#effortless bathroom cleaning

[homecleaningservicesottawa]

Top 10 Effortless Tips for a Sparkling Clean Bathroom

By incorporating these effortless bathroom cleaning tips into your routine, you’ll find it easier to maintain a clean and hygienic bathroom without spending hours scrubbing. A little effort each day goes a long way in keeping your bathroom looking clean and feeling fresh!

[readwritealldayallnight]

Saw the post of you asking if we had any tropes or ideas we wanted to see u talk abt and jumped for joy 🙏 … must ask . Do u have any thoughts on ghost finding out reader is pregnant 😋😋

I like to think Ghost starts having suspicions before you do

Wrapped around each other’s bodies, limbs tangled in the sheets as you sleep peacefully with your other half by your side, he’s never not holding at least one of your boobs in his warm calloused palms. You start to wake up with complaints about how sore they are however, his hands in complete agreement with his eyes; your tits have gotten bigger.

And though he hates to see how uncomfortable they have you feeling all of a sudden, and how you whine so cutely about how you need new bras, your cleavage spilling out of your cups, he’s finding it rather difficult not to appreciate the new view.

Next though, he’s noticing how strange it is that foods you usually loved, now have you crinkling your nose up in disgust, turning your face away from the smell, or worse, that one time you ran to the bathroom to spill the contents of your stomach, utterly repulsed by a certain odor.

But he forgets that you haven’t requested Chinese food in nearly a month when instead he’s trying to wrap his mind around how you want peanut butter and jelly on a cheeseburger.

He certainly doesn’t think twice about how you’re just tad bit friskier than usual, pinching his ass and trying to jump his bones more often. There’s never been a lack of intimacy or wanting the other in your relationship, but you seem nearly insatiable recently, using and abusing his fingers, his mouth, his dick, multiple times a day. There are no complaints on his end, your man always being borderline desperate for you.

It’s when he’s been away for work for the last two weeks and he’s walking back into the house and he sees you, that his eyes cannot deny the way you’re simply glowing. Radiating effortless beauty in a way he’s never seen before, which is saying a lot considering you knock the breath out of him every time he’s lucky enough to see even just your shadow.

You look so soft, so sweet, so perfectly his.

He’s searching for a cloth to warm up under the faucet, preparing to clean up the mess he’s just made of you in bed over the last few hours, when his eyes land on the unopened box of tampons under the bathroom sink. His mind starts quickly doing the math, believing that in theory you should have had to open this pack by now, when things begin to click for him.

Laying naked on your back atop the messy sheets, still catching your breath and coming back down to earth after the many times Simon brought you to bliss tonight, you’re admittedly confused when he comes back into the bedroom without the towel he said he was going to get. You’re even more caught off guard when he approaches you and lays two hands on the sides of your stomach, face approaching your abdomen with an expression of concentration on his face.

“Si what are you-”

“Love, I think you’re pregnant.”

He’s lucky you’ve been having the same suspicion for a few days now, waiting for him to take an actual test and find out, otherwise you might be smacking him upside the head right about now.

Once you do take the test however and confirm what he already felt sure of, that he had put a baby in you, he’s asking you why it isn’t appropriate to tape it to the living room wall for everyone to see, elated to share the news with those in your lives, meanwhile you’ve just decided he won’t be helping decorate the nursery, beyond building furniture.

[sweethoneyjays]

peach ade ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ p.j.s

❀ ◦ paring ◦ barista!jay x reader ❀ ◦ genre ◦ fluff fluff and a bit crack ❀ ◦ synopsis ◦ jay was never really intrested in anyone.. untill you stumbled into the his cafe one warm afternoon. ❀ ◦ warnings ◦ just a bit of swearing ❀ ◦ word count ◦ 1700 (exact !)

❀ ◦ note ◦ little jay barista au hehe, hes a bit of a loser in this one too (i love losers). maybe i should make one for the other members too 👀. Anyways hope yall enjoy and thank you to my one and only beta reader @lovegreenie !! <333 ❀ ◦ taglist ◦ @kristynaaah @beenusflytrap @nari-roll

❀ ◦ masterlist

Jay wiped down the counters, the cloth moving in rhythmic circles as Sunghoon stretched out lazily in his seat, waiting for an order that might never come. The cafe was a quiet little hole-in-the-wall, the kind of place people stumbled upon accidentally and swore they'd come back to… but rarely did.

Sunghoon sighed dramatically. “Man, Jake’s been pulling lately. It’s honestly unfair.”

Jay scoffed, not bothering to look up. “And?”

“And?” Sunghoon repeated skeptically. “You don’t think it's annoying? I mean, come on. I’m clearly the more handsome friend.”

Jay finally glanced over, unimpressed. “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Sunghoon grinned, unbothered. “The real question is… why don’t you ever find anyone cute? Like, ever? Are you secretly an alien or just ridiculously picky?”

Jay exhaled, setting the cloth down. “I don’t know? I have standards?”

Sunghoon groaned, throwing his arms up.

“Standards? Dude, you’re just making excuses for not being able to pull.” He chuckled, leaning in, eyes narrowing. “What’s it gonna take for someone to actually catch your eye?”

Jay simply shrugged. “Someone I don’t get tired of.”

Sunghoon stared at him before letting out a dramatic sigh. “So basically, a miracle.”

Jay smirked, returning to cleaning. “Something like that.”

It was a slow day at the cafe, nothing but the steady hum of the espresso machine and the occasional rustling of chairs. The quiet was interrupted by the soft chime of the doorbell, signaling a new customer.

Sunghoon glanced up from his place behind the counter and stretched lazily. "Hey, can you handle this one? I need to use the bathroom."

Jay nodded, tossing aside the rag he’d been using to wipe down tables before stepping up to the register.

"Hello, ma’am, what would you like to orde-" His voice faltered mid-sentence as he looked up.

His body went rigid, frozen in place like a deer in headlights.

There you were, standing in front of him with a bright, easygoing smile.

Why did his heart feel like it had been kicked into overdrive?

Something about you was different, almost unreal in the warm afternoon glow streaming through the windows. The soft curve of your lips, the effortless way you carried yourself, the quiet confidence in your gaze, it was disarming.

"Hi, may I get a peach ade with a bacon cheese sandwich?" you asked, completely unaware of the effect you had on him.

Jay blinked. Stared a bit too long.

Shit, stop staring. Stop staring.

Then, realizing he was just standing there like an idiot, he snapped back into reality, fumbling for the register.

"Oh uh- okay, that uhh- would uh be… fifteen total... May I uhm- get your name, please?" he stammered, mentally cursing himself for sounding like a fool.

You tilted your head slightly before chuckling at his flustered state, giving him your name and the money before making your way to a seat by the window.

Jay exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus as he keyed in your order.

What the heck was that Jay

He was praying to the gods above that Sunghoon did not see his fumble.

Too bad the gods were busy today.

Jay barely had a moment to breathe before Sunghoon leaned in, his voice low with amusement.

"What the hell was that? You so find her cute" he whispered, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Jay shot him a sharp look. "Be quiet. And make the bacon cheese."

But Sunghoon wasn’t done. "Oh hoo hoo, someone's a bit defensive. Looks like you have a type, my friend. Cute ones, huh?"

Jay scowled, but his glare only made Sunghoon chuckle as he walked off. "Can’t wait to tell Jake about this" he added teasingly before disappearing into the kitchen.

Left alone, Jay sighed, turning back to prepare your peach ade.

Except now, it was impossible not to glance over at you.

The way your skin glowed under the afternoon light, the effortless way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the soft smile playing on your lips as you scrolled through your phone, it was distracting. Too distracting.

Oh god, she’s so beautiful-

Oh, fuck-

The sound of ice overflowing snapped Jay out of his daze, spilling past the edges of the plastic cup. His eyes widened in panic as he scrambled to fix it, stammering under his breath while dumping the mess and starting over. And to make matters worse his best buddy started laughing by the grill.

