#can’t even remember what I wanted to say

[bunnis-monsters]

Incubus Husband Angst(GOOD END)

Pt1

WK: 1.7k

warning: mentions of a womb tattoo, breeding, make up sex, tail use

A/N: the yandere and no forgiveness ending will only be available to my kofi members! I’ll post a link to each ending when I finish writing them ^^

It was later in the evening, and you were just getting home from work. The day felt like it went on forever, and not just because your boss was being hard on you for missing a few days of work.

No, you couldn't get your mind off of your husband... if you could even call him that still. Your entire heart ached every time you pictured his smiling face in your mind, and it made focusing on your tasks nearly impossible.

Seeing his things littered across your apartment, or smelling his perfume in your car as you drove home was just another reminder of what had happened.

At times you wondered if you had been too harsh... and then you remembered his words. The heartbreak suddenly turned into fury, making your hands clench around the wheel before you settled back into an emptiness that threatened to consume you.

Did you still love him?

That question was something you didn't even want to answer. You knew you did, after everything not only did you love him, you adored him. He had made you feel beautiful after years of hating yourself and others too.

Why did he have to do the very thing that made you dislike yourself all over again?

Jealousy... what an ugly emotion. All your life you had always been jealous. Jealous of other women, of the way they looked themselves in the mirror with a smile instead of contempt, of how they were able to love someone without being looked at with disgust…

He had made you forget what jealousy even was for a while. His eyes were always on you, and you even thought that you were all he wanted.

Then he started flirting with other women, always sending you a knowing look. Even if you knew he was just trying to make you jealous, you still felt hurt and... ugly. Every woman he flirted with was perfectly thin, beautiful, and looked nothing like you.

What if he really was into them?

As you pulled into your driveway, you raised an eyebrow when you noticed your front door was ajar. You could have sworn you closed and locked it… but you had been super forgetful as of late.

Since you sent him away…

“Must’ve forgotten…” you murmured, setting down your bag and walking in. It was dark, which wasn’t unusual. Lucian left all the lights off besides the one in your bedroom when you weren’t home. He didn’t want to make the light bill go up…

Lucian wasn’t there anymore, though. So you didn’t expect your bedroom light to be on when you walked in…

Not only was the light on, but on your bed was the one person you wanted to see the most, and yet dreaded speaking with.

“Lucian? What are you doing here?”

He flinched when you used his full name. For most of your relationship, you called him Luci. “Don’t be angry, love, I just wanted to talk.”

Your heart thumped against your ribcage. He was here, his soft lilac colored hair tied back so you could get a good look at his face.

Lucian was even paler than he usually was, his golden eyes a bit puffy and red. Had he been crying?

“Not much to talk about…” you murmured, hanging up your coat. “You’re single again, so there’s no need to hold yourself back. Go talk to all the women you want.”

Lucian clutched his chest, as if your words had hurt his heart. “(Name)… please, don’t say that. You can’t just end things like this.”

“I already did, Lucian. You just don’t know how to take a hint.”

The incubus stood, his tail swaying in either annoyance or anxiety. “Please, before you kick me out… just allow me to talk. All I ask for is five minutes of your time…”

He reached out and held your hands in his, squeezing gently. A shiver went up your spine when his skin made contact with yours.

“2 minutes, alright?”

You didn’t miss the way he perked up when he noticed your flustered appearance, but he didn’t comment on it.

Lucian took a moment to compose himself before he began. “(Name)… I want to apologize. I hurt you and what I did, talking to that girl and teasing you… it was stupid.”

It took everything in you to keep your eyes on his face. You wanted to turn away and cry just from him mentioning what happened…

“…”

He sighed, his tail drooping. “Being apart from you… it’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to experience. I…”

His eyebrows knit together, tears threatening to spill from his watery yellow eyes. “I love you more than anything, I’d never cheat on you, ever. Flirting and trying to get you jealous… It was selfish of me to not even think about how that could hurt you. Not just this time, but every other time, too.”

The two of you were quiet for a moment. Lucian’s tail swayed nervously, his claws clicking together as he waited for your answer.

When you looked over his face, you noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the slight redness to them. It was clear he had been crying, and your husband wasn’t getting much sleep either.

In the past, he had always clung to you desperately when it was time for bed, nuzzling and cuddling into you. The sudden lack of your warmth during bedtime probably left him feeling cold and tired…

A rumble came from his belly, and he clutched his belly with a wince. That meant he hadn’t been with anyone while he was gone!

Your eyes widened at the realization. He had gone without sex, unable to eat or sleep without his wife near.

Your insecurities slowly started to melt away, the jealousy ling forgotten about. “… I forgive you, Luci.”

That broke the dam, and he couldn’t hold back his tears. Lucian sobbed as he spring forward, wrapping his arms around you. Kisses were left along your face and neck as he blubbered.

“Th-thank you… thank you so much, my love. God, I missed you…”

You simply hugged him back, playing with his long black hair. He was starving, and you missed him too, so you smiled when his tail moved up your skirt and pressed against your panties.

He bit down on your neck, growling lightly. Lucian needed to fuck you, he hadn’t eaten in a week at this point.

It didn’t take long for him to lift you into his arms and carry you to bed. Some hot make up sex would do both of you some good.

“I love you more than anything…” he said between kisses, his tail rubbing against your wet panties. “You’re the only one I want to make love to, the only one I feel anything for…”

That was truly an honor. Incubi and succubi were incredibly careful with who they chose to become mates with.

Once mated with someone, they could no longer gain sustenance from other people, and were tied to them for the rest of their partner’s life.

Lucian’s tail slipped past the damp fabric and began rubbing against your clit, his tongue tangling with yours. He was desperate for you, his cock already leaking precum onto your belly.

“Beautiful…” he cooed, squishy your plump hips and soft tummy. “Don’t you ever doubt that, love. I chose you…”

You let out a breathy moan as his mouth latched onto your nipple, suckling eagerly as his tail pushed into your needy cunt. It wriggled around inside of you, making you cry out in pleasure.

“L-Luci!”

He placed his hand over your womb, smiling down at you as a womb tattoo was placed there. It was one of his powers as an incubus.

You had played around with them before, but the effect began immediately.

“This one enhances your pleasure and makes you more fertile…”

Lucian nuzzled his face against your neck, the slight movement causing you to cum around his tail. “That’s my girl, I’m gonna make it all up to you…”

He pulled his tail out, letting you suck on it and clean off your juices while he positioned his cock at your hole. It was clenching around nothing, and he was happy to know you were ready to be fucked.

“Shh, baby…”

He caressed your cheek as tears of pleasure fell from your eyes. “That's it, let me take care of you… it feels good, doesn’t it?”

Lucian moved his hips slowly, fucking into you just enough to relieve some of the pressure building in your belly, but not enough to completely satisfy you just yet.

“Mmm, you look so cute when you’re all needy…”

Usually, he’d tease you for a good bit, but today he wanted to focus entirely on your pleasure.

His hands gripped your plump hips, squeezing lightly. You were so damn soft and warm, it made him want to cum inside you and give you the baby you had been asking for.

You came around his cock several times, and all he needed to do for your walls to tighten up for another orgasm was gently flick your perky buds.

The womb tattoo made you extra sensitive, every touch and caress made you cum, and you were getting overstimulated, fast!

“F-fuck, sweetheart… so tight, you’re squeezing me like crazy.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him in for a kiss as he came inside of you.

The night was full of lots of creampies and lovemaking. By the end of it, his hunger was satiated and you were full of cum.

“You’re really ready for a baby..?” you asked, tracing circles into his naked chest.

“Mhm… I am now.”

All he knew is that he didn’t want to play around and tease you anymore, you were everything to him. If you wanted a baby, so did he.

So the two of you went at it again the next night. You walked in to see Lucian in his favorite set of lacy lingerie, waiting for you on the silk sheets as if presenting himself to you like a gift.

“Let’s try again, love. I missed you while you were at work…”

——————

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[beloveds-embrace]

(Bakery/coffee shop au in which you have a policy where you don’t serve people with they want, but rather what you think they need.

Masterlist)

The bell above the door rang, sharp and clear.

You barely looked up from where you were wiping down the counter, expecting another regular, maybe someone new but predictable- someone who would hesitate, take in the menu, and fumble over what to order.

Instead, he walked in.

Tall and broad, not arrogant, exactly, but something close. Confidence so deeply ingrained that it didn’t need to be announced, and not even the fact that you could see only his eyes took away from confidence.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t glance at the menu or take in the cozy atmosphere like most first-timers did. He just strolled right up to the counter, gloved hands sliding into his pockets as he regarded you with sharp, calculating eyes.

“You’re new.” You observed, breaking the silence.

Said eyes gleamed slightly. Amused. Like he already knew he was going to enjoy this. “That obvious?” His voice was smooth, accented, carrying a lazy sort of smugness that immediately set you on edge.

Still, you folded your arms, unimpressed. “You don’t look like the type to visit small bakeries.”

His head tilted slightly. “What type do I look like?”

You didn’t miss the challenge in his tone.

“The type that asks for black coffee and thinks it makes him better than everyone else.” You shot back.

That got you a soft chuckle.

“Schlau,” he mused. “Alright, then. Let’s not waste time. Black coffee. No sugar. No nonsense.”

You sighed dramatically; black coffee… the very bane of your existence. “Yeah… no.”

He blinked. Then laughed. “No?”

“No.” You were already turning toward the machines, mind whirring as you thought of what to actually give him.

A pause. Then- “You always this difficult?”

“Only for people who think they’re in charge…. And for those who can’t read the written policies.”

He leaned an elbow against the counter, clearly intrigued now. You pretended not to enjoy the bit of his flexing muscles that you could see. “That so?”

You ignored him, focused on crafting his actual order. Dark chocolate espresso with orange zest. Alongside it, you placed a hazelnut biscotti, crisp and golden.

When you set them down in front of him, he regarded them like he was deciding whether or not to be insulted. “This isn’t black coffee.”

You smirked. “No, but it’s better.”

He exhaled a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” But he took the cup anyway. Didn’t storm off. Didn’t push back. Just… studied you for a moment longer before you huffed in amusement and left to give him privacy to drink.

A while later, you returned to find him having finished both. Like a shark smelling blood, you came to him right away and said with a grin, “You liked it.”

He set the cup down deliberately, tilting his head. “Cocky little thing, aren’t you, Frecher Pfau?”

“Takes one to know one- wait, what does that man-?”

His laughter came easily this time- low and rich, a sound that was somehow both mocking and genuinely entertained.

“So.” He glanced at you, not yet leaving. “You do this to everyone?”

“I give people what they need.”

A thoughtful hum. He took another slow look around, comfortable now. Like he wasn’t just passing through anymore- like he’d decided to stay a little longer, just to see what you’d say next.

You let him enjoy his silence, waiting to see if he’d actually, maybe, tell you his name.

But when he finally stood, you could practically feel that he was smirking beneath the mask, sharp eyes flicking over you.

“I’ll be back.” He murmured.

“You don’t even know if I’ll remember you.” You teased, lips twitching into a smile.

“Oh, you will.” He was already walking toward the door, moving with that same lazy, confident ease. The kind of man who knew exactly how to leave an impression.

And just before the bell rang again-

“I’d bet on it.”

You were so focused on him, you didn’t notice your phone vibrating with a text message that would ruin a part of your life.

Hey girly

[be4chywritez]

never grow up | hughes bro.

hughes bros. x sister!reader

your brothers don't want to let you grow up.

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

warning: completely fucked up timeline

The living room is a mess of wrapping paper and half-eaten cupcakes, remnants of what your mom swore would be a “small graduation party” but somehow turned into a full-blown celebration. You’re still holding onto a stuffed bear in a tiny cap and gown, a joke gift from Ellen, but Quinn keeps side-eyeing it like he’s considering stealing it just to make a point.

Luke is lounging on the couch, flipping through your high school yearbook with a growing look of horror. “Dude,” he mutters, nudging Jack. “She has, like, a whole section in here. How do we not know about half of these people?”

Jack takes the book and immediately flips to the senior superlatives. “Oh my god,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Please tell me you didn’t get ‘Most Likely to Break Hearts’—I don’t think I can handle that.”

You snatch the yearbook out of his hands and smack him lightly with it. “Relax. It’s ‘Most Likely to Brighten Your Day.’”

Quinn, who’s been suspiciously quiet, speaks up from the kitchen. “Yeah, well. That’s worse.”

You roll your eyes. “How is that worse?”

“Because it means people are gonna miss you,” Quinn says simply, but there’s something about the way he says it that makes you pause. Like the realization is just sinking in for him, too.

And that’s when it hits you—this is your last summer before everything changes.

It starts when you casually mention that you’re making a packing list.

“I mean, I don’t need to bring everything,” you say, folding a t-shirt as Quinn watches from the doorway. “I’ll be home for breaks anyway.”

Quinn’s arms are crossed, his face unreadable. “Right,” he says flatly. “Because you’ll totally want to come back to Michigan instead of spending breaks with your college friends.”

You glance up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs, but the tension in his shoulders is obvious. “Just that once you’re gone, you’re gone.”

Before you can argue, Jack yells from down the hall, “Why do you even need a list? Just bring what you have now. Do they not have Target where you’re going?”

You groan. “Jack—”

“I mean, really,” he continues, appearing in the doorway. “What could you possibly need that isn’t already in this house?”

Luke suddenly pops his head in too, pointing at you. “And if you think you’re taking the good blanket from the living room, you’re out of your mind.”

You throw a sock at him. “I bought that blanket!”

Jim, who’s been passing by, doubles back and frowns. “Wait, wait—who said you were taking anything from the house?”

You stare at him. “Uh… me?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, well, maybe I decide what leaves this house, and maybe my decision is that you stay.”

Jack smirks. “Yeah, Dad. Ground her.”

Jim actually pauses, rubbing his chin like he’s considering it. “You know what? If she can’t leave, then problem solved.”

“Oh my god.”

It happens at the dinner table.

Tension has been simmering all summer, but tonight, it boils over.

Jack is picking at his food, Luke is sulking, and Quinn has barely said a word. Jim, trying to keep the mood light, asks a simple question:

“So, kid, excited for move-in day?”

The room freezes.

You swallow, already bracing yourself for the inevitable.

Quinn drops his fork. “Oh, great. Let’s talk about it.”

“Quinn—”

“No, really,” he cuts you off. “Let’s talk about how you’re leaving and we all just have to deal with it.”

Jack scoffs. “We’re allowed to be upset.”

“Yeah,” Luke mumbles. “It sucks.”

Something inside you snaps.

“Oh, it sucks?” you echo, voice sharp. “That’s funny—because I don’t remember any of you feeling bad when you left me.”

Silence.

Quinn’s brows knit together. “What?”

You shove yourself back, your back now flat on the chair. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. Did you all forget how this works? You left first, Quinn. You packed up and went to Vancouver. Jack, you left right after, and then Luke followed.”

Jack opens his mouth, but you steamroll right over him.

“And guess what? Nobody asked me if I was okay with it,” you continue. “Nobody sat me down and said, ‘Hey, we’re all leaving, but we know it’s going to be hard on you.’ No. You guys left, and I was just supposed to be fine.”

Luke shifts uncomfortably. “That’s… different.”

“Oh, is it?” you snap. “Because it sure feels the same.”

They all look guilty now.

Jim exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s got a point, boys.”

The weight of your words settles over the room, thick and suffocating.

You cross your arms. “So don’t sit here acting like I’m the bad guy for growing up. I learned it from you.”

And just like that, dinner is over.

Ellen has been quiet throughout dinner, letting the boys sulk and stew in their feelings. But when you throw down the ultimate truth bomb, she puts her fork down with a soft clink and just leans back in her chair, watching.

Jack shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. “Mom—”

“Don’t ‘Mom’ me,” Ellen says, taking a sip of wine. “She’s right.”

The boys look at her like she’s just committed some deep betrayal.

“But—” Luke tries.

Ellen raises a hand. “No. You don’t get to ‘but’ this. You all left her. And now that it’s her turn, you’re acting like she’s the one abandoning you.”

Quinn frowns at his plate. Jack rubs the back of his neck. Luke suddenly finds his drink very interesting.

Ellen sighs, a little softer now. “I get it. You love your sister, and you’re gonna miss her. But she’s not a little kid anymore.” She glances at you, giving you a small, knowing smile. “And you’re allowed to grow up, sweetheart.”

That’s when you feel the lump in your throat.

Jim, sensing the emotion rising again, claps his hands together. “Alright,” he says, standing up. “Dinner’s over. Boys, you will apologize when you’re ready. And if anyone else gets dramatic at the dinner table, I’m making you all sit at the kids' table for the rest of the summer.”

Jack huffs. “We don’t have a kids' table.”

Jim raises an eyebrow. “I will build one.”

Ellen just shakes her head, standing to start clearing plates. As she passes by you, she squeezes your shoulder gently—just enough to let you know she’s on your side.

Quinn was six, Jack was four, and Luke was two when Ellen and Jim walked through the front door with you bundled up in a tiny blanket.

Luke was still clumsy on his feet, gripping Quinn’s hand for balance as he stared at you with big, round eyes. Jack, ever the loud one, scrunched his nose. “She’s small.”

Quinn, the oldest, tilted his head. “How old is she?”

Ellen smiled, adjusting the beanie on your head. “Just a little younger than Luke.”

Jack frowned. “So she’s the baby?”

Jim nodded. “Yep. You’ve got a baby sister now.”

Quinn blinked at you, something protective already settling in his chest. “She looks squishy.”

Luke let out a little giggle, wobbling closer. His chubby hands reached out, poking at your cheek. Your tiny hand curled instinctively around his finger, and his face lit up like Christmas morning.

Jack, still suspicious, leaned in. “Where’d she come from?”

Ellen smoothed a hand over your head. “From a different family. But now she’s ours.”

Jack looked at Quinn, then back at you. “Do we have to keep her?”

Quinn smacked his arm. “Mom said she’s our sister, dummy.”

Jack huffed. “I’m just asking! What if she’s annoying?”

Jim chuckled. “Then you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Jack pouted. But then you made a tiny noise—something soft, a little curious—and Quinn’s hand was suddenly there, gentle against your back, like he already understood what Jack didn’t:

You belonged with them.

You avoid them. It’s not subtle, and you don’t care if they notice.

Jack walks into the kitchen for breakfast? You walk out. Quinn parks himself in the living room? You suddenly remember you have something to do upstairs. Luke tries to catch your eye across the dinner table? You focus really, really hard on your food.

At first, they pretend not to care. Jack scoffs and mutters, “She’ll crack first.” Quinn just sighs like he’s too old for this. Luke pouts but doesn’t say anything.

But as the days pass, it becomes clear: you’re serious.

Jim and Ellen, bless them, intervene before things get too ridiculous.

It’s a setup. You know it the second Jim corners you in the kitchen and says, “Need your help fixing up the boat.”

You’re about to refuse when he casually adds, “Jack’s already out there.”

You were twelve when Jack left for the NTDP.

He was throwing things haphazardly into his duffel bag, way less meticulous than Quinn had been. You sat on the floor by his bed, fidgeting with the strings on your hoodie.

“You’re really going, huh?”

Jack huffed a laugh, shoving more clothes into his bag. “Yeah, I mean… it’s not like I’m going to war.”

You frowned. “Feels like it.”

That made him pause. He turned to look at you, his usual cocky smirk softening. “Hey, don’t make that face.”

You tried to glare at him, but the lump in your throat made it hard.

Jack sighed, dropping onto the floor next to you. “C’mon, don’t be sad.”

You stayed quiet, picking at your hoodie. Jack nudged your arm.

“You know I’m gonna miss you, right?”

You scoffed. “Then don’t go.”

Jack groaned, flopping onto his back dramatically. “Ugh, you sound like Mom.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe because she’s right.”

Jack sat up, resting his chin on his knee. He studied you for a second before reaching out to ruffle your hair. “Listen, baby Hughes, you’re my best little buddy. And you know what?”

You looked at him warily. “…What?”

Jack grinned. “I’m gonna be a big deal one day, and when that happens, I’m taking you with me.”

You wrinkled your nose. “To hockey?”

“To wherever I go.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “Deal?”

You bit your lip, then nodded. “Deal.”

Jack grinned and held out his pinky. You linked yours with his, sealing the promise.

Of course, you didn’t know then that Jack’s world would get bigger, that he’d go from the NTDP to the draft to New Jersey. But you remembered his words.

Damn it.

When you step onto the dock, Jack is hunched over the open engine, frowning like he actually knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t. He’s wearing sunglasses and a backwards cap, and his shirt is already discarded on the deck like fixing the boat is some grueling manual labor.

You cross your arms. “I don’t see Mom or Dad supervising, so I’m assuming this is an ambush.”

