Happiness, growth, mutual support?" He took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the person you needed me to be. I'm sorry I couldn't keep the promises I made. But I think... I think we both deserve a chance at real happiness, even if it means not being together." 

You were at a loss for words, the reality of the situation sinking in. Finally, you managed to speak, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with emotion. "No, I don't feel it too. What I feel is the desperate longing for you when you're not here. I love you, it never changed." You realized, with a crushing finality, that you would never hear him say he loves you again.

Swallowing hard, fighting back a fresh wave of tears, you spoke again, your voice hollow. "I'm going to pack my bags." 

As you turned to leave, you felt a hand grasp your arm gently. Hongjoong's touch, once so familiar and comforting, now sent a jolt of pain through your heart. "Y/N, please..." His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of desperation and regret. You froze, your back still to him. For a moment, you allowed yourself to feel the warmth of his hand, to remember all the times that touch had brought you comfort. But the pain of his words, the finality of his decision, was too fresh. 

With a sharp intake of breath, you pulled your arm away, stepping out of his reach. You couldn't bear to look at him, afraid that if you did, you might crumble completely. "Don't," you managed to say, your voice trembling. "Just... don't." Without turning back, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper but filled with cold finality, "You can tell your lawyer to bring the papers to my parents." 

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your shattered dreams and the future that would never be. You didn't wait for a response, couldn't bear to hear whatever Hongjoong might say. Instead, you walked away, each step feeling like it was taking you further from the life you had once imagined, towards an uncertain and lonely future. 

You packed your bags in a hurry, the silence broken only by the rustling of clothes and the soft thud of items being hastily tossed into your suitcase. Your hands trembled as you gathered the necessities, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. 

As you made your way to the door, you paused, your hand resting on the cool metal of the doorknob. Despite the pain coursing through you, you couldn't help but turn for one last look at the man you loved—still love. Hongjoong sat on the sofa, his head buried in his hands, eyes fixed on the floor. The sight of him, so defeated and lost, sent a fresh wave of anguish through your heart. For a moment, you stood there, memorizing every detail of this final scene, knowing it would be etched in your memory forever. 

With a deep breath, you reached into your pocket and pulled out your keys. The metal felt cold against your skin, a stark reminder of the life you were leaving behind. You walked over to the drawer near the entrance, your steps echoing in the heavy silence. As you placed the keys on the drawer, they made a sharp, metallic cling that seemed to reverberate through the apartment. The sound was jarring in the stillness, causing Hongjoong to snap his head up, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, intense moment. 

That single sound seemed to encapsulate everything - the end of your shared life, the finality of his decision, the irreversible nature of what was happening. It was as if that small noise had shattered the last remnants of the world, you once shared. 

Hongjoong's voice broke through the silence, barely above a whisper, but filled with a mixture of regret and desperation. "Y/N, wait..."He stood up, his eyes pleading. "I... I never meant for it to end like this. Please, don't leave this way—you don't have to go." His words were mumbled out quickly, a desperate need in them that you couldn't quite understand. The sudden shift in his tone caught you off guard, making you pause at the door. You turned slightly, not fully facing him, but enough to show you were listening. 

You felt a mix of emotions wash over you - anger, hurt, confusion. Part of you wanted to turn and run, to escape this painful situation. But another part of you needed answers, needed to understand how things had fallen apart so quickly. With a deep breath, you steadied yourself and turned to face Hongjoong fully. "What do you mean, don't leave this way?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "You just told me you want a divorce. What other way is there to leave?" 

Hongjoong got up from the sofa and took a few quick steps in your direction. His expression faltered, a mix of guilt and uncertainty crossing his features. He took a hesitant step towards you, his hand reaching out but stopping short of touching you. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I just... I can't bear the thought of you walking out that door, even though I know I'm the one who caused this." His words hung in the air, heavy with contradiction. You felt a surge of anger mixed with confusion, your emotions threatening to spill over. Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself, your grip tightening on your suitcase handle. 

"Hongjoong," you began, your voice low and controlled, "you can't have it both ways. You can't ask for a divorce and then expect me to stay." You felt your resolve waver slightly at the vulnerability in his voice, but you steeled yourself, knowing you had to stay strong. 

"It's just hard to see you walk away in silence like we're strangers," Hongjoong said, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of regret and longing. 

His words hit you like a physical blow, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You took a deep, shaky breath before responding. "And it's hard for me to stay and pretend everything's okay when you've just shattered my world," you replied, your voice quivering. "We're not strangers, Hongjoong. We're two people who once vowed forever to each other, and now we're crumbling that promise." The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken words and painful realizations. You both stood there, caught in a moment that felt both eternal and fleeting, the weight of your shared history and uncertain future hanging between you. 

Hongjoong's eyes met yours, a mixture of pain and regret swirling in their depths. You could see the conflict within him, the struggle between what he thought he wanted and the reality of losing you.

Suddenly, without warning, Hongjoong closed the distance between you. His hands cupped your face, and before you could react, his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was desperate, filled with a mixture of passion, regret, and longing. It caught you off guard, your body tensing at first before instinctively melting into the familiar warmth of his embrace. For a moment, the world around you faded away. There was only Hongjoong, the taste of his lips, the feel of his hands on your skin. It was as if all the love, all the memories, all the pain of your relationship was poured into this one, final kiss. 

But as quickly as it began, reality came crashing back. You pulled away, breathless and confused, your mind reeling from the sudden turn of events. Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Hongjoong, seeing the same turmoil reflected in his gaze. 

"Why?" you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling with emotion. "Why now, when you've already decided to let me go?" 

Hongjoong's expression crumbled, he took a shaky breath, his hands falling to his sides as he struggled to find the words. "I... I don't know," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything." 

You choked on a sob, the finality of it all settled, and you found yourself struggling to breathe. With trembling hands, you reached for the door handle, your vision blurring with unshed tears. "Goodbye, Hongjoong," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible and thick with emotion. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything you had shared and everything you were now losing. 

Without looking back, you stepped through the doorway, the soft click of the door closing behind you echoing in your ears like a death knell. As you made your way down the hallway, each step felt like it was taking you further from the life you had known, from the love you had cherished, and into an uncertain, lonely future. 

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

│ it has come to my attention that a lot of ageless/blank blogs have started to interact with my fics. while i appreciate your interest in my writing, i want to remind everyone that my blog is for adults only. it only takes a moment to personalize your blog and add your age. please take a moment to do so. this way, it will be easier for everyone and will save me from having to go through all my notifications to block blank/ageless blogs.│

[apute11as]

Everything happens for a reason ~ Alexia putellas x reader

Author note: The poll was close but I’ve decided to do it as parts as it’s easier for me to get regular smaller posts out with my work and things but I hope you enjoy❤️

⚠️ suggestive themes, slight smut, pregnancy, failed ivf mentions

——

The sun light pierced your blinds, bathing your room in a gentle yellow glow. As your eyes fluttered open, you were met with the beautiful site of your wife’s naked, tattooed back asleep next to you. You knew she’d be tired, as were you after your late night activities that went on into the early hours of the morning, needing to make the most of your time together before a gruelling 2 months likely without seeing each other at all.

You admired the woman next to you, and the way that the light made her tanned skin look ethereal. Tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ears, you pressed a light kiss to her cheek but as you went to bend back up, you felt an unusual lurch in your stomach. Rising immediately, you went to empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. After gagging for a couple of seconds, you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, one that surely belonged to your girlfriend.

“¿estas bien mi amor?” she questioned with a soft look of concern present on her features.

“Si carino estoy bien I think it’s just nerves because of how soon the World Cup is and the pressure that I’m going to be under.” you replied patting her hand that rested on your shoulder.

“Ok if you’re sure let’s get some water” she exclaimed, offering her hand and using her other to lift you by the hips.

As you entered the kitchen, she quickly made you water and a warm cup of coffee which seemed to work pretty well to soothe your aching stomach, a sure sign that this wasn’t a bug but simply nerves.

——

A couple of hours passed and you were feeling almost completely better which definitely helped in reducing your girlfriend’s anxiety. She had helped you with all the finishing touches to packing your bag so that you were now completely ready to go to the airport. Despite the original plan being for you to get a taxi to the airport, after this morning Alexia insisted she drive you in her car, claiming that she could easily divert her taxi to take her to her camp from the airport. After a large discussion, filled with many kisses, you finally agreed.

You planned to leave at 8am but it was currently 7:30 so with half an hour to spare the two of you were cuddled up on the sofa, with Nala settled asleep across both of your laps.

“I’m going to miss you so much amor” alexia whispered into your neck, tightening her grip around you.

“I’ll miss you too Ale, but I’ll see you in the final, when we both get there” you replied, kissing her cheek.

“Hmm” she hummed into you, her hands creeping up your jumper and onto the bare skin beneath it.

“what do you think you’re doing love” you giggled as her cold hands made contact with your exposed midsection.

“Mmm gonna miss you so much” she mumbled as she pulled you into her further, startling poor Nala who preceded to fall into the rug, showing her annoyance with a small bark. At this point, you were now straddling her hips, and she was leaving open mouth kisses on your neck on the marks she’d left last night. She then carefully slotted her thigh in between your legs, trying to make contact though the layers of fabric between her legs and your pussy.

“Ale I need to get ready to go soon or else I’ll miss my check in.” You reminded her but she seemed unfazed as her hand reached your breasts and began to massage them. You moaned as she reached your nipples, allowing her to keep going despite the more logical side to you saying no. However, you draw the line when her hands reach down into your sweatpants to touch your pussy. “Alexia putellas segura you are like a teenage boy are you always horny?” you questioned, whilst simultaneously trying to escape her newfound grip on your hips.

“No I just love you so much bebita and I’m going to miss you and these” she said groping your breasts again.

“Ale stop it I mean it we have to go” you say sternly, finally managing to escape her grasp.

“Fine” she huffed like a child being scolded by their parent. She made a move to stand up but not before giving your ass a smack as she shuffled past you.

“You little-“ you remarked as you began to chase her, Nala joining in with her mami’s playing.

After a painful 15 minutes of Alexia touching you in anyway she can, you finally made it to the car with all of your stuff and Alexia of course opting to carry as much of your stuff as humanly possible, the princess treatment ever present as always. And of course once you had begun your journey, Alexia had placed her hand on your thigh for the entire 30 minutes.

Once you finally reached your destination of the airport, Alexia parked up her Cupra and promptly strolled around the other side of the car to open the door and offer her hand to you so you could get out. Hand in hand, you both ventured to the car trunk to collect your bags, and of course Alexia carried as much as possible; ever the gentlewoman.

So you walked over to the airport hand in hand. After unloading your stuff into the baggage section, it was time to say goodbye to your girlfriend for the next two months. What you hadn’t expected was for the tears to form in your eyes so easily.

“Amor are you crying” alexia asked, her eyes slightly glassy too.

“Yes sorry my love” you responded, letting the tears fall without restraint now as she held you tight in her arms, just had she had after every failed IVF attempt.

“Don’t be sorry I’m just shocked you don’t normally get this emotional I’ll see you soon I promise cariño” she stated with a pitiful smile.

“I think I’m just having one of those days my love I’m really going to miss you” you replied

“And I you guapa” she smiled.

With one last hug, the two of you parted ways and you headed to security and baggage check, boarding pass in hand and unsettling feeling in your stomach.

Once you boarded the plane, you quickly found your seat, it was next to a woman and a small child. Placing your stuff in the overhead storage, you sat down by the window staring into abyss. Around 20 minutes into the flight, the unease in your stomach returned and you suddenly felt bile begin to rise up in your throat. Noticing your discomfort, the woman next to you spoke up.

“are you alright love” she questioned with a maternal glint in her eyes.