Sunghoon was never going to let this go.

Jay had one thought running through his head as he prepared your drink, this has to be perfect.

“Okay, lover boy, try blinking sometime. Your eyes look like they’re gonna pop out from how hard you’re concentrating” he teased, placing the finished sandwich at the pick-up zone.

Jay ignored him, waving him off as he continued making your peach ade, though his focus kept slipping. He risked another glance… just a quick one.

But then you looked up at him.

F-ck.

Jay immediately dropped his gaze, a sharp blush creeping across his cheeks.

Shit- how long have I been staring at her?

Mentally punching himself, he scrambled to finish your drink, shaking off his nerves. He set the cup on the counter, stepping away to grab a tray, he might as well serve it properly.

But when he turned back, Sunghoon was holding the peach ade, inspecting it.

Jay narrowed his eyes. “What? Is there something wrong with it?”

Sunghoon’s smirk was downright criminal as he hastily set the cup back down. “No, no, nothing’s wrong” he said, far too innocently.

Jay rolled his eyes, placing the sandwich and drink onto the tray before finally heading toward you, willing himself to stay calm.

Let’s see how long that lasts.

Jay approached your table carefully, placing the tray down with practiced ease. "Hello, here’s your order, ma’am" he greeted softly.

You looked up, smiling. “Thank you…” Your eyes flickered down, scanning the name tag pinned to his chest.

“… Jay.”

His heart stopped.

God dammit, Jongseong, snap out of it.

Jay barely managed to stammer out, "I uh- your welcome" before making a hasty exit, not before nearly tripping over a nearby table. He scurried behind the counter, face burning with embarrassment as Sunghoon broke into laughter, clutching his stomach.

"Nice one, rizzler" Sunghoon mocks, snorting between gasps for air.

"Whatever" Jay grumbled, turning on the sink to wash his hands. "Just leave it be. It’s not like I’ll see her again."

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, twirling a pen between his fingers. "Are you sure about that?"

Jay paused, slowly turning to him in an exaggeratedly comical way, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing" Sunghoon said, faking his innocence. "Just being the best hecking wingman on earth." His proud smirk made Jay’s stomach sink.

Immediately, Jay turned back toward you.

You were holding the cup, inspecting something closely, your fingers brushing over the writing. His chest tightened as he audibly gasped.

"What did you put on the cup?" Jay hissed, already feeling the panic rise.

"Did you make me look like a weirdo? a creep??" He grabbed Sunghoon by the shoulders, shaking him with newfound urgency.

Before Sunghoon could answer, the cafe bell rang.

Jay stilled. You were at the counter, waiting.

Sunghoon chuckled, nudging Jay forward. "Better go find out for yourself.”

Jay swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his voice steady.

"Hi uh-, how can I help you?"

You smiled softly, handing him your peach ade and half-eaten sandwich. "I was just wondering if I could get these to go?"

Ah, shit.

Jay stiffened. You were leaving.

Did she think I was a creep? Or worse, did Sunghoon's dumbass message on the cup scare her off?

"Oh, yeah, of course" he replied quickly, taking your items to fix them up for takeout. He walked into the back room to grab a bag, only to find Sunghoon waiting for him, arms crossed.

"Thanks a lot, hoon. You made her leave. She probably thinks I’m a creep" Jay grumbled.

Sunghoon scoffed. "What? I literally just put a ‘ur cute’… Welp, nice try, dude. Maybe you’re just not her type."

Jay rolled his eyes dramatically. "Ouch."

Still feeling weirdly defeated, Jay finished packing your order, stepping back out to the counter.

He tried to keep his composure, pretending this was just another normal customer exchange, but the sting of rejection lingered.

Oh well.

He handed you the bag, managing a small smile. "Here’s your takeout."

"Thank you." You reached for the bag, and for a fleeting second, Jay noticed a soft shade of pink rising onto your cheeks.

Odd.

He didn’t question it, until you hesitated, glancing at the counter.

"Uh… can you throw this out for me?" You placed a slightly crumpled napkin on the surface, offering him a quick smile before hurriedly making your way out of the cafe.

Jay raised an eyebrow, confused.

Then, he looked down at the napkin.

His eyes widened.

"SHE GAVE ME HER NUMBER" he exclaimed, voice borderline frantic.

Jay stared at the napkin in utter disbelief, his grip tightening around the flimsy paper like it was some kind of sacred relic. His pulse hammered in his ears.

From the back room, Sunghoon’s head popped out, eyes wide. "SHE DID?!"

Jay had never felt this much excitement, his face breaking into the goofiest grin imaginable. He barely registered Sunghoon stepping closer, eyeing the napkin with intrigue.

"Dude, close your mouth, you’re gonna catch a fly" Sunghoon teased, glancing down at the messy scribble of numbers on the paper.

Jay didn’t hear him. His eyes darted toward the cafe window, spotting you disappearing down the street.

I should text her. Definitely should text her… later.

He just leaned against the counter, exhaling a breathless chuckle.

"Wow…" he muttered, still dazed. "This is the kind of junk that would get a standing ovation in a landfill."

A beat of silence.

Sunghoon scoffed. "Genuinely, remind me never to assist you in anything ever again. I fear enabling whatever this is."

Jay rolled his eyes, finally snapping out of it, folding the napkin neatly and then placing it in his pocket safely.

Looks like miracles do happen after all.

more works here -> masterlist

[lovemomhatepolice]

gladiator - charles leclerc

navigation taglist requests

pairing: charlec leclerc x fem! reader

warnings: established relationship, cursing, pet names, slight! public sex, p in v English is my second language!

type: smut!

word count: 1k

belonging: NO NUT NOVEMBER

summary: did you have to wear that dress in public?

more content: formula 1 masterlist, charles leclerc masterlist

a/n: I encourage you to give requests in the Christmas marathon! click here :) and my first thousand celebration

The London evening was bustling with energy as the premiere of Gladiator 2 rolled out its gold carpet. Stars and fans gathered in crowds, cameras flashed in the dazzling lights of the city. Charles Leclerc stood at the center of it all, looking effortless in an elegant black suit and clean white shirt that fit his figure perfectly. His hair was neatly styled, and his trademark charm was on full display as he posed for photos, but his attention was constantly drifting to one person: his girlfriend, [Y/N].

You were radiant in an almost transparent floor-length gown that clung to her curves in all the right places. The larger material was on her breasts and hips, while the rest remained a bright shiny mesh. Charles couldn't take his eyes - let alone his hands - off you.

"You're going to be the death of me tonight." - he whispered in her ear as they stopped for a moment away from the cameras. His hand rested lightly on her back, and his fingers traced the exposed skin on her back with a light touch that sent chills down her spine.

She smiled, looking up at him through her lashes. "Behave yourself, Charles. We're in a public place," he said.

"I can't," he muttered, his voice low and full of desire. "Not when you look like that.

The tension between the two of you was enormous, and it only grew as the evening progressed. When it was after the movie premiere and Charles had given all the interviews, he grabbed your hand tightly and winked: "I need you. Now”

"Here?" you asked, raising your eyebrows.

He did not answer with words. Instead, he led you discreetly down a quiet corridor, away from the crowd. He found a vacant bathroom and pushed open the door, pulling you inside. He closed the door carefully behind you and his hands were immediately on your hips. And your lips joined in a heated kiss.

"You're unbelievable," you breathed between kisses, your hands entwined in his hair as he pressed your back against the cool tile wall.

"I can't help it," he murmured, and his voice was quiet as his hands roamed your curves, sliding down to grip your thigh and lift your leg around his waist. "All I could think about all night was you.”

You moaned quietly as he kissed your neck, his teeth brushing against your skin just enough to make it tremble. His hand moved down your leg, pushing aside its thin material.