Jack grins, but when you don’t smile back, his expression falters. He clears his throat. “Okay, fine. I may have—” he waves a wrench vaguely in the air “—suggested that Dad needed you out here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So you’re admitting you need my help?”

Jack scoffs. “No, I—” he stops, narrows his eyes, and exhales. “Okay, maybe.”

A beat of silence stretches between you.

Then, quieter, he says, “You’re really mad, huh?”

You shrug, crouching down next to him. “Not mad. Just… tired of feeling like you guys only get sentimental when it’s convenient for you.”

Jack nods, tapping the wrench against his knee.

“Fair,” he says eventually. “But, like—cut us some slack. We’re not good at this whole… feelings thing.”

You give him a look. “I noticed.”

He huffs a laugh. “But we do love you.” He hesitates, like he wants to say something else, then just nudges your shoulder. “Even when you’re being dramatic.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. Jack sees it and grins.

Small steps.

You were nine when Quinn left for Michigan.

He packed his bags carefully, making sure his jerseys were folded just right. You sat on the edge of his bed, hugging your knees.

“You’ll come back, right?” you asked, voice small.

Quinn stopped, turned to you. “Of course I will.”

“But not for long.”

He sighed, crouching down so you were eye-level. “It’s not like that, baby sis. I’m not leaving you—I’m just… doing something for me.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and Quinn immediately pulled you into a hug. “Hey, hey. You’ll be okay.”

You sniffed. “What if I’m not?”

Quinn held you tighter. “Then I’ll come home.”

He did. But never for long.

Then Jack left. Then Luke.

And now, it was your turn.

Ellen hands you the list. “Take Quinn. And please, real vegetables this time.”

You grumble, but before you can argue, Quinn’s already waiting by the door.

The car ride is quiet.

Then, out of nowhere, Quinn sighs. “I’m sorry.”

You blink, caught off guard. “For what?”

He grips the steering wheel. “For making you feel bad about leaving. That wasn’t fair.”

You swallow. “Yeah, well… it does suck.”

He nods. “It does.” Then, softer, “You’ll always be our sister. No matter where you go.”

Something in your throat tightens.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, trying to sound unaffected, “maybe I don’t want to be the baby forever.”

Quinn smirks. “Tough luck.”

You huff, but for the first time in days, the silence between you isn’t so heavy.

Ellen and Jim had taken Jack to some tournament, Quinn was away with the Canucks, and for the first time, it was just you and Luke.

You were thirteen, and he was sixteen, but it felt like an even bigger gap back then.

You weren’t feeling great that day—some stomach bug or something—but you had stubbornly refused to call Mom about it.

Luke had been playing Xbox in the other room when he finally noticed you hadn’t bugged him in a while. He found you curled up on the couch, looking miserable.

"Why didn’t you say anything?" he asked, frowning.

You shrugged weakly.

Luke hesitated, then sighed. "Okay. Come on."

You blinked. "What?"

He grabbed a blanket off the chair and threw it over you before lifting you up.

"Luke—put me down!"

"Nope," he said, hauling you up the stairs. "You have two choices: you can walk to bed like a normal person, or I can keep carrying you."

You groaned but didn’t argue. You were exhausted.

Luke tucked you in (with way too much effort, like he thought you’d try to escape), then disappeared for a few minutes before coming back with ginger ale and crackers.

You stared at him.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"You’re being… nice."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Shut up and eat the crackers."

You smirked. "Are you gonna feed me, too?"

Luke groaned, dropping the pillow he was holding onto your face. "I take it back. I hope you feel worse."

But later that night, when you woke up feeling even worse, Luke was still awake, sitting on the floor by your bed with his phone.

"You need anything?" he asked groggily.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. "No."

Luke nodded and yawned. "Alright. Go back to sleep."

Luke drives. He doesn’t play music, which is weird for him. Usually, he’s blasting something obnoxious, forcing you to suffer through his terrible playlists.

He doesn’t say anything until you pull into the parking lot.

“I never thought about it like that,” he blurts.

You turn to him, confused. “What?”

Luke shifts in his seat. “That… you were alone when we left.”

His voice is small, guilty.

You sigh, staring out the windshield. “I didn’t want you guys to feel bad about it. You were chasing your dreams. It wasn’t like I wanted you to stay back for me.”

Luke frowns. “But you still missed us.”

“Yeah, dumbass.”

He huffs a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

After a beat, he hesitates. “You know you can always come back, right?”

You roll your eyes. “I know.”

Luke nudges your shoulder. “We’ll visit. All the time.”

You smirk. “Promise?”

He nods, grinning. “Obviously.”

For the first time all week, your chest feels lighter.

You’re sprawled on the dock, staring at the stars. It’s just the four of you—Jack, Quinn, Luke, and you. The air is warm, the lake is calm, and for once, nobody’s arguing.

Jack exhales. “So. This is it, huh?”

You nod. “Yep.”

Silence.

Then, quietly, Quinn says, “We’re really proud of you, you know.”

You blink, caught off guard.

Luke nods. “Yeah. Like, so proud.”

Jack scoffs. “Even though you’re leaving us.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite in it.

Quinn nudges your arm. “We meant what we said. You’ll always have us.”

You swallow, feeling that familiar lump in your throat.

Then, because you’re still their little sister, you smirk. “Yeah, yeah. You guys are obsessed with me.”

Jack groans. “God, I take it back—go to college already.”

Luke laughs. Quinn shakes his head. And for the first time all summer, everything feels right.

Because no matter how much things change, one thing never will:

You’ll always be their sister. And they’ll always be your brothers.

[rafenextdoor]

CELIBACY - RAFE CAMERON

it’s been too long, celibacy what do you want? tell it to me dropped to my knees let me break your streak, i’m begging you, please

content: inspired on the song celibacy by partynextdoor and drake. includes smut, oral (m receiving), fingering, p in v, cream pie, rafe kinda creeps on reader a bit, MINORS DNI!!!!

word count: 3.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing a fic let alone my first time posting on tumblr, please bare with me! still trying to figure out a good layout and there may be misspellings so i’m sorry. feedback is greatly appreciated!! and i’m opening my inbox to requests or questions to talk about rafe/drew/etc.

“you haven’t been fucked in how long?” sarah asked you a bit too loud, her eyes wide in shock at your confession.

you had just told her that you were going on over a year celibate. four hundred and thirty two days.. that’s if you were counting, of course.

it initially started when you and your boyfriend broke up. a drunken fight over jealousy resulted in three years down the drain. you were in no rush to find another sexual partner anytime soon because he was your first for everything. first kiss, first touch, first love. it took you a few months to go through the stages of grief but you got over him eventually, except your standards were different now. through your healing, you realized that you settled for a lot of things that you shouldn’t have.

one of those things being his performance during sex, or lack there of. it was mediocre to say the least, all about him, him, him. you tried to excuse it with the fact that you were his first too, and maybe he just didn’t know any better. but as time went on, nothing changed. he didn’t listen to your wants or needs, and certainly couldn’t fulfill your deepest desires. you were convinced that no one ever would, so you stayed celibate.

you hadn’t even kissed someone since him. you weren’t sure if you still remembered what it felt like.

“sarah!” you exclaimed in embarrassment, giving her a light smack on the arm to hush her. “talk quieter, i don’t need ward hearing anything about my sex life.” you scrunched up your nose at the thought.

“the man is ancient, he can’t hear shit.“ sarah replied nonchalantly. she looked over at her bedroom door to check that it was closed before turning back to face you. “we need to get you laid.”

you shook your head. it’s not like you hadn’t considered it, especially recently. you thought about that more than you’d like to admit, really. most nights ended with your hand between your thighs, attempting to get yourself off. you were always left unsatisfied, it was like an itch in a place you couldn’t quite reach to scratch on your own.

you had been on a few dates, but nothing ever clicked. kildare island was a small town so everyone knew each other. it was difficult, to say the least, to find someone without association to your ex. “i don’t know.. i mean, where would i even start? tinder?”

“hell no. that’s a breeding ground for creeps and losers.” she immediately dismissed. she grabbed her phone from beside her, pulling up a text thread from her boyfriend and flipping it around to show you. “there’s a party at topper’s later, you should come. maybe you’ll find someone there.”

you wanted to say no, but sarah was persistent. you knew she wouldn’t let this down anytime soon, so you agreed to appease her mind. “okay.. i’ll go.”

what you didn’t know is that the walls of tannyhill were thin, and someone was listening in on everything.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

coming here was a bad idea.

it didn’t take long for sarah to walk off to go find topper, leaving you on your own. you slipped through the crowd, finding yourself a drink but no luck with finding anyone worth your time. you quickly felt overstimulated, deciding to wander to the back of the house to find a place away from the crowd. you sat down on a couch, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly to pass the time.

sarah had driven the both of you there, which was definitely a mistake on your part since you knew she would stay the night with topper anyway. she probably thought this would leave you no choice but to go home with someone. you’d have to talk to her about that later.

you were fixing to send her a message that you going to walk home, calling it an early night, until a voice spoke in front of you.

“hey, sugar.”

your eyes left your phone screen, peering up to meet rafe towering over you. he was so close that you had to crane your neck to fully see him. you had always thought he was good looking, too attractive for his own good. he had on a tight-fitted, salmon colored polo paired with his go to khaki shorts, his hair swooped and parted to the side with gel. his arms were folded across his chest, biceps flexing with a sly smile tugging on his lips as he looked down at you. “can i join you?”

you felt your shoulders drop in relief, thankful that it was him and not one of the other frat boys there. you and rafe weren’t close by any means, sarah made sure of that. any time he would try to talk to you while she was around, she would shut it down immediately. not that he really cared or listened to what anyone told him. he wasn’t going to let that stop him, which is why he needed to find a way to get you alone, and this opportunity had you falling right into his lap.

“rafe, hi. i was just about to leave.. actually.”

he had been watching you carefully since the moment you walked in. rafe was a calculated man like that, purposefully standing in the corner of the kitchen to keep track of you throughout the night. he saw a kid— who was way too confident— make his advances on you by offering a drink, but you declined and poured your own instead.

‘smart girl.’ rafe muttered to himself, taking a sip of his beer as you turned him down. you strutted off shortly after that, which he soon followed.

his face twisted in confusion. “so soon? you haven’t even been here an hour.”

you bit the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. it’s not like you could tell him why you were there in the first place. you already felt ridiculous for even considering this idea.

“just.. not really in the mood tonight.” you answered hesitantly. it wasn’t necessarily a lie, but something about rafe made you nervous. he was older than you by a few years, and you could feel it through his presence. the way he asserted himself, it made you feel small. submissive.

he nodded, his eyes taking you in as you sat there. you were wearing a little black top and a denim skirt so short that it should be illegal. you tugged down on it a bit in reaction to his gaze, the fabric not budging as it clung to your thick thighs. he noticed the apples of your cheeks turning pink at his stare.

rafe couldn’t help but smirk. you were so cute, so sweet. he liked seeing you like this— without sarah. how such a good girl like you could be so close with her was beyond him. what kind of friend was she to bring you here to get fucked by some stranger?

but he wouldn’t let that happen.

“i’ll take you to the house then. i can’t let you walk back this late.”

“no no, i’ll be fine. i-“

“that wasn’t a question.”

he reached out his hand, gesturing for you to grab it before you could protest any further. it would just be a quick ride back to tannyhill, right?

you exhaled, putting your smaller hand into his and letting him pull you off the couch. his fingers intertwined with yours as led you through the crowd, people’s eyes following as the both of you passed by. it was hard not to get attention being next to rafe cameron— girls wishing they were you and boys wishing they were him. you dropped your head hoping that no one would notice. that was doubtful.

the tension during the drive was thick. you felt his eyes on you more than the road, which had you squirming in the leather passenger seat. his car smelled like him— a mix of weed and cedarwood cologne filling your senses. you almost felt lightheaded with how nervous you were and he hadn’t even done anything.

on the other hand, rafe was loving every second of it. he had been dreaming of this moment before you were even single. his sisters pretty little best friend, always around but just barely out of his reach, was currently in the palm of his hand.

partynextdoor was playing on the radio, you could hear him humming along as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. you heard your phone ding with a text notification— from sarah.

sarah: hey i’m downstairs did you leave?

you: yeah, sorry i couldn’t find you

sarah: with who??

sarah: please don’t say brian

sarah: tell me if he’s hot at least

sarah: is his dick big?

“everything okay?” rafe broke the silence, gesturing to your leg that started to bounce.

“it’s sarah, wantin’ to know who i’m with..” you replied, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard to type out a response to her.

he placed his hand on your knee, his grip gentle but firm enough to stop your moments. “just ignore her.” he said it like a suggestion, but his underlying tone told you that it wasn’t. you couldn’t help but listen to him, powering off your phone all together.

he kept his hand there, rubbing small circles with his thumb before he decided to test you, slowly going up your thigh. the warmth from his hand went straight to your core, your legs subconsciously parting just slightly at his touch.

“rafe..” you attempted to hide the shakiness in your voice. he was still driving, his eyes set forward. it took everything in him not to stop and take care of you right there— parking his car off the dirt road and bending you over in the backseat— but he held himself back. not only out of respect for you, but he wanted to do it the right way. he had been waiting to have you for years, he could handle a few more minutes.

“when’s the last time you’ve been touched like this, sweetheart?”

his fingers were now lingering between your thighs, slipping past that excuse of a skirt and brushing over your white panties. “and tell me the truth, or i stop.” he coaxed, his middle fingers pressed through the fabric, it becoming wet with your arousal. you whimpered at his touch, ashamed that you were reacting so easily to him. it was as if he already knew your body— knowing exactly where and how to you touch without even looking.

“i- i don’t know.” you breathed out. your head was fuzzy with desire, a feeling foreign to you.

“i think you do.” he thumbed your clothed clit, your head falling back against the seat in response. “i heard you and sarah talking earlier. could’ve came to me instead, y’know.” he continued to rub over your heat, just enough to tease you to the point it was nearly unbearable.

rafe sped up the rest of the way home, his patience running thin with his cock straining in his shorts. you were even more impatient, bucking your hips into his hand to feel some relief. you were beginning to make a mess on the seat and his fingers weren’t even inside of you yet.

before you knew it you were being thrown onto rafe’s bed, your legs hanging off the edge as he stood in between them.

“such a needy lil’ thing, hm?” he ditched your soaked panties on the floor, running his calloused fingertips over your slit to lather them with your slick. he parted your lips— so pretty and pink and glistening just for him. you were perfect.

he circled at your clit, applying pressure to the sensitive bud. you were pulsating beneath him as he started to rub faster, your thighs trembling. he pressed his middle finger at your entry, sinking himself in down to the knuckle.

rafe warmed up your cunt a bit longer before adding a second digit, pumping both in and out of you with determination— your soft moans spilling out like music to his ears. “god, baby, you’re drippin’ everywhere..” you whined at his words, which only made him keep going.

he curled his fingers, your gushy walls engulfing him as he hit that special spot inside of you. you could feel everything— the metal of his rings hitting against your cunt, the heat of his breath on your neck as he nibbled at it, the coil in your belly tightening.

“rafe.. i- i feel like-“

“i know baby, it’s okay. i got you.” he mumbled into your ear before he brought your lips to his, kissing you like it’s all he could do to breathe. you tasted so pure, like a ripe summer peach on his tongue— and he just wanted to swallow you whole. he continued to suck on your bottom lip until it was swollen, only pulling away to watch you.

and the look he was giving you— hungry with desire— was it took before you snapped, cumming for what felt like the first time. he held your hips in place with his other hand, holding you down to ride out your high.

you were gasping for air at this point, your bottom mascara smudged from the tears that prickled from your eyes. rafe looked wrecked as well, face pink and his once perfectly laid hair now disheveled. you didn’t know why until you sat up and saw it, the outline of his cock prominent in his shorts. your breath hitched, your doe eyes widening at the sight.

he grabbed your hand and brought it over his length, guiding you to rub it back and forth. even through the clothes you could tell he was bigger than your ex, surely. the thought alone had you pulsating.

“don’t by shy, sweetheart.”

you unbuttoned his shorts, pulling them down with his boxers to free his erect member. it hit his stomach, the tip red and leaking pre cum from being pent up for so long. he was girthy, thicker than his two fingers that you could hardly take a few minutes ago.

still, you pursued. you reached down to your sopping cunt, cupping it to lubricate your hand and bringing it to his cock. he let out a groan as you stroked him, jerking your wrist in smooth motions.

rafe was in heaven. you seemed so shy and innocent at first, he felt almost wrong for corrupting you like this— that was until you took it upon yourself to lick up the vein of his shaft, taking him into your mouth. you began to swirl your tongue, flicking it at his head to collect the dribbled cum. you went further, one hand at his base until you felt him hit the back of your throat. he rutted his hips, grabbing a fistful of your hair in a halt. if you kept going like this he wasn’t going to last.

“need to be inside you.” his voice was filled with desperation. he was panting at this point, a string of saliva following when he pulled you away. “please.”

you couldn’t finishing nodding your head before he went straight to work, pushing you flat to the bed with his weight on top of you. he ripped off your shirt, unclasping your lace bra in one smooth motion. rafe loved the feminine physique, and he was absolutely infatuated with yours. your tits were perky, full cups that sat sculpted on you just like a roman statue. your tummy was plush with a shimmery belly ring, the curves of your waist and hips drawing him in.

he brought his mouth to your breasts, lapping his tongue over one nipple as he fondled with the other. he was so eager— sucking and twisting at them like he was trying to feed. you were mewling, twisting under him at the sensation.

he slid his cock over your puffy folds. “saving this pussy for me, weren’t you?”

he slipped in raw, slowly filling you up inch by inch. he tried to go easy on you, but fuck, the way you were clenching around him it was like you were begging for more.

you were so stretched out, so full, and he still hadn’t put himself all the way in. he was thrusting into you at agonizing pace, not allowing you to adjust to his large size. you tried to scoot away, the pleasure being too much to bear, but he held you in place at the waist. he watched you engulf his dick in satisfaction— a creamy ring forming at the base.

“so fuckin’ tight— shit.” rafe moaned, squeezing his grip on the flesh of your stomach which would surly have bruises by morning. he finally bottomed out, hitting your core with a smooth trust. he was splitting you open with no mercy as his room echoed with the sound of skin slapping skin.

“suckin’ me in so well, feel like a virgin. you sure you been fucked before?”

“not like this.” you barely choked out, turning your head into the sheets as he quickened his speed. your face was flushed— chin still covered in spit and brows furrowed together.

“mhmm, but this is what you wanted, isn’t it baby?” his voice was raspy, almost mocking. he was molding himself inside you, like you were made just for him— filling you perfectly as your walls took his shape. his tip skimmed your g-spot, making you cry.

he arched your hips off the bed, moving his palms down to the fat of your ass— kneading it as your pussy started to flutter around him. he could tell you were close, your bodies chest to chest as he pounded into you.

you let go, jolts running through you as you came around his length with the second orgasm coursing through you. you had your legs wrapped around him, milking him dry. he didn’t let up either, continuing to hit into you at a brutal rate.

“gonna nut inside you like you deserve.” his grunted with gritted teeth, burying himself inside of you. his movements stuttered as he reached his peak— cock twitching as he released, his cum spurting in you with thick, hot ropes. he stayed there for a moment, assuring you got every drop before finally pulling out.

he laid down next to you, heavy, ragid breaths leaving the both of you in sync.

“you won’t need to be celibate any more, sugar.”

[dckweed]

tiktok made me do it!gf vs tf141 boys

It was all over TikTok—women testing out pheromone perfumes to see how their boyfriends reacted.

Naturally, you had to try it.

The moment you spritz it onto your pulse points, a sultry, musky scent wafting through the air, you know you’re in trouble.

i can’t remember if I posted yesterday or not, but here’s todays :)

Captain Price – "like you want somethin’, sweetheart"

Price is lounging in his chair, reading the paper like some kind of distinguished gentleman, when you enter the room.

His nose twitches slightly. His brows furrow.

You strut past him, not saying a word, but the scent follows you like a sinful little trail.

His voice is low. "What’s that, love?"

You shrug innocently. "Perfume."

Price sets the paper down, leaning forward slightly. "New?"

"Mmhmm." You tilt your neck slightly, just enough to let the scent linger around him. "You like it?"

He doesn’t respond immediately.

Instead, he watches you like a predator. His gaze sharp, assessing, as if he’s figuring something out.

Then, slow as molasses, he stands.

You don’t realize you’re backing up until your spine meets the wall.

"John—"

"What’s in it?" His voice is dangerously calm.

Your heart hammers. "Just… a mix of things."

He hums. Steps closer. His chest brushes against yours, the heat of his body pressing into you.

"Smells different than your usual." His nose skims along your throat, inhaling deeply. "Smells like you want somethin’, sweetheart."

You shudder. "Maybe."

His fingers trail up your arm, slow and teasing. "That right?"