“Oh- yes sorry just feeling a bit ill” you replied hesitantly.

“would you like travel sickness tablets?” She asked with a smile.

“Oh no thank you I don’t usually get travel sick” you assured her.

“Well haha I thought the same until I was pregnant with this one here” she said pointing at the toddler asleep next to her.

“I was great with travelling but then I just started to feel sick every time I entered a moving vehicle” she chuckled.

“Oh wow I’m sure I’m not pregnant though” you offered weakly.

“Probably but you never know” she rebounded.

“Actually I took a test the other week we were trying for a while, but after the last negative we’ve decided to give it a break” you replied with a hint of sadness.

“Ah I see but those box tests aren’t always correct, I’m sorry if I’m overstepping here but given what you’ve told me maybe it’s worth taking another” she professed.

“Maybe” you said weakly, offering a small smile.

Throughout the journey your thoughts spiralled, what if you were pregnant and the test had been wrong? How would you explain this to your coaches, to Alexia? The sickness persisted, you excused yourself to the bathroom once or twice, but nothing but dry heaving occurred. The likely reality of your predicament began to settle in and what felt like an extensive flight, despite the fact it was only 2 hours, the plane touched town in rainy England and as you stepped out of the plane, all that you felt was dread.

[athforskz]

The Art of Cuddling - Kim Seungmin

Masterlist

Pairing: Seungmin x reader (afab)

wc: ~1.1k

Type: fluff, smut, friends to lovers

Warnings: consensual somnophilia, cunninglingus, unprotected piv

a/n: Just some soft and hard thoughts about snuggling with Seungmin. I feel like we don’t get enough soft Minnie (even though I do very much enjoy menace Minnie too).

Enjoy lovelies!

Snuggly!Seungmin who has been your closest friend for years and always took the opportunity to cuddle with you. At first it started with you just laying your head on his shoulders when the both of you watched movies.

Snuggly!Seungmin would eventually invite you to his dorm for a sleepover where he would full on be spooning you from behind in his sleep. You were a bit caught off guard by it at first, but didn’t think too much into it, assuming he wasn’t aware of his actions while sleeping.

Snuggly!Seungmin would wake you up by stroking your hair gently to coax you from drowsiness. “Morning, sleepyhead.” The deep tone to his morning voice startling you while simultaneously stirring something in the pit of your stomach.

Snuggly!Seungmin who eventually made it a routine to either come to yours or have you stay with him every night because neither of you could sleep without being in each other’s arms.

Snuggly!Seungmin finally admits his true feelings for you one day when your legs are tangled with his and his face is buried in your neck. His voice barely above a whisper, afraid of how you would react to his admission.

Snuggly!Seungmin who beams with energy the moment you divulge that you reciprocate his feelings. He takes your face in his hands, planting soft kisses from your forehead down to your lips.

Snuggly!Seungmin who insists that you guys don’t need a king size bed when you finally get a new place together. His reasoning is “we’ll just be wrapped around each other in the middle anyway.” You understand what he’s saying, so why waste the space?

Snuggly!Seungmin will literally lay halfway all the way on top of you if you ever refuse to cuddle with him due to an earlier fight or disagreement. He doesn’t care if you’re trying to ‘teach him a lesson’ he’s going to cuddle with you any way he can.

Snuggly!Seungmin will cuddle with you anywhere. The bed, the couch, in the kitchen while cooking, on the floor, in the shower. You name it, he will find a way to have you in his arms.

Snuggly!Seungmin who pushes your laptop off your lap when you try to get some work done at home. His face is pressed into your side until he pushes the device away and lays his head in your lap instead. You huff at his protest, but elect to run your fingers through his hair letting him know he now has your undivided attention.

Snuggly!Seungmin has the most calming heartbeat to listen to. His heartbeat is pretty much your lullaby as he cradles your head into his chest and traces his fingertips along your spine to help you relax.

Snuggly!Seungmin isn’t afraid to ask you to be the big spoon when he’s had a particularly hard day. He’ll turn into such a baby when craving extra attention from you and you give it to him willingly.

Snuggly!Seungmin gets really sulky when you have to get up early in the mornings. It’s incredibly hard to unhook his arms from around you. He’ll groan and pull you back to his chest while still half asleep. “Minnie, I’m going to be late again. I need to get ready to go.” You’ll tell him. “Nooo, 5 more minutes.” He pleads with you. And you can’t say no to him.

Snuggly!Seungmin who finally lets you get out of bed but not alone. He gets up to stay right behind you, holding onto your waist with his head laying on your shoulder. You’ll both waddle into the bathroom and he will stay holding you while pretty much sleeping standing up as you get ready for the day.

Snuggly!Seungmin will get back in bed once you actually leave and bury his face into your pillow, breathing in your scent to lull him back to sleep until it’s his turn to get up.

Snuggly!Seungmin who wouldn’t dare admit to any of his other friends that he relied heavily on your skinship as much as he did. He needed to maintain his persona if he wanted to be taken seriously. However, all of that goes out the window when they see the lock screen on his phone of just how close you two can get.

Snuggly!Seungmin can’t keep himself away from you if you’re both in the same room. He always wants to be holding you in some way, shape, or form.

Snuggly!Seungmin who will sneak his hands into your pj bottoms on cold nights because your core is radiating with heat to keep him warm. You don’t mind because you do the same to him, sliding your hands into his sweatpants even when you’re not particularly cold.

Snuggly!Seungmin’s favorite cuddling position is to have you flat on your back, your thighs around his shoulders as he lays between them. His head resting on your lower tummy, because “it makes for the comfiest pillow.”

Snuggly!Seungmin who will slowly lower himself to wake you up in the morning with head. His favorite cuddling position giving him easy access to your sweet pussy. All he needs to do is push your sleep shorts and panties to the side.

Snuggly!Seungmin loves hearing your soft whimpers turn into moans as the feeling of his fingers pumping and his lips sucking your clit wake you up.

Snuggly!Seungmin detaches his mouth from you and removes his fingers once you whine about “needing more.” He’ll move up behind you, essentially manhandling you into a spooning position so your ass is flush with his hips. His hard clothed cock pressed in between the crack of your ass.

Snuggly!Seungmin ruts his hips to grind against you, teasing you until you can’t take it anymore and you reach behind to push the waistband of his sweats and boxers down to free his cock leaking with precum.

Snuggly!Seungmin who lets a dark chuckle rumble from his chest as he sees how desperate you are to get him inside you. It’s not your fault, you’re just so sensitive in the mornings.

Snuggly!Seungmin finally obliges your needs and sinks his dick slowly into your aching pussy. He takes it easy at first, hissing at how tight and wet you feel around him before picking up the pace.

Snuggly!Seungmin who loves when you turn into a babbling mess. He’ll make sure your back is pressed against his chest as he pants into your ear and whisper filthy words for only you to hear, “Such a needy pup. Wanting to be stuffed full first thing, huh?”

Snuggly!Seungmin whose eyes roll back as your walls clench around him when you cum, his warm seed flooding you and leaking out onto your inner thighs.

Snuggly!Seungmin who laughs wholeheartedly when you look at the time then scramble to get out of bed because he’s made you late yet again.

Taglist: @doitforbangchan / @jehhskz

[wileys-russo]

Fic idea for Mary: You wear one of her favourite hoodies/jerseys whilst she's at practice, and accidentally ruin it. You feel guilty and get really emotional when she returns and you tell her what happened. She just laughs and comforts you because she loves you more than she could love a piece of clothing

material posessions II m.earps

you hummed along to yourself as music drifted around your kitchen, busying yourself cooking dinner so that it would be ready by the time your fiance returned from training, knowing that after a full day of commitments she'd be both hungry and exhausted.

however in hindsight to try and dance, sing and cook all simultaneously was really quite the ambitious task. and it wasn't long before of course, something went wrong.

you'd scooped up a large spoonful of pasta sauce to taste, and too busy bopping your head along to the beat you missed your mouth completely, spilling the bright red sauce all down the front of yourself.

now in any other situation this would be easily fixable, you'd just pop it in the wash and be done with it. however, the item of clothing which was now covered in pasta sauce did not belong to you, it belonged to your fiance.

and it just so happened to be one of her favourite items of clothing. it was old and it was faded and given the years of wear and tear from both you and her it was stretched out. but it was a jumper from her grass roots club, and you knew the incredibly sentimental connection mary had with it.

and of course, it had to be white.

"fuck fuck fuck fuck." you repeated over and over, looking around in panic trying to plan your next move, well aware that every second which ticked passed only further closed the small window of time you had to fix this before a. the stain became dried out and impossible to clean and b. your fiance returned home.

you quickly pulled it off and raced to the laundry, grabbing what you needed and scrubbing at the stain, the jumper covered in bubbles as you let out a shaky breath.

you moved to the sink, rinsing it as your eyes widened, seeing now the entire front was stained a pale red colour. "oh god please work." you whispered, dumping it into the washing machine and selecting the settings, clicking it on for a fifteen minute cycle.

"baby? i'm home!" your eyes widened hearing your fiance walk through the door, of course she would be early the one time you needed her late.

you hurried out of the laundry, quietly closing the door behind you and returning to the kitchen as you heard her take her shoes off by the front door. with wide eyes you watched the sauce bubble over and spill, quickly snatching it off the heat as your heart raced.

"hello beautiful how was-" marys words died in her mouth as her eyes landed on your bare back, spare for the tattoo which wound its way down your spine. "hi love, dinners almost done." you rambled out, trying to get your head straight again as you frantically scrambled to save the meal you'd spent the last hour labouring over.

"not that i'm complaining. but would you like to explain why you're in here cooking half naked babe?" marys taller form pressed to yours from behind, her hands snaking around you, gently caressing your abs as they slowly trailed upwards.

"um, i got hot?" you winced at the poor excuse, your breath hitching as her large hands teasingly squeezed your breasts and her lips began to kiss at your neck. "i'll go put a top on now!" you pushed back into her, sending her stumbling away as you almost sprinted off into your bedroom.

mary only smiled in amusement, shaking her head at her fiance and moving to continue where you'd left off, dumping the pasta in with the sauce and mixing it, humming appreciatively as she sucked a drop of sauce off her thumb.

you quickly returned, top half now clad in one of your own shirts, not wanting to risk a repeat of earlier if you had another slip up. "i'll do that baby! go sit down." you shooed her away from the food, pulling her down to sweetly peck her lips before turning back to the meal.

"are you alright love? you seem a bit...frazzled." mary asked softly, knowing you like the back of her hand as you hummed with a nod, flickering around the kitchen trying to keep your head above water, the chime of the washing machine sounding.

"i'll grab it, i've gotta put my gloves in they proper stink!" mary chuckled to herself, grabbing her kit bag off the ground and standing as your eyes widened. "no no! i'll get it. you've been on the go all day mary, sit down." you firmly pushed her back into her seat with a quick smile, darting off to the laundry.

"and leave the food i'll finish it in just a second!" you yelled over your shoulder, also knowing mary as well as she knew you as the blonde sat back down with a roll of her eyes. "shit!" you muttered to yourself as you opened the washer and pulled out her jumper, the stain not clearing and now the entire jumper stained blotchy red.

"why." your head thumped down on the washer with a small groan, stomach tied in knots with guilt. "baby is there something in the oven? i think its burning." mary called out as your eyes widened and you shot up, leaving the wet jumper on top of the washer and shooting back out, slamming the door after you making your fiance jump.

you scrambled to the oven, throwing it open to retrieve the garlic bread you'd made. however with your head spinning like a top you neglected to remember your hands were not heat resistant like the oven mits you should have donned.