Charles smiled under his breath when he felt your wet thong, and smiled even more when he matured that they were the ones he had given you himself.

"Mon dieu," he groaned as his fingers glided over the wet material. "You are death to me."

Charles growled softly, his lips capturing hers in another fiery kiss as his fingers slipped inside her, curling just right. Her moan filled the small space, and he couldn’t help but smirk against her lips.

“You’re so ready for me,” he murmured, his free hand sliding up to cup her jaw as he kissed her deeply.

[Y/N] couldn’t form a coherent response, her body arching into his touch as he worked her with expert precision. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and the sound of her pleasure was like music to his ears.

“Charles,” you gasped, your voice breaking as he added a second finger, his thumb brushing over your sensitive clit. “Please.”

“Not yet, baby,” he teased, looking straight into your eyes.

Charles' fingers worked inside you with precision, coiling inside you and hitting just the right spot, while his thumb circled your clitoris in perfect rhythm. The combination of his touch and the way he watched you - his green eyes darkened with desire - made your orgasm come faster than you could have expected.

Your hips bucked impatiently against his hand as waves of pleasure hit you. Charles didn't stop moving his fingers inside you, and his lips placed gentle kisses on your jaw and neck as you came down from your orgasm.

„That was amazing” you murmured, kissing his lips in steamy kiss. 

„That’s not the end” he responded. „Turn around for me pretty thing”

Obediently you turned toward the wall, moving more towards the mirror. You saw exactly how Charles stepped back just enough to undo his belt and pants, his movements quick and desperate. The sight of his ready and hard dick at your sight again amplified the wave of heat between your legs.

His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed against you, his erection teasing your entrance.

"Charles," you moaned, glancing at him in the reflection of the mirror.

The man kissed your shoulder, slowly guiding his member to your entrance. He gently lifted your leg, holding it with one hand. You didn't take your eyes off him in the mirror, and as soon as he pushed into you slowly, filling you inch by inch, his gaze also caught yours in the mirror.

The stretch was perfect, and the way he fit inside you, maybe too much, but exactly what you needed. When he was fully seated, he paused for a moment, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath and be reasonably quiet. After all, you had risked a lot by making love in a public restroom at a movie premiere.

"Fuck, you feel amazing." - he muttered, and you could hear the admiration in his voice.

You pressed against him, and your body was already even aching for him to move. "Charles, please."

That was enough for him to do everything she wanted. His hips began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, but quickly gaining intensity. The sound of skin touching skin filled the small bathroom, accompanied by your shared moans and heavy breaths.

One of his hands slid down to your front, and his fingers found your clitoris again and easily. You felt that you were moments away from the longed-for fulfillment that was to come a second time that evening.

"You're so perfect," he moaned, his voice strained as he pushed harder, deeper. "So fucking perfect.”

You looked in the mirror, perfectly seeing Charles enter and exit you. It was the best view and feeling you had ever experienced in your life. You were so perfectly matched that it was downright exaggerated.

"Come to me," he mumbled, brushing his lips against your ear. "Let me feel you."

His words accelerated your orgasm. You slid lightly across the mirror, one hand clinging to Charles. Your walls clamped down on him, accelerating his orgasm. Charles joined you, moaning your name as you felt his cum inside you fill you.

For a long moment you stood like that, trying to calm down. Charles continued inside you, but slowly came out and let you clean yourself up, and carefully fastened his pants himself, bringing them back into order. He also helped do this to you with your dress, placing gentle kisses on your body.

“You’re going to kill me one day,” he teased, his voice warm and affectionate.

You laughed breathlessly, turning to face him with a teasing smile. “You started it, Charlie”

“Well, you should have not worn that dress,” he murmured, placing his hands on your hips and pressing a kiss to your lips.

And even though you could hear knocking on the door all around you, and all that media hype a little further away, for you the world did not exist.

A/N: i swear!! charles and carlos looked so good at that premiere

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[purplereina11]

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 10 Other Parts

Word Count: 8k

The sun is barely climbing over the rooftops when you step out of the car, the soft hum of the engine fading behind you. The air is crisp, the early morning quiet except for the distant thud of a ball being struck somewhere across the facility grounds.

You smooth your palms over your thighs out of habit, then shove your hands into your hoodie pocket to keep them from fidgeting.

Your agent is already there, leaning against the low wall outside the entrance, phone in one hand, iced coffee in the other. She looks up as you approach and gives you a small, knowing smile.

“You look calm,” she says.

You snort, tugging your sleeve over your fingers. “That’s because I’m trying very hard to look calm.”

She straightens up and walks beside you toward the door. “It’s not a trial. You’re not being judged.”

“Feels like it.”

She glances sideways at you, her voice a little gentler now. “They want you here, remember that.”

You nod, but your stomach still feels like it’s been wound tight not because you're unsure of your own ability, you’ve played your way into these conversations. You’ve earned this, but this is Barcelona. The team all your coaches had always warned you about being giants of the game, and now you're stood here with an opportunity to join one of the greatest teams.

You stop just short of the glass doors, your hand hovering near the handle. You hover just outside the entrance to Barcelona’s training facility, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, the cool concrete beneath your sneakers grounding you more than you'd like to admit.

The building looms a little larger in person. Sleek. Clean. Familiar, in a way but not yours. Not yet.

“You ready?” she asks, offering a small, confident smile.

You force a breath out of your nose. “I think so.”

She studies you for a second. “You look ready.”

“I’m not.”

She laughs under her breath. “Good. You shouldn’t be. If you weren’t a little nervous, I’d be worried.”

You give her a sideways look. “That your pep talk?”

“That’s realism. Here’s the pep talk” she nudges your elbow, her voice quieter now. “You wouldn’t be here if they weren’t already sold on you. This isn’t an audition. It’s a conversation. Don’t try to impress them. Just be honest, be you.”

You nod slowly, the words helping a little, you glance at the door but still haven’t moved.

“Want another second?” she asks.

You hesitate, then shake your head. “If I wait any longer I’ll leave.”

She smirks. “Alright then. Showtime.”

You pull in one more deep breath, open the door, and step inside heart steady but loud in your chest.

⚽️

You’ve been in that meeting room with Pere and the Barcelona staff for what feels like hours numbers, contracts, development plans, strategy, potential. All of it fascinating. All of it a lot. Eventually, you’d excused yourself for the bathroom. Just a moment to breathe, to get out from under the weight of everyone’s attention.

On your way back, you turn the corner and there she is. Alexia. Wearing soft jeans and a cropped sweatshirt, a small tote slung over one shoulder. Casual. Effortless, but not by accident.

You freeze for a second, surprised. Not that she’s here you knew from the text she showed you yesterday that some of the players had been asked to come in. Still. Seeing her now, in the middle of all this, throws you more than you expect. She seems different somehow, more the Alexia you met on the pitch, not the one you've had in your home and the one in hers.

She sees the look on your face before you can mask it something caught between 'what the hell is happening' and 'why does it feel like everyone in this building knows more than I do'. You feel like you've gone from a big fish in a little pond, to a little fish in a big pond,

She stops in front of you, closing the gap when you hadn't, eyes searching yours for a beat. “You okay?” she asks, voice quiet.

You give a small laugh. “I don’t know. It’s a lot. I think my brain’s halfway through melting.”

She nods, like she understands more than she says. “They’re going to take you to another room, right?” she asks gently.

You nod. “To meet… whoever came in. Yeah.”

She smiles, just a little. “You already know one of them.”

You huff. “Right. You.”

There’s a beat, then, softer, not pushing, not assuming, but she can see how overwhelmed you are, she says, “We can go out for a drink later if you want, or when you come back to mine… we can just chill. Put on a movie. Order something. Hang by the pool, whatever. You don’t have to talk about any of this.”