"Mhm."

Then, just as you start melting—

He pulls away.

You gape at him as he smirks, picking up his paper again like nothing happened.

"John!"

"Careful what you start, love," he murmurs, eyes twinkling over the top of the paper. "Or I’ll finish it."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick – "sit in the freezer.."

Gaz doesn’t notice at first. He’s scrolling on his phone, lounging on the couch, completely unaware of the trap you’ve set.

Then—

He sniffs the air.

Freezes.

Looks at you.

"Babe."

You arch a brow. "Yes?"

"What the fuck is that smell?"

"My perfume."

His pupils blow wide. "What—why do I—" He rubs his face aggressively. "Why do I feel weird?"

You bite back a laugh. "Weird how?"

"Like I need to put you on my fuckin’ lap, that’s how."

"Oh?" You saunter closer, watching the way his hands tighten into fists. "That bad?"

"YES."

"Huh." You lean down, bracing your hands on either side of his head. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Gaz swallows hard. "I dunno, babe, but it’s gonna involve you on my lap, so you better back up before I—"

You giggle and step back. "Relax, it’s just pheromone perfume—"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Gaz bolts upright. "YOU DRUGGED ME?"

"Oh my God, Kyle—"

"I NEED TO GO SIT IN THE FREEZER, I SWEAR TO GOD—"

He flees to the kitchen, frantically fanning himself, while you wheeze with laughter.

Simon "Ghost" Riley – “notice anything different?”

You know Simon. He doesn’t react to much.

So when you walk into the room, drenched in your secret weapon, you expect some reaction.

You get nothing.

Not even a twitch.

"Hey, love," he murmurs, flipping through a book.

You pout. "You notice anything… different?"

He hums. "New hair?"

"No."

"New dress?"

"No!"

He finally looks up, blinking at you. "What, then?"

You step closer, letting the scent wrap around him. "Smell me."

Simon gives you a slow, measured look. Then, like he knows exactly what you’re up to, he sighs and leans in.

The moment he inhales—

He freezes.

His hands tighten around the book, his jaw going tight.

"Oh." His voice is dangerous.

Your stomach flips. "Oh?"

He slowly closes the book. "You have no idea what you just did, love."

You gulp. "I—"

Then, lightning fast, he grips your waist and hauls you into his lap.

You squeak. "Simon!"

"You wanted a reaction, sweetheart?" His hands slide up your back, firm. "Now you’re gonna deal with it."

"It was just a prank—"

"Not anymore."

You die.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish – "make me feral."

You spray the perfume on your wrists, grinning like a devil as you enter the room. Soap is at the table, scrolling on his phone.

The moment you walk past him—

"What the fuck is that?"

You smirk. "Perfume."

His nostrils flare. "That’s perfume?"

"Mhm."

Soap leans in.

You immediately realize your mistake.

His eyes darken. "What’s in that?"

You gulp. "Just… y’know. Stuff."

"*Stuff.**"

"Uh-huh."

Then, faster than you can blink, he’s out of his chair and chasing you.

"JOHNNY—"

"NO, LASS, YE STARTED THIS SHITE—C'MERE!"

You squeal, sprinting down the hall, but he grabs you, effortlessly scooping you up like you weigh nothing.

"Oh, ye think ye’re funny, huh?" he growls, throwing you over his shoulder.

"IT WAS A JOKE!"

"Aye, well, now I’m gonna show ye what happens when ye make me feral, sweetheart.*"

Your giggles turn into breathless shrieks as he carries you straight to the bedroom.

(You regret nothing.)

Moral of the Story:

You thought you were being slick.

Turns out?

You played yourself.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

hi bunny 💕 may i request bodyguard knight ani and princess? and maybe their love has to be hidden? i can imagine them being so in love and pure 🥺 and he's so gentle with her .. my heart !

PAIRING: bodyguard!anakin x princess!reader

FLUFF ❦

The library was rather quiet. Surrounded by old, almost ancient for you, books, you wandered through and through the shelves, looking for yet another inspiring lecture to read. Sunlight shined through the stained glass windows, painting the marble floors in hues of gold and rose. You could see dust particles float lazily in the air, catching the light, adding to the whole aura of this place.

Yet in all of that, Anakin sees only you. You - sitting by the window, while the soft fabric of your gown spilled over the seat, head tilted slightly as you lost yourself to a novel, lips parted just enough to leave him aching to touch them

And God help him, he can’t look away.

But, he shouldn’t do that. After all, he's supposed to be watching the door, guarding your life with his own, and not staring at you like a starved for touch man. Like he never felt a woman's touch before.. Yet it’s hard to remember that when you smile, with your eyes lighting up at something you’ve read, fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of the page or the leather, old cover.

His lips parted, sinking in your eternal beauty as his heart stuttered, then beat faster, harder, painfully so even. He knows you shouldn’t be his to love. His devotion, his angel. You shouldn't even be called his at all.

“Ani?”

Your voice was soft, hesitant, like a sunlight in the spring's heat, like a warm shiver of wind's touch. He straightened immediately, clearing his throat, the hand resting on the hilt of his sword twitching with nerves.

“Yes, Princess?”

You looked at him, and what he could name, you tried to study his expression, your brows drawn together, concern swimming and pooling in your eyes. “You’re so far away,” you murmured. “Is something wrong?”

Only that I can’t touch you ~ he thought

He shook his head, offering a small smile. “Just keeping a watch,” he said, voice even, careful. Emotionless, so he'd not be so ready to be read. But his answer didn’t seem to soothe you. If anything, your frown only deepened.

“You’re not usually this quiet,” you noted, tilting your head with a soft smile that was enough to make him want to kneel at your feet.

His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, leather creaking beneath his gloves. It was the only thing that could distract him - fingers flexing, curling, gripping tight enough to hurt a normal person, but not really him. Anything to keep him from reaching for you, from brushing his fingers along the silk of your gown, from cupping your cheek, tilting your head up and—

“Perhaps I’ve nothing of worth to say,”

Your lips quirked, a delicate twist that made his mouth go dry. “I doubt that,” you teased lightly

Anakin cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away, eyes fixing on the floor instead. It was safer—he couldn’t betray himself if he wasn’t looking at you.

But he should have known better already. You never made it easy.

You rose from your seat, the scent of lavender and honey wrapping around his throat, squeezing just right to make his mind go off. His jaw clenched when he felt the barest brush of your fingers against his gloved hand—light, tentative, completely forbidden.

“Ani, you’ve been… different, lately,” you confessed, eyes searching his face. “Distant.”

“I’ve been trying to do my duty, Princess,” he replied stiffly, yet his voice faltered when your fingers slipped down, brushing against his wrist.

Gods above, he was a weak man.

“Your duty,” you echoed, voice small. “And what is your duty, Anakin?”

“To protect you,” he bit out, almost too harsh, jaw clenching when your eyes flinched. Damn it.

To love you.

To worship you.

To fall to his knees for you if you so much as asked.

Your eyes were too bright, too hopeful, too beautiful, like the rest of you, and he couldn’t lie to you. Not when you were close enough for him to see the faint freckles dusting your cheeks, the flutter of your lashes, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath.

Not when your fingers were curling around his wrist—soft, kind of trembling. Your lips parted, eyes flickering with hurt that made his chest splinter, crack. He couldn't bear it anymore, really. With a slow sigh that fell from his swollen lips, he leaned in, daring himself to connect himself, in a way, with you. Light brush of your mouth against him made him spiral, his other hand so gently, so worshipfully grabbed your waist, curling into the thick material of your dress.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake

[delulustateofmind]

I need some comfort right now been feeling depressed lately : ( could I request some headcanons of the JJK men with a depressed reader or a reader who uses a weighted blanket to help them relax because I usually sleep with weighted blankets.

Sorry for venting a bit pookie I don't wan to ruin your mood platonic forehead smoothies for you have. Great day!

Anon-🧜‍♀️

Sorry this one took me so long, it was really just me wanting to do it justice because I know exactly how that mood feels. It's icky, you just want to be in a bubble, ugh. Not fun. Hope this makes you feel better 🧜‍♀️ anon. Remember that bad days are just days that are bad :) Get outside, do a small little hobby, even just getting up and walking around is a win.

JJK men x Depressed! Reader WC: 2.1k Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami

Gojo Satoru is typically a ball of endless energy, a powerhouse of sorts. He fills rooms with his presence alone, an ever-burning sun that refuses to be ignored. But when he comes home and you don’t greet him, when your laughter doesn’t echo against the walls, when you don’t even move from your place in bed, that light dims.

The usual clatter of his arrival fades into something quieter, more hesitant. White brows knit together beneath his blindfold as he watches the still lump of blankets, the way you curl into yourself like you’re trying to disappear. He’s seen this before with Suguru. He won't let that happen to you. His steps are slow as he approaches the bed, a stark contrast to the usual airiness of his movements. He crouches beside you, a pop of his knees, long fingers ghosting over the edge of the blanket. He doesn’t rip it away, doesn’t force you to look at him.

"Hey, princess." his voice came out softer than usual, all the teasing lilt gone, replaced with something quieter. Something real.

When you don’t respond, when you don’t even stir, something in him cracks. Without a word, he climbs into bed beside you, pressing himself close. He doesn’t care if you’re curled up beneath layers of blankets; he’ll wedge himself in however he needs to, something he's rather good at. He flops on top of you like a lazy starfish at first, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck, but when you don’t laugh, when you don’t even shift to complain about his weight, his playfulness evaporates. Moving to slip his lanky arms around you, no longer just resting but holding. His fingers find yours beneath the blankets, carefully intertwining them, a firm grip but not suffocating. His warm breath tickles the back of your neck as he murmurs, "You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to move. Just let me stay, okay?"

And he does. He stays for as long as it takes, pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder, letting his warmth seep into you. The usual hum of his boundless energy is dulled, reduced to something slower, softer - like a dog curling up beside its favorite person after a long day. When he finally coaxes you to peek out from the blankets, just enough so he can see your face, his heart breaks. Your eyes are distant, unfocused, as if the world itself has blurred at the edges. He reaches out, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, before gently, so gently, pulling his blindfold off.

"C’mon, sweetheart. Look at me."

It’s rare, the moments where he lets you see him like this. No barriers, no teasing, no distractions. Just Satoru. His bright blue eyes search yours, trying to find something within the emptiness. When you don’t speak, when you just blink up at him, exhausted and hollow, he doesn’t push. He only presses a few pecks to your forehead (slips in a few wet smoochies too, it's a bad habit he's trying to break), like he’s trying to press all the words he can’t say directly into your skin.

"You’re still here." His hand slips beneath the blankets, resting against your stomach, his fingers spreading wide as if to keep you close to him, as close as possible.

"You know what that means?" voice tinged with something so soft, so achingly tender that it doesn’t even sound like him. "It means you’re winning, baby." He doesn’t care if you don’t believe it right now. He’ll believe enough for the both of you.

Geto Suguru doesn’t tend to overwhelm you with words. He knows what it’s like to have nothing left to say. Instead, he gives you presence when everything feels too heavy to bear alone. When he finds you curled up in bed, buried beneath layers of blankets, he doesn’t force you to move. He doesn’t try to coax you into sitting up or pretend like things aren’t as bad as they feel. He simply sits beside you, lowering himself onto the mattress with slow, languid movements. His fingers skim over the fabric covering your back, giving a gentle rub with the warmness of his palm. He doesn’t push the covers away, doesn’t pry you from your cocoon of silence. He just rests a hand there, an unspoken reminder: I’m here. I’m not leaving.

Suguru’s hands have taken lives, crushed throats, ended countless existences with the flick of his wrist. But when they touch you, they do so with an unbearable gentleness. He brushes stray strands of hair from your face, his thumb stroking slow circles into your skin. His lips find your forehead, your temples, your eyelids. His breath warms your skin as he whispers against your pulse, "You’re still here."

He knows better than to expect an answer. So instead, he talks, filling the silence with the low, steady hum of his voice. He tells you about the morning’s errands, about the way Mimiko scalded her fingers trying to make him tea and how Nanako lectured her for ten minutes straight. He recounts little moments, the ones that don’t feel important but carry the weight of life moving forward. He doesn’t demand a response - he just offers his words freely, weaving them around you like a safety net, something to keep you tethered to the present.

Even in your silence, he notices everything, the way your lips part slightly, as if trying to form words you don’t have the energy to say. The way your fingers twitch against his sleeve, small and barely noticeable, but he notices. He always notices. So he shifts closer, wrapping you in the kind of embrace that says, You don’t have to carry this alone.

When the weight of it all becomes unbearable, when you’re too exhausted to even hold yourself up, he gathers you into his lap and cradles you against his chest. He holds you as if you are something precious, something fragile, something that must be protected at all costs. His fingers ghost over your spine, his other hand tucked beneath your legs, securing you against him like he can shield you from the weight pressing down on your soul. "I won’t let you drown, love. I won’t lose you."

And later, when your breathing finally slows, when you’ve slipped into exhausted sleep, Suguru lets himself break.

He clutches you tighter, pressing his lips to your hair, and in the dead silence of the room, a single, choked sob escapes him. He has lost too much already - his friends, his future, his faith in the world. He cannot lose you too.

"Please don’t go where I can’t follow."

No matter how long it takes, no matter how many days you struggle to get out of bed, no matter how many nights you say nothing at all, he stays. Because if there’s one thing he can still give you, one thing he can offer without hesitation, it’s time. And as long as you are still here, as long as you are still breathing, as long as there is even the smallest part of you still fighting, then so will he.

"Whenever you're ready, love. I’ll be right here."

Nanami Kento is not a man of grand gestures. He does not smother you in words or try to mend wounds with empty reassurances. He notices the shift immediately. The way your responses become slower, shorter. The way you hesitate before speaking, like the weight of forming words is too much effort. The way your once-lively eyes dim, dulled by something heavy and unseen. It’s a small thing, seemingly insignificant. But Nanami thrives on routine, and so do you. Every evening, without fail, you meet him at the entrance, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but always offering a soft, quiet "Welcome home."

Tonight, the air is still. His fingers tighten around the strap of his briefcase. He exhales slowly, composing himself before stepping inside. His gaze sweeps over the apartment, seeking you out, his heart sinking when he finds you curled up on the couch, motionless beneath a heavy throw blanket.

You don’t look up when he approaches. You barely move at all.

Nanami sets his briefcase down carefully as if any sudden movement might disturb the fragile stillness around you. He lowers himself to his knees beside the couch, resting a warm hand on the blanket that covers your shoulder. His thumb moves in slow, rhythmic strokes.

"You haven’t eaten today, have you?"

It’s not an accusation, not a demand. Just a quiet observation. You shake your head, barely perceptible beneath the blanket. He hums softly, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"I see."

Nanami does not tell you to get up. He does not urge you to shower, or take a walk, or “freshen up.” He knows the weight you carry is not so easily shaken off. So instead, he disappears into the kitchen, moving with the same precision he does in everything. A few minutes later, he returns with a simple meal, nothing overwhelming, nothing heavy. A bowl of miso soup, a small plate of tamagoyaki, and a cup of warm tea. He doesn’t expect you to eat much. He doesn’t expect you to eat at all. But he sets the tray on the table beside you, within reach, and sits down next to the couch with patience.

"Just a few bites," he says softly. "It doesn’t have to be much."

There is no pressure. No frustration. Just him.

When you finally take a small sip of tea, his shoulders relax almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t praise you for it, doesn’t act as though it’s some great feat, but the subtle way he exhales tells you that it matters to him. That you matter to him.

Nanami stays with you for the rest of the night. He does not ask you to talk. He does not demand explanations. He only stays, his hand resting over yours. Later, when the night stretches on and you’re still curled against the couch, he gathers you into his arms, lifting you easily. You make a small noise of protest, but he only presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring softly, "Bed, love. You'll sleep better there."

He tucks you beneath the covers, slipping in beside you, his warmth radiating through the sheets. His arm drapes over your waist, pulling you close to the warmth of his chest. His breath is steady, slow, coaxing yours to match.

"I know it’s hard," he murmurs into your hair, voice laced with quiet exhaustion. "But you’re not alone. And you never will be."

[thepossummoldypasta]

Okay okay, the people have been heard, part 2 of the accidental baby acquisition thing (part 1)

Sometimes Steve wonders how his life turned out this way. Most of the time the omega jokingly says it’s all Dustin’s fault. This time it’s definitely Dustin’s fault.

Steve kicked the kid out after he cracked wise about Eddie being in a coma for 9 months—He did it nicely under the pretense of the pup being sent to find a nurse, but he’s forced out of the room all the same—now he’s desperately attempting to get Eddie calm.

The heart monitor is complaining loudly at Steve and the alphas breathing isn’t giving him any comfort, and it’s all around not an ideal situation. Steve shifts the baby (still asleep thank god) so he has an arm free to offer Eddie to scent. The movement catches the other man’s eye, and when the alpha he turns his head Steve can see Eddie’s crying.

“Oh Eddie.” Steve croaked “No, don’t cry. Dustin was just being a dick—you’ve only been under for six days—everything’s alright.” Eddie finally accepts Steve’s arm but instead of scenting he cradles it with shaking hands and doubles over awkwardly against Steve’s shoulder.

“Stevie,” the alpha sobs “Stevie.” He lets Eddie cry it out for a minute or so.

“Do you want me to walk you through what happened?” Steve offers.

Eddie nods against his neck; yes.

“How much?”

Eddie leans in even further, lungs drawing as much air as they can hold; everything.

“Nancy blew Vecna’s head off, but uh, we could tell something was up.” Steve grimaces “so, so I got worried and went to grab you and Dustin.”

Eddie stiffens as Steve talks, but doesn’t give any other indication that he’s heard enough, so Steve keeps going.

“ I found you just outside the trailer park—I don’t know if you remember it but the bats kinda beat your ass—I got to you before Dustin did thank god ‘cus it was gnarly. They, the bats, they nicked an artery so there was a lot of blood. We managed to drag all of us out through this new gate that spat us out at the Creel house on the right side, I don't know how that happened by the way…uh what else…there was an ambulance there because Carver’s gang broke Erica’s arm. The EMT guys were so freaked out when they saw us they shoved all of us in the back of the ambulance and hauled ass here—“

“Wait,” Eddie buts into Steve’s rambling explanation, “Erica got hurt? Who else got hurt? Is—“ now it’s Steve’s turn to interrupt.

“Everyone’s gonna be okay Eddie” Steve promises “The pups have a few minor breaks between all of ‘em but nothing serious. You and me got the worst of it.” Apparently not the best thing to say because Eddie jerks back with a whine, frantically checking over Steve’s injuries.

“You, I, WHAT?” Eddie, well, he screeches, unfortunately waking up the baby with his noise (the omega can’t stop himself from shooting him a dirty look for it).

“We’re both out of the woods now that you’re awake.” The omega reassures while soothing the tiny puppy’s cries. “There’s the bites, obviously, but none of them on you or me were particularly life threatening apparently. Although you lost enough blood to go into cardiac arrest—” Steve thinks he could put it nicer but there’s no point sugar coating it “the doctors did put you in a coma so you could recover but you were out less than a week, nowhere near nine months” Steve rolled his eyes at Dustin’s shithead antics.

“As for me, apparently the bats had some kind of venom that was rattling around long enough to cause some nerve damage and speed up this weird genetic thing I apparently have that messes with connective tissue. Now I’ve got this sweet new ride to help on the bad days but that’s about the worst of the damage ” Steve pats the armrests of his new chair, the one Jack helped him adjust to be his and not the one on loan from the hospital, and smiles in a way he hopes makes Eddie believe “bad days” will only happen some days instead of most days.

He expects Eddie to laugh at the attempted joke, or maybe crack a watery smile, But the alpha starts crying with renewed vigor.

“Is that why? Stevie is the puppy okay? How could Nancy let this happen?” Eddie gasps, reaching out to hold Steve’s face. The omega leans softly into the hold, but he’s soooo confused.

Before he can ask what the hell Nancy has to do with any of this,Jack waltzes through the doorway with a sheepish Dustin in tow. If that brat thinks that going out of his way to find Steve’s favorite nurse will get him out of trouble, he’s got another thing coming.

“Well now, sleeping beauty is awake.” Jack grins politely “I’m Jack, nice to officially meet you mister Munson.”

“Uhh, yeah, back atcha” Eddie nods

Jack ruffles Steve’s hair as she passes him on her way to Eddie’s IV line. Over the past few days She, Steve, and the others have grown close. The baby had imprinted on her as part of his pack, and the baby is part of Steve’s pack, so on and so forth until they all shared a bond. It’s nice.

She checks the levels of Eddie’s saline drip, and the numbers on the monitor that Steve can’t remember the meanings of no matter how many times it’s explained to him. Whatever they say must be good because Jack looks relaxed when she turns back to Dustin who’s haunting the entrance to the room leaning on his crutches (Steve resolutely tries not too give him pity points for the broken ankle).