"fuck!" you swore as you grabbed the red hot tray, snatching your hand away with a hiss as mary was by your side in an instant. she hurried you to the sink, holding your hand under the cool water as her other hand reached up into the cupboards above your head, grabbing out the first aid kit with ease.

she mumbles sweet nothings to you as she gently pats your hand dry, kissing you in between each step as she carefully applies the burn cream and wraps your hand up in a bandage, kissing it softly once she's finished.

leaving you for a moment to lick your wounds she zooms around the kitchen like your own personal superhero, salvaging what she could of dinner and once she was sure everything was off the heat and all danger minimized she returned right back to you.

"come here." the taller girl wrapped you in a tight hug as you buried your face in her shoulder, feeling her fingers tangle in your hair gently as her other hand rubbed comforting circles on your back.

you stood there in one anothers safe and warm embrace for a few moments, lavishing in the comfort she brought to you without even needing to say a single word.

"now. what's happened then baby? you're not yourself." mary pulled away, hands cupping your face and tilting your head to look up at her as her eyes shone with a soft but sincere concern for your well being.

"well I-i just-and then i-" you stuttered, huffing in frustration as tears pricked at the back of your eyes, marys face softening even further as she caught them welling up, grabbing your hand as you tried to hastily wipe them away.

"hey, my love talk to me." she ordered softly, wiping away the tears which pooled in your eyes tenderly with her thumbs. "wait here." you sighed, gently pulling her hands off your face as her eyebrows knit together with a confused frown but she waited patiently none the less as you stepped away.

when you returned it was obvious that you were hiding something behind your back, the crease in marys forehead growing as you stood back in front of her.

"i wasn't being careful and i spilled something on it. then i tried to clean it and well...it got worse." you hesitantly revealed her damp jumper, mary taking it carefully off of you and inspecting it, turning the material around in her hands.

"i'm so so sorry mary. i don't know quite how yet but i promise i'll try to make it up to you. god you must be so angry i know how much it means to you, i'm so sorry." the tears returned to your eyes as mary glanced up from her jumper.

"hey hey hey." she placed it quickly down on the counter, her hands again cupping your face, a smile curling onto her lips. "why are you laughing!" you hiccuped out among a sob, mary pulling you into a hug with a shake of her head, surprising you at the action.

"i'm laughing because it's ridiculous that you think i'd ever be upset with you over something like this baby. i love you far more than any silly old jumper, more than any material posession in fact." she assured you, stealing a kiss as her hands gripped your hips, pulling you up to sit on the bench as she moved between your legs.

"honestly you're so cute." mary smiled in amusement as you used your top to wipe your eyes. "shut up." you grumbled with a small sigh, glancing down to the ruined jumper beside you. "i am sorry though. i should have been more careful!" you sighed out as mary shook her head firmly.

"no, i love when you wear my clothes, especially my football kits. seeing my last name across your shoulder blades brings me more happiness than you'll ever know." mary promised, hand caressing your face softly and bringing your lips to hers in a sweet and loving kiss.

"soon it'll be my last name." you smiled, mary holding up your hand admiring the small rock on your finger, the thought of your impending wedding making her heart soar.

"very true. but i especially love when you're in here cooking me a meal and not wearing any shorts. then when your top rides up i can see your cute little bum." mary mumbled into the kiss with a lazy smirk meaning you pulled away and smacked her shoulder with a playful roll of your eyes.

"perv." you teased, pecking her lips a few more times and wrapping her in another hug, your chin resting on her shoulder as the taller girl hunched over slightly.

"i burnt our dinner." you sighed looking at the mess of the kitchen behind you. "yeah, yeah you did love." marys body vibrated with a quiet chuckle as she rubbed your back.

"get a takeaway?" "get a takeaway."

[ticklishraspberries]

Intimacy (Alex/Henry)

Summary: Henry wants to sleep in and cuddle, but Alex is awake and fidgety. Laughter ensues. (For Day 2 of @august-anon's weekly Tickletober prompts!! Thanks to everyone who voted for this ship and I hope you all enjoy the fic!!)

Henry has spent so many years of his life without affection.

His family is distant, all but Bea, whose love usually comes in quick hugs, the occasional ruffle of his hair. Henry’s love life has only been able to exist in the shadows, hidden by his family. Any feelings were pushed down, just trying to get by with hook-ups and longing glances.

When Alex comes around, the touch comes slow: It starts with the occasional accidental brushes, knuckles and knees bumping together. Then, the passionate kissing, the sex. They start with sex, then love and intimacy, those things have to come after. It’s easier that way for them both.

Alex grew up differently, surrounded by love. His parents, his sister, his friends and past girlfriends. But he was always so busy with school, with following his dreams and helping his family. Affection wasn’t as foreign to him, but true intimacy with a romantic partner wasn’t something he had much experience with.

Now, their love is in full swing, everything is intimate and beautiful and Henry receives affection at a much higher rate than he’s used to, and it’s simultaneously weird and perfect. They love each other fiercely, and they’re always touching.

Henry’s always been an early riser, Alex too, but after late nights talking and touching, they find themselves sleeping in. Well, Henry is sleeping in, and holding Alex hostage with him.

“Baby, I was gonna order breakfast for us,” he mutters.

Henry groans. “No, you’re staying here.”

Alex gives a fond chuckle. “Are you holding me hostage in this bed?”

Snuggling closer, Henry hums in affirmation. He nuzzles his face into the crook of Alex’s neck, pressing a gentle kiss there.

Alex squirms, a hopeless smile curling on his face. “Watch it.”

“Watch what? Am I tickling you?” Henry asks.

“No,” Alex replies, unconvincingly, his smile evident in his voice. “I just don’t want to lay in bed all day, your royal laziness.”

Henry gives a playful gasp and brings his fingers to Alex’s bare side, spidering his fingers over tanned skin with the precision of a pianist. He knows it’s technically only going to wake them both up more, going against his original goal of keeping them in bed longer, but those giggles are just too tempting. He couldn’t resist, pressing those kisses into his neck while simultaneously tickling his sides, making Alex squirm like mad, soft giggles quickly transforming into genuine laughter.

Alex had grown up being tickled by June, and tickling her back, whereas Henry’s experience with tickling had been much less frequent. His father had done it when he was a child, and Bea had done it a little more. Still, he had to learn all of Alex’s spots, figure out how to poke and scribble in the right ways. It hadn’t been very hard, considering Alex is very sensitive and incredibly responsive. Henry likes knowing that Alex isn’t just laughing out of anticipation or the silliness of the situation, but because he’s actually doing a good job at tickling.

“Baby, c’mon,” Alex whines. “If I stay in bed, will you cut it out?”

Henry’s fingers dance up to his ribs. “Hmm…Maybe?”

“That’s so not fair!” Alex snorts, trying to roll away and getting tangled in the bedsheets, his legs kicking uselessly. It’s a pretty adorable sight, and Henry is so smitten.

“Well, if I’m tickling you, you are technically still in bed. I win either way.”

“You’re such an ass,” Alex replied, batting uselessly at his hands.

Henry nipped at his collarbone as a little punishment for the comment. He was such a brat, and Henry loved him for it. He loved his touch, his laugh, his sassy comments.

Now that he has this love, this affection in his life, he’s never going to give it up.

[moondirti]

10. RESILIENCE

CHAPTER TEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter nine / chapter eleven ⇀

summary: miguel gives you something to work for

explicit (18+) | 5.1k words warnings: enemies (with benefits) to lovers, SMUT, fingering, praise kinks, edging, miguel is a tease, training arcs, using sex as encouragement, strict mentor miguel, angst, blood and injury notes: this is just five thousand words of banter and filth. am i sorry?

You’ve never been one to reminisce. 

Nostalgia, déjà vu – to pull a sweet memory often feels like trying to fish a lightbulb out from the traps of your jaw. Impossible, not unless the glass shatters to cut your gums and you’re left with the bitter aftertaste of tungsten. There’s a barrier preventing it, somewhere in your mind, built to divide your life into two clean segments. Before and after.

The woman you were before the incident at Alchemax had plenty to look forward to. She spent her time shooting way beyond her ground to ever consider slowing down, lured by aspirations far more tempting than the comfortable life she led. Had she stopped to smell the flowers, to appreciate the way lavender lotion felt on her skin or the past not yet marked with blood, you believe things could have gone differently. That too is hard to consider.

The girl you are now is ripe with rot, softening in the places touched by radiation, crystallising in others. To bring anything – a voice, a face, any memory ­­– back from your previous life would mean spoiling it, so you keep it all banked behind that wall. And of course, from the year past, there’s hardly anything new to recall with a smile.

Had you been anyone else, you suppose this could’ve been one of those rare times.

Because the gym is unchanged, exactly as you left it. Realistically, it’s only been a week, and to expect any major upheaval would be counting on a tragedy like the one that befell your Earth. Yet­–

Somehow, you believed that coming back could paint it in a new light. Like the ground would collapse where you took him, and the mirrors would crack, all to expose an element you’d failed to consider. One to help you take comfort in the fact, despite your reckless tryst, you’re still here. Returned – which means that all your worst worries were needless, and that this is just a gym, and you are just a person. Perhaps, if you were to pace around that gaping realisation, then your anxiety would give away to thrill.

Would’ve. Could’ve.

It still looks like the roots of your most recent mistake, though. Your tummy knots with it, tangled in that dermal tissue. You’re overcome with the urge to run, in an almost exact mirror of the last you were here. The air brims with promise; not the well-heeled kind, but a twisted sort that makes it hard to breathe. You’re afraid that, whatever happens today, things will only get more complicated. You won’t handle it well if it does.

You’ve never been one to reminisce. This morning, it is all you can do.

When eventually it gets too much to bear, you search for something else while you wait. You’d come early, right out of your third shower of the weekend, to counter the warning he’d given you.

(‘Don’t be late.’)

Shivering, you zip your jacket before arranging your things on the entryway bench. You avoid your reflection on the mirror-lined wall, turning to face the machinery instead. They aren’t conventional, you notice – though a shelf holds an array of dumbbells, they run up to twice the average weights found elsewhere. There’s a frame resembling a medieval torture device; two hand pull mechanisms on either side, both of which are attached to a tower of barbells. To try pulling both up simultaneously would rip an unenhanced human apart, you think. It certainly would come close in doing so to you.

Of the bunch, your least favourite has to be the leg press sent from hell. That’s what you assume it is, at least. In truth, you can’t exactly tell. With a plate large enough to cover your entire lower half, wedged underneath approximately forty thick slabs of solid steel, the pressure alone would be enough to crush you.

You remain firmly within the confines of the hand-to-hand combat mat. Safe, if not somewhat weird for your foul misuse of it in the past. 

But your unease is heavy enough to diffuse into your fingertips now. Your knuckles shake with it, and you must do something lest you start clawing away at your palms.

Stretching, maybe.

Yeah. Stretching would be good.

You start with what you know. The familiarity is agreeable enough to lose yourself to it. Five minutes pass; you’re bent into a low lunge. Ten, and you’re forcing your knees to touch the floor in a butterfly spread. Fifteen is when your tendons start to tremble with a warm ache, when you finally feel loose enough to relent and take a quick rest.

It turns out to be fortunate timing. The door swings upon not a moment later, the atmosphere sinking to accommodate the gravity of his presence. You catch his shadow from the top of your peripheral, hanging upside down as it appears from your point of view – laying on your back with your head slightly tipped.

You can’t see his face, and therefore have nothing to occupy yourself with. In its absence, you’re forced to consider the uncomfortable parallel your position draws forth. The only thing missing are his thick thighs, straddling your chest with subdued strength.

Swallowing, you flip around to settle on your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows to take a good look at him. Last night, eyes hot and cloudy with tears, you refused to do yourself the favour in fear that his allure would only exacerbate things. You begin to understand the sentiment when your gaze locks to his.