You blink, you swallow around the lump in your throat, then nod once, gratefully. “Okay,” you say. “Yeah. That sounds really good. Anything other than how great I am and how great the club and I can be together, I feel like I'm being set up for a marriage or something”

Alexia actually laughs and for a moment, just a breath, the weight lifts, "They really want you here, we've been missing something the first half of the season and they really think you are that missing piece"

You raise an eyebrow. “No pressure, then.”

She shrugs, exaggeratedly casual. “Only a little. But hey… could be worse.”

You squint at her, lips twitching. “How?”

Her smirk curves, slow and deliberate. “Could be PSG. Or Lyon. Or wherever else is throwing money at you and pretending they know how to make paella.”

You laugh, the sound easing something tight in your chest.

“And besides…” she continues, stepping just a little closer, her voice softer now, playful but edged with sincerity, “if you came here… you’d already have a place to stay.”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Are you offering to be my landlady now?”

“I’m offering to be… supportive,” she says, eyes glinting.

You raise a brow. “Supportive how?”

Alexia pretends to think. “You know. Late-night tactical analysis. Motivational playlist curation. Professional-grade post-match cuddles.”

You choke on a laugh, shoving her lightly with your shoulder.“Cuddles, huh?”

She shrugs, unapologetic. “Barça believes in a holistic approach.”

You’re still smiling when she steps back, just enough to keep it from slipping into something heavier.

“Come see the others,” she says, voice gentler again. “No pressure. Just... people who want you here. Me included.”

And even though you haven’t made any decisions yet, not officially you realise, as she starts walking toward the meeting room and glances back to make sure you’re following… she's the only thing your currently fully sold on.

You watch her walk a few steps ahead, confident and casual, as if this is the most natural thing in the world — as if you haven’t just spent the morning with your entire career hanging in the balance.

When she glances back to check that you're coming, you put one foot into the other and fall into step beside her. Down the hall, around the corner and then she opens a door.

You follow her inside.

The room’s warm, brighter than the one you’d just come from, the light spilling in from tall windows and bouncing off polished floors. It smells like coffee and fresh sweat and something distinctly familiar like locker rooms and match days and something that feels close to home.

A few players are already there some you know by name, others you’ve only faced on the pitch. Aitana’s sitting on the arm of a couch, gesturing animatedly mid-story. Patri's got her ankle resting on her opposite knee, arms crossed, watching with a half-smile. Ingrid looks up from her phone when you enter, and gives you a little wave.

You blink, caught off guard for a second not by who is here, but by how it feels. Relaxed. Not staged.

They’re not sitting in formation waiting to pitch the club like agents in disguise. They’re just… there, waiting for you. Like they want to be.

Aitana hops up first. “Finally,” she says, grinning. “We were starting to think they locked you in with the sporting director.”

Ingrid chuckles. “Or she ran off to Lyon.”

“I thought it was PSG,” Patri adds.

You snort, shaking your head. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Alexia gestures for you to sit, then sinks onto the armrest beside where you land. There’s a pause, a natural one, just a beat and then Aitana leans in, voice light but sincere.

“Look… we’re not here to convince you with a script or anything. We just wanted you to know. If you come, you'll thrive. You’ll have people here that we all agree you'll connect easily on the pitch.”

You meet Alexia’s eyes for a second, she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. You’re still not sure what your answer is, but this feels like the start of it.

Alexia slides down from the armrest and eases onto the sofa next to you, shoulder brushing yours just enough to feel deliberate. The warmth of her presence settles into your side like it’s been there a hundred times before.

You’re barely settled before the banter kicks off. “So,” Aitana says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, “what’s it gonna take? Do we need to promise you free coffee for a year or... unlimited almond croissants?”

Ingrid raises an eyebrow. “She’s not signing with a bakery, Aitana.”

“I mean,” you grin, “if a bakery was making an offer, I might consider it.”

Patri laughs. “Great. We’ve lost her to carbs.”

“You see?” Aitana points at the group, mock-scandalised. “She gets it. She belongs here.”

“She hasn’t even agreed to anything yet,” Ingrid says with a smirk. “Calm down before you start stitching her name on the locker and scare her away coming on to strong”

Alexia, cool and quiet beside you, just smiles. “I’ll take care of that when the time comes.”

You glance at her, raising a brow. “Confident.”

She meets your gaze without flinching. “I don’t make offers I don’t intend to follow through on.”

That earns a few teasing ooohs from around the room. You duck your head, biting back a smile. “Is this what she's like in training?"

“Worse,” Ingrid deadpans.

“Much worse,” Patri agrees. “And louder.”

“But i'm fun,” Alexia adds, nudging you gently. “You’d survive.”

Aitana leans in again. “We’re not saying it’s perfect but she's a good captain I'll give her that”

The room goes quiet for a half-beat, the weight of her words hanging there not pressure, just honesty. Alexia shifts beside you, voice lower now, meant only for you. “And when you need a break from all that back there,” she nods subtly toward the boardroom you came from, “this is where you’d come, always someone in here.”

You look around the room the grins, the soft smiles, the way no one seems to be pretending. “I should get back,” you murmur. “They’ll think you lot kidnapped me.”

Alexia smirks. “I technically did.”

You stand, a few others offering playful goodbyes and exaggerated pleads to please sign already. You toss them a mock salute as you head for the door. As you step back into the corridor, the hush of the building hits you again the shift from warmth to formality just behind the walls.

You turn the corner and further down the hallway, you spot Mapi in conversation with Irene and beside them Mateo. He’s mid-wiggle, clearly bored of standing still, holding what looks like a half-eaten croissant in one hand and some kind of superhero action figure in the other.

He turns, spots you and lights up.

“Coco!” Before you can react, he’s sprinting little legs pumping, croissant forgotten, full beam on his face.

Your heart stutters, you bend instinctively, just in time to catch him as he launches himself into your arms. “Hey, buddy,” you laugh, steadying him as he hugs you with all the energy only a small child can summon.

“You came back,” he says, as if this was a personal promise you’d made to him specifically.

You glance up. Irene offers a soft smile, her arms crossed, watching the two of you. Mapi looks mildly amused, but doesn’t interrupt.

“I named you,” Mateo insists, still wrapped around your neck. “You’re Coco now because you gave me chocolate ice cream.”

You blink, the absurd sweetness of it hitting somewhere low in your chest. He pulls back just enough to look at you. “Right?”

And behind you, faintly from the room you just left someone calls out, “She’s getting recruited by a toddler now. This club’s pulling every angle.”

Mateo is still clinging to your neck, face beaming like the sun, when he suddenly pulls back with a gasp like he’s just remembered something critical.

“Oh!” he says urgently, small hands on your shoulders now, eyes wide. “Did you forget about our date?”

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

“Our date,” he repeats, very serious now, like this has been officially calendared. “I said about playing with my super cool toys, you promised, Coco.”

Irene muffles a laugh behind her hand. Mapi coughs, clearly pretending not to be deeply amused. You try and fail to keep a straight face. “I did?”

Mateo nods with the solemnity of a man making dinner reservations for two. “And I picked some toys out for us play already”

Your heart actually stumbles. “Right,” you say, lips twitching. “How could I forget?”

“You almost did,” he says gravely. “But it’s okay. I remembered for you.”

You’re about to respond when a familiar voice drifts from behind, “Careful, Coco,” Alexia calls, stepping out into the hall. “He’s already more convincing than half the board.”

Mateo perks up at the sound of her voice. “Alexia’s not invited,” he declares, turning to make it official. “It’s a date.”

Alexia raises both eyebrows at you, smirking. “Wow. Rejected by a three year old.”

“He said it’s a date,” you say, hands up in mock apology, Mateo nods firmly, still holding your hand.

Mateo still clinging to your hand like a tiny gatekeeper of your destiny when he turns back toward Alexia, eyes narrowed in the most dramatic, three year old kind of way .“You can’t come,” he announces again, pointing a finger at her like it’s law. “Coco is my friend.”