“Alright kid, clear out.” she chimes,“I got to give your friend the full checkup and it’s feeding time.”

Jack clearly tacked on the last bit to get the stubborn pup to leave, and once upon a time it would have embarrassed the hell out of Steve, but it serves its purpose as Dustin turns heel and calls out that he’s going to visit Max.

Jack checks Eddie’s reflexes, then she has him push against her arms, follow a pen with his eyes, and tap her palm as she moves it around. All that good stuff to make sure Eddie’s brain still works right. Everything seems to be fine, the only exception being Eddie’s heart rate seemingly picking up when Steve takes his shirt off to feed the baby. Jack laughs under her breath when it happens though, so it must’ve been fine whatever it was.

“Alright Mr. Munson, you’re looking good. Your whole merry band still is being kept under observation otherwise I’d say you’re free to go. Do you have any questions for me?” Jack asks as she slips off the gloves she donned before she ran her tests. Eddie nods.

“When did Steve have the baby?” What?

“WHAT?” Steve crows, Jack’s absolutely no help as she’s too busy cackling to set the record straight. “I didn’t have a baby, Eddie!”

“But—you—You’re literally holding a baby right now big boy! And you smell like a mom!” Eddie retaliates, but he’s keeping his voice low so he doesn’t disturb said baby. That’s sweet actually.

“That’s my fault I’m afraid” Jack chuckles “he was supposed to be looking after baby nameless for me temporarily, but the little guy had other plans and decided Steve here was his new Ma. What you’re smelling and seeing right now is the result of that baby doing a very good job of convincing Steve’s body they’re his puppy”

Eddie’s mouth is hanging open on a broken hinge, Steve watches him collapse back into his bed. He would think the alpha brain dead if he wasn’t just given a clean bill of health.

“So you weren’t pregnant when we were in… you know?” Eddie prods weakly

“No, I was not knocked up when we were in the Upsidedown!” Steve shuts that line of thought down as quickly as he can, Jack might be “in the know” thanks to her job but Steve does not need his new, basically older sister, to know he did the hanky-panky with Eddie in an alternate dimension.

“Oh thank Jesus” Eddie sighs and he’s so lucky that Steve’s beginning to think he’s in love with the idiot (and that he’s a little too distracted burping the baby to smack him). “What’s the baby nameless thing about?”

Steve goes quiet for a second. Not bad quiet, just shy quiet. It’s kind of an embarrassing question to answer. Jack lets him know she’ll be right outside if he needs her, but he’s been shyly waiting for this moment and just waves her off with an appreciative look.

“He technically doesn’t have a name, before he imprinted I was only really allowed to nickname him” Steve starts “but now he’s my baby so I can name him whatever I want. I’ve had a name picked out for a while but I wanted to talk to you first. Jack’s been trying to guess the name for days now and she’s been calling him that to try to annoy me into spilling the beans” he says with a snort.

“Why did you want to talk to me first?”

“I want to name him Theodore, after you?” Steve admits but when he looks to where Eddie is propped up against his pillow the alpha sucks in a breath between his teeth. “What? What’s with the face?”

“Eddie isn’t actually short for anything, so uh it wouldn’t really be naming him after me” Eddie says hesitantly “But! But I think Theodore is a great name!” And he smiles so brightly at Steve, the omega has to kiss it off Eddie’s stupid little face.

A week later the whole group is lounging in the ward’s common room just waiting for time to pass.

The roads are back open and the town is slowly knitting itself back together. Owen’s says that his team is waiting on one more thing before they all finally can go home. The older teens haven’t said anything to the pup’s yet, they don’t want to jinx anything, but it’s looking like home might be one of the recently vacated houses for packs instead of where they lived before. Steve thinks he’ll sleep easier having everyone safe under one roof, that at least some good will come out of so much of his family being left displaced by the “quakes”.

Steve’s cozy on a squishy couch with Robin tucked against his one side, Mike and Will are tangled together on his other, he’s even got Theo napping on his chest. God it’s a far cry from the nervous buzz that thrummed under Steve’s skin at the beginning of their stint in the hospital. He basks in the calm that comes with the rest of the pups piled on top of Eddie taking a nap instead of being obnoxious. Nancy has even huddled together with Jonathan and Argyle.

It’s really nice except for one thing nagging at the back of Steve’s mind, he hasn’t seen Jack or El for a while.

“Hey Steve?” Oh, speak of the devil and all that, Steve thinks as Jack pops her head into the room. “Your adoptive dad is here looking for you.”

Steve looks at Robin then to Nancy and Jon. It’s very clear that none of them know what she’s talking about.

“I don’t have an adoptive dad?” Steve replies.

“Okay rephrase. A man, who is not Harrington Senior, and who matches your emergency contact information is at the visitor’s desk asking for his kid, who he says is you.” Jack doesn’t even get to finish her sentence before El slips into the room her dragging with her—

“Hop” Steve cries weakly, the name catching in his chest. No matter how much he blinks Hopper is still there. Will bursts from Steve’s side and launches himself at Joyce Byers, who Steve hadn’t even noticed was there, Hopper is here.

Steve somehow manages to get on his feet. Theo, the sweet angel that he is, doesn’t even fuss at the abrupt movement, instead he coos at the newcomers as if he’s confused why they haven’t started fawning over him yet.

Steve is pulled into a side hug the literal second Hopper’s close enough. Steve missed him so much. He hadn’t told anyone about how in the early days of his parents leaving him home alone he would sneak over to the police chief’s trailer because he was afraid being by himself. Or about how many nights the man spent driving him to or picking him up from the hospital after Steve’s dad got too drunk. Nobody knew how confused Steve was after Starcourt, when he didn’t know how much he was allowed to grieve. But now Hop’s back, and Steve missed him.

“Please tell me I’m hallucinating the baby” Hopper laughs into Steve’s hair. He laughs like he doesn’t know how else to react, which is fair, but he also laughs like it’s the first time he’s laughed in a while so Steve doesn’t really mind.

Very helpfully, Mike pipes up with “Thats Theo.” At the same time Dustin says “That’s Steve and Eddie’s puppy.”

Steve barely has enough time to playfully warn Eddie to run before it’s too late.

——————————————————————————————————

Sorry for the wait, I wasn’t really planing on continuing this so it to a while to figure out what I wanted to do.This is going up on my Ao3 as a one shot at some point by the way, so maybe look out for that I guess. I hope you enjoyed!

[gtgbabie0]

{Roomate!Vi giving you what you deserve}

!!-18//MDNI-!! //CW// cheating (reader) slightly pervy vi fingering slight dumbification

Violet hates your girlfriend, no, like really hates your girlfriend. It’s stupid, if she’s being honest with herself. There was no actual sense to her hatred, hell she’s never even met the damn women! It’s just jealousy. An ugly feeling that has managed to root itself deep inside her, making her want to snap and just take you for herself— so well, she did.

You deserved better then whatever she was giving you, which clearly wasn’t a lot from the way you’re constantly whining and bitching, and the fact you’re currently taking three of Violets fingers— stuffed deep inside your wet cunt like you were made for it, practically swallowing them up.

Violet had grown sick and tired of listening to you go on and on about how she’s such a ‘horrible girlfriend’, how she ‘stood you up’ or has been ‘ignoring you’ or whatever other bullshit you complain about it. Honestly it was a daily thing.

But you’ve been extra snappy recently, so goddamn annoying with your little taunts and those lingering gazes— practically begging her to bend you over. All you needed was a good fuck and Violet was more than happy to help you out, kinda.

“What time is she picking you up again?” She says it all too casually as if she isn’t currently knuckle deep inside you— fucking you into her mattress with just her fingers.

Your lips part then close, struggling to find the words— if any at all. Nothing comes out just a jumble of needy moans as you try to close your thighs around her hand, writhing against her bed, hands fisting at her bedsheets.

“Can’t remember, huh? You even know what day it is, pretty girl?— or can you not speak, hmm?” She coos, grinning wolfishly, her soft blue eyes darkening as she curls her fingertips up against that spongy spot that makes you see double— head tipping back against her pillows, hips grinding up against her hand clumsily. “My fingers feel that good doll?”

It was a sight, seeing you all spread out for her— not your girlfriend, her. Violet was half tempted to get it on video, show it to your soon to be ex (she’s sure it isn’t gonna last long after this) how you liked to be fucked. Because hell if Vi hasn’t perfected the art of your body down to the fucking T within the span of five minutes.

“Nuh—yes!— just— ughh!” you give up trying to form a sentence. A low chuckle rumbles out from Vi’s chest as her free hand pushes on your thigh, roughly, spreading you back open with a tut— watching in awe as she stretches your greedy hole open with her digits, disappearing inside your wet heat, slick dribbling between her fingers, soaking her hand.

Oh and she so smug about it, and you would fight back, really!— tell her to shut the hell up or something if your mind wasn’t so mushed up by pleasure— but it was and here you are drooling into the pillows and Vi is drunk off of the picture you’re making.

"Look at you, getting fucked silly just from my fingers. Imagine if I had my strap in you, baby.” She leans down, brushing her nose against your flushed cheek, breath fanning across your jaw. “I'd fucking destroy your pretty pussy." her voice low, rough, a filthy promise, a thought that hasn’t left her mind since that time she ‘accidentally’ walked in on you showering— a thought she’s fucked herself to more then once during sleepless nights.

You think you might just let her— sure it’s really messed up, your girlfriend is literally blowing up your phone right now, buzzing on Violets bedside table— waiting outside your apartment and well… you’re too busy getting fucked dumb by your roommates fingers, hitting you in places you need, filling you up. You hate to admit it but you’ve never been so wet before, her sticky bedsheets a testament to that.

“Vi— Vi, Ahh— uh—uh!” Your hips canter eagerly, trying to keep up with her hand as her thumb rubs circles against your hard clit— marvelling at the way you’re desperately trying to grind your cunt against her hand, chasing after what you needed— your gummy walls clenching around her, squelching obscenely.

“Yeah? Bout to cum already—” then she’s pulling back, slick digits slipping out of your messy cunt as that hot tightness in your tummy dwindles away into a devastating nothing, and you swear you could start sobbing— “Girlfriends’ calling babe.” She nods over to your phone with a twinkle in her blue eyes.

“Wha?— god— I don’t— I don’t fucking care!” It’s a pathetic noise that leaves your lips as your hand darts down to try and grab at hers, guiding it back to your throbbing pussy, “Just— please put em back in Vi, please, please.” You mewl, tears trickling down your cheeks.

And she’s half tempted to— rough fingertips teasing along your sticky folds— if it wasn't for the violent banging at your front door that sounds out through the apartment, ripping through this little moment and you can’t help but whine— frustrated. “Well that’s a shame isn’t it baby? Have fun tonight.” A teasing smirk plastered across her lips. God, you hated her.

You spend the night with uncomfortably wet panties, nothing but Violet on your mind— Violet who spends her own night finger fucking her cunt, the same fingers that were in you. What a damn mess you’ve gotten into.

[4linos]

love unmasked.

lee minho x 9th member

synopsis: despite months of quiet affection, you and minho decide to share your secret with the group. the members' reactions are a mix of laughter, teasing, and understanding.

wc: 1637

It had been months since you and Minho first started dating, and in that time, you'd grown accustomed to keeping your relationship under wraps. Every stolen glance, every quiet conversation, every brief, secret touch felt like a dangerous game you were playing with fate. You weren't sure why you were so nervous about the secret getting out, perhaps it was because you weren’t sure how the other members would react, or maybe because your connection with Minho was something so precious that you didn’t want to risk tainting it with anyone's judgment.

But the more time passed, the harder it became to keep your feelings hidden, especially when it came to moments like tonight.

It was your one-year anniversary with Minho, and even though the excitement of the day filled you with joy, there was also that familiar tension hanging in the air. You had spent the evening out together, just the two of you, laughing and sharing small, loving moments, nothing overly dramatic or showy, but everything felt perfect in its simplicity. As you made your way back to the dorms, you were still laughing, your cheeks warm from the affectionate pecks Minho had given you.

But just as you rounded the corner of the hallway, a familiar figure appeared from the end of the corridor. Hyunjin. You froze, a sudden wave of panic flooding you. Minho’s hand brushed against your back in reassurance, but your hearts raced in sync.

“Hey, where have you two been? You missed dinner,” Hyunjin asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. You could tell he was suspicious, but not entirely sure what was going on.

You took a deep breath, summoning all the acting skills you could muster. “Oh, we… we stayed back at the company for some extra practice,” you explained, trying to keep your voice calm. “Minho was helping me with some last-minute choreography for the comeback.”

Hyunjin glanced at you both, still trying to read the situation, but ultimately shrugged. “Whatever Minho says, I guess. Just don’t keep me waiting again. You two better not be doing anything weird…”

The tension in your chest eased, and you gave him a small, nervous smile. “Promise we won’t.”

Hyunjin let out a disinterested hum and walked past you, disappearing into his room.

You both knew the day would come when you would have to tell the others, but you weren’t sure if you were ready.

-

The next morning, practice for the comeback was intense, everyone pushing themselves harder, giving it their all. During a brief break, you found yourself sitting next to Minho. He glanced over at you, a look of quiet understanding passing between you two.

He nodded towards the group. “It’s time. We can’t keep this secret anymore.”

You hesitated for just a moment, the knot in your stomach tightening. But deep down, you knew Minho was right. It had to happen. And as much as it terrified you, it would be a relief to stop hiding.

You cleared your throat, catching the attention of the others. Everyone turned towards you, curiosity flickering in their eyes.

“Minho,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. “Can you tell them?”

Minho didn’t hesitate. He looked around at the members, his gaze briefly meeting yours before he spoke without sugarcoating. “Y/N and I have been dating for a year now.”

The room went silent. The members blinked at him, the words hanging in the air like an unexpected punch. Then, Seungmin suddenly burst into laughter, his face lighting up with amusement. “What?” he gasped, wiping a tear from his eye. “It was so obvious!”

The rest of the members exchanged confused looks. Some were surprised by the news, others confused by Seungmin’s reaction. “What do you mean, ‘obvious’?” you asked, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Seungmin grinned and leaned back. “Well, remember that time I woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water? I saw you two in the kitchen kissing. You said you were just having a midnight snack, but… uh, your lipstick was smudged, Y/N, and Minho had some around his lips too.”

You buried your face in your hands, mortified. Minho rolled his eyes, nudging you softly. “I told you so.”

You groaned in embarrassment, your face burning bright red. Seungmin’s laugh didn’t make it any better, but his teasing only made the situation more surreal. “I mean, you two were pretty obvious. And let’s not even talk about how you guys act around each other. Like, seriously, we all knew.”

Minho chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, Seungmin.”

As everyone processed the news, Hyunjin suddenly spoke up, a light chuckle escaping his lips. “Honestly, I didn’t know,” he admitted. “But now that you mention it, I should’ve figured it out after last night. You two lied about staying late for practice, didn’t you?”

You winced, feeling caught. But you could only shrug sheepishly. “Yeah… we were kind of trying to avoid getting caught.”

Chan, ever the level-headed leader, broke in with a smile, trying to ease the mood. “I’m happy for you two, really. But you have to be careful. You’re both in the public eye. It’s cute, though. You two are adorable together.”

The warmth from his words settled in your chest, and even though you were still a little nervous, you felt relieved. It was done. Everyone knew.

There were no more secrets. And as awkward as it might be at times, it felt good to be able to hold Minho’s hand without the weight of hiding it from the members.

-

That night, after practice, the group gathered in the dorm living room to wind down, everyone sitting around on the couches, catching their breath after the intense rehearsal. The air felt lighter now that the secret was out, and you found yourself sitting next to Minho, your hands brushing occasionally, and not having to hide it.

Seungmin, ever the mischievous one, had a big grin plastered on his face. “Honestly, I’m still kind of shocked you two managed to hide it for so long,” he said, leaning back on the couch with his arms crossed. “You guys were so obvious. The kitchen kiss? Please.”

You felt your cheeks redden again, but Minho just rolled his eyes, clearly used to Seungmin’s teasing by now. “You could’ve kept that to yourself, you know.”

“I couldn’t resist,” Seungmin said, laughing. “But seriously, I’m glad you two are together. You’ve always been so… cute, I guess,” he added, shrugging as though the comment wasn’t that big of a deal.

The rest of the members chimed in, and what followed was a wave of lighthearted teasing, but it was clear no one was upset or bothered by the news. In fact, they seemed mostly excited. Chan was the first to speak seriously.

“I’m happy for you both,” he said, offering you both an understanding smile. “Just be careful with how you handle things in public. You know how fans and the media can be. But other than that, just make sure you take care of each other.”

“Yeah,” Changbin added with a smirk. “We don’t need any extra distractions. Especially during comeback preparation. Focus on that first, yeah?”

Minho nodded. “We will. We’re not letting this get in the way of our work.”

As the night went on, the group shifted back to their usual rhythm. The teasing and congratulations continued, but it was clear that everyone accepted your relationship. It felt strange, in a way like a new chapter had opened and things were slightly different, but also not. You were still a part of Stray Kids, still the same group of people who’d spent years together, and nothing about that had changed.

-

The next few days at practice felt different, but in a good way. There was a new sense of ease between you and Minho, a quiet acknowledgment of your relationship in the air. Still, the dynamic of the group hadn’t shifted. Everyone was still working hard toward the comeback, and despite the occasional teasing from Seungmin, things felt balanced.

But the true test came the next evening when you and Minho were in the kitchen alone, preparing your dinner after a long day of rehearsals. The members had already gone to bed, and it was just the two of you, standing in the quiet kitchen, your hands brushing as you passed ingredients to each other.

Minho opened the fridge and pulled out some fruit, then handed you a bowl. “I’m glad things are normal, even after all of that,” he said quietly, his voice soft. “I was worried it might get awkward.”

You smiled at him, heart warming at his words. “Yeah, me too. But I think everyone just wants us to be happy. Even if it means they have to deal with Seungmin’s constant teasing.”

Minho laughed, a low, soft sound. “I think I can deal with Seungmin. As long as you’re happy.”

You stepped closer to him, resting your hand on his arm. “I am. And I’m happy we’re doing this together.”

Minho’s eyes softened, and he gently pulled you into him for a quick hug. “Me too,” he murmured, his voice steady with affection. You held onto him for a moment longer, enjoying the quiet, simple comfort of being with him without any pretense.

//

masterlist.

[a/n: i have many 9th member requests that i’m working on. i hope u all enjoy 🥰]

❌proofread

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: mentions and talk of family death

A/N: This is a bit shorter than the past couple chapters, but I hope you still like it!

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P12: Bittersweet

“You did all of this… for me?” 

The question floats off my lips as my eyes dart around the room. It’s the same fluttery feeling I got in my chest when Matt showed me his handmade gift for Mia—expect this feels more intense. 

“I… yeah.” Chris voices, his hand dropping mine as he moves over towards the bed. He shuffles the different items around, pushing them to make an open space and patting the bed. 

My brows wrinkle together, warmth crawling up my cheeks as I take everything in. He did this for me. A box of legos, cookies, and chocolate—all my favorite things. How did he even know?

Wait.

How did he even know?

“This is sweet, but how much have you been snooping?” I question, sitting down as he lets out an awkward laugh. My hands run over the blanket, it feels softer than usual, almost as if it’s been freshly washed. 

“No, no. I wasn’t snooping. Well, not more than I already have. I asked Matt, ‘cause you know… he kinda owed me.” he laughs. 

My toes curl as my stomach flutters. 

He asked Matt about me. He wanted to do something sweet. 

Even if it was out of spite, it still made me feel so warm. 

___

It should be awkward. There should be some sort of lingering tension, but there isn’t. 

Things have been flowing effortlessly. Even when we fall into a pause of silence, it’s not uncomfortable, it’s peaceful. 

We work together putting the legos in place. Slowly, each piece makes the object appear similar to the cherry blossom tree displayed on the front of the box. The direction pamphlet sits on the bed in front of us, our knees touching as we hunch over and build the small object. 

“What’s your favorite animal?” Chris asks. 

The questions have been mumbled every couple of minutes. I don’t mind though. Even when some of them seemed stupid, like when he asked me what my favorite size of pizza is. 

Apparently his favorite is mini pizzas. There’s always a stash in the freezer and the last time Matt took one, Chris refused to do anything with him for a week—even if it was taking out the garbage and meant Matt would be helping him. Chris only caved once Matt bought him more mini pizzas. 

Stupid questions, but they were fun. 

“Hmmm…” I start to think. What is my favorite animal? I can’t remember the last time someone even bothered to ask. I can’t even remember the last time I tried to think of answering these types of questions for myself. “I think dogs? I mean, I love dogs since you can actually have them as pets, you know?” I say. 