“Morning.”

“You’re late,” You attempt to joke, grimacing at the awkward timing. The beam on which your relationship stands is precarious, possibly even more so than when you’d been plain-cut enemies. Everything is painted in grey, and it’s near impossible to discern where one boundary branches and the other ends. The confidence with which you once divulged in your humour is lost within the midst – your best bet is to cling to whatever instinct feels right.

Miguel nods, eyebrows raising in tandem to his languid shrug. There’s an almost playful beat to the way he walks, lined perfectly with the perimeter of the mat. You take note of his chosen apparel – his spider suit, perfectly complete save for the mask. A swell akin to disappointment rises within you.

“That expectation is solely reserved for you, fortunately.”

“I see. I suppose heroes have much better things to do, then.”

“Fate of the multiverse,” He waves his wrist, like the barb is easily dismissed. With what you’ve gathered about the man, you’re aware that’s far from the truth. “I still have things to tend to, beyond your containment.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” With the way he’s pursued you – relentless, a panther trapped in a box with an immaterial mouse as its meal – you’d have thought he’d delegated all other responsibilities to his trusted teammates in order to make time for it all. “Coming back from a mission?”

He traipses closer, blinking slowly in the affirmative. Unconsciously, you wiggle away.

“Successful, I take it?” You prod. “That an oddity for you, O’Hara?”

“The opposite.” He mutters, assessing your resting stance with mild intrigue. Your neck throbs with the angle it takes to peer up at him, again prompting a reminder of your last combat session. To quell it, you shift to sit on your knees.

Then, you imagine how your adjustment must look. Worse, likely. Wanton.

(Caveats seem to exist in abundance with him. There is always a but to your actions, a perspective to consider lest you want another misunderstanding.)

“My case being the exception?”

“As it continues to be.”

“I’m here though,”

“You are.” He pauses, inflection softening, as though the argument were fresh news. You half anticipate praise – a recognition of the effort it took for you to return. You’d spent your sleep after coming down that rooftop in a half-conscious state, reaching beyond your feverish dreams to grasp at whatever motivation you had left. You find, the longer he goes without mentioning it, the greater it begins to wane. Like a dying star, sputtering the last dregs of its fuel.

“Early too, I should mention.” You simper. For most intended purposes, it’s a crack at him, a push for the levity today so desperately needs. Yet another, lower part of you already mouths the response you wish to hear.

Good job.   

He doesn’t give it to you. “Which brings me to the topic today’s lesson,”

“As a precaution, I should tell you that any of the equipment will likely kill me.” You disclose, if only to brush off the disillusionment, pointing in particular to the leg press. 

“We’re not just there yet.”

“Then…”

“You want to know why you failed to pin me down when I asked you to?” He crouches, levelling to a degree closer to your eye-line. Still taller, you note. You steel yourself against shrinking back.

“Because you threw me off.”

“No.” His jaw ticks. “If you had kept with your attack, then you would’ve managed.”

You haven’t given yourself the opportunity to consider the reality of your clumsy attempt. The conversation lulls to make room for your contemplation. You’d thrown yourself onto him ­– like a glorified backpack – and were too wrapped up in your own panic that you hadn’t noticed his. With hindsight, though, it’s clear as day. He’s right, you could’ve managed. “But I faltered.”

“Exactly.” He echoes. “You didn’t stand your ground, which gave me the opening.”

It occurs to you that he doesn’t know the scope of your supposed error. It had really been the effect of his borderline aphrodisiacal cologne, potent and a dangerous addition to the vertigo that came with being jostled around. You consider pointing it out, a desperate last bid to disprove the very true argument he’s making, until he interrupts:

“Face down, forearms and toes on the floor.”

Your heart clenches with a febrile panic, blood piping hot through your veins at the same rate that your brain detangles the command behind his words. Either you’re debauched beyond reason, or it registers as filthy because he meant it to be. And where you’d usually rely on context, the murky limits of your relationship makes it hard to comprehend. You wipe your sweaty palms on your pants and decide that the former is the more plausible option.

(Or you can’t admit to yourself how badly you want the latter to be true.)

Either way, you do as Miguel says.

Once across the ground again, you’re able to better process the direction he’s taking you in. A plank: he’s asking you to do a plank. Ironically, you dread it more than you would’ve done the alternative.

You keep your pelvis to the mat, not yet exercising your core strength. He carries on.

“You lack resilience. Not only are you unable to withstand struggle, you don’t think to recover when you eventually fall.” The barbed observations hurt, striking you where you’re tender. It’s the part of you that’s always dissected everything he does into small, digestible pieces, but has failed to realise that he might’ve been doing the same in turn. “The first mark of a hero is their resilience. For you, that means pitting what you want to do against what you need to do.”

Another strike. You’d poked fun at his philosophical approach before, but it’s starting to make sense. Perhaps that fact alone should scare you.

Perhaps it does.

(What you want versus what you need.

Is that what you owe the world, then? Self-sacrifice – some bloody atonement – like you haven’t already bitten tooth and nail in guilt?)

“So, you’re going to make me plank?” You snap.

“I’m going to make you hold a plank. I won’t define a duration; you’ll just have to keep on until I tell you to stop.”

“O’Hara, not to question the metaphor you’ve got going on, but what could I possibly want from that?” 

“I’ve only witnessed you work hard for one thing.” He explains. It takes on a different tone than the one he’s been using thus far, though. Gentler, well-versed in the ways of a veterinary placating a feral cat. He’s treading lightly, you can tell that much, but for what you’re not sure. Because you’re close to walking out again, or because he’s about to broach unmarked territory. Whatever it is, it reads as condescending. Your muscles start to tense, like a taut elastic ready to snap, and your critique sharpens for what he’ll suggest next. “I won’t assume, and with what it can do as a form of encouragement, it’s important that you agree.”

“Spit it out.”

He doesn’t know you; you tell yourself. You’ve given him a lot of your worst, and maybe he can decipher a few truths from that, but he does not know you. You repeat the mantra over and over like a soothing balm, attempting to tamp your frantic confusion at this whole ordeal. 

“I’ll touch you. Return the favour, goad you along – but only for as long as you’re able to hold it. Drop, and I’ll stop. Pick yourself back up, I’ll continue.”

Oh.

Oh.

“When I feel as though you’ve met today’s goal, you can cum.”

And then he goes quiet. Deathly still, pouring his scrutiny into your wide eyes like he can read every thought that fires within you. But he wouldn’t be, because there are none. You don’t think. Can’t. It’s absolutely the last thing you could’ve predicted, a declaration so far removed from your worst-case-scenario that it sends you reeling beyond your flesh. You’re watching yourself in third person, a voyeur to the blubbering spectacle of Wraith – blanched and warm and entirely empty-headed. It’s unfathomable, disconcerting. 

Then, to make matters worse, you laugh.

In a manner completely unbecoming of the seriousness you’d opted to take this whole thing with, you laugh.

A crowing, boisterous sound of relief that crackles through your chest like lightning. You have to heave huge gulps of air in between to be able to respond. “You’re serious,”  

A dark eyebrow raises, the corner of his mouth curling with it. He must find it funny too, and for that you’re thankful. The mere notion injects a molten buzz into your gut. “Yes.”

“So… What – you’re insinuating a mentorship… with benefits situation?”

“No.” He shakes his head, like the title is any more ridiculous than the fact. “I’m giving you the option. You can’t trust your encouragement alone, so take it as something to look forward to. Something to work for. With it, you’ll be able to tell when you’re on the right track.”

“You’re going to Pavlov me into becoming a hero.”

He blinks. You meant it as a joke, though he seems to be taking it into account.

“If you don’t-”

“I want to.”

It’s said so quickly that you regret not faking a moment of deliberation. Really, though, there are only three things that occur to you:

Your contrition following last time was solely based on your fear of having overstepped.

The bottomless itch in you demanding some sort of recognition for your efforts remains unaddressed.

And him. It’s such an abstract reason that you can’t exactly name its contribution to your answer. Just that it’s him who’s asking; patchouli infused, broad-shouldered and stubborn Miguel O’Hara. The same man who you’d bet your life on wanting nothing to do with you, whose claw marks still scar the flesh above your wrist, whose venom still undoubtedly lingers in your system – making itself familiar with the chambers of your heart, that which you yourself can’t map. The very same man you can imagine being a father to adoring little children, because despite all the evidence to your feud, he’s also the same man who answered your curiosity about the 2099 space station with patience. Who’d cradled your neck between that rubble and refrains from calling you Wraith since you expressed your distaste for it.

Who felt so heavy on your tongue, pulsing and so fucking thick you wake up some mornings to the phantom feel of it stretching your lips.

Desire begins to gnaw up your bones. Changing your mind now would be the most blatant betrayal of oneself.

(What was it you promised earlier; to cling to whatever instinct feels right?)

“Extend your legs then.” He doesn’t let you dwell on it. “That means hips off the floor.”   

You adjust yourself into a proper plank position. Or, less than proper. Miguel takes several issues with it, rising from his crouch.

“Your elbows are too wide apart.” His foot nudges your arm until you bring it parallel to the other, straight beneath your shoulders. “Evenly distribute your weight to your forearms and toes. Everywhere else should be rigid.”

“Like this?” You turn to assess his expression. Already your lungs clench in exhaustion – this isn’t as fun as you thought it’d be.

“Of course not. Stop trying to look at me. Face down, you’ll hurt your neck like that.” The air swooshes and you assume he’s crouched back down, near your middle. A large hand grazes your belly. It tickles. “Contract it.”

You try to, but the slightest movement causes him to come in contact with you again. It’s over your jacket, just the barest of touches, yet it’s enough to make your form go weak. Your legs almost give out.

“Sorry– Just…” You huff a nervous laugh, adjusting yourself the second his warmth pulls away.

“Not just your abdomen, but your glutes too. You should feel like the rope in a game of tug-of-war. Full body tension.” You tune in to every syllable, triggered into every command like a well-rigged machine. “Yeah, that’s it.”

The acknowledgement makes you preen. It must affect your stance too, because he promptly clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Most importantly, you don’t want this.”

And he finds the small of your back – right where your ass curves upward – to guide you back down, completely straight. His hand doesn’t leave you afterward, either, warm enough that you can make out the contours of it through body heat alone. Somehow, it stirs you even more.

Your groan is so pained that you hope it’s from exhaustion and not pining. “How much longer?”

“Really?” He deadpans.

“I feel like I’m going to collapse.” Your hips dip.

“I haven’t started the timer yet.”

His fingers slide along your pelvis, tracing it around the curve of your waist, down to where you’re sinking. Then, he lifts you back into place – anchored right above your pubic region. His press now is firmer, nudging into your flesh with the pads of his fingertips, and you can’t help the nauseous thrill arising where they do. They brush beneath your baggy top, skimming the precarious edge where your pants’ hem dives to skin.

You feel like the pages of an old book, flipped through an array of different scenes.

The first and most blatant is the discomfort that starts seizing control of you. Miguel insists you haven’t begun, but your unfit body is already suffering from positioning alone. Contracting your muscles proves harder by the moment, fragility skipping along the tissue until you’re convinced of the temptation to just let go. Your feet are unbalanced, and the unforgiving ground does a number on your elbows. The thin sheen of sweat beading across your hairline can only aggravate your suffocation, not cool you down as needed.

What’s harder to focus on – for all its monopoly on your mind – is how intentional his caress is. Every shift of his hand is practised, hovering right around where you need him but never doing anything about it. If he hadn’t admitted his course of action, then you would have tricked yourself into calling it professionalism. But while you can’t see him, his smirk is almost palpable – like humidity that makes a temporary home in your lungs – and you’re confident enough in it that you’re able to name him a tease. He’s teasing you.