Alexia raises both hands, palms out in surrender, mock-offended. “Wow. Okay. Possessive much?”

Mateo steps slightly in front of you, like he’s protecting you from her now. “You always see her. I don’t.”

Irene tries and fails to contain her laugh. Mapi just looks amused in a we’ve completely lost control of this situation sort of way.

You grin and lean closer to Alexia, lowering your voice just enough that only she hears, “Is that jealousy again?”

She scoffs, but her smirk gives her away. “For a toddler?”

You shrug, teasing. “A very charming toddler. You should be worried.”

She gives you a long, sidelong look one that says I am, but not for the reasons you think before leaning in just enough to murmur back, “He’s not the only one who thinks you belong here.”

Your heart does a small, traitorous flip. Mateo tugs your hand again. “Come on, Coco. I’ll show you where I got my snack from.”

Alexia sighs dramatically. “He’s already stealing you away.”

You flash her a grin over your shoulder as Mateo drags you forward. “What can I say?” you call back. “The competition’s fierce in Barcelona. He has the guts to do something about it”

Alexia watches you go, shaking her head but that smile stays on her face a long time after you disappear down the hallway.

Mateo’s tugging your hand, when Irene gently steps forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Amor,” she says, soft but firm, “Y/N has a meeting now. An important one.”

Mateo slows to a stop and looks up at her, then back at you, frowning like he’s been gravely betrayed. “But we were gonna—”

You crouch down to his level, still holding his hand, and give it a gentle squeeze. “I know, mate. But I have to finish some boring grown-up stuff first.” He crosses his arms, lower lip sticking out in a classic pout. You lower your voice, conspiratorial. “But I promise I’ll come play with your toys. We’ll set it up, okay? I’ll talk to your mami. We’ll pick a day. Just us.”

He studies you, clearly weighing the sincerity in your voice like a tiny negotiator. After a long moment, he finally nods once, very serious, “Okay. But you can’t forget again.”

“I won’t,” you say, holding up a pinky. “Swear on ice cream with sprinkles.”

He hooks his little finger around yours, solemn as anything. Deal sealed. As Irene gently guides him back down the hallway, you stand and glance back just in time to catch Alexia watching with a look on her face that’s hard to name.

⚽️

You walk back through the front door of Alexia’s house, the quiet of the evening wrapping around you, before you can even get your shoes off, Teddy comes bounding down the stairs to greet you, tail wagging furiously as he jumps up to say hello.

“Hey, buddy!” you laugh, kneeling down to scratch behind his ears. “Did you miss me? I know i’m sorry i didn’t think i’d be so long”

He barks excitedly, practically vibrating with energy, as he hops around your feet. You give him one last affectionate pat before he dashes back up the stairs, eager to show you that was where Alexia is.

You take your time heading up, the weight of the day starting to sink in. The house feels warm, quiet, a little slice of calm. You reach the top of the stairs and stop outside Alexia’s bedroom, leaning against the doorframe.

Inside, she’s propped up in bed, reading a book by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. She looks up as you enter, her eyes flicking from the book to you, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“You look tired,” she murmurs, her voice soft. She pats the space next to her on the bed.

You grin, leaning against the doorframe, feeling the weight of the day on your shoulders. “Long day,” you reply with a small sigh. “A lot of decisions.”

Alexia raises an eyebrow, then pats the bed again, a teasing smile appearing. “Come here. Just for a bit. No football talk I promise.”

You hesitate for a second, but her warmth is inviting, and the idea of just sitting in the calm of her room, even for a moment, feels good. You push off the doorframe slowly, feet dragging just a little as you cross the room, feeling the ache of the day settle deeper now that you’re finally in the quiet. Alexia watches you without a word at first, her book forgotten at her side, a softness in her expression that you don’t think she realises is there.

Teddy beats you to the bed, leaping up like he owns the place which, given how often you’ve both crashed here lately, might as well be true. He circles at the foot of the bed, settles, then promptly stretches out until he’s pressed against your legs when you sit down.

Alexia’s head tilts as she watches the two of you, a lazy smile tugging at her mouth. “He’s getting bold. Must feel comfortable here now.”

You laugh under your breath. “Yeah, well. He’s not the only one getting too comfortable.”

Alexia chuckles softly at that, but doesn’t deny it. She shifts, her shoulder brushing yours for just a moment as she turns slightly to face you, pulling the blanket up over both your legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?” Alexia murmurs, voice low, gentle.

You let your head drop back against the headboard with a sigh. “Just… everything. The clubs. The offers. It’s a lot.”

She hums, thoughtful. “But you already know what you want, don’t you?”

You glance at her sideways, lips twitching. “Maybe.”

She grins. “Liar.” You laugh, letting your eyes close briefly, the smile still on your face. “So what do I need to do to tip the scales?” Alexia teases after a long beat of silence, her tone lighter, laced with something softer underneath.

You peek an eye open at her. “What, you volunteering as official Barcelona recruiter now?”

“Someone’s got to step up,” she fires back easily, giving you a little nudge with her shoulder. “They clearly didn't seal the deal today. If they were serious, they’d have sent me into the boardroom.”

You scoff. “You think you’d have sealed the deal?”

Alexia’s smirk turns slow, dangerous. “I know I would.”

It’s playful, but there’s something humming underneath it now the kind of teasing that feels closer, heavier, like it might tip over into something else if you let it. You grin, shaking your head, trying to play it off. “Dangerous levels of confidence.”

She shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’ve been told.” And then, her smile twists into something smug, knowing. “So…” she starts, voice syrup-slow, stretching it out deliberately. “Are you exclusively into your coaches’ daughters, or does your interest widen to players too?”

You actually choke on your breath, caught so off guard it makes her laugh, soft but wicked. “Wow,” you manage, rubbing a hand down your face, both flustered and trying very hard not to show it. “You’ve been waiting to throw that one out, haven’t you?”

Alexia leans in just enough that you can feel the warmth of her against your side, her grin all teeth now, eyes glinting. “Maybe,” she says. “Kika an Ellie weren't discussing it very quietly.”

You shake your head, cheeks warm, trying not to laugh as you groan into your hands, “Unbelievable.”

“I’m just saying,” she continues, merciless now, “Barcelona has a history of… very persuasive players.”

You glance over at her, caught somewhere between exasperated and charmed. “Is this part of the official pitch?”

She shrugs, settling back, her smirk lingering. “Off the record.”

You laugh, the tension in your chest finally cracking, falling away into something easier. You lean your head back again, letting the quiet settle in once more. Teddy sighs dramatically at your feet, clearly over both of you. “You’re trouble, Putellas,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded.

You stare up at the ceiling for a long moment, letting the silence stretch, but your mind is anything but still.

You tilt your head toward her, voice low, lazy, but edged with something more intentional now. “Ironic, though… you saying you’d have sealed the deal by now.”

Alexia hums, pretending to focus on her book again, but you catch the flicker of a smile she tries to hide. “Yeah?” she murmurs, pretending innocence.

You let your gaze linger on her now, slower, less guarded. “Yeah,” you say quietly, letting the weight of your words settle. “Considering I’ve been pretty openly waiting for you to make a move.”

That makes her pause. Her fingers still where they toyed with the edge of the page, and for a beat, she doesn’t look at you, but you see the corners of her mouth twitch, like you’ve both stepped over an invisible line neither of you have dared cross until now.

“Oh,” she says finally, glancing at you from the corner of her eye, playing it cool but you see the flush that creeps just under the surface. “Is that right?”

You nod once, slow, letting her feel the honesty in it. “Pretty obvious, I thought.”