Chris nods, humming in acknowledgement. “Not a bad answer, you’re the same as Matt.” he points out. I smile at the mention of Matt. It’s heartwarming how much Chris brings him up, how much he truly knows about his brother. 

“What about you? Do you have a favorite?” I interrogate, my fingers snapping another piece in place. 

“I like deer,” he answers. 

My face twists at his response. Deer? I don’t know what I expected, but definitely not deer. They seemed too gentle, too feminine. Most guys my age wouldn’t say deer unless it was followed by an explanation of how they loved hunting. 

And Chris definitely didn’t hunt. 

“Really?” I ask, wincing as my voice comes out higher pitch than intended. 

Chris laughs at my shocked expression, nodding as he goes into more detail. “Really. I just like ‘em. My dad showed me this video of a baby deer once—the thing looked like it was on crack from how it was bouncing around. Him and all my family agreed that it was me in another universe.” 

My teeth clench into my lip. The thought of Chris bouncing around with excitement is hard to picture, but I guess not impossible. Maybe that’s how he used to be, before he lost his mom and his other brother. I know I used to be different—I hated that fact. 

“My dad used to compare me to this one dog in the neighborhood—this scruffy little rat-dog.” I huff, my lips curling from the memory. I miss him. “He said it was because of my hair since it was… I don’t even know. I’d play hard and get it all sorts of fucked up.” 

The thought of my dad makes something inside me sink with a heavy weight. Everytime I try to recall his face, I can only picture how he looked in the one picture framed on top of my dresser. It’s like his memory is fading, his face blurring as I try to recall certain moments. 

“Do you…” Chris hesitates, his fingers fiddling with a lego piece. “Do you still miss him?” he asks, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard him speak before. 

Nodding, I let out a strangled hum of affirmation. “Yeah—I, yeah. It’s weird. I know it’s been years since I lost him, but it’s so… I don’t know. Every memory I’ve had with him—it’s all I’ll ever have. I think that’s what hurts the most.” I say, tugging my lip in between my teeth as I feel my body slug with disappointment. 

A sudden warmth callusing over my knee makes my head turn. I look over to see Chris, his eyes gleaming onto me as he spares a sympathetic smile. 

His fingers slowly buffer over the fabric of my clothes, his touch getting lighter as he lets out a deep sigh. “I get that. I’m trying to come to terms with it. Honestly, it still doesn’t seem real.” he guffs. 

His eyes drift to my lap. I watch as his cheeks hollow, his tongue prodding from the inside of his mouth as his presence gets lost in thought. 

“Tell me about them.” I remark. 

Shaking his head, Chris opens his mouth to respond, closing it before any words can escape. I reach my hand out, balancing it over his as the weight rests on my knee. My eyes blink into his intently. “It’s one of my biggest regrets. I wish I never let any of those memories die. You don’t have to tell me, but—”

“Well,” Chris starts, biting his lip as his brows furrow. I squeeze his hand reassuringly, keeping my gaze focused on him. He seems to fight the urge to say anything, but a deep sigh as he looks towards the ceiling makes my spine straighten as I give him my attention fully.  

“I… I don’t know where to even start.” he mentions, his lip quivering before he pulls it between his teeth. 

My skin pulses as I lean further towards him. I collapse my head onto his shoulder, peeling my gaze away from him in hopes of helping his anxiety ease. “There’s no pressure.” I mutter. 

The slight shift of his hand on my knee leaves me bathing in anticipation. He turns his hand over, interlocking our fingers, sighing as the words begin to spill out of his mouth. 

“I mean, my mom is–was everything to me. I’d hug her in the morning, hug her at night—even though most kids our age don’t do that shit, I—I don’t know. When I love people, I want them to know.” he explains. 

God. He’s so sweet—a word I thought contradicted his personality at first, but now I know the truth. And the truth is he’s perfect. He’s just hurt—just a little lost, confused even. 

He reminds me of myself. Both in good and bad ways. He seems to close people off, quick to pull away before he has the chance to lose someone again. 

There’s a certain bitterness from his attitude that resonates with me. 

“That’s really beautiful.” I say, softly rolling my lips together as I watch his nose twitch, his eyes drifting to my lap. “I… I used to be the same way too. I’d always run to my dad the second he got home from work, giving him the biggest hug I could and begging him to never let go.” 

Chris lets his eyes float back up to me. His face falls, his eyes glazing over as he blinks quickly. I feel myself sink into reality, the sudden urge to cry climbing over me and pulling my body to slump with defeat. “I don’t remember the last time I hugged him, but I—I really wish I did.” I mumble, my voice wombling as I swallow thickly. 

“Hey,” he husks, looking into my eyes with a comforting expression etched on his face. “You don’t have to remember the last time. Just tell me about all the times you do remember. I… I wanna listen. I don’t think I’m ready to talk anymore, but I’m ready—I wanna listen.” he whispers. 

My heart twists in my chest from his words—words I’ve wanted to hear since I lost my dad in the first place, words that should’ve been said by my mom or my brother, but nobody ever wanted to hear it. I couldn’t understand why, all I could understand was that it hurt—and it still hurts. 

But his soft eyes make it hurt a little less. The grip he has on my hand clutches just a little bit tighter, the comforting reassurance making the words stumble out of my mouth effortlessly. 

“Well,” I trail, voyaging off into details of him, letting myself dig deeper into my memories. 

Half the words that spill from my lips seem new—moments I didn’t even know I remembered until they burst through my lips from a sudden flash of a memory. 

Each story trails to another, each moment making my heart feel a little more full. 

His eyes darting into mine don’t make me anxious, they make me feel heard—understood. 

My lips fall together as I breathe through my nose. The rambling of my words seems to make my ears burn, my cheeks warming up as I stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Sorry.” I mumble, biting on the tip of my tongue lightly. 

Chris shakes his head swiftly, clutching my hand a little more as his eyes glaze over me with a gentle glow. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, scooting closer as he wraps both his hands around mine and tugging it towards his chest. 

“Tell me more.”

[karikarasuno]

part one | part two | part three | part four

law is a grown man. with a hard job. a tiring one. exhausting even.

so he shouldn’t be embarrassed that he fell asleep on your couch watching your favorite movie like an old fucking man. nor should he be embarrassed that you woke him up mid snore with sleepy eyes and an amused grin.

“you sleeping over, sleepyhead or should i send you home?”

his mouth is dry and he’s comfortably full. and was having the best dreamless sleep. the best sleep he’s had in a while, really.

“I should go home,” he mutters, his voice hoarse from lack of use. he stretches and his spine cracks. you chuckle and smack him on the shoulder lightly before standing up and holding out your hands to help him up. he slaps his palms against yours, doing most of the work getting up but putting enough weight on you so that you think you’re helping.

“i guess this is goodbye,” you say, fingers toying with law’s expectantly. but law is still a little high. and more than a little sleepy. so when he looks back at this moment he can’t help but cringe.

he should have kissed you. you wanted him to kiss you. he wanted to kiss you. but he hugged you instead. one-armed and a touch awkward.

“oh! ok,” you muffle it into his hoodie, but he doesn’t remember responding. not until the next morning when he’s showering away the grogginess before work.

oh, he’s an idiot.

so yeah maybe over the last few days he’s been avoiding you. but he also has been busy. he had multiple surgeries. all very difficult to do. all successful. he shouldn’t beat himself over a kiss. or lack thereof.

he hasn’t been home for more than an hour before there’s a knock on his door. he's expecting company so he doesn't think twice before swinging the door open. but he expects cora to be standing there or even his sister. neither of which are taking up the space in front of his open door. instead you stand there with your hands on your hips and a very determined look on your face.

"you're avoiding me," you say rather bluntly. no hi or hello or how are you doing.

"i'm not," he argues, even though he is.

"you totally are," you point an accusatory finger at him, but he can't tell if you're actually upset with him or not.

"no, i've been busy this week," he shrugs trying his hardest to be nonchalant.

"oh so this has nothing to do with us making out in my kitchen or the fact that you thanked me for it when you left?"

he cringes again. what possessed him to thank you he'd never know. all he knows is that he's slightly mortified that he did. so fine, he's been avoiding you.

"you know, we don't have to make this weird," you continue, talking animatedly with your hands. "i mean we were really starting to become friends so if us kissing made things awkward then we don't have to do it anymore."

anymore. as if the two of you have been kissing this whole time.

"like really, we can forget it ever happened. but if the kiss was bad and that's why you're ignoring me just lie because then i'd have to start avoiding you and it will turn into this whole fucking thing."

he never realized how much you rambled. words are falling from your lips so quickly that he can only get the gist of what you're saying, but even that registers as ridiculous to him. of course the kiss wasn't bad.

"if you didn't like that kiss it would be such a huge blow to my ego because if i'm being honest that was such a great kiss for me, but if you hated it-"

"stop," he interrupts because at no point does it sound like you're going to run out of air. "i didn't hate the kiss. it was a good kiss."

"so then why...?"

"just come inside," he says, annoyed that his ac is being wasted by the open door.

and he doesn't register the way your eyes widen and your jaw drops when he closes the door behind you and pushes you against it. he's just trying to gather his thoughts. he's not trying to make a move. not really anyway. but with his hand splayed out across your stomach and your back firmly against the wood, he notices that you've finally stopped talking.

he sighs with relief.

"i don't regret what we did. i just have been feeling weird about what i said," he admits, almost wishing that he didn't.

"it was sweet," you grin, head tilting to the side.

"it was..." he trails off, electing not to even finish the sentence. "anyway i enjoyed the kiss so you can stop freaking out over it."

"how much?" your grin is growing smug and he hates how attractive he finds it.

"what?"

"how much did you enjoy the kiss?" now your grin is absolutely shit-eating.

"enough to do it again," he confesses. he sees the way your eyes light up, hell he feels the way your excitement builds when you adjust beneath his hand. the hand that he should’ve moved but decided subconsciously not to because he also enjoys the way you feel against him.

“so what are you waiting for then?” your heads cocks to the side and you look up at him with flirty eyes as your tongue swipes across your bottom lip.

“is that what you want?” he steps closer to you, his socked feet touching the toe of your shoes. his hand presses more firmly against your stomach and he watches the way your head thuds against his door.

everything was normal two seconds ago. there was no heat in his home. no tension pulling his muscles taut. but now he’s drawn to you in unexplainable ways. he’s going to kiss you. he has the choice but the way you’re looking at him makes him question if the decision really was ever his.

“come on then,” you whisper, hands sliding up his arms until your hands lock behind his neck, “kiss me.”

you don’t tug him down. you try to but law decides its easier to lift you off the floor so that you come nose to nose with each other. he likes the way you gasp when he uses his body to press you against the door again. he especially likes the way he can feel the exhale of your shock tickle his lips.

“fine,” he says just before his lips meet yours. he remembers kissing you the first time but because of his high everything was a little muddy. the memory tinged with just a bit of fog. like an overcast day.

this kiss though is going to be seared into his mind. you whimper when he kisses you. did you do that last time?

your hands are so insistent as you tug him closer. his tongue is already in your mouth so he doesn’t know how much closer he can really be. but you’re kinda desperate. for him.

it makes his head reel. and when you tug on his hair, the pressure on his scalp makes him groan. fuck, he really wants you. how you could ever think he didn’t like kissing you was beyond him. he’s already hard for christ’s sake.

“we should go to my room.” he hopes you agree. prays for it. because if you keep kissing him like this his knees will eventually give out.

“ok,” you respond with your lips still touching his. “i’d like that.”

he knows you expect him to put you down with the way your legs start to unhook from around him, but he tightens his hold on your hips. reluctant to let you go.

it’s been a while since law was able to touch and be touched like this. so the idea of letting you go now, when you were already so willing to be in his arms, will actually devastate him. a feeling he will have to reevaluate later.

instead he carries you off to his bedroom, not giving you the time or space to look around. not that there’s much to see given how painfully boring his home is. he’s a victim of millennial grey.

he tosses you onto his bed and he watches you bounce slightly before he’s climbing over you. his lips find your neck where he starts to place open mouthed kisses across sensitive skin. you arch into him and he really likes the way your breasts press into him as you do.

“you have a four poster bed?” the question rattles in his brain uselessly until he pulls away to see you gazing up at his bed frame.

“yeah… it was my parents before they decided to upgrade their bedroom furniture,” he says like it’s obvious before moving back down to kiss your neck again, this time trailing wet kisses across your collarbone.

“it would be so pretty if you draped those white thin curtains over it. you know the ones?”

he’s growing frustrated when he looks back up at you and you’re still looking at frame. almost as if you’re already envisioning it.

he tilts your head back towards him by pressing his pointer finger to your chin. your eyes slide over to him and he can tell you’re a little dazed. but he’s not sure if it’s because of him or his fucking bed frame.

“can you focus?” he grits out, eyes glaring into yours. you blink up at him, lips stretching into a salacious smile.

“on you?” you ask, very clearly knowing the answer but taunting him anyway.

“on me, exactly.” but law refuses to wait for an answer from you. he’s hard and his hands are finally on you and he can still taste the remnants of cranberry juice on your tongue. you’re driving him crazy.

he kisses you hard with purpose. the purpose to mostly shut you up. but to also keep your attention on him. he craves your attention. maybe he’s deprived.

none of it matters though because you whine into his mouth when he sucks your tongue. your hands come up to fist his t-shirt and your hips start seeking friction against the thigh he placed between your legs.

his hands push your top over your breasts, the fabric bunching beneath your chin, and exposing the poor excuse of a bra you have on. it’s just thin lace that does nothing to conceal how hard your nipples are. but it still decorates your chest in a way that has him salivating.

law dips his head down to press a kiss to your sternum, dragging his lips across your chest until his lips hover over one of your nipples. you wiggle relentlessly when he doesn’t do anything, instead he rests his nose against the top of your breast and he inhales the smell of your skin.

“don’t tease me,” you complain, nails dragging through his hair in an attempt to get him to do something.

“i’m not teasing,” he replies, his lips ghosting over your hard peak and smiling to himself when your hips stutter where you’re grinding against his leg.

“you are,” you whine, and when he glances up at you your head is thrown back and you’re trying to take measured breaths through your mouth. good, he needs you focused only on him.

“no,” his lips wrap around your nipple and you moan out so pretty for him. his dick twitches.

“i’m savoring,” he emphasizes before sucking your nipple into his mouth and dampening the transparent fabric with his spit. you moan out his name and his skin goosebumps at the sound. he’s thought of this more times than he’d care to admit but it dulls in comparison to the reality.

you’re clingy. and he short circuits at the realization. for all your quippy little comments and playful mocking you have little to no resolve right now. you’re putty in his hands. and your body is positively begging for him not to stop.

“law,” your voice is wispy and distant. your eyes are screwed shut and your lips are parted and you want him. need him. he can just tell.

he moves down your body and your hands follow. always touching him. he can’t get enough. he takes off your shoes rougher than he intends but you’re eager. so eager you start working your pants down your thighs.

“it matches,” he exhales after you kick off your pants and try reaching for him again.

“huh?” you scoot closer to the edge of the mattress where he’s standing, seeking him out again. his hand drifts between your thighs, fingers carefully dragging across your covered center. the lace of your panties is the same as your bra. the hair on his arms bristle when it occurs to him that you did this on purpose.

your hand finds his shirt, intent on pulling him towards you again, but instead he drops to his knees. law spreads your legs wide, massaging your thighs as he tosses your calves over his shoulders.

he kisses the inside of each knee, luxuriating in the feel of your skin against his lips. it really has been too long. when he looks up at you, you’re propped on your elbows staring down at him. your pupils are blown out and your shirt is still tucked beneath your chin and you look so expectant.

he doesn’t miss the way your hands ball up his comforter as he kisses down your thighs. or the way you bite your lip when his breath fans over your pussy.

law’s grip tightens on your thighs the closer his lips get to tasting you. he’s trying so hard to be normal but he finds it difficult when he can see how wet you are through your panties.

he slips his fingers beneath the edge of your underwear, sliding it off to the side. he groans at the sight. unintentionally. he takes two fingers and spreads you apart, the contact has your hips rolling into him.

you’re so responsive. especially when he dips two fingers into your entrance and drags your slick over your clit. he does that a few more times, watching as you clench around nothing every time he pulls them out.

“you say you’re not a tease,” you start, whispering because your voice is all breath at this point, “but it’s really starting to feel like you’re lying.”

he chuckles against your inner thigh, entertained. “i’d apologize but this view is too pretty not to appreciate.”

“i think you’d appreciate it better if you actually did something,” you breathe, voicing ticking up with impatience.

“and what would that something be?” he asks, fingertips resting at your entrance but refusing to go in further. he’s having fun. more fun than he’s had in a long time.

“something like this,” you say, reaching between your own thighs to move his fingers out of the way. it’s the last thing he expects you to do. to finger yourself right in front of his face. but he stares as you pump your fingers in and out with practice. they’re considerably smaller than his yet you still roll your hips as you meet each gentle thrust. you still moan in relief. you still sigh his name.

“move,” now he’s the impatient one. he can’t bear the sight anymore. he needs to satisfy you. so badly he swears his skin starts vibrating.

he removes your hand like it’s nothing, slipping your fingers into his mouth to clean them off. you gasp in surprise but he’s not really thinking anymore. it’s all just instinct.

he licks between your folds, groaning at your taste. you’re so wet, impossibly so. his eyes fall shut and he truly does savor you. he swallows you down over and over, his lips wrapping around your clit as your hips begin to circle.

“oh, law, you’re so good at that,” your hand finds his hair and a moan of surprise slinks up his throat at your praise. he needs to hear you say it again.

law returns his fingers to you. not toying with you this time. he hooks his fingers exactly the way you did a few moments ago. and you cry out, fingers curling in his hair.

“mmm just like that.” you’re still propped up on your elbows but your chin is resting against your chest and you can barely keep your eyes open as you watch him. your voice is soft and whiny and your movements start to become frantic.

“shit shit shit.” he’s pretty sure he’s leaking into his boxers. he speeds up and your noises increase in response.

your mouth is absolutely filthy. you beg and swear and ramble. it washes over him in waves, molten lust coursing through his veins.

“m’gonna cum, oh my-.” you collapse onto his bed as you come around his fingers and into his mouth. your thighs snap around his head and it muffles your pleas. but he doesn’t stop. not until he feels you go boneless around him. your walls the only thing still tremoring around his fingers as your breaths leave your lungs in satisfied wheezes.

he’s so hard it hurts, yet seeing you like this almost makes him feel like he got off too. he kisses his way back up your body. his lips soaked in your orgasm.

your hands are weak and shaky as you loop your fingers through his belt loops. somehow still wanting more from him.

“let’s take a second,” he gently wraps his fingers around your wrist to stop you as he pecks your neck and cheek.

he would stay in this syrupy afterglow with you forever. he could keep you in these sheets for hours. that’s what he wants. it’s what he craves. but just like everything in his life nothing is ever convenient.

“kiss me again,” you plead.

but his lips never touch yours. there’s three loud knocks on his door. cora’s voice slips through the cracks.

“no,” he jumps off of you, searching his pockets for his phone. “fuck, i forgot my siblings were coming over.”

“what?!” you recover quickly, covering yourself with your hands as if you got caught by them. “that’s not something you forget!”

you’re scolding him. “you distracted me!” he retaliates and your mouth opens and then promptly shuts.

“that’s fair,” you ultimately reply.

he pulls his phone from his back pocket and opens his doorbell camera app.

“why are my parents here?” his voice is cold, drenched in his shock.

“oh my god, i cannot meet your parents like this! your brother was one thing,” you shuffle off the bed and onto the floor. “what do we do?”

“get dressed,” he tosses you your pants as he quickly adjusts himself in his. “i just have to think of something to say.”

“i came over for a cup of sugar?” you offer as you stick your legs into bottoms.

“ok no,” he rolls his eyes, “firstly that doesn’t happen in real life-,”

“it totally does.”

“and second, they’re never gonna believe that.”

“why not?” and you pout.

“because the likelihood of me owning sugar is very low,” he answers tearing his eyes away from your bottom lip. you’re starting to become a real problem for him.

“jeez, no smoking, no sugar. what are you? Mormon?” you try to fix your hair but you only kind of make it worse.

“yes,” he says, monotone and staring blankly at you.

“really?”

“no.” he laughs to himself.

“jerk,” you push him but not hard enough for him to budge.

“let’s just go,” he tries to tug you out of his room once your decent.

“no way, i am just gonna sneak out the back and cut across our lawns.”

“you can’t be serious.” he doesn’t see the problem.

“law, i refuse to meet your entire freaking family in pajamas and having just come all over your face. you really expect me to greet your mom like that?!”

well now that he thinks about it. he can still smell you on his face. and all he can think about when he looks at you is how pretty you look freshly fucked. maybe you should sneak out the back.

“i’m too old for this shit,” he shakes his head and unlocks the sliding glass door in his bedroom.