The amalgamation of it all sends you into overdrive. You’ve only begun and you’re already yelling.  

“The timer!”

“You’re making it worse for yourself, you know.” He says, though moves to fiddle with his watch. 

“You’re a little shit, y’know.” But he’s right. Talking amplifies the fatigue.

“I’ll add that to the list. Right next to cocky bastard.”

“Don… Don’t forget sadist–”

“Hm,”

And, as if to emphasise its inapplicability, he cups you.

From behind. Dips his fingers in the space between your thighs, winds them to the front of your groyne, and palms your clothed cunt. 

Your skin prickles. 

“Fuck!”

Static envelops your arms as they phase right through the floor – momentum stopped only by your chin, which remains corporeal. If it weren’t for your tongue, which slips to wedge itself between your teeth, then you’re sure your jaw would have shattered on impact. Ichor floods your mouth, sharp, like butter melted on a penny. You groan, rolling around to rapidly blink up at the ceiling, purging the stars speckling your vision. 

Miguel just looks at you, expectant. His biceps flex when they cross over his chest. 

“That was four seconds.” 

“Oh, pleath. Thpare me the lecture,” Upon sitting up, you spit the blood out to your empty side. Your limbs have already reverted back to their natural state. “Not that you care, but it still counts as a personal record.”

“Go figure.” He mutters, helping you back into place. He doesn’t have to correct your posture this time. “Back to zero.” 

Silence follows the beep of his watch. 

Really, it’s more of a mental hush. You force your mind to scour all preoccupations to the backlog, cleansing the forefront of it to steam-pressed sterility. What had caught you off guard was your lacking focus on the physical; if you had been aware of the smallest movements coming from behind, then perhaps his touch wouldn’t have prompted you to phase out. You hadn’t even noticed his gloves retracting into his suit. 

Your tongue is still sore with incisor shaped indents, and you vow not to repeat the mistake that caused it. 

So, you focus on what’s happening rather than what could. Baby steps, one second after the next, waddling until you find a gait that suits your rhythm. When anything but your abdomen aches, you readjust. Your shoulder joints aren’t supposed to tense like that – you can almost hear him say – so you work on fixing it. If your toes begin to hurt, then clench your calves. Dig your nails into a fist, it helps take away from everything else. 

The air conditioning unit hums evenly from all around you. The echoes of other spider-people outside filter in with it. The combat mat has a vinyl surface that zips when you scratch it. The material of his suit smooths tacitly across your jacket. Your breath is as consistent as you allow it to be, stunted when you exhale. 

Your sweat is itchy as it dries to your lip. Your ribs pound where they fractured a while ago. Sinew wears down the longer you continue to flex it. He flicks the trim of your leggings, stroking the valley of your spine. Your palms split as your nails plough further into them, marked with crescent-shaped beads of red. 

Varicoloured motes float by your nose. Somewhere, hitchhiking on your train of thought, there’s a confusion. No stream of sunlight exists to highlight them. They shouldn’t be here at all. 

But then Miguel slips in, ironing over your cotton panties. Your whole body knits together, bracing like a compressed spring. There’s nothing you can do without making him stop, no jump or grand feat that promises release. You can’t even see the finish line, the marker an uncapturable notion, a rainbow moving away at your same speed. So, instead, you revel in how unwavering he is. 

His hand strokes over the line of your ass, about to push downward to where you need him most, before deciding against it.  

To pinch a cheek. 

He… pinches the swell of fat, right where your rear curves to your hamstrings.

It’s rough enough that you’re sure you’ll bruise. 

“Nmmgf–” You sulk. “Don… Y– T-tease.” 

“Se te olvidó. Squeeze your glutes.”

The sarcastic yes sir dies in your throat. Your face is aflame – from the work out, his ministrations, the revelation that when he reaches your cunt, he’ll be greeted with a humiliating mess. Your thighs are spread apart, yet your underwear still slides over your core, jostled by his intrusion and too slick to provide any real friction. 

That is, until he nips the fabric to bunch up between your lips. It stresses over your clit, biting down on the fattening pressure there. Pleasure tremors up your nerves, unsure of its validity under such an unfamiliar sensation. Your subsequent moan is almost miserable in contrast.

“P-Ple… O’H-ra.” To punctuate your plea, you purse your bottom as hard as you can. A physical signal, a question – is this good? Is it not enough? But all that manages to do is worsen your lust. Adding to the fire tenfold, potent as a gallon of petrol. You try to remain steadfast in the face of it all – this calamity, bombs upturning battlefield soil, to keep yourself in the position he’s asked of you.

But fuck if it isn’t punishing. 

“Mierda– that’s it.” He curses. You’re at the point where it’s enough praise to urge you along. “You’re soaked.” 

You hadn’t noticed his index and middle digits, finally fondling over your hole. Fabric still separates you, bunched tight right over the weeping thing, but as you hold out, he moves it to the side. It snaps away like he’s vocally ordered it to stay that way, his whims laws of physics in their own right, and you use that skewed rationale to supply the basis to your obedience. You couldn’t have done this alone – in no universe, of the hundreds you’ve visited, have you ever thought of it. You’d purchased gym memberships for their showers and walked right past the purpose. In your own world, you’d wasted your limited free time in strangers’ beds.

There’s always been a deficit of purpose in your life. For a brief moment, you’d found it in the stars. Now, with Miguel, you’re granted every ounce you might’ve missed in between, if only to experience what it would be like to unravel by his touch. 

And he leads you to it like he’s been trained in your precise anatomy. Blunt fingers implant onto your electric centre – that bundle of nerves overfed by the edging – circling, harsh and rough and fast enough to spike wrecked sobs. Your eyes cloud with desperation, foggy tears budding at your lashes and flowering down your sweat-slicked cheeks. His thumb responds, thrumming along your opening to test its elasticity. Upon deeming you ready, it dives to plug you shut. 

It’s delicious. You’re beyond delirious. He’s got a grip on you in every way; spiritually, his philosophy for today echoing as your only tether to reality. Mentally, with his stupid fucking lesson and this god-forsaken plank. Physically, strong arm literally hooked into your cunt and coaxing new slick with every quirk of his fingers. 

Which press down with a vengeance now, bearing on a trillion little synapses that flare up, liquifying your guts into a viscous substance, heavy as it sloshes around in you. Everything is screwed in, bolted to the same position he asked for – you don’t dare let go. Not as your heart stutters out of beat, finding the pace he dictates instead, flicking over your clit unhinged. Not when the digit that fingers your clinch twirls in place, searching for the lewd sounds it can create. Or with the following squelch, your lungs flaring – embarrassed – at every consecutive one thereafter.

He’s talking, whispering, goading you along. You can’t hear any of it. Either dirty talk or reprimand, it’s lost amidst your self-doubt. 

Because truthfully, you can’t persevere through this much longer. The tunnel continues to unroll before you, the light at the end waning dimmer and dimmer. How wonderfully poetic, you brood; your whole spider-hood spent chasing salvation, navigating through one purgatory to the next, only to lose sight of your little prelude to heaven. 

You want this – so much so that the word begins to blur with need, and Miguel’s lesson gains more relevance. You want this so bad that you’d worship every atom, every callus of his, from cuticle to elbow. 

(Resilience. Resilience. Resilience.) 

What you want and what you need. 

Which is which, again? 

You can let yourself go now, suffer through a shameful orgasm by collapsing to the floor and holding his wrist still to fuck yourself onto. It isn’t so much about that anymore, though – that pure sexual gratification, the most basic of requirements. 

It’s about the thing you’ve been wishing for the whole morning. Approval, the cue that you earned it, filtered through his encouragement alone. Not the physicality that manifests as a screeching voice inside your head, but his own – unadulterated, smoke-charred, the slightest of accents scorching its edges. And whether you like it or not, you can only gain it by enduring this test.

(He walked into this gym with the assumption that you’d want your way, and need his. 

Funny, how things turn out. It’s completely the opposite.

Perhaps he does not know you at all.) 

But he sees you. 

Watches the rigidity of your muscles, how they stiffen further given your newfound resolve. Observes as you smear bloody palms onto your wrists, and sniff back the cries you’ve let rip thus far. Your heels straighten out, ninety degrees to the arch, your head ducking to ensure your torso is as straight as can be. You hardly feel the pain anymore. 

And you see him. 

Or – the vague shape of his hand, tucked beneath your leggings. It’s dark, shadowed by the overhead fluorescents, but the bump is big enough for you to pinpoint when exactly he makes his decision. It halts, breaks away a smidge, and comes back with a renewed vigour.

“Can I!” 

“Go.” He permisses. 

(And it’s cataclysmic; both everything and nothing all at once. The bout of deathly quiet before matter meets antimatter, where magnets lose their function and you think you can hear the pitter patter of a pulse, erratic at your wrist. And when the ground rocks, trembling with an explosive magnitude, mass converting entirely to energy. When you roll into a ball of fear–)

You wind impossibly tighter, all but forcing his fingers from you. It’s terrifyingly strong; your orgasm wrecks you not in ripples, but as one metre-high wave, floodgates open to the mat beneath you.

(–and your best to embrace a quick death.)

Miguel aids you down to lay on your back. When he lifts his wrist to check the set stopwatch, his hand glistens with your juices. You're compelled to wipe it off, raptured by humility like he isn’t the one that just fingered you into oblivion.

“Two minutes.” He says. “Good.”

“That… that was only one-twenty seconds?” 

“Talk about a personal record.”  You huff. “Shut up.”

chapter eleven

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[miraclewoozi]

[ 05:55 ] - c.hs

pair: vernon x fem!reader.  w/c: 2k content: pwp/smut. (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT). married au. christmas drabble. warnings: swearing. bad jokes/festive innuendoes throughout. smut tags UTC.  notes: yes this is several days late. no i am not taking questions.  notes 2.0: at the time of writing i am stuck in a very grim post-xmas limbo (see: entirely too full of cheese and also regret), however i remain down horrendous for this loser so here we are. enjoy. <3

smut tags: spooning -> forking. fingering, nipple play, talk of spicy dreams incl. a blowjob. piv sex. breeding kink (see: hills i will die on). creampie! cockwarming. it’s all very domestic. barely proof read. please let me know if i have forgotten anything.

Soft lips against the shell of your ear accompany you on your return to the land of the living, several hours earlier than you’d ideally like to be awake and definitely long before the sun decides to make its own face known. Your room is dark and the air is bitterly cold, even wrapped up under your bedsheets, even tangled in the arms of your husband. 

But you don’t need to be able to feel your toes, nor see six feet in front of you to know exactly why you’ve been woken up this early. All you need to be able to do is hear, and there’s certainly nothing wrong with your ears at this ungodly hour. 

“Morning,” Hansol murmurs huskily when your hands place themselves over his, low on your stomach beneath your sleep shirt. “Happy Christmas, baby.”

“Happy Christmas,” you say back, smiling serenely, your brain still fogged with the last wisps of your retreating slumber. The tone of his voice alone is a dead giveaway to what he wants, but you decide to play with him a little first anyway and feign innocence. Lazy mornings like this where neither of you are in a rush to get straight out of bed are a little bit of a treat, so who are you to not indulge him? “Why are you awake?”

It’s no secret that your partner likes to sleep in whenever gets the chance, but with a toddler in the room down the hall and a demanding job that has him leaving home before sunrise, most days, that’s something of a rarity now. He answers you silently, pressing his hips into your backside and you feel him — all of him — thick and hard and warm against the flesh of your ass. Ah. Just as expected. A warm chuckle escapes you and you move to turn over in his arms, but his strong hold traps you in place and you just wiggle back against him instead.

He barely stifles a groan and, still laughing, you roll your eyes.