Alexia exhales a quiet laugh, leaning back into the pillows like she’s still pretending to play it casual, but you don’t miss the way her throat moves as she swallows. “Well…” she says softly, voice dipping lower now, more intimate, like the air in the room just got heavier. “Maybe I was giving you space to figure out if you actually wanted Barcelona… or just… certain players.”

You smirk at that. “You mean certain captains?”

Alexia lets out a soft, breathy laugh, finally turning fully toward you now, eyes meeting yours in the dim light, and this time there’s no hiding what’s in them. “Maybe I like to see someone work for it a little,” she murmurs.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Brutal.”

She shrugs, but the playfulness is thick now, layered over something warmer, heavier. “You still haven’t given me your final answer,” she adds, but there’s a teasing tilt to her tone now, like you both know she’s not just talking about football anymore.

You hold her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, the pull between you electric and thick in the stillness of the room. “Maybe I’m still waiting on the official offer,” you say, voice dipping lower.

Alexia’s eyes flick down to your mouth for just a heartbeat before she smirks again, softer this time, and leans back like she’s letting you stew in it a little longer as her book is put on the nightstand. “Maybe you’ll get it,” she whispers. “If you’re patient.” And with that, she pulls the blanket up, settling deeper into the bed like she hasn’t just knocked the air right out of your lungs.

You sit there for a few more moments, the weight of what was and very much wasn’t said still hanging between you, thick and heavy in the quiet of the room. Alexia watches you, expression unreadable now, eyes softer but still carrying that teasing glint.

Eventually, you let out a breath and stretch, the movement slow and deliberate as you peel yourself out from under the blanket. “Alright,” you say, forcing your tone back to light, even though you feel anything but. “I should let you sleep.”

You move to stand, brushing your hand casually over Teddy’s head as he lets out a content sigh, completely oblivious to the slow burn playing out above him.

“Goodnight, Alexia.”

You turn to leave, but before you can even make it to the doorway, her voice cuts through the stillness quieter now, but laced with something heavier. “Where are you going?” she asks, soft, but there’s an edge to it now. Like she already knows the answer but can’t help herself.

You glance back over your shoulder, giving her your best innocent smile, even though you know your eyes are giving you away. “To bed,” you say smoothly, pausing in the doorway just long enough to let the silence pull tight. “To be patient… apparently.”

Alexia blinks at that, and for a split second, you catch the flush rise in her cheeks before she laughs under her breath and shakes her head at you, like you’ve managed to flip the game on her, just a little, “Touché,” she murmurs, but there’s no hiding the warmth in her voice now, or the way her gaze lingers on you just a bit too long.

You grin to yourself as you turn fully, padding down the hallway toward the guest room, your heart thudding in your chest. Patience never felt so dangerous.

⚽️

The morning light creeps in too early, filtering through the thin curtains of the guest room, but you’re already awake.

You’d been awake for a while, really tossing and turning, brain refusing to slow down. Replay after replay of last night. Of the way Alexia looked at you. Of the things you both didn’t say out loud, but left hanging in the air like a loaded question.

Teddy is sprawled on the floor, snoring softly, completely at ease, which is more than you can say for yourself.

You rub at your face, exhaling into the quiet and that’s when you hear it a soft knock. You blink, caught off guard. You glance at the clock. Early. Too early for anything to be casual. Another knock, even quieter this time.

When the door cracks open, there she is. Alexia. Messy hair, oversized hoodie, shorts peeking out beneath the hem. She’s hugging her arms around herself like she wasn’t sure she was actually going to knock until she was already standing here.

you frown softly, confused. “Everything okay?”

She lingers in the doorway, awkward, she shrugs, but it’s forced, and when she finally meets your eyes, there’s something vulnerable there you weren’t expecting.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she says, almost like she’s admitting defeat.

You search her face. “You want a drink?”

She shakes her head once, quick. “No. I… I just…” She huffs out a breath, frustration at herself clear now. “Can I—? Can I just…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to. You pat the space beside you without needing more explanation.

Alexia pauses only to close the door behind her, then stands there for a moment, still hugging herself like she’s debating if she’s gone too far, crossed too many lines at once.

You tilt your head. “You okay?”

She lets out a breathy laugh, but it’s thin, almost sheepish. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

You soften at that. “Come here.”

That’s all it takes. She crosses the room quickly this time, crawling onto the bed without hesitation now, like if she slows down, she might overthink it and bolt. She settles into the space beside you, tentative at first, but when you lift the blanket, she slides in like she’s been doing it forever.

It’s quiet again, only this time it’s different, her head finds your shoulder, hand brushing your stomach lightly like she’s testing the water.

You can feel the tension bleeding out of her slowly, as if she’s finally letting herself lean into the comfort she usually walls off.

“This is dangerous,” you murmur into her hair after a few heartbeats of silence.

She hums. “Yeah. I know.”

You swallow thickly, the weight of her pressed against you sending your heart into overdrive. For a while, neither of you says anything. It’s soft, still, intimate in a way that speaks louder than words.

“If you had a bad dream you only have to say, I'll protect you from the monsters” you joke.

Alexia lets out a soft laugh against your skin, her breath warm where it touches your collarbone. “No” she whispers, voice barely there now. “No bad dream”

And just like that the last thread of pretence snaps, her hand slides up your side, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, grounding herself, grounding you. “Alexia…” you murmur, warning and want tangled together.

She looks up at you then, and everything that’s been simmering between you is there, raw and unspoken in her gaze.

You notice it before she says anything.

The way she subtly shifts her neck, rolls her shoulders like she’s trying to work out something tight, but failing. You see the little winces she tries to hide, the stiffness in the way she adjusts under the blanket.

You brush your hand lightly over her shoulder, feather-soft, testing. “You’re tense.”

“I’m fine,” she says too quickly

You huff a soft laugh. “You’re a terrible liar, Alexia.”

She groans quietly into the fabric of your shirt as she buries her face but doesn’t deny it.

“You want me to help?” you offer, gentle, giving her the space to say no even though you can already feel her wavering.

“I’m okay,” she mumbles again, but it’s weaker this time. You feel her body giving herself away more than her words.

You smile, waiting her out, fingers brushing softly over the nape of her neck. She caves first, predictably. “…Maybe,” she grumbles finally, like it costs her pride just to admit it.

You grin, leaning down so your breath ghosts over her ear. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She huffs again, but this time it sounds more like a laugh. Reluctantly, Alexia rolls onto her stomach, the blanket pooling low around her waist. She stretches out, arms folded under the pillow, her hair tumbling loose across her back. She tenses again when your hands gently sweep the strands aside.

“Take your shirt off,” you say, soft, careful, but there’s no teasing now just sincerity. “You’ll feel it better.”

She hesitates for a breath, but then leans up enough to peel the hoodie over her head, tossing it somewhere beside the bed. She pauses with the shirt, glancing back at you like she’s giving you one last chance to change your mind. To change her own mind.

You don’t. She doesn't.

She pulls it off slowly, exposing the smooth expanse of her back, the soft curve of her spine, and all that ink that you’ve caught glimpses of before, but never like this.

Your breath catches slightly, unprepared for how much seeing her like this, bare, vulnerable, open would punch the air right out of your lungs.

Her tattoos stretch and shift with every subtle movement, each one telling a story she never quite lets anyone read up close.

You settle carefully, straddling the backs of her thighs, keeping enough space not to overwhelm her, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off her skin.

Your hands hover above her back for a second longer than necessary, your gaze trailing the ink as your fingers finally, carefully, make contact. Her skin is warm, soft, the tension sitting in the knots of her shoulders almost immediately under your touch.

She shivers slightly when your palms glide over her shoulder blades, not from cold but from something else neither of you names.

“Jesus, Al” you murmur as you feel just how tight the muscles are under your fingertips. “You’re more tense than I thought.” Little did you know you were the reason for most of it, her being half naked and you touching her in ways she'd only envisioned before.

“Told you I was fine,” she mumbles into the pillow, but you can hear the slight strain in her voice now.