“i promise I’ll make it up to you.” you lean up to kiss him chastely but not wasting much time before you slip out the door and dart across his lanai.

the doorbell rings out loud and sharp. he doesn’t have the time to watch you go unfortunately.

“one second!” he yells out running to his bathroom to splash water on his face and wash his hands before jogging to the front door.

“what took you so long?” cora eyes him like he knows exactly what took him so long. but that’s impossible. his brother is just a menace.

“i was in the bathroom,” he lies. his sister bullies her way inside first, headphones on and texting furiously. next his parents walk in holding bags for dinner. it looks like enough food to feed ten families if he’s being honest.

“hi, sweetie.” his mom taps his cheek with her hand and he internally cringes.

“son,” his dad nods and claps him on the shoulder.

cora lingers though. he sizes law up before stepping over the threshold, leaning in close as he says “i saw her run out the back.”

law side eyes him, but says nothing.

“you scoundrel.”

[harrywavycurly]

You Should Probably Hang Up: A Long Hair Harry Blurb✨

CW: Angst, drinking, language

AN: I got this idea from the song You should probably hang up by the Nightly and it’s been sitting in my head for a while so enjoy some long haired Harry angst!

Tag List: @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno

Summary: Harry gets drunk and calls you at 3 in the morning✨

“Oh f’uckin hell.” Harry groans as he tries to open the main door of your apartment, the one that leads him to the set of stairs that will eventually land him at your door after he somehow figures out how to climb up the three flights it takes to get there. He lets out a frustrated sigh when he tugs on the door handle one more time just to find it really is locked making him pat his back pockets for his keyring that has a set of keys to both your apartment door and this door mixed in with ones to his own house.

“What the fuck is go’n on?” He mumbles as he feels his brows pinch together while he searches the keyring for the tacky gold key for the door he’s standing in front of. When he comes up empty after the third round of looking at every key he lets out a frustrated sigh because he doesn’t know when or where he could’ve lost it because he swears he just used it two days ago.

He tries to dig through his fuzzy mind for the last time he saw you, surely it had to be before he left for the dinner he got invited to tonight by some up and coming producer that wanted to try to butter Harry up enough to get him to agree to working on his upcoming record. You always like to give him a proper send off that consists of a kiss and a few encouraging words when you decide to opt out of whatever event he’s rushing off to and he doesn’t see why tonight would be any different. But for the life of him he can’t remember seeing you tonight or even for the last few days and it makes his heart begin to beat faster as a weird swirl of anxiety starts to whirl around in the pit of his tummy. Coming to the conclusion he has no other choice, he looks up towards the window he knows belongs to your bedroom and lets out a sigh as he pats his hand over the front of his dress pants.

“She’s go’na be so annoyed.” His words are a bit rushed and slurred as he pulls his phone from his front pocked and scrolls to your name so he can hit call. He turns around and leans his back against the door as he brings the phone up to his ear hoping you aren’t too far off in dreamland so you can still hear that god awful ringtone you have set for him and be able to answer the phone.

“Please don’t let her be too mad.” He thinks to himself as he slides the useless keyring back into his pocket while he waits for you to answer the phone.

You feel an odd vibration under your head as you roll over onto your stomach with a groan as the sound of muffled voices fills your ears. It takes you a moment to realize where the sudden disturbance to your relatively peaceful sleep is coming from, but when you slide your hand under the pillow your head in laying on you quickly find the object responsible for making you leave your lovely dream and be tossed back into reality. You don’t bother looking at the screen as you give it a frustrated few taps before the vibrating and muffled singing is put to an end by you bringing the device up to your ear.

“It’s three in the morning so you better be dead or dying.” Your voice is rough and full of sleep as your eyes close while you stay laying down with the phone pressed to the side of your face.

“M’sorry baby but m’not dead’r dying jus-”

“Harry?” Your eyes shoot open as you almost drop the phone from trying to sit up too fast, having not expected to hear his voice coming through the other end of the line. You hear him let out a laugh as you turn to look at your alarm clock on your nightstand and after rubbing your eyes a bit you can read it more clearly just to see it says three in the morning making you very aware as to why he’s calling you right now.

“Who else would it be hmmm? N’less you got yer’self another boyfriend I don’t know bout?” You let out a sigh as you run a hand through your hair while Harry jokes and chuckles at himself. “I lost my keys so ne-need to be buzzed in.” He explains with a huff making you raise an eyebrow as you toss the covers over your legs so you can climb out of bed and head for the window.

“You’re outside?”

“I am. I missed you.” You look out your window that faces the street and feel your heart drop when you spot him. He’s sitting with his back against the door with his knees bent and his hair in a messy bun letting you see his eyes are closed as you watch him lean his head back so it’s also resting against the door. He’s dressed in a suit making you assume he was at an event earlier and hasn’t been home yet.

“Harry I can’t-”

“Can’t what? Are you okay?” He asks with such concern etched in his voice it makes you have to look away from him and walk back towards your bed so you can sit on the edge of it.

“I’m fine I just-”

“Baby just buzz me in and we can talk bout it m’kay? M’a bit sleepy and want cuddles.”

“I can’t buzz you in Harry.” You try to hide the emotion in your voice by whispering your words through the phone. Harry quirks a brow and purses his lips utter confusion as he opens his eyes and looks up towards your widow.

“Are you home?” He wonders as he slowly stands up trying not to make himself dizzy in the process.

“Yes I’m home.” You close your eyes as you feel the lump begin to form in your throat at the idea of having the explain to him why you can’t just buzz him in. You hear Harry let out a sigh and you know he’s running a ring clad hand over his face and shaking his head thinking this is just you acting out due to the silly little argument you two regularly have over his lifestyle and how much he loves attending a good party rather than spending quality time with you.

“M’sorry love.” You swallow back the emotions that are building up in your throat as Harry lets out a deep sigh. “I swear m’gonna get better for you-for us jus please let me in and we can talk bout it.” He sounds so sincere you almost consider just letting him in and dealing with the emotional consequences later but you don’t, instead you just let out a shaky breath and clear your throat.

“I can’t buzz you in because we aren’t together anymore Harry.” There’s a silence on the other end of the phone making you wonder if he even heard you.

“Wh-what are you talking about? Baby I was just with you two days ago.”

“I know. You came over to drop off my keys and my box of stuff from your house.”

“N-no no that’s-we didn’t breakup we-we are meant to be together forever remember? That’s-that’s what we’ve always said.” Harry swallows thickly as he begins pacing in front of your complex door.

“It’s been a week Harry.” You say with a sniffle as you feel a few tears slide down your face. “You’re just drunk and don’t remember.”

“No this-this is a mistake.”

“You should-”

“I love you.” The words sting as you feel your bottom lip begin to quiver because you know he means it, he wasn’t the one who wanted this breakup but you couldn’t continue to be pushed aside for his social life no matter how much you loved him. “I love you so-fuck I love you so much M’sorry I’ll-I’ll stop partying and-and please baby just let me in and we can-”

“Go home Harry.” You hear his breathing get uneven through the phone and when you hear a few sniffles you know he has his own river of tears streaming down his face. “I-I can’t-”

“I’m sorry. Can’t-can’t we talk about it? Please sweetheart just let-let me in.” You take the phone away from your ear so you can let out a deep shaky breath at how hurt and confused he sounds as he begs you to just buzz him in.

“Harry please go home.” Your voice is strained as you do your best to keep your emotions in check for a few more minutes until you can get him off the phone.

“Is that what you want? You-you want me t’go home?” He asks as he turns his head up in the direction of your window as he lets the tears freely flow down his face. His eyes are puffy and bloodshot from the tears and from the drinks he had prior to showing up at your door.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You let out a deep sigh as you open your eyes and get off the bed so you can go look out the window to see if he really is going to leave and go home. “M’not gonna let this be the end of us.” It’s as if he can see you standing there looking down at him but you know he can’t with how dark it is in your room and the slight tint to the window itself.

“I don’t think you should call me anymore.” You watch his eyes go wide and for a brief second you swear they meet yours but then he’s looking away from the window and down at his shoes while you hear him let out a shaky breath.

“How can I fix this if I can’t call you?”

“You can’t fix it Harry.” You feel like your heart is breaking all over again as you have to tell him the same thing you told him when you ended the relationship a week ago. “So next time you think you want to call me just do me a favor and hang up.”

“Fuck that.”

“Harry you-”

“I can fix this-you you just have to let me try baby please just-just let me try to be better.”

“I can’t do this.” You cover your face with your hand as you turn away from the window and slide down the wall until your bottom hits the floor. “I have-have to go.” You don’t give him the chance to say anything before you end the call and slide your phone across the floor. You cover your face with your hands as a choked sob breaks out from your chest as a fresh new wave of tears falls from your eyes. You know this isn’t the last time you’re going to hear from Harry and you just hope that each time he calls it gets a little easier for you to hang up until eventually you just don’t answer him at all.

[loafysainz]

Accidentally, Forever | LN 4

lando norris x fem!reader

warn: 10000% fluff

happy reading!!!

Lando Norris and Y/N had been best friends for as long as they could remember. Their love story wasn’t one of grand confessions or slow-burn realizations—it was pure chaos, endless laughter, and the kind of bond that made people around them question how they hadn’t gotten together sooner.

Lando had spent years calling Y/N every ridiculous nickname under the sun—idiot, gremlin, monkey, even “bro” sometimes—but never anything remotely romantic. Not seriously, anyway. But now, standing in their dimly lit bedroom on their first night as husband and wife, the reality of their new titles suddenly hit them both at the same time.

“Honey?” Lando tested out, his voice soft but uncertain, like he was tasting a new flavor of ice cream.

Y/N, already sitting cross-legged on the bed in her oversized pajamas (because there was no way she was spending her first night as a married woman in some cliché silk nightgown), looked at him with wide eyes.

Lando swallowed. “Baby?”

Silence.

They stared at each other.

Then, as if a switch flipped, they both BURST into uncontrollable laughter. Lando bent over, clutching his stomach, while Y/N fell back against the pillows, gasping for air.

“NO, NO, NO,” Y/N wheezed, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “YOU DID NOT JUST CALL ME BABY.”

“I THOUGHT—” Lando tried to defend himself between fits of laughter, his face turning red. “I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE CUTE!”

“IT’S NOT!” Y/N practically screamed, smacking him repeatedly with a pillow. “YOU’RE DISGUSTING. GET AWAY FROM ME.”

“I’M YOUR HUSBAND NOW, YOU CAN’T ESCAPE!” Lando yelped, grabbing another pillow and weakly swatting her back. He wasn’t even trying to fight back properly because he was still laughing too hard.

Y/N rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow like a lifeline. “No, but actually, it’s so WEIRD hearing you say that! Like—YOU? Calling ME that?”

Lando flopped onto his back beside her, dramatically throwing an arm over his forehead. “Oh my god. We’re actually MARRIED. Like, legally.”

“Yeah,” Y/N snorted, wiping her tears. “And you just ruined our first night by calling me BABY.”

“Would you rather ‘darling’? ‘Love’? ‘Sweetheart’?” Lando turned his head towards her, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N fake-gagged. “Don’t you DARE.”

Lando smirked, shifting onto his side to face her. “What if I called you ‘Mrs. Norris’?”

Y/N’s whole body tensed. Her mouth fell open. And then she let out an earsplitting squeal before grabbing a pillow and SMACKING him in the face.

“OH MY GOD, NOOOOOO,” she shrieked, kicking her legs. “I HATE IT. I HATE IT SO MUCH.”

Lando was crying with laughter now, barely able to hold onto the pillow in his hands. “STOP HITTING ME, WIFEY.”

“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP,” Y/N yelled, still flustered beyond belief. “WHY DID I MARRY YOU? I REGRET EVERYTHING.”

“No you don’t.” Lando grinned, tossing his pillow aside and yanking her into his arms despite her weak protests. “You love me.”

Y/N let out a dramatic sigh, finally giving up as she melted into his embrace. “Unfortunately, yeah. I do.”

Lando kissed the top of her head, his voice teasing yet impossibly soft. “Good. Because I love you more.”

Y/N groaned. “Gross.”

Lando chuckled. “Better get used to it, Mrs. Norris.”

“STOPPP.”

But despite her exaggerated protests, she snuggled closer into his arms, feeling a kind of happiness she’d never known before. Because as ridiculous as he was, Lando was hers. Forever.

A comfortable silence settled between them, their laughter finally dying down, replaced by the quiet hum of contentment. Lando turned his head, looking at Y/N with the softest, most heart-melting smile she had ever seen. It was the kind of smile that felt like home, like warmth, like he had never been happier in his life.

“I’m so happy it’s you,” he whispered, voice laced with pure sincerity. “I don’t think I’d ever want to do this with anyone else.”

Y/N felt her heart squeeze, her breath hitching at the overwhelming adoration in his gaze. She didn’t even think before she smiled back, mirroring the softness in his eyes. And then, she leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss against his lips, slow and sweet, as if sealing the words he just said into her heart forever.

Lando melted instantly, his hands slipping around her waist, pulling her closer. When they pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

“I’m so, so in love with you.”

Y/N let out a small, breathless laugh, cupping his face. “Good. Because I’m so, so in love with you too.”

—

The morning after their utterly chaotic first night together, Y/N woke up earlier than Lando. She was still comfortably wrapped in his arms, his body pressed snugly against her from behind. His warmth, the soft rise and fall of his breathing, the way he unconsciously nuzzled into her—it was all so new, yet oddly familiar. 

She didn’t dare move too much, afraid of waking him up, so instead, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand and started scrolling through social media. Lando, blissfully unaware, remained buried in the crook of her neck, his face slightly smushed against her shoulder. Every now and then, he’d unconsciously tighten his arms around her, as if making sure she wouldn’t disappear. 

Y/N bit back a small smile, finding his clinginess endearing. She continued scrolling, her screen now playing an edit of Gojo Satoru—white hair, blue eyes, smug little smirk. She watched, completely engrossed, until she felt the slightest shift behind her. 

A low, playful voice broke through the quiet morning air. 

“Good morning, baby,” Lando mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, yet teasing all the same. 

Y/N, caught off guard, let out a small laugh and immediately swatted the hand that was still wrapped around her waist. 

“Ew, stop—so cringe,” she giggled, scrunching her nose. 

Lando only chuckled, his arms refusing to let go. Instead, he pulled her even closer, his lips pressing lazy kisses into her hair. His voice was huskier now, laced with amusement. “You love it. Admit it.” 

Y/N only hummed in response, too distracted by the video still playing on her phone. Lando, finally cracking open his eyes, blinked groggily at the screen in front of her. It took him a second to process before he groaned dramatically. 

“Wow. Nice. Watching edits of another guy first thing in the morning.” 

Y/N grinned before turning in his hold to face him. She looked up at him, eyes playful, and simply said, “Hehe… Gojo’s hot.” 

Lando’s reaction was immediate. With a scoff, he rolled them over, pinning her beneath him as he started attacking her face with kisses. “Excuse me? Say that again? Go on, I dare you,” he teased between kisses, his hands already trailing down to tickle her sides. 

Y/N burst into laughter, squirming under him. “No, stop—Landooo!” 

But Lando wasn’t done. He pulled back slightly, his gaze softening as he looked at her—like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen. 

“You know… do you ever just—realize how insanely beautiful you are?” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Like, what kind of dream did I wake up from to actually end up with you? I don’t even know what I did in my past life to deserve you. I must’ve saved the whole damn world or something.”

Y/N felt warmth bloom in her chest, her teasing smile faltering just a little. Instead of answering right away, she reached up, cupping his cheek gently. 

“Do you ever realize how insanely handsome you are?” she countered, voice soft. “Like… what kind of dream did I wake up from to have you?” 

Lando stared at her for a moment before groaning, dropping his head against her shoulder dramatically. “Okay, yeah, that was unfairly cute. My heart can’t handle it. I’m literally never letting you go.” 

And, well—he didn’t. At least, not for the next several minutes. 

Because one second, they were teasing and giggling like the best friends they had always been… and the next, the air shifted, laughter turning into something softer, something warmer. The way Lando’s lips brushed against her skin, the way his fingers skimmed lightly along her waist—it was slow, unhurried, almost like he was memorizing every inch of her. 

And before either of them realized it, the playful morning cuddles turned into something a lot more heated. 

—

After spending the whole day holed up in their honeymoon suite, Lando and Y/N finally decided to step out for dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. It was one of those fancy, candlelit places—low lighting, soft music playing in the background, the kind of atmosphere that practically screamed romance.  

They were seated at a cozy little corner table, the flickering candlelight making everything feel a little more… intimate. Y/N was skimming the menu when Lando, in the softest, most honey-drenched voice, leaned in slightly and asked, "What do you want to order, baby?" 

Y/N’s head snapped up instantly. 

Their eyes met. 

There was an immediate spark of amusement in both their gazes. They tried to hold it in, but their lips twitched as they struggled not to break into laughter. 

Y/N pressed her lips together, dropping her gaze slightly, while Lando squinted at her with a knowing smirk, as if daring her to say something. But neither of them spoke—they just sat there, exchanging barely contained giggles like two idiots in love. 

Finally, when the waiter arrived, Y/N took the lead, clearing her throat before speaking. With a sweet smile, she said, “My husband will have…” 

Lando froze. 

She didn’t even say anything crazy. Just husband. A completely normal term for a newly married couple. But oh, that didn’t stop his entire brain from short-circuiting on the spot. 

Poker. Face. Activated. 

He was sitting up straighter, lips pressed together, and staring ahead like he had just been personally attacked. But it was useless—because right after, his lips twitched, and before he could stop himself, a slow, completely flustered smile stretched across his face. 

Meanwhile, the waiter nodded, completely unaware of Lando’s internal crisis. Y/N, as if nothing was wrong, continued, “The Filetto di Manzo with truffle sauce, please. And for me…” She went on, placing her own order effortlessly. 

His wife—HIS WIFE—just called him her husband so casually. And not to him, but to someone else. Out loud. Publicly. 

The moment the waiter left, Lando exhaled, looking down with a bright smile and—without even thinking—reached up to fix his hair. His perfectly neat hair. 

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, watching as he unnecessarily smoothed a hand through his curls, biting back a grin. 

“Did you just—” 

“Shut up.”

Y/N smirked, tilting her head teasingly. “Are you blushing?” 

Lando scoffed, shaking his head, but the growing pink tint on his cheeks told another story. “No.” 

Y/N leaned in with a knowing grin. “Mhm. Sure.” 

Without another word, Lando suddenly cupped her cheek and pressed a quick, warm kiss to it. The simple gesture made her entire face heat up, and now she was the one frozen in place.

By the time he pulled away, Y/N’s face was on fire. “Lando!” she squeaked, hands instinctively flying to her warm cheeks. 

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence, though his smirk completely betrayed him. “I just wanted to thank my wife for ordering for me.” 

That did it. 

They both burst into nervous giggles, laughing into their hands, kicking each other lightly under the table, both way too overwhelmed by the sheer cringe and cuteness of it all. 

Best friends to lovers was a really, really adorable mess. 

—

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of soft gold and warm amber. Gentle waves rolled onto the shore, their rhythmic hum blending seamlessly with the occasional distant laughter of seagulls. The air smelled of salt and coconut, a perfect blend of nature’s embrace and the luxurious scent of sunscreen.

Lando stretched his arms above his head, tilting his face toward the sun as he relaxed into the plush lounge chair. His fingers idly played with the end of Y/N’s beach sarong, a teasing habit he’d picked up over the years of knowing her. They had been talking about the most random things for the past hour—why crabs walk sideways, whether pineapples belong on pizza, and the absurdity of seagulls looking like they always had an attitude.

But then something clicked in his head.

His brows furrowed, a sudden realization making him sit up slightly. Five days. They had been in this private beach villa for five whole days. Five days of stolen kisses, shared sunsets, lazy mornings tangled in sheets, and yet—

“Wait a sec,” Lando blurted out, turning to her with an exaggerated look of betrayal. “You haven’t called me ‘baby’ once this entire honeymoon.”

Y/N, who had been sipping on a fresh coconut with a tiny umbrella sticking out of it, nearly choked. “Huh?”

Lando crossed his arms, his lips pressing into a pout. “You heard me. Not even a ‘babe’ or a ‘love’ or—or—I don’t know, a cute little nickname. It’s been five days, Y/N. Five. Days.”

Y/N’s face warmed instantly, and she shifted uncomfortably, staring out at the waves as if the ocean might offer her an escape route. “What are you even talking about?” she mumbled, trying to sound unbothered.

Lando scooted closer, his face inches from hers now, grinning like the little menace he was. “Don’t ‘what are you even talking about’ me,” he teased, nudging her shoulder with his. “You’re telling me you can’t call me something cute? You call Max ‘dumbass’ more affectionately than you call me anything.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Lando, shut up.”