“S’that a candy cane in your pocket?” You ask, feeling him shuffle down a fraction and rut against the seam of your thighs over and over, quiet grunts betraying the pleasure he tries to conceal. Close enough to feel your core’s heat, yet separated enough from it to only feel more frustrated. “Or are you just happy to see me?”

Hansol laughs despite himself into the smooth skin of your neck, shaking his head. He slides one of his hands up from your stomach to your chest, his warm fingers finding and dragging around one of your nipples with practiced accuracy. 

“You can find out,” he says, feeling goosebumps raise on your skin as the bud hardens under his touch. “If you want.”

“Why don’t you tell me what got you all worked up, first?” You ask. 

Morning wood is one thing, but to make him initiate all this? It must’ve been something really special. He proves you right as he pinches at your nipple, his other hand dipping below the waistband of your pyjama pants, his blunt nails dragging down your belly. You bite your lips to prevent yourself whining. 

So sue you. It’s been a while. 

“Had a dream about you,” Hansol says, peppering kisses down the side of your neck. You arch your back, simultaneously pressing your ass against his clothed cock again and your chest harder against his hand. “You were all dressed up for me. In this pretty little red outfit — you know the… sexy Christmas ones? With the white fur along the skirt?”

You nod, dropping your hand down to where his fingers are stroking, mercilessly slowly, against the cotton of your panties. To where he’s giving you hardly anything. On purpose. You shunt his wrist down a little, feeling him smirk into your skin. Finally though, he starts to thumb over your clit and you gasp appreciatively at the relief. “Oh yeah? And what was I doing?”

“It’s just funny you mentioned candy canes,” he tells you, rubbing at you a little faster. “You were suckin’ on me like I was one.”

You groan a little at his description, feeling your cheeks heat up. Arguably, this shouldn’t be sexy at all, but his rough morning voice and the way his skillful hands are working you up to a soaked, wriggling mess already has you flustered. You’re convinced nobody else in the world could turn a line that corny into auditory foreplay.

Leave it to you to marry the world’s biggest dork.

“All the way back into your throat,” he goes on, finally now slipping past the barrier of your underwear. He dips between your folds, dragging through your arousal before he moves his sickened finger back to your clit. “Dressed so naughty, but I’d have put you on the nice list for sure.”

“Enough with the damn—,” you snort, but your amusement dies and you clench your jaw as he starts to play with your other tit instead. You have to be quiet; you can’t afford for this to end before either of you manage to get off. Not now. But it’s so difficult when he knows your body better than he does his own. “You know she’ll be awake any-… oh.”

“Then get these off,” he whispers. He opens his palm fully then, pushing your thighs apart and pressing just the tips of two of his fingers against your hole. All the while, he fights to try and push your pyjama pants down with his other hand. 

He fails, naturally, but you come to his rescue and slide them down over your hips for him. He joins you again in an effort to kick everything all the way off though, sliding one leg between yours and stamping a little impatiently at your sleepwear with his foot until they’re bunched up at the end of your bed. His boxer shorts, meanwhile, don’t even make it to his knees; as soon as he can pull himself free of their confines, he does, stroking along his length as you open your thighs for him. 

He presses his lips against the curve of your shoulder while he settles into position behind you. Then, it’s just moments before you feel his head dragging through your slick in place of his fingers. 

“Okay?” he asks, lining up with your entrance and pushing forward just enough that you feel the familiar stretch of his intrusion.

“Please,” you nod, grabbing the sheets in an attempt to anchor yourself, to hush the moans he always draws out of you. Hansol slides into your cunt slowly, pressing until his cock is buried all the way inside you, until his hips rest completely against your ass. Your whole body shivers at the feeling. 

He barely moves for a little while, letting himself get used to the sensation of your walls hugging him for the first time in… weeks? Months, even? Too long, is the only real answer. His hand lays over your hip as you relax it and your thighs come back together, making you squeeze a little tighter around him. He fills you up so perfectly, too. So much that you feel warmth creeping to each of your extremities already. So much you can’t keep your mouth closed no matter how hard you try. 

“Missed you,” you sigh, laying your hand on top of his, threading your fingers through the spaces between his own. He brushes his thumb over the side of your hand soothingly. “Missed this.”

“Me too,” he agrees, slowly starting to turn those cute accidental jerks of his hips into real thrusts. But he doesn’t move quickly. Not at all: quite the opposite, even; he fucks into you slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch of him on every single stroke. 

It continues on much the same, but you’re not sure how long for: kissing your shoulders, your neck, the back of your hand when he lifts it up to his lips, breathing hot and heavy on your slowly warming skin. He murmurs sweet little praises. Rolls into you, dragging the tip of his cock against the sweet spot inside once he finds the angle that makes you hiccup your next breaths. He loves you, he makes love to you: quietly and intimately, and you’re so lost in this rarely seen, sweet, needy side to your husband that you barely realise you’re inching closer to your high until he’s the one to tell you you are. 

“Close?” he asks, with a new rough edge to his voice that has nothing to do with the sleep his fantasies woke you both from. It’s not a question, despite the little lift he says the word with. He knows what it feels like. He knows you. 

“Mhm,” you nod, swallowing back another whine as his hand dips between your legs again. “F-… yeah. Just like that—”

“I know, sweetheart,” he hums. “God, m’so lucky to have you. Feels so good.”

Your brain floods with static and it’s a miracle you even hear what he says next. He’s a man of few words (though one of many grunts) in the bedroom, but when Hansol starts getting overwhelmed in his pleasure, he babbles more than anyone you’ve ever met. You do hear him, though. Loud and clear. 

“Gonna put another one in you,” he says, hushed but still undoubtedly desperate. “Wanna give you another baby— oh, you’re gonna look so pretty. Can I? Please—?”

And if his fingertips rubbing tight circles against your puffy clit, or his cock spearing into you with unsteady, shaky movements, or his throaty moans of your name hushed by the skin of your back weren’t enough to get you there? This is. You squeeze your eyes shut and cry around your fist as it hits, as ecstasy pulses through you in waves that never seem to end. 

“Yes,” you gasp in the midst of it all, as he keeps asking — no, keeps begging. “Please, ‘Sol—”

“Fuck,” he groans, then, letting his own high wash over him and he starts to spill ribbons of white into your hot pussy. “You feel so fucking-… ah—”

He squeaks the words out. Right into your ear, fanning hot breaths down your now slightly sweaty neck. Even when he’s spent and stops rocking into your hips, he keeps rambling. “Thank you, shit, thank you—”

You don’t hear him swear much anymore. Not since you had your first baby; the suddenness of it makes you giggle, and the resulting clamp of your walls around his twitching length makes him hiss as he comes down. But he doesn’t pull out of you, even when he starts to soften. You realise after a few seconds what he’s doing, though.  He’s keeping you plugged full of his cum; he’s not going to let any of it go to waste. (You both know it’s starting to dribble out of you down the sides of his length anyway, mixed with your own wetness. Neither of you are too worried about that right now.)

He meant it, then. All of it. Your stomach twists in delight as he taps your waist and you look back at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Make me a promise?” he asks, sweaty forehead pressed into your shoulder, still trying to catch his breath. 

“Anything.”

“Let’s never leave it that long again,” Hansol whines. You can’t help but flutter around him again, this time at the mere thought of him being so desperate to fuck you more often. He lets out a slightly pained laugh, overstimulated.

“I promise,” you agree, feeling all of a sudden like your bones are made of lead. You could fall back asleep like this, quite happily. 

But, you realise with a sigh, someone didn’t take care of the milk and cookies on the kitchen counter before they crawled into bed last night. That’s about to become your problem.

“Good,” he nods. “We’re gonna do this every day ‘til you have another one, okay? Twice. And extra on weekends.”

“Mhm, sure we are.” You laugh, finally now feeling him pull out of you with a kiss to your temple. (Twice a day is his upper limit, and both of you know that. But it doesn’t hurt to play along.) “In that case, I’ll save your special gift for later.”

tysm for reading!!! likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are, as always, super appreciated.<3

[eddiediazismyhusband]

Buddie Headcanons bc i forgot to take my meds today and it is too late to take them now bc if i did i would be up all night but im somehow still wide awake at 3am anyway so eh what the hell 🤷

- Eddie bought Buck a journal that he keeps in his bedside table drawer, so that if he wakes up in the middle of the night with some sort of information running through his brain, he can write it down as an outlet to gush about the information so he doesn’t toss and turn the rest of the night bc he feels bad waking up eddie to info-dump

- Buck went all out on the cheesey newly-wed merch: matching his & his throw pillows for the bed, matching Mr. & Mr. Diaz coffee mugs, pun-y couple t-shirts, etc. Eddie pretends to find it annoying, but he can’t hide the smile he always has when he holds the Mr. Diaz mug.

- They both leave sticky notes to each other around the house with little sweet nothings written on them; Chris eventually got annoyed with them and started writing things like “you two are gross” or “get a room” and leaving them in the usual spots

- Buck is a swiftie, Eddie claims he doesn’t like her music, but Buck constantly hears Eddie humming her music around the house as he carries out daily tasks

- They watch Drag Race together, and Buck info-dumps about the queens as Eddie just listens not comprehending a word of it bc he’s too busy watching Buck be so entertained

- Eddie learns how to make omelets and starts making them for Buck; they aren’t good at all, but Buck always eats them bc he sees how proud of himself Eddie is and he refuses to make Eddie sad

- When Eddie and Buck’s daughter gets into dance/theatre, Buck immediately turns into the Dance/Theatre Mom, learning how to see to make costumes, getting in arguments with other moms, sitting front row and filming every performance, etc.

- Buck sets their alarm an hour early intentionally so they have time to cuddle in bed every morning; waking each other up with soft kisses (Eddie loves to kiss the tip of Buck’s nose first thing in the morning bc it makes Buck blush), and whispered “i love you”s until their second alarm goes off and they start their day

- Eddie always does the dishes since Buck cooks, but Buck keeps him company by drying snd putting them away

- As a wedding gift to Buck, Eddie got Bobby’s help to track down the scrap yard where decommissioned LAFD vehicles go and got a peice of scrap from an old 118 engine that he had melted down to make their wedding bands

- Eddie asked for Bobby and Athena’s blessing before he proposed to Buck

- Buck (who was simultaneously preparing a proposal) visited Shannon’s grave with Chris to ask for her blessing to propose; promising to take care of her boys for her

- Buck (and Chris) begged Eddie to get a cat, but Eddie always said no… until Eddie found a stray in their backyard one day and started to feed it. The cat never left, and now spends most nights curled up on Eddie’s lap, and he would protect that cat like it was his own baby.

- Buck didn’t know Eddie wears contact lenses, and one of their days off when Eddie ran out, he wore his glasses to the breakfast table and Buck was speechless for most of the morning (Chris teased him relentlessly afterwards)

- Eddie started wearing his glasses more often after that because he thought it was cute the way Buck got all flustered and blushy

- Late at night on overnight shifts, if one of them has a nightmare, they sneak out of the bunkroom to go lay on the roof— they would call it stargazing, but there is too much light pollution from LA to see anything other than faint specks, but they still love to hold each other in silence to calm the other one down

- One of Buck’s favorite photos of Eddie was taken long before they got together; it was at a Grant-Nash barbecue shortly after Jee had been born, and Eddie was lounging in a lawn chair with a sleeping baby Jee curled up in his arms— he has a small smile on his face as he looks down at her, and it’s one of the first times Buck remembers looking at Eddie and thinking “He is so beautiful”

- When Eddie asked Buck to move in with him and Chris, Buck teased him by saying “you’re not gonna kick me out after a day, are you?”