"Clearly a lie" You start working slowly, carefully, thumbs pressing deep into the muscle, finding the tight knots and coaxing them loose, feeling the way her body tries to resist at first, and then finally starts to yield.

Your fingers follow the trail of her tattoos, tracing them unintentionally, like your hands are memorising more than just tension. Neither of you speaks for a long stretch.

The only sounds in the room are your quiet breathing, the occasional soft hum from Alexia when your hands hit a particularly sore spot, and the faint rustle of the sheets beneath you both.

The atmosphere is thick, heavy with something that hangs unsaid and maybe Alexia feels it too, because after a long silence, she finally lets out a breath that sounds a lot like surrender.

“…You’re dangerous,” she mumbles into the pillow.

You smile softly, still working over the knot in her shoulder. “Takes one to know one.”

Her laugh is low, muffled, and when she finally tilts her head to glance at you over her shoulder, her eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them.

You keep working in slow, steady circles, fingers pressing deep into the tightness beneath her skin, but your touch softens now, lingering longer than strictly necessary.

Alexia breathes out a low sound not quite a sigh, not quite a moan, but something in between that makes your pulse jump in your throat.

Your thumbs brush over the dip at her lower back, feeling the way she shivers slightly beneath you. Her skin is impossibly warm, the rise and fall of her back slow and heavy now, like she’s finally giving into the weight of your hands and maybe it’s the early morning haze, or the tension that’s been simmering too long between you both but you push your luck.

Without overthinking it, you lean down, softly at first, a gentle brush of your lips against the curve of her shoulder, barely there, more breath than kiss.

Alexia tenses, but only for a second. Then you feel her sink back into the touch like she’s daring you to keep going.

So you do.

You trail another kiss, slow, just below the line of one of her tattoos. Then another, a little closer to her neck this time, feeling the way her breath catches when your lips linger just a moment longer.

Her head turns slightly into the pillow, exposing more of her neck to you now like she’s not going to say it out loud but she’s giving you permission.

“You’re pushing your luck,” she murmurs, voice thick, low, but there’s no real warning in it. It’s a challenge she's hoping you'll take. A crack in her usual iron wall.

You smile against her skin, letting your lips hover there, your breath warm over the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Maybe I am,” you whisper back. “Maybe you like it.”

Her breath is shaky now, her hands curling into the sheets beneath her as you let your mouth explore her neck and still she doesn’t stop you. Her body tells you everything her mouth refuses to.

Your hands slide lower, palms smoothing over the small of her back, not pushing, just grounding, feeling the way she arches slightly into you. Her body instinctively searched for the contact, you obey kissing between her shoulder blades as your fingers wander bumping over her abs and unintentionally grazing the underside of her breasts as you caressed her soft skin.

The air between you is thick, electric now, no more teasing just weight. Just heat. Just the way your name would sound on her lips if she finally let herself say it the way you both want.

You lean in again, trailing one last kiss along her spine, slow, deliberate, tasting the skin there like a promise and Alexia exhales like you’ve stolen all the air from her lungs.

It’s feels like a loaded spring, coiled tight, waiting for someone anyone to make that move, you swallow, your hands still resting over the curve of her lower back, your thumbs brushing over her bare skin.

“Alexia…” you murmur, almost a warning, almost a plea.

She turns her head toward you properly this time, eyes dark, unreadable, but there’s no hesitation in the way she looks at you now. All that bravado, all the teasing and deflecting, stripped away until there’s only this raw, quiet honesty sitting between you.

Her gaze drops to your mouth. Lingers there and that’s it, that’s the thing that snaps the fragile thread holding you both back.

You shift your weight forward, slowly at first, giving her one last chance to pull away, to shut it down. She doesn’t. She meets you halfway, her mouth finds yours in a kiss that’s nothing like the teasing, controlled games you’ve been playing all week. It’s messy, breathless, aching with everything that’s been building under the surface. There’s no patience left. No walls. Just the desperate crash of mouths, the scrape of teeth, the way her body turns underneath you, hands finally reach for you, dragging you down fully against her.

You groan into her mouth, feeling the way she arches up into you, like she’s been starving for this just as much as you have.

“Finally,” she mutters against your lips, breath hot, voice wrecked now, all the smoothness stripped from it.

You smile into the kiss, your hand sliding up her side, feeling every inch of her, taking hold of her breast, “I was to be patient, remember?”

She laughs, breathless, but it turns into a soft gasp when your mouth finds her neck again, kissing, tasting, letting yourself sink into her properly now.

Her hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, her breath ragged in your ear as she lets herself fall apart beneath you.

You've been dancing around this moment for what feels like forever, and now that it's here, it's all you can do not to devour her whole.

Her breath hitches as your fingers trace the line of her collarbone, then drift lower to the swell of her breasts. She arches into your touch, the air thickening with want. You lean in, capturing her mouth with yours in a kiss that's been brewing for days, weeks, maybe even longer. It's messy and hungry, all the pent-up frustration and desire spilling out between you.

Your hands roam her body as if it's a map you've been dying to explore, while her own fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer. The room is a blur of soft light and shadow, the only thing that matters the heat of her skin and the sweet taste of her mouth. You break the kiss to explore her neck, feeling the tremble of her pulse beneath your lips as your teeth graze her sensitive skin.

Her breathy moan fills the room as you move down, your mouth finding her breasts. You tease her nipples, rolling them between your fingers as your tongue darts out to taste her. She gasps your name, her body writhing beneath yours. The anticipation has turned to urgency, the gentle strokes of your hand turning into something more demanding. You feel her wetness through her underwear, and it's all you can do not to rip them off and dive into her fully. You ease her back onto the bed, your kisses following the line of her abdomen until you reach the juncture of her thighs. The scent of her arousal fills the air, driving you wild.

You kiss along the inside of her thighs, your hands gripping her hips to keep her still as she tries to buck against you. Your tongue darts out to trace the edge of her panties, making her quiver. You can feel the heat emanating from her, the way her muscles tighten in anticipation. With a final teasing kiss, you pull the fabric aside and taste her, her sweetness making your senses reel. She cries out, her hands reaching for your head, her hips lifting to meet your eager mouth.

Alexia's legs spread wider, giving you full access to her most intimate parts. Your tongue delves into her folds, exploring her with a hunger that's been building for far too long. Her hands are in your hair now, holding you to her, as you lick and suck with an intensity that's unbridled. Her moans crescendo, her breath coming in ragged pants as you bring her closer to the edge. You feel her tense, her legs quivering, and you know she's almost there.

With one hand, you slip two fingers inside her, curling them in the way you hoped she’d like. Her body clamps down around you as she starts to come, her moans turning to whimpers of pleasure. You don't stop, instead pushing her harder, feeling her climax wash over her in waves until she's trembling and panting beneath you. You kiss your way back up her body, her taste still on your lips, her eyes glazed with passion as she looks at you.

The air in the room is still thick, heavy with everything that just happened everything that had been simmering for weeks, months, finally spilling over the edge.

The sheets are tangled, bodies loose and sated, the frantic edge replaced by something softer now. Your breath finally evens out, but your heart still hasn’t quite caught up. Alexia is quiet beside you, stretched out on her stomach, head turned toward you, hair messy and spilling over the pillow.

For a while, neither of you says anything. It’s not awkward. It’s something else. Fragile, intimate in a way that feels almost more dangerous than the kissing, the touching, the heat.

You let your fingers trace lazy lines over the curve of her spine, following some the ink you memorised by touch first and now by sight in the early morning light.

She doesn’t stop you, in fact, she leans into it, her body soft and relaxed now, the walls she usually wears like armour nowhere in sight.

“You okay?” you murmur finally, your voice still rough from all of it.

She hums, but it’s soft, almost shy. “Yeah.”