“Oh-ho, no, no, no. This is important. This is a honeymoon emergency.” He turned on his side, propping his head up on one hand as he smirked at her. “Alright, we’re gonna do this step by step.”

Y/N peeked at him through her fingers. “What?”

Lando grinned mischievously. “Repeat after me. B—A—B—Y.”

Her jaw dropped as she immediately shot him a glare. “Lando, stop.”

“Nope. C’mon, love, humor me.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “B—A—B—Y.”

Y/N sighed heavily, clearly regretting every life choice that led her to this moment. But under his persistent, teasing gaze, she finally relented. “B—A—B—Y,” she mumbled.

Lando beamed. “And what does that spell?”

Y/N hesitated for half a second before deadpanning, “Bro.”

Silence. Then—

Lando’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief before he burst into uncontrollable laughter, collapsing onto the lounge chair in a fit of giggles. Y/N, unable to hold it in anymore, joined him, her laughter ringing through the private beach like music.

“Oh my god, you’re actually the worst,” Lando wheezed between laughs, wiping at his eyes. “You really just friendzoned me on our honeymoon?”

Y/N nodded, her shoulders shaking. “Bro, I guess I did.”

Lando groaned dramatically before pulling her into his arms, nuzzling into her shoulder. “Unbelievable. Actually unbelievable.”

She hummed, resting her chin on his tousled curls, still giggling. “You’ll live.”

“Oh, will I?” Lando huffed before tilting his head up, pressing his lips to her jaw. Then another kiss—on her cheek, then her nose, then the corner of her lips. “What if I never recover from this heartbreak?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her cheeks burned under his touch. “You’ll be fine.”

“Hmm.” Lando sighed dramatically again before wrapping his arms tighter around her, pulling her onto his lounge chair so she was practically half on top of him. “Guess I’ll just have to cuddle my way through the pain.”

Y/N smiled against his chest, inhaling the scent of salt and sun-warmed skin. “Such a tragedy.”

“The worst.”

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, as the sun began its slow descent into the horizon. The sky transformed into a masterpiece of pinks, oranges, and purples, casting a warm glow over the private beach. The waves continued their endless dance, whispering secrets to the shore, but in that moment, nothing else existed but them.

Lando tilted his head slightly, peering down at her. “You’re really not gonna call me baby, are you?”

Y/N grinned sleepily against his chest. “We’ll see, bro.”

Lando groaned, dropping his head back against the chair. “I hate you.”

She chuckled, pressing a small kiss to his collarbone. “No, you don’t.”

“…Yeah, you’re right.” He sighed happily, his fingers drawing mindless patterns along her back. “I love you, actually.”

Y/N lifted her head, meeting his gaze, something soft and unspoken passing between them. “I love you too, bro.”

Lando let out an exaggerated whine before flipping them over, caging her beneath him with a playful growl. “You are the absolute worst!”

Y/N shrieked, laughing as he tickled her sides, their laughter mixing with the sound of the ocean. And just like that, under the golden glow of a perfect sunset, Lando kissed her breathless—because even if she was the worst, she was his worst.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɪ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍɪɴᴅ?

…𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘺!𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘭𝘰

phone call, angst, mental health struggles, alcohol, fluff if u squint, unrequited love?, longing, vulnerability, intimacy, anonymous relationship, crush, love square?

word count - 1k

The call is winding down, the warmth of Daisy’s voice lingering even through the receiver. Chris exhales, shifting on his bed as he listens to her laugh at something he’s just said. The sound is soft, familiar by now, like the sound of rain against his window.

“So, what’s on your agenda for tonight?” Daisy asks, voice light.

Chris hesitates for a second before running a hand through his hair. “Uh, there’s a party. Some guy on the team is throwing it.”

“Oh?” There's a teasing lilt in her voice. “Are you excited?”

He scoffs. “Not really my thing, but I figured I’d show up for a bit.”

“Mingling, drinking, dancing…” Daisy lists, amused. “Maybe you’ll even make a new friend.”

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “Doubt it. But hey, I should probably start getting ready.”

“Alright, alright,” Daisy concedes. “Try not to get into too much trouble, Sun.”

He smirks at the nickname, the familiarity of it settling something in his chest. “No promises.”

The party is too much before he even steps inside. Music pounds through the walls, a deep bass that rattles his chest, seeps into his bones. The air is thick, humid with sweat and alcohol. Voices clash over each other, laughter too loud, conversations blurring together.

Chris moves through the space, head slightly bowed, hands stuffed into his pockets. He recognises a few people, nods when necessary, but doesn’t stop. Someone presses a drink into his hand, and he takes a sip without thinking. The bitter burn coats his tongue, and he grimaces, but drinks again anyway.

Time passes in fragments. He’s on the couch, then by the kitchen, then standing against a wall while someone talks at him.

“Dude, did you hear about…?”

“No way, that’s fucking bullshit.”

“Come on, one more shot…”

Chris barely listens. The world is spinning just a little. At this point, he's probably crossfaded. His limbs feel heavy, thoughts slowed to a lazy drift.

Then there’s a girl.

He doesn’t remember how she got there, doesn’t remember what she said first. She’s just there, close. Too close. She smells like vanilla and something sharper, like the bite of citrus. Her fingers graze his wrist, then his shoulder, then his jaw. He lets her.

“You’re kinda quiet, huh?” she muses, tilting her head.

Chris swallows, shrugs. “Guess so.”

She grins, pressing closer. “I like that.”

Her lips press against his, and it’s—fine. Just fine.

But something is wrong.

Her lips are soft, but they’re too much, too eager, like they’re pushing into him. Her breath is warm against his skin, and her hands… her hands are everywhere, tracing the lines of his chest, his jaw, as if she knows him. He wants to pull away, but his body isn’t quite listening, not yet. His heart is pounding, racing to catch up with his thoughts, but all he can focus on is the sharpness of the moment, the sharpness of her scent, and the way it clings to him.

Her lips press harder, her body moving closer, and that’s when it hits him… the overwhelming sense of wrongness. It’s like a tide crashing over him, washing away any last bit of control. Her touch feels too invasive, too unfamiliar. Every brush of her fingers, every movement of her body feels forced against the space that should be his alone. Her hands slip underneath his shirt, and it’s like a switch flips in his mind, a jolt of panic, cold and sudden.

He pulls back, a sharp gasp tearing through him. The air feels too thick, too full of the music, the laughter, the heat, the smell of alcohol, of her. His chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath feeling like it’s not enough, like the air has become foreign.

The girl blinks at him, lips slightly parted in confusion. She says something, something he can’t quite catch, but he’s already stepping back, moving away from her, toward the edge of the room. His legs feel weak beneath him, and he doesn’t trust himself to stay still, doesn’t trust his body to do anything right.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice a little too hoarse, a little too panicked.

The door is in sight, the light from the outside looking like a distant promise. He doesn’t stop to look back, doesn’t stop to hear her voice calling after him. He’s already stepping through the door, the cool night air hitting him like a slap to the face. It feels like a reprieve, like he can breathe again, but it doesn’t last.

His hands are shaking as he pulls out his phone, the screen bright in the dark. His thumb hovers over the number he’s dialed a million times before, the hotline number, the only thing that’s ever been constant in the chaos. He presses call without thinking, his heart still racing, still reeling from the suffocating feeling of the party.

The phone rings, and it feels like a lifetime. It rings once, twice, then a third time before it’s picked up.

“…Hello, this is Cherry.”

The blood drains from his face, his stomach flipping with dread. He blinks at the phone, the voice too unfamiliar, too wrong in this moment.

His finger finds the end call button before he’s even fully aware of what’s happening.

His chest tightens, breath caught in his throat. He stumbles forward, heart still racing. His legs buckle as he makes his way to the bushes, the overwhelming surge of emotions crashing over him. His mind spins, and his body betrays him as it convulses, shaking with the force of it. He doubles over, everything from the night forcing its way out, his stomach twisting and emptying. It’s a release, but it’s not enough. He wipes his mouth, but he still feels nauseous.

He leans into the cold grass, his fingers digging into the damp earth as he tries to ground himself, but nothing feels solid anymore.

And Daisy’s not there.

Has he lost his mind?

thank u rose for the dividers !! @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: possible smut from daisy's pov tomorrow if u guys ask nicely:>

taglist: @applecidersturniolo @throatgoat4u @sturnslutz @desreads @courta13 @kier-with-a-k @bluestriips @sturns-mermaid @sweetshuga @snoopychris @st7rnioioss @herewegoagain-b

till next time !!

[thorne-kreizler-fanfiction]

-"Sometime during the night you both got rid of your clothes as your bodies demanded more closeness, your skin against his" YOUR BODIES DEMANDED MORE CLOSENESS, I'M SHOUTING

-"If the blade entered your king’s body a bit to the right or at a different angle, you would be sleeping in an empty bed and the only place you would be able to see Thorin’s face would be the marble effigy at his tomb in Erebor." You have no right to make me form tears like this

-"even if just for a moment" sTOP-

-"Now, however, in the darkness of the night, he is still yours, just for a while longer." oh-❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

-"The raven mane of his hair interspersed with silver strands, like veins of a precious metal encased in a rock" THIS WAS AMAZING WRITING AND VERY DWARVISH LIKE. I'm starting to suspect you are a dwarf…

-“Maralmizu, Thorin,” I need to close the computer and take a moment to regain composure-

-“'Can’t sleep?' he murmurs with a charming smile" MAHAL KEEP ME FROM GOING CRAZY

-Roäc!!!! I am going to CRY

-"A few clumsy niceties about how he enjoyed your time together and how he will always remember you, yadda yadda yadda." Lol. That's so sad but it made me laugh

-"This is the last time he plays you like his harp" ÄULE AND YAVANNA-

-"Nothing else matters beyond this little island of joy you created in the cruel ocean of time." stop this, please-

-"You are not afraid of the L-word any longer." I'M KICKING MY FEET

-THIS SMUT WAS SO CUTE😭

-ooh the amount of oceanic symbolism here😭

-"You are sure your hazy mind plays tricks on you. He has just called you his tiny songbird. He has called you his. No, you must have heard it wrong." STOP IT RAGNA I WANT TO ATTEND YOU TWO'S WEDDING BUT THAT CAN'T HAPPEN IF YOU DON'T SEE HE LOVES YOU TOO FOR DURIN'S SAKE!!1!

-"This blissful picture is not written in the stars, not for you." oh-

-"Perhaps they should have named him Stoneheart instead." oooh the dramaaaa

-"this is how a goodbye tastes like." STOP ITTTTT LATHALEA I WILL FIND YOU

-“Ragna… come with me to Erebor,” I JUST SCREAMED SOOO LOUDLY!!!1 FOR DURIN'S SAKEEEEE

-"No, of course not, you stupid, stupid Ragna! He just enjoys having you in his bed, have you forgotten about it again?" RAGNA STOP IT YOU ARE MAKING ME RAGE!!1!11

-"your own private map room if you wished so" I WANT TO CRY. HE'S SO THOUGHTFUL

-"His eyes are closed but you somehow know that they are as blue as his father’s." THE TURMOIL OF EMOTIONS I'M FEELING RIGHT NOW WILL MAKE ME EXPLODE

-"this is one of his flanking maneuvers" RAGNA YOU MAKE ME FUCKING MAD. JUST OPEN YOUR HEARTTT!!! WHY IS IT SO HARD TO ACCEPT LOVE??

-"looking more like a stone statue of one of his ancestors at the Main Gate of Erebor. Stern and lifeless." I want to cry. This writing is so great

“Tell me, Ragna. Let me hear it.” I screamed

-THORIN WHAT YOU DOINGGGGG YOU JUST HAD TO SAY "I LOVE YOU"

-"Instead, you have locked yourself in your rooms, trying to pretend that the world beyond your door doesn’t exist." I am fucking depressed and I feel a void in my heart

-i'm trying so hard not to hate on these two idiots but it's hard

-"One of Thorin’s braid beads. In your own bed." I'm crying

-"Since then, every day looks the same: work, work, more work, and staying at the office until late evening, until you are numb with tiredness." Oh I know how this goes. Trying to hide your heartbreak under piles of work papers. Yikes…

-"And then that bloody letter comes and turns everything upside down." MY HEART JUST SKIPPED A HEARTBEAT

-LATHALEA I HATE YOU FOR THIS AND BECAUSE I KNOW THAT NEXT CHAPTER WITH THORIN WILL HURT ME TWO

-I still have tears in my eyes...

All Is Fair in Love and Trade –  Part 6/9

Relationships: Thorin x Reader Rating: E Warnings: smut, angst

You can read the other parts here: The Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

For @gwen-ever 💙 Thank you for your support and help and everything else, you know yourself 🤩 A special thank you to everyone who has commented, reblogged and supported this fic! I'm really grateful to you all, you give me the strength to continue writing 💙💙💙

Khuzdul phrases: Maralmizu - I love you Zunshanush - [intimate diminutive] tiny bird Zunshanushê - my tiny bird

* * *

All Is Fair in Love and Trade, part 6/10

Later that night

A tear rolls down your cheek and you sleepily wipe it away. Last wisps of a dream are quickly fading away, leaving you slightly disoriented. You can’t remember much besides a lingering feeling of softness and warmth. Something tickles at the tip of your nose. Something coarse and reassuringly warm, just like in your dream. You open your eyes and it takes you a moment to realize that you are still in Thorin’s bed, cuddled up to his bare chest. Sometime during the night you both got rid of your clothes as your bodies demanded more closeness, your skin against his. Now your lover is laying down on his side, one of his arms resting against your hip, your legs entangled, You run your hand through his thick chest hair, but he doesn’t react to your caress, still in deep sleep. Covering his left pectoral, there is a dark blue tattoo of a raven, barely visible in the faint light of a single candle. The tips of your fingers are tracing its outline, admiring the detailed pattern, feeling the strength of Thorin’s body slumbering beneath his skin.

Your gaze shifts down, to the side of his abdomen, where a long, knobby scar meanders through the peaks and valleys of his muscles. It is not the first time you see it, but only now you have a moment to look at it from up close. There are so many tales and songs about the Battle of Five Armies and the bravery of Thorin Oakenshield that you know very well how it was inflicted. Azog the Defiler. If the blade entered your king’s body a bit to the right or at a different angle, you would be sleeping in an empty bed and the only place you would be able to see Thorin’s face would be the marble effigy at his tomb in Erebor. Thank you, Mahal. Thank you for sparing his life. Thank you for bringing him into my life, even if just for a moment.

You have spent two weeks with him, only two weeks of your long lives, but it was enough to make your heart beat faster. It was still worth it, no matter the emotional turmoil you have been through. You know that whatever you have found in each other’s arms is going to end before long, in a couple of hours, as soon as the dawn of the new day comes. The King will return to his mountain, leaving your heartache in his wake. Now, however, in the darkness of the night, he is still yours, just for a while longer. Your fingers continue their explorations, as if trying to commit every inch of his body to memory. The raven mane of his hair interspersed with silver strands, like veins of a precious metal encased in a rock, his strong neck, the powerful line of his shoulders and arms, his broad torso narrowing into lean hips, his sinewy thighs dusted with coarse hair, pressed against yours, his legs intertwined with yours. Yes, you will always have your memories, the memories of an arrogant, irritating king, of a daring warrior, of a splendid lover. Of your Thorin and that tender smile he gave you in your bed last night, melting your heart. Now, his face is peaceful, the lines of his usual frown smoothed out by sleep. You feel a sudden, irrational burst of warmth in your chest and before you can think, you hear yourself speak. “Maralmizu, Thorin,” a shadow of a whisper leaves your surprised lips, and you are hoping that the night will keep your heart’s secret safe.

The tips of your fingers once again brush against the raven tattoo, the bird’s eye watching you attentively, its beak shut. A silent witness of your moment of weakness. You place your hand over the ornament and feel how Thorin’s chest is slowly rising and falling.

This would be a good moment to leave, you think, to disappear in the darkness while you still have the strength to do it in a composed manner. You have just said your farewell and there is nothing more keeping you here. You cast one last glance at Thorin’s oblivious face and start carefully disentangling your legs from his.

Suddenly, a hand covers yours on his chest and you are staring into the clear blue eyes of your king. Well, there goes your strategic retreat.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmurs with a charming smile that makes your heart flutter.

“Your raven kept me company,” you smile faintly, your muscles tensing in anticipation of what is to come. Woman up, Ragna! You have always hated goodbyes, and, let’s face it, you suck at them, but you know Thorin well enough by now to expect a short and efficient one. Look, he opened his mouth. Here it goes. You hold your breath. “Roäc?” one of his eyebrows lifts in surprise and his gaze follows yours to his chest, his hand still covering yours. ���So he has a name?” you point your chin at the tattoo, letting out a sigh. Just a moment longer, then. “I had the tattoo made in Dunland, after Erebor fell, to remind me of what I left behind.” his face darkens, his hand clutches yours. “I raised Roäc from an egg, we were almost inseparable. But then Smaug came and every dwarf alive had to leave the Mountain.” “And… what happened to Roäc?”

“He stayed. He would not leave Ravenhill nor his kin,” Thorin closes his eyes for a barely noticeable moment.

“I am sorry to hear it,” you answer, your eyes set at your hands clasped together. “I never thought I would see him again, and yet he waited for me for over 150 years. Roäc was the first raven to greet me when I returned… home.” He makes a small pause and you see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.

“It must have been a happy day for you both,” you pat the image of the raven on his skin. “It taught me that one should never lose hope,” his intense gaze meets yours, and there is a new spark at the bottom of his eyes, something you can’t decipher.

“Hope…” you repeat. Hope. How ironic. Rapidly you close your eyes in an attempt to stop them welling with treacherous tears. Now is not the time, Ragna! You need to hold on a bit longer!

Thorin’s hand, still clasped together with yours, slides towards the center of his chest. You can clearly feel his strong heartbeat beneath your palm.

“Ragna, I…” he says. Oh. Absorbed by his words, you have completely forgotten about what has to happen now. You’ve had enough lovers to know where this is going. A few clumsy niceties about how he enjoyed your time together and how he will always remember you, yadda yadda yadda. After that, it will be time for you to leave for your chambers where a cold and empty bed is waiting for you while he is to return to his comfortable life in Erebor. The end.

You decide to save you both the embarrassment of that meaningless conversation and bid him goodbye in the only way you are good at. When you place your finger on Thorin’s sensual lips, his eyes widen in surprise, but not another word leaves his mouth. Instead, your hand moves to his bearded cheek, cupping it gently, enjoying the tickling sensation of his beard gently scraping against your palm for the last time. And then you kiss him.

He lets out a hum when your lips meet his. But this is not a ravenous, hungry kiss from before. It tastes like the first strawberries of summer, fresh and sweet, making your lips tingle, its careful tenderness going straight to your head. His hand sinks in the hair at your temple, his fingers gently running through your locks.

“Ragna…” he breathes against your mouth, his nose rubbing against yours, his thumb brushing against your cheek. But this is not the time for talking. You place a small kiss at the corner of his lips, and then another and another, sealing them with a myriad of soft pecks. His hand cups the back of your head and he responds, peppering your whole face with gentle kisses. He moves his lips lower and you stifle a small whimper when he repeats his ministrations on your neck.

“Ragna…” he murmurs against your throat, and then kisses you just below your earlobe, eliciting another whimper from you.

“Ragna...” his lips brush against your ear, gentle like a dove’s wing, making you purr with pleasure, while his hand starts unhurriedly travelling down your back, tracing the line of your spine, making you shiver with delight. This is the last time he plays you like his harp and you want to make the most of it.

Thorin’s hand slides down to your waist and then slowly, sensually travels up again, while his lips trail over the swell of your breast. Passion stirs inside you as you press your hips towards him, feeling the red-hot hardness of his manhood between you. A rumbling groan leaves him as his mouth attentively worships every curve of your breasts. Oh, Mahal, you want to feel him all over your body. When his thumb brushes against your nipple, a shadow of a moan escapes you.

“Ragna…” he murmurs once more. Now he is back to kissing your mouth with impossible ardour, and you are drawn to his eyes, darkened with lust. They remind you of a sea on the brink of a storm.

No, you are not going to let him talk. Not now. Not yet. Knotting your hands in his hair you return his kiss. You revel in the hardness of his warrior’s body against yours, sensing the signs of a coming squall that is going to carry you both away.

You place your hand on his chest and push it gently. When his back rests flat against the bed, your lips cover his, meeting in yet another sensual kiss. Your silky locks fall around you, a curtain of hair shielding you both from the whole world. Now, in this very moment, it is only you and him. Nothing else matters beyond this little island of joy you created in the cruel ocean of time.

Unhurriedly, savoring the moment, you straddle his hips. A spark of recognition flickers in Thorin’s eyes and a familiar half-smile appears on his face as his hand travels upwards along your thigh to rest on your bare hip. You wrap your hand around his silky hardness and guide it straight to your core.