- Eddie got him back when he jokingly kicked Buck out after a day, Buck believing he meant it for a solid 45 seconds before Eddie started laughing and pulled him into a tight hug, telling him he was joking

- They were initially going to replace Eddie’s bed with Buck’s, but when they were moving things in, they were playfully shoving each other around and both accidentally fell onto the bed before it was fully set up, breaking the supports meaning they had to buy a new bed

- Chimney (who witnessed this happen) now teases them relentlessly about how they “broke the bed” when Buck moved in

[kissesforsatoru]

WANT YOU SO BAD | wc : 4.4k

BULLY! HANEMIYA KAZUTORA x FEM!READER

₊˚⌗ you hate him. you hate him. he ruined your life, so you should hate him. kazutoras specialty has always been getting his way by changing the minds of others, though.

⤷ cw : general yandere themes, vague bullying, social isolation and social anxiety, dub-con, semi-public sex, soft sex but also rough sex (???), oral (receiving), marking/love bites, dirty talk, teasing, degradation, praise, way too much kissing, kazutora being a bit of a sadistat first, then he gets soft, then he's back to being a sadist, slightly delusional reader (they’re kinda into it even though kazutora ruined their life)

notes : at long last, it's finished and at 2:21 am 😭 GUYS I HAVE TO BE UP EARLY TOMORROW BUT SOMETHING OVERCAME ME AND I JUST HAD TO FINISH THIS TONIGHT IDK

i honestly don't know how i feel about it, but whatever. i hope you guys are able to enoy this because it was honestly a bitch to write 😭

you anxiously gripped the hem of your shirt as you walked down the halls of your school, eyes cast down to focus on anything other than the fact that you were surrounded by lots of other students. you avoided getting too close to any of them, opting more to stay closer to the wall while simultaneously shrinking into yourself to look as small and unnoticeable as possible.

you didn't have to look to know where you were going, so to keep your anxiety addled brain at bay, you kept your eyes on your feet. one in front of the other, one in front of the other. you just wanted to get to class as quickly as possible and preferably without any sort of incident today.

as much as you had hoped and willed the whims of fate, every single day at that, nothing every favored you or what you wanted.

you bit your lip and turned your head to the side as you rounded a corner, bumping into someone as you did. all of the books and papers fell to the floor along with you, regrettably scattering everywhere. you whined weakly as tears welled in your eyes at the pain that shot throughout your body.

your lip quivers as you brace yourself with your hands, looking up at the person you'd run into—a boy, someone you weren't familiar with, though. he looked you over with a countenance of disgust before quickly turning to walk away, biting harshly to 'watch where the fuck you're going'.

you sighed, leaning over to collect your fallen things. your body shook as you moved around on the, still weakened from the impact of falling.

nobody stopped to help you—nobody even acknowledged you, for that matter. not that you expected anyone to, because ever since kazutora spread rumors about you nobody wanted anything to do with you. not even takemichi, who was usually so sweet to you. it was pathetic, really, how easily your life had come to ruin over one little mistake you made: underestimating how serious kazutora's threats were.

you were well aware he hated you from the moment the two of you met, he made that very clear, but you never knew how deeply that hatred was rooted. you didn’t know he was being serious when he told you to stay away from tekemichi, and now you’re here, very much aware, but it's far too late for it to even matter anymore. your reputation was trampled and ruined so effortlessly that nobody dared to associate themselves with you anymore—except for kazutora, who was the one person you actually wanted to leave you alone.

"hey!" a gruff voice called from behind you, and you tensed, eyes widening as you picked up your things faster. you could only hope that the voice wasn't calling for you as you stood up and practically ran down the hall, no longer caring about the pain or if you drew unnecessary attention to yourself. at this point, anything was better than whatever it was that kazutora wanted, because no matter what, it probably wasn’t good for you.

you gasped and once again all your things dropped to the floor as you were suddenly grabbed and shoved against a wall. you grimaced, looking away and sliding down to the floor as a pained sob escaped your lips. kazutora glared harshly down at you as he put his arms on either side of you, caging you in and blocking any chance you had at escaping--which would have been futile even if you did attempt to run again.

kazutora huffed at the sight before him, mocking you as you practically shivered in fear. nothing brought him more satisfaction than seeing you like this—completely helpless and at his mercy. he liked that panicked look in your eyes whenever you saw him, and he liked the way you anxiously shied away from him whenever he was close. it made him feel so powerful and superior.

kazutora doesn’t know why he liked it so much, because he’s never enjoyed this kind of thing outside of his delinquency, but the way you reacted to him drew him in and made him yearn to control you in every way. it was exhilarating, really.

"why the hell were you running away from me, y/n? i know you heard me calling." you flinched, falling further down the wall as a sob escaped your lips again. you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, scratching your nails into your clothes as kazutora held your waist and gripped your chin.

he was close, far too close for your liking—though any distance from him wasn’t far enough for you, because no matter what, kazutora would always find you. it was like he had a leash wrapped around your neck, suffocating and inescapable. your many futile attempts to get away were pitiful and laughable at this point.

"fucking answer me, y/n." kazutora growled out slowly, his grip on your waist growing tighter with each second you remained silent. kazutora isn't a very patient man as it is, but whenever it came to you, he seemed all too pushy and demanding more than usual.

“i–i," you stutter pitifully, lip quivering as kazutora draws his face closer. "class–it… it starts soon." you spit out an excuse that you knew kazutora wouldn’t care for, but it was better than not saying anything.

he hums, grip loosening as he nods his head slowly. you almost sigh in relief, but you know better than to expect things to go off so simply. kazutora doesn’t care about class, or you getting there on time—your attendance records were proof enough of that. there had to be a catch of some sort, it was just a matter of figuring out what it was.

"you make a fair point, y/n. but you can't go to class looking like this…" he trails off, leaning back to rake his eyes steadily over your body. you wore a cute little skirt that came up to about mid thigh paired with a plain white shirt and light brown sweater vest on top. kazutora was more interested in the white knee high socks you were wearing, though. it made the outfit much more alluring, and dare he even say slutty.

kazutora grazed the soft skin of your exposed thigh with his finger tips while using his other hand to pull you closer by the waist. a little whimper escaped your mouth, and kazutora smirked as he saw how flustered you were getting.

kazutora’s never really touched you like this before, but he knew you were incredibly reactive to him anyway—always making small noises and gestures that were very telling of how you were feeling. he's always wondered how far he could take those reactions, and now he been given the opportunity to explore it thoroughly.

"kazutora, sto–mmh–stop." you choke out as you try to suppress the noises that threaten to spill from your lips. using one hand, kazutora pins your wrists to the wall while the other continues to feel you up. you can’t do anything as his cold fingers trace your skin salaciously with a certain slowness that makes you shiver under his touch.

"y/n… '' kazutora calls your name teasingly. "you’re dressed so slutty, you know? how can you expect me to control myself?" the question was met with watering eyes and a small whimper. for the first time since kazutora had ruined your life, you dared to look him in the eyes. it caught him off guard; his movements pausing and breath catching in his throat as he stared into your teary eyes—kazutora was pretty damn sure he might’ve just fallen in love again.

you were so fucking pretty. everything about you was just so captivating and attractive.

small noises escaped your lips as you wordlessly pleaded with him, but it was clear to kazutora that you weren’t exactly sure what it was you were pleading for.

he smirked, releasing your hands only to pick you up entirely to walk somewhere that you can only assume nobody will find you. you wrap your arms around him hesitantly, sniffling and biting your lip as you rest your chin on his shoulder. his grip tightened ever so slightly as you began to relax in his arms. you don’t know what’s happening, but honestly you don’t have the strength to question kazutora right now.

it didn’t take kazutora long to get to his destination, which you figured out was the gym supply closet after he sits you down on one of the cold mats.

a weird feeling in your stomach made you shiver as you shyly grabbed the hem of your shirt. kazutora spread your legs, shoving his larger body in between them while placing his hands on either side of you again. he was close, still too close for your comfort, but you weirdly felt okay with it now—the intention was different, now more of a hungry lust rather than aggression.

you flinched when you felt a hand press against your cheek and then a few seconds later a muffled gasp left your mouth when you felt soft lips press against yours. you place both your hands on kazutoras chest, not to push him away per se, but to ease the pressure of his lips against yours that were all too hungry and consuming.

you don't pull away either, despite being a little but confused and definitely scared. instead you allow kazutora to lead the kiss while you hesitantly following along—tried to at least, because you were sloppy with it. kazutora doesn’t seem to mind though since he doesn’t pull away and complain like you expected him to.

and inkling of doubt and worry slowly consume you as the kiss drags on, because this could full well just be another one of kazutora’s sick jokes. yet, there was a part of you, the part that kept you from thrashing and demanding to be let go, that wanted to believe that wasn't the case.

kazutora finally pulls away when your rhythm begins to slow and your body grows limp. soft little pants fill the room as you try to catch your breath, still holding tightly onto kazutora’s shirt that you ended up grabbing in the midst of the kiss. kazutora admires the look on your face in the meantime, all flushed and dazed like you’d just taken some sort of addictive drug that gives you a pleasure high. kazutora likes that thought—you being addicted to his kisses.

after a few minutes, kazutora pushes you down flat on the mat and crawls on top of your body. bracing both arms on either side of your head, and his knee between your legs, kazutora traps you beneath him. smirking as he leans down, kazutora revels in the sound of your whimper.

"you look so lewd, y/n. is this what you wanted, hm? for me to fuck you senseless for being a little slut in that outfit you've got on?" kazutora whispers against your neck, the warmth of his breath on your skin causing you to squirm. you turn your head away, embarrassed by his words.

"yeah, that's definitely what you wanted. you were practically begging me to fuck you with your pretty eyes earlier." kazutora licked the shell of your ear, nibbling gently at the top, dragging an airy gasp from your lips.

"no–mhph, please!" salty tears begin to steadily drip down your cheeks and between your parted lips, causing you to choke on your pleas. kazutora grabs your face and tilts your head so that he can lick away your tears.

"shh, you’re such a good girl, so pretty for me." he whispers as he starts rubbing your thighs again. he goes slow, more focused on intently watching you—the way you struggle to catch your breath and how your body continues to shiver ever so slightly as he drags his fingers along your skin lightly. every small noise that leaves your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by kazutora, and neither do any of your cute expressions. he takes them all in and commits them to memory, no doubt to think of when he jacks off when he's at home later.

“just wanna touch you a bit and make you feel good,” he whispers between licks and kisses to your tear stained cheeks.

you feel as kazutora trails his fingers over your body, spending extra time in the areas that make you gasp and whine. your body is all hot and all tingly, practically pulsating with pleasure as you squirm in anticipation of where he’ll touch you next. maybe your neck, where you’re most sensitive, or your thighs that were mushed against kazutoras leg in a desperate attempt to keep your wetness at bay. and while you would enjoy him touching you in those areas, you really hoped it would be in the place that you ached most for him, which was the one place he seemed to avoid.

your breath grows quick and ragged as kazutora drags his finger slowly between your breasts and down your tummy, continuing until he reaches the hem of your skirt where he stops to flick it up and reveal your already soaked underwear. an airy moan-like gasp leaves your lips when he suddenly presses his thumb onto your fluttering cunt.