“Ragna...” he purrs as you lower your body on him, taking in his formidable length, your breathing shallow. His fingers dig into your skin as you are impaling yourself in one steady push. It feels so ecstatic. So right.

He is buried in you to the hilt, but doesn’t move, waiting for you to adjust to him. You rest your hands on his chest, taking in deep breaths and finding his gaze. His eyes are like the late evening sky on a warm summer evening, adorned with flickering stars. A silly thought crosses your mind: if you were to make a wish now, would you see a falling star in his firmament, carrying it to fulfilment?

Please, stay with me.

“Ragna, lovely Ragna,” he whispers.

As you hover over him, Thorin cups your cheek, oblivious to your unspoken plea. There is something in the way he speaks, something sweet and tender, that once again makes you wish you could hear him say your true name in this tantalizing voice of his.

“Thorin,” you respond, leaning into his palm and brushing your lips against it. Your chosen name for his chosen name. Your heart for his passion. A fair exchange. No strings attached. One last time.

This is when you rock your hips against him for the first time. Not breaking the eye contact between you, you lift yourself up slightly only to slide all the way down with a sigh accompanied by his low grunt.

Don’t let me leave. Please, don’t go.

This slow, sensual dance of your bodies is what you would call lovemaking. You are not afraid of the L-word any longer. You pour your heart into every caress, every move you make. It does not matter if he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. Yours will have to be enough for both of you tonight. It is your farewell gift for the king of your heart.

Please, show me, how can I melt your heart? How can I make you see?

Thorin’s hands are wandering across your skin, caressing you gently, as if he was admiring a marble statue sculpted by the greatest stone masters of Erebor. The intense feel of his manhood inside you is overwhelming. Taking in the new, incredible sensations, your body continues the slow, steady movements. Now it is not about chasing the diamond peaks of pleasure; it is about enjoying these precious moments between you for as long as you can. It is as if Thorin understands your thoughts, because his caresses become in an equally unhurried manner; his every touch is attentive and careful, leaving your skin tingling with delight.

I want this night to last forever. Please, let it never end.

His eyes are hooded with pleasure, the dark waves of his hair scattered across the pillows. Thorin is yours now, just for a few moments longer. Only yours. You press your weight against him, taking him in once again, rocking back and forth with a moan while he pulls you down, his hands caressing your back and buttocks tenderly. A whimper escapes your lips at this change of angle, all the sensations intensifying, your breasts pressed against his muscular chest.

Thorin’s hands firmly rest on your hips as he thrusts up into you, slowly, purposefully, again and again, finding a way to plunge deeper inside of you than ever before, not stopping, navigating you both through the wild waves of your ocean of passion.

“Ragna…” the sound of his deep, husky voice fills your ears as he thrusts into you once more.

With a stifled cry of pleasure on your lips, you give in to your passion. Your body tenses in with pleasure, waves of ecstasy washing over you, taking over all of your senses. But you are not alone. Thorin is there, not letting you go, riding out the storm beside you. You are holding onto him as if he was your raft on the high seas, your only salvation on the stormy waters of the ocean. A few more erratic thrusts and his delicious warmth spills inside you, making you shiver with pleasure. He is right there with you, sharing your bliss, your hearts beating to the same rhythm.

My heart belongs to you. Only you.

“Thorin…” you whisper into his skin, as you lay down, your limbs heavy with bliss, your cheek against his chest, clinging to him, feeling his arms closing around you in a tight embrace.

“Zunshanushê,” he murmurs back tenderly, his fingers running through your hair as the storm of ecstasy slowly subsides around you. You are sure your hazy mind plays tricks on you. He has just called you his tiny songbird. He has called you his. No, you must have heard it wrong. The word he must have spoken was Zunshanush. Just a tiny songbird. A pet name. A songbird from the Iron Hills he will perhaps recall from time to time with a smile, back in Erebor.

You wish the circumstances were different. You would have been his Ragna, and he could have been your Thorin. You would start each day with a kiss and braid each others’ hair every morning. You would fall asleep in a tight embrace every evening, just like you are embracing now. And then, a little pebble or two would appear in your lives, giggling, saying their first words, making their first steps, running happily around the mountain, learning to ride a pony...

Ragna, you need to pull yourself together and stop being mawkish. This blissful picture is not written in the stars, not for you. First of all, you are painting an ideal, overly romantic picture of your happy life with none other than the arrogant, bullheaded King Under the Mountain! Have you suddenly forgotten how irritating and full of himself he is? Have you forgotten how you both have your separate lives and completely different duties to fulfil? And if that wasn’t enough, there is the matter of you living under two completely different mountains, separated by days and days of travel.

You know what you have to do now. Get up, gather your things and go. You have to ignore the whispers of your heart and forget how good it feels to have his strong arms around you, once and for all. Need something to snap out of it? How about this tiny little detail: Thorin Oakenshield is only interested in your body, nothing more. Perhaps they should have named him Stoneheart instead. The only way you are going to have your “happily ever after” with that dwarf is in your dreams. Damn your luck and your silly feelings. Couldn’t you have fallen for someone else? Preferably not an extremely annoying and unfeeling king?

There is something wet on your cheek, and you brush it away, only to realize that these are your tears. You feel their salty taste on your tongue. This is how a goodbye tastes like.

“Ragna, what is it?” Thorin murmurs into your hair.

You press your face into his chest in panic. He can’t see that you are crying! The last thing you want is for him to pity you. Take a deep breath. That’s it. Calm down, Ragna, you can do it. You know how to hide your emotions. Imagine you are back in the council chamber.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” you hear yourself say and then you clear your throat. “It is almost dawn, isn’t it?”

You can almost hear his heart beating in the silence that falls after your words. And then he takes a deep breath. “Ragna… come with me to Erebor,” he says, pressing his lips against your head.

Oh. You have not seen it coming. Does he mean…? No, of course not, you stupid, stupid Ragna! He just enjoys having you in his bed, have you forgotten about it again? The only thing that matters to him is not your sharp mind, but the thing you have between your legs! And now he is probably thinking that you will gladly obey him, like a lowly scullery maid, becoming simply yet another submissive woman in the long line of his conquests, just because his majesty wishes so! Over your dead body!

“That’s a good one!” a dry laughter escapes you as you feel a stab of pain in your chest. You hope Thorin doesn’t notice how much the sound you have just made resembles a sob. He doesn’t join your chuckles, but grunts instead.

“Does my proposal sound amusing to you?” his words rumble in his chest against your cheek. You sit up to face him, feeling the anger, the pain, the disappointment rising their ugly heads within you.

“Return with you? As what? As a lo…” great, here we go again. The L-word refuses to pass your mouth this time. “As the king's concubine?”

“Would it be that bad?” he rises on his elbows, meeting your gaze. “Come with me and stay in Erebor. You will have everything you could ever imagine, and more. New apartments in the royal wing, dresses, jewels, your own private map room if you wished so, and a table.”

“A table?” you frown.

“Yes, a table, and two comfortable armchairs by the fireplace. We will sit there in the afternoon and you will tell me how bad my ideas are and how much you dislike them... And yes, I will be the one to keep you warm in my bed at night.”

“Do you think I want this?” your frown deepens. Seriously. Is he that stupid?! It looks like you need to spell it out for him. “Do you think I would like just being just rich and doing nothing all day long while you are busy with the matters of state?” Thorin shakes his head slowly and sighs.

“For most of my life, I did not have any of these riches, but now I can use them in any way I wish. You deserve a life in luxury, Ragna...” he sits up and tries to take your hand in his, but you move away. You know very well that the moment he touches you, the moment you feel that pleasant tingling on your skin, you will agree to anything he proposes.

“What luxury would it be if I wouldn’t be able to speak with you nor anyone else for more than an hour a day or so? What about every single of my actions being closely observed and scrutinized by everyone under the mountain?! Oh, and I almost forgot about people bowing at me just because I happen to sleep in your bed! Is this what you think I want? A golden cage?!” you hear your heart pounding in your ears.

“Do not speak to me of golden cages!” he gives out a roar. “I lived in one, and I know how it feels, both inside and outside! If you come with me, you will not have to suffer any of it. I am offering you only what is best! Can you not see it?”, his stormy stare bores through you as he leans towards you, his eyes narrowed, his jaw set in anger.

“So now I am to throw my whole life away on your whim only to pleasure you every night?! And to be shunned when you are bored with me?” your hand clenches into a fist. Does he not see how much pain he has caused you already? Why is he adding more? Is he really that thick?!

“This is not…” he starts, but your fury takes over and you cut him off. You are not finished yet. “What about my career? Do you have any idea how hard I have worked to become Lord Dain’s advisor? How important my work is for me? Do you think I can abandon my responsibilities just like that?!” you throw words at him as if they were daggers. “And you have the nerve to propose it now, knowing how much depends on the upcoming treaty negotiations with Mirkwood?!”

“I do not care about Mirkwood!” he roars back at you. “It has nothing to do with you and me!”

“Well, then clearly we are of different opinions on this matter! A good negotiator thinks of everything before presenting their offer, and you clearly haven’t! Are you even speaking to the right person? Why me? You can have any other woman to warm your bed at night!”

“Ragna…” he growls your name in one long purr. “Are you truly asking me this? Have we not been enjoying ourselves?”

“This is not the point! Here, I’m respected, I’m making a difference, and in Erebor, I’d be just another bed warmer!” you spit out the last words as if they scorched your tongue. “Do not speak of yourself this way! This is not who you will be under my Mountain!” he slams his hand against the bed.

“Then who would I be? What would happen if you were to find yourself a queen? Would I be expected to keep on being your mistress, discreetly hidden away in the deepest corridors of the mountain? Serving her king whenever he feels like?” you feel the salty taste of tears on your tongue, an explosive mix of pain and rage running through your veins. A hazy image suddenly appears before your eyes, you looking at a sleeping babe in a beautiful bed as you brush one of his dark locks off his face. His eyes are closed but you somehow know that they are as blue as his father’s. “What if I were to give you a child? What life would I be expected to lead, along with your bastard son or daughter? Would we be required to live away from you, from anyone’s sight, not to offend your queen’s sensibilities? Or would we have to leave your mountain, never to return?! Do you really think I’m like one of your ladies, ready to fulfil any of your wishes, without a single thought?”

A dark silence fills the chamber for an eternity, or maybe it is just a few heartbeats. At this point, you are not sure any longer. Thorin’s bedchamber feels equally dark, as dark as the vision of your hypothetical, but quite probable future in Erebor. Luckily for you, you won’t let the stupid, arrogant dwarf in front of you destroy your life. Now he is glaring at you without a word, his own face set into a grim expression. And then he explodes.

“Stop this nonsense at once, Ragna! It won’t happen! Nothing of the things you said will happen! You are different! Do you hear me?!” Sparks of anger brighten his stormy eyes.

“How can you say that?! How do you know?! And am I truly different from other women who keep you company at night? Different how?” You demand. Did he really think you imagined him to act like a chaste and proper ruler from the ancient dwarven legends? Did he expect you to think that his nights in Erebor were filled only with peaceful sleep and thoughts about the bright future of his beloved kingdom? Seriously. Life is not a fairy tale.

The King opens his mouth, looks at his fisted hand and unclenches it slowly. Then he clears his throat and lowers his gaze along with his voice, “I sleep better when you are around.” He has to be joking. That sudden change in him baffles you. What is he up to? Is he trying to soften you up? What a cheap trick.

“Let me get this straight. The King Under the Mountain wants me to go with him to Erebor so that he has pleasant dreams?”

Thorin looks back at you, and you can notice a shadow passing over his eyes as he sighs.

“This is not what I mean, Ragna,” he says in a quiet voice.

You pause for a moment, tilting your head slightly. This… this is so unlike him. It takes you a moment, but then you understand. He is a great strategist, that is what they say about him, and this is one of his flanking maneuvers. Everything is a battle to him, even your last conversation. This is a way for him to gain an advantage over you and counterattack when you least expect it. You have to be on your guard, Ragna!

“What do you mean, then? Have you forgotten our arrangement? It was just an adventure, a treat to sweeten up the negotiations,” you retort, ignoring the stinging tears. You can’t stop them from running, you can’t swallow them any longer. Each of them burns a trail down your cheek. It hurts more than you expected it to.

“So it was all business to you? This? An additional hidden clause to this trade agreement?” he gestures at the crumpled bed sheets around you, his shoulders suddenly sagging. Now that shadow is cast over his whole face, its features set in stone. But perhaps it is just a trick of light. Because… he can’t be that sad, can he? It is not as if he was about to lose his favorite trinket. Besides, he has a whole damn treasury of them! He won’t ever notice your absence; while you… you know you will never forget him. You wipe off the tears from your cheeks. He follows your movements with his eyes, but never makes a move, looking more like a stone statue of one of his ancestors at the Main Gate of Erebor. Stern and lifeless.

“I…” for the first time in your life the words fail you. You feel his gaze burning your face. How can you tell him how you feel…? How can you find words to describe this shard wedged painfully into your heart, making you feel restless, clouding your mind, making you change into a helpless puddle of emotions every time he is around…?

“Tell me, Ragna. Let me hear it.”

But the right words don’t come. You will not give him the satisfaction of an answer so he can gain the upper hand and easily use you any way you like. The moment you tell him how you feel, you are lost. So you stare at your hands instead, trying to control their trembling.

Thorin waits for a few heartbeats and then speaks, as if to himself, “I see.”

He gets up from the bed and walks over to his desk, the light from the fireplace dancing over his muscular, well-honed body of a warrior. But you realize the time has come. From now on, the Thorin who held you close mere moments ago is out of your reach. Only Thorin II, King Under the Mountain remains. You search blindly for your clothes, your vision blurry. When you raise your gaze, he is already dressed, wearing a pair of loose trousers and a crumpled shirt that somehow makes him look even more alluring, and yet no longer yours to touch.

“You are right, Lady Ragna, this was just a negotiation.” he speaks coldly, in an official manner, and yet you notice a hint of anger ringing in his voice. Clearly, he is not as unaffected as he wants you to think.

You made him furious, and you are glad. An eye for an eye. He shouldn’t have offered you that humiliating arrangement. He shouldn’t have hurt you the way he did, but he did, and now he is paying for it.

King Thorin Oakenshield’s back is turned towards you, while his hands rummage among the papers on his desk. “I will not require you any longer. That will be all.”

Not able to utter even a word, you dress as quickly as you can, and leave his chambers, ignoring the shaking of your hands, and the heavy weight in your chest. This is for the best, isn’t it? So, what is wrong with you? Then why are you feeling the way he surely wanted you to feel? So worthless, so replaceable? As one of the many tools he would use in the forges, and then cast it aside when it is no longer needed, and then move from one anvil to another. An object. That is what he made you feel like. Once something useful, something important in a way, now an useless piece of scrap metal. You are happy he is suffering, you are happy that for once you made him feel something, something that was not pride, nor triumph. You are happy, Ragna, aren’t you? But if you are happy, then why your tears won’t stop tonight, why every breath hurts so much, why do you want to turn back? Why do you want to run into his rooms and take back every word you said? Isn’t it exactly what you have wanted in the very beginning? A profitable trade agreement and a bit of fun on the side?

* * *

This is the last time you speak with the King Under The Mountain during his visit to the Iron Hills. You don’t get any sleep in the early hours of the morning, but you arrive to the council chamber for the ceremonial signing of the treaty, making sure you look your best, wearing the most lavish gown you own (the one with the deepest cleavage, to turn away everyone’s attention from your reddened eyes). You make a point of staring at the painting of Lord Dain’s great-great-great-great grandfather while he and the king make their speeches. His majesty signs the cursed treaty, but Thorin never graces you with even the smallest of his looks, his brow constantly furrowed, his gaze as stormy as the autumn sky.

Afterwards, Lord Dain applauds you for serving the Iron Hills admirably and securing favorable treaty terms. Everyone else congratulates you for another great success. Soon after, the King of Erebor leaves back to his Mountain. You should feel triumphant, but instead you hear that little voice inside you growing louder as the distance between you grows: “Was this truly what you wanted, Ragna? Was it?”

* * *

Thorin is gone. The king left the Iron Hills a couple of hours ago. You have never gone to the Main Hall to bid him farewell as everyone else did after the treaty was signed. Instead, you have locked yourself in your rooms, trying to pretend that the world beyond your door doesn’t exist.

Thorin is not here. Sitting down on your bed, you move your hand across the mattress, as if hoping to feel the lingering heat of his body. Unfortunately, the bedsheets are unpleasantly cold under your touch.

Thorin has left. He is not coming back. Your bed is empty. Just like your heart.

You are about to get up when your fingers find something small and hard beside one of your pillows. One glance is enough to recognize it. One of Thorin’s braid beads. In your own bed. As if you weren’t trying to forget that he was here, along with his warm gaze, gentle kisses and tender caresses. You still remember the way he held you in his arms. Something aches in your chest and you need to take a deep breath to chase the tears away.

Bringing the bead to your eyes, you recognize all the details. It is made of silver, and there is a small sapphire along with the rune “T” and the symbol of the royal house of Erebor etched in it. You barely register when your hands find one of your braids and clasp the bead around it. The glistening metal complements your hair color well. You steal a glance at your reflection in the bedroom mirror. This is how you could have looked like in another life. Sighing hopelessly, you shake your head. Oh dear, Ragna, is this how bad it got you? Dreaming away about wearing Thorin’s marriage braid along with his bead? Weren’t you supposed to hate being chained to another dwarf this way, surrendering your independence, your freedom? Ah, well. Last night made clear that certain things between you were never meant to happen. Forcefully, you pull off the bead from your hair and throw it blindly on the floor, your vision blurry once more, your cheeks wet yet again. Stupid Ragna. Stupid negotiations. Stupid king.

You decide to sleep on the reclining armchair in the study that night and every night since then. Every time you look at your empty bed, your mind makes you recall how it looked when he was there, so close to you, slumbering peacefully, not a frown sharpening his features. It hurts. You have to ask one of the maids to change your bed linen. Why? Because Lady Ragna, one of Lord Dain’s chief advisors, cannot be trusted to change her own bed sheets. If you had a chance, you would press your nose against the crumpled fabric, inhaling Thorin’s lingering scent, and then shed another round of helpless tears. All because of that one evening you spent together in your chambers, kissing and embracing. Damn him.

That one evening of wallowing in self-pity and drowning your sorrows in Dorwinion wine you promised yourself turns into three days. On the fourth day, Lord Dain finds you in your office sleeping on a pile of documents. You have completely forgotten about that inspection of the forges you were supposed to attend to together with him on that day. You mumble your apologies, trying to ignore the pounding headache and a wave of nausea. He sends you home, telling you to sleep it off.

On the fifth day, you come to your office completely sober and throw yourself into work. Somehow, you manage to survive the day without thinking of Thorin more often than twice every hour. Since then, every day looks the same: work, work, more work, and staying at the office until late evening, until you are numb with tiredness. This way you fall asleep before your head hits the pillow, even though your dreams do not bring you any relief. You don’t really care about it, because at the end of the third week you manage to work out a fragile truce between your heart and your mind (hey, you’re a great negotiator, after all!). The deal is simple: you don’t think and don’t speak about Thorin, making an effort to bury all the memories of him in the deepest corners of your brain. In return, the constant dull pain in your chest is becoming more and more tolerable every day. And then that bloody letter comes and turns everything upside down.

* * *

Three weeks after Thorin Oakenshield’s visit to the Iron Hills

You are staring at a piece of thick parchment emblazoned with golden letters, the Royal Seal of the King of Erebor proudly gracing its bottom part.

Your eyes glide over all the mandatory titles and lengthy niceties only to focus on a single sentence:

It is with great honor that we invite Lady Ragna, daughter of Eldi, to the annual Durin’s Day Feast in Erebor.

The letter is signed in black ink, and you recognize the handwriting:

Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain

The parchment is shaking. No, your hand is shaking. And your heart is beating fast, too fast. Ragna, calm yourself down! It’s just a stupid letter! You take a deep breath. Then you fill your goblet with water (you can’t even look at the Dorwinion wine any longer, not since… nevermind!) and drink it in one gulp. You read the invitation again, but the blasted letters don’t want to disappear nor form another name. It is clearly addressed to “Ragna”. You.

Thorin Oakenshield, the king of all the Dwarves of Middle-Earth, the dwarf who captured your heart and then tore it apart, wants you to attend his famous Durin’s Day Feast.

Shit.

* * *

The Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

Please let me know how you liked this chapter! 🌟🌟🌟Oh, and I have a small announcement to make! 🌟🌟🌟 This fanfic grew yet again (surprise), a bit more (surprise) than I thought it would (surprise). So next week you are going to get a new surprise chapter - showing what happens with Thorin after he returns to Erebor and before he sends that letter to Ragna.

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