“that’s right, little baby. you like that, don’t you?” he coos, tracing your bud teasingly a few times before rubbing it with a little more force. you close your eyes and nod curtly with a groan, much more focused on the way his thumb teases your pussy in all the right ways.

kazutora huffs at your reaction and pulls his fingers away, which draws a needy whine from you at the loss of contact. he shuts you up with another kiss, one that lasts only a few seconds as he's pulling away to kiss your cheek, then along your jaw and down to your neck where he sucks lightly in a few places.

he licks, sucks and kisses down the rest of your body, only stopping to take off your sweater vest and undershirt before he leans back down with desperation to kiss you more. he bites teasingly on your collarbone and licks his way down from your chest to your left breast that he latches onto easily. he sucks softly as he swirls his warm tongue around the bud, coaxing another sweet moan out of you, along with the many more to follow. you thread your fingers through his hair and tug on it gently whenever you jolt in pleasure.

kazutora pops off your nipple, licking it one last time, then he tilts his head and settles his mouth on the neglected one, intent on giving it the same attention. you begin to pant softly, hot and bothered by kazutoras stimulation. he suddenly bites your bud and tugs on it for just a second, causing you to arch your back and wrap your legs tightly around kazutoras waist. your wet cunt brushes against kazutoras hard cock, and he groans against your tit.

"mmh– ka–kazutora!" you moan, and you can feel as he smirks against your skin with a huff. he then pulls away, to which you whine, but he shuts you up with a kiss for the second time.

your tongues swirl together and drool seeps from both of your mouths. kazutora was determined to learn each and every part you you and engrave it permanently into his memory. he wants to know exactly what makes you feel good, what tips you over the edge and makes you scream out as your body convulses with pleasure. he wants to make you feels so good that you a cry and pass out, and he'll do just that.

kazutora pulls away and admires the way your tong lolls out of your mouth as you lean up to chase his lips. he coos, grabbing your chin to tilt your head up so he can place his tongue against yours; you squirm and whine beneath him in response.

your breath hitches and you make a strained noise when kazutora's fingers trace down your thigh and between your leg to press against your aching pussy lightly. you're even more wet now, and it has kazutora cursing beneath his breath as he feels his cock throb uncomfortably. he ignores it in favor of putting a bit more pressure on your clit, watching the way you shutter as he then begins to rub on it just a little bit--not enough for you to feel satisfied, apparently, because you buck and wiggle your hips to create more friction.

kazutora hums and lets you try to please yourself, but a lazy smile graces his lips when you quickly grow restless from the lack of pleasure you were receiving in your pursuit. you huff and whine, flicking your big, watery eyes to kazutora to give him a pleading look, but he only continues to watch you pitifully chase the little pleasure you got from your movements.

"please," you eventually mutter out in a half whine.

"hm? what was that? you have to speak up, pretty," he says lowly, tilting his head. you huff and whine some more out of frustration and kazutora's smile stretches wider.

"please," you repeat, this time louder, "want you to touch me," you decidedly add.

kazutoras smile is now a full-blown smirk as he eagerly pulls your panties off of you, putting your pussy on full display to him. pretty and all slicked up, practically begging to be eaten like a full course fucking meal. he doesn't touch you yet, though. instead, he grabs both your wrists to pins above your head, while with the other hand he spreads your legs further and slides his body down yours until his face is right in line with your cunny.

the warmth of his breath against your sensitive clit makes you mewl in anticipation. you moan loudly into the air and throw your head back when kazutora finally—finally—licks a stripe from your seeping hole to your puffy clit. then he does it again, and again, and again until he's slurping sloppily as he laps up all of your slick desperately, like a man starved.

you cry, whine, moan, and sputter any possible noise that you can as he mercilessly eats you out, letting go of your wrists to wrap his arms around your legs and hold you against his mouth as you try to buck and ease the pressure his tongue puts on your pussy. he latches onto your clit after he's satisfied with drinking up your wetness, sucking on it gently and swirling his tongue over it every now and then. he's driving you crazy; it feels so good, so, so good, but you're greedy—you want more.

“ahah— mmh, kazu–kazutora” you moan his name so sweetly; there’s a high-pitched, whiney edge to it when you do that makes you sound utterly wreck—it drives kazutora mad with hazy lust—makes him hold you down against the mat more firmly as he presses his tongue so expertly against your clit, drawing from you more delicious moans of his name.

he smirks against you as you come easily undone, and his eyes flick up to catch your pretty eyes roll back as your mouth falls wide open, a broken, yet completely enthralling slew of noises fall from between your bruised lips as you orgasm. kazutora doesn’t pull away though, despite the way your grip on his hair has becomes unrelenting from the overstimulation being forced upon your poor, spent body; he only does when you sob weakly and begin to pant heavily.

kazutora releases your hips and pulls himself up so that he’s hovering above you. you look so fucking perfect like this—fucked out, from just his mouth, drool seeping from the corner of you parted lips.

“fuck, baby. you’re such a naughty girl, huh?” he asks, but you don’t respond. he doesn’t expect you to anyway considering the kind of state you’re in; it’s no wonder that all you can do is whine and tug on kazutoras shirt like a needy fucking slut. he leans down to kiss you softly, simply enjoying how pliant you are for him right now. you kiss him back messy and lazy, but it doesn’t matter. kazutora doesn’t mind doing all of the work for the both of you.

when he pulls away, you're practically asleep, lying limp on the mat, eyes fluttering between opened and closed as you breathe airily. kazutora won't allow you to slip away though, not until he's done fucking you senseless.

you gasp, yes widening as you quickly sit up after you feel something penetrate you. kazutora smirks as he works a finger into you slowly, tauntingly, watching your face carefully. he lets you catch your breath for a second before he pulls out and plunges his finger back in, and oh, you breathe so enchantingly as his long fingers reach deeply inside of you.

he keeps his eyes on you as he stuffs you with a second and then a third finger, watching intently as you gape your mouth and your eyes begin to water--it's too much, he gathers, but continues nonetheless. his fingers and mouth are nothing compared to his cock, so you'll have to get used to it.

kazutora only pulls his fingers out when your walls begin to tighten around him, indicating that you're close to another orgasm; he wants the next time you cum to be around his cock. kazutora pulls his fingers out and licks his fingers clean, to which you fluster over, before he takes off his clothes. he hisses as he grabs his painfully hard cock, stroking it a few measly times as he crawls back over you and aligns himself to your entrance. he slips in just the tip, and the moan that escapes your pretty mouth is just as sweet as the rest of them.

he hungrily leans down to swallow the rest of your moans that follow as he slides himself all the way in. you grab his shoulders with a jolt as the tears finally begin to slowly drip down your already tear stained face. kazutora holds your chin in place while he drags his tongue along your cheeks, drinking up every tear that spills from your pretty eyes like a man that's been dehydrated.

kazutoras base presses firmly against you at last, and with a strained groan, he pulls out and then pushes back in, this time with a little more force then before. you clench around him, mewling so innocently, unbeknownst to the amount of control kazutora has left--it's a miracle that he does have any left when you're sprawled out on full display for him, but if you keep making those noises and fluttering around him so generously, he may full well end up fucking you like a rabid animal, and that is not what he wants at all—not for your first time at least. 

trust him, he would more than love to hold you down and pound himself bruising into you until he's satisfied, but right now he just wants to hold you in his arms as he pleases you, take his time with it and make you feel loved. the threads of his patience are wearing, though.

you throw your heard back as kazutoras hips connect with yours, demanding and desperate, yet gentle in intention. every little movement he makes has you squirming in pleasure, eyes glassy, lips plump, and tongue lulled out of your mouth like a dumb cock-drunk whore. it's a sight that has kazutora shuddering and groaning lowly into your ear, which only does to make you more like putty in his hold. it feels so unbelievably good to have his body above you, caging you in as he fucks you steadily; it makes you want to cling onto him and beg for more, more, more, because you will never be able to get enough of it.

"fu—mmh—fuck, please! tora, tora i need it— need you," you babble on, writhing as that familiar coil in your stomach makes itself known. he smirks lazily above you, eyes hooded—there's a darkness to them now that wasn't there just a second ago, you note.

"hell, you sound like a proper whore, y/n. are you really that fucking cock hungry?" you choke on a moan at his words, but mostly due to the sharp thrust he does against your sopping cunt. you nod pathetically, slurring 'yes, yes,' even though his question was rhetorical. he snorts with a shake of his head as he leans down to nibble on your neck, no doubt leaving a mark, then he trails his nose up until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your ear.

"yeah, that's fuckin' right. who's making you feel this good?" he whispers and your thighs clench around his legs to keep even more slick from seeping onto them.

"you, you're," you say breathily, words slurred from the amount of overstimulation and pleasure you're feeling. a whine breaks from your lips when kazutora slows down and holds your wiggling hips in place.

"say my fuckin' name, call me tora or i won't let you cum, pretty baby," he growls, biting your neck in warning.

"you're makin' me feel so—hah—so good, tora," you choke on a weird moan-like sob when he shifts, sending a jolt through your body. "please, tora, don't stop. want you to make me cum," you finish, and he curses lowly into your neck. you sigh in content when he begins to thrust again. there's a little more force than before, but it drives you mad as your body pulsates with heat every time he drags his cock out and then straight back in.

"don't you ever fucking forget it," he mouths, almost high-pitched and whiney, "'m the only one that can fuck you like this, understand? you belong to me."

one of the hands on your hips comes to cup your clit, just for a second and then two of his fingers are rubbing on it at a pace that has you convulsing and crying in pleasure as you orgasm a second time. you call his name over and over again, once for every thrust that meets your hips, and you tug on his shoulders to bring him impossibly closer to your body.

kazutora curses and quickly pulls out of you before he cums, the warm liquid splattering on your heaving tummy, and he collapses on top of you, the both of you panting hotly as you come down from your pleasure highs.

© 2023 by kolyasobsession━all rights reserved. plagiarism is strictly prohibited. comments, likes, and reblog are highly appreciated.

[morehotch]

[3:07 AM]

aaron lies in bed next to you, your bodies tangled together, listening to your quiet and steady breathing. it’s completely dark in your room but he can feel you cuddled warmly against him, his chin resting in the crook of your neck. he wills himself to not look at the clock and see how little time he has left next to you.

the team is leaving early in the morning to fly across the country for a case they briefed late last night. the jet wasn’t ready until this morning which aaron was definitely not upset about, happy he could have one more night in bed with you.

now, he has to get up in only a few hours and he can’t sleep, plagued by something he doesn’t totally understand. like he always does before he leaves, aaron wills himself to memorize you and the feeling of having you safe in his arms; your steady breathing, your soft sighs, and the comforting and overwhelmingly soothing warmth of your body against his. everything he misses in the sterile and lonely hotel rooms.

your voice suddenly pulls aaron out of his thoughts. "why are you awake,” you mutter, half asleep, slowly shifting in his hold. you always hate when aaron leaves; the days when you’re just counting down the hours until he’s back, trying to remember how it feels to have him safe and close next to you.

aaron smiles to himself, moving even closer to you, fingertips running up and down your arm soothingly, “how’d you know?”

“i always know when you can’t sleep,” you whisper into his chest, now face to face with your boyfriend. “sleep, you have to leave early, baby.” aaron groans quietly, already dreading the thought of leaving your warm bed and embrace.

“i know, i’m just trying to remember this moment, holding you in my arms.” aaron explains and you hum in response. you smile against his chest as he continues, “trying to remember how cuddling, talking, sleeping together all feels,” his voice trails off and you don’t respond for a while, face pushed against his chest and he almost thinks that you fell back asleep.

a few minutes pass before you break the comfortable silence, “what else?” you whisper, voice muffled against his t-shirt.

he hums, pretending to think. you can hear the smile in his voice when he finally speaks, “what it feels like to kiss you.”

you instantly smile too, “remind me.” you move your head to look up at aaron and he wastes no time connecting your lips together and moving his hand to cup your cheek. even though you’re both sleepy, the kiss is carefully gentle and slow.

you break away as aaron frowns, hands finding your waist to pull you back closer to him. “sleep,” you say sternly, simultaneously moving back to let him spoon you as your hand finds his, pulling it to hold your waist tightly.

you’re pressed back against in the comfort of aaron’s chest, close to falling asleep when you hear aaron whisper, “i’ll miss every part of you.”