You watch her for a beat longer, taking in the flushed skin of her cheeks, the swollen curve of her lips. You smile, small but real. “That was… unexpected.”

She laughs quietly, burying her face into the pillow for a second, and for a rare, rare moment she lets you see her flustered. “I think we’re past pretending it hasn’t been on the table for a while,” she says finally, muffled into the pillow.

You laugh softly, letting your hand rest at the small of her back, thumb brushing there in slow circles. “You think?”

She finally looks at you fully now, eyes still soft but clearer, like she’s grounded again. “It’s different now, though,” she says, and there’s no tease this time. “No going back.”

You nod, serious now. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

She holds your gaze, something quiet but heavy sitting between you, not fear exactly, but the weight of what it means. For her. For you. For everything that could be complicated now, but instead of pulling away like you half-expect, she shifts closer, sliding her arm lazily across your waist, tucking herself against you without saying more.

You feel your heart squeeze, comfortable silence settles again, softer this time, the kind that comes after a truth you’ve both stopped running from. Alexia breaks it eventually, voice low, teasing but edged with something more vulnerable underneath. “…So, do I get the exclusive now? Or are you still holding out for more coaches’ daughters?”

You groan, laughing into your hand. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Nope.” She grins into your skin, smug now, but her hand tightens gently on your waist, grounding you both. “But I’m also not sharing.”

You turn your head, pressing a kiss into her hair, lingering there “Good," you whisper. “Because neither am I.”

[suuuupernovaaa]

crawl

my babe would never fret none, about what my hands and my body done. If the lord don’t forgive me, I’d still have my baby and my babe would have me.

MASTERLIST

When my time comes around, lay me gently on the cold dark earth.

No grave could hold my body down. I’ll crawl home to her.

It’s not the first time that Joel has seemed a little distant. Maybe even a little cold, or indifferent towards me. He gets this way sometimes, when he’s having a hard time holding on to his justifications for it all, having a hard time imagining that I’m not lying when I say he’s a good man.

I wait patiently usually. I don’t coddle or reassure him, unless he asks. I’m just there, quietly, a steady presence while he works through it.

Today is one of those days. He seems angry when he wakes up, and leaves the house without saying goodbye. So, I go about my day. I help Tommy with the animals for most of the day, a smile on my face for the man who considers me his sister-in-law, and clean up the house when I get home. Dinner is on the table at 6pm sharp, but Joel isn’t home until much later.

Probably drinking. So, I eat alone and clean up, my bones feeling weary after a long day of work. The house is spotless. The animals are cared for. Everything is running smoothly, but I’m alone.

For the first time, I feel a little annoyed by it. Things usually slide off my back, I don’t take much personally, and I know what Joel has been through.

I know what I signed up for.

Sometimes, though, I see the way Tommy looks at Maria. The effortless way they love each other and I wonder, what must that be like.

How easy that must be, to know your partner will smile at you every day.

I shake the thoughts from my head and pour a glass of wine, and sit on the porch for a while, rocking back and forth, watching the descending sun as the air cools.

It’s nearly dark when Joel arrives home. I see him coming from down the street, his steps heavy.

I know his mind is clouded, his shoulders feeling heavy, and I don’t want to add to the burden.

But I don’t want to be made to feel like a burden either.

“Hey, darlin’” he says as he walks up the steps.

I set my empty glass down and can’t think of a greeting in response.

“You alright?” he asks, and I frown.

“No,” I reply simply as I stand up and walk inside. I feel so tired all of a sudden, over run with it, so I head upstairs and turn on the bath. Maybe that will ease my aches and pains.

I hear Joel outside in the bedroom moving around, but he doesn’t join me in the bathroom until I’ve already submerged myself in the tub. I wonder if he would hear it, if I screamed under the water.

He’s perched on the edge of the sink when I surface, staring down at me with folded hands and clouded eyes.

“Gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks.

What an idiot.

“No,” I reply, a little petulant, but I don’t want to explain it to a man 20 years my senior.

He sighs and runs his hand down his face. “I know I don’t make it easy for you,” he says finally.

“Make what easy?”

“Lovin’ me.”

I shake my head. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done in my life, Miller. It comes as easy as breathing.”

“Then what is it?”

I run the wash cloth over my arms, removing the grime of the day. “Sometimes it’s hard, when you have a hard day, to sit back and take it.”

He lets out a breath, hard and fast, and crosses the bathroom to kneel by the tub.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He doesn’t say those words much. He rests his crossed arms on the edge of the bath, getting his shirt damp. “It’s never about you.”

I rest my forehead on his upper arm and sigh. “I know. It’s just hard to feel that way. I don’t like when you leave without saying goodbye, or come home late without telling me. It hurts.”

He brushes my wet hair from my face. “You deserve better than me.”

I look up at him with tired eyes. “I don’t want anyone else, Joel. I want to feel important to you.”

He blinks, eyes wide. “You don’t think you’re important to me?”

I shrug, the water rippling away from me.

“Sweetheart, you are the most important person in my life. You’re my family. You’re… everythin’, to me.”

My chest rattles with the force of his words. “Do you promise?”

He helps me stand up and step out onto the bath mat, and wraps my shivering body in a large towel. He dries me, head to toe, carefully wringing the water out of my hair.

“I promise. I promise.” He lifts me up, like a bride, and carries me to our room. “I promise,” he says again, peppering my face with light kisses, and lays us down in the bed, him fully dressed, me naked and damp.

He covers us with our heavy comforter, and pulls me to him, chest to chest.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, and I reach up, running my fingers gently down his face.

“You deserve every good thing. Please, just don’t leave in the morning without saying goodbye. Even if you’re having a bad day.”

He presses a feather light kiss to my fingers.

“I promise.”

It’s a few months later until Joel has a bad day again, but before he walks out the door, he kisses my cheek and says goodbye.

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Texture

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Masterlist

Word Count: 1,635

Summary: You being obsessed with Bucky and watching him every day during meetings, lingering around too long when you see him, all because of a dumb tiktok you saw late one night.

Warnings: 18+, f!masturbation, oral m!receiving, worshipping the man that is Bucky Barnes.

A/N: i saw this on tiktok and couldn’t help myself, imagine what’s your fantasy by Ludacris, ‘I wanna lick you from your head to your toes’

It was late and you had work in the morning. You shouldn’t be mindlessly scrolling through tiktok, your eyes were starting to burn from the leds that lit up your face. You told yourself five more minutes, that ended up turning into forty five. With one last swipe of your thumb your eyes read the words on the screen.

“You can look at any object and your tongue already knows what it would feel like to lick it”

Your brain starts rapid firing. You look around the objects in your dark room. For the most part it was true. You could feel the cool clay surface of the lamp on your bedside table, the rubber nubs on your tv remote.

You shut your phone off, laying it facedown underneath your pillow. You move to lay on your back and when your eyes close you see black vibranium. The words dance in the back of your mind. You weren’t shy on the fact you had a crush on the super soldier, but you never thought about him this way.

The thought of running your tongue down his neck, you could feel his stubble tickling you. You felt a chill run over you and your nipples hardened. You could almost taste the sweat if you thought about it hard enough.

You run your hand across your stomach, slipping your fingers in your underwear. You fantasized about every part of Bucky you could lick. But you could only picture one, his bionic arm.

Sure you’d thought about him pressing you up against a wall with it, holding you down, squeezing you tight enough to leave bruises. But you’d never touched yourself at the thought of cold metal running over your tongue.

You use your left hand to finger fuck yourself, giving it a taste test. When your fingers entered your mouth you imagined Bucky, spreading your pussy open then shoving his fingers down your throat. You push your fingers harder on your tongue, holding your jaw tightly, it helped when you closed your eyes and imagined it was metal. You came fast, not being able to stop your right hand from stimulating yourself.

You run to the bathroom, brushing your teeth and cleaning yourself up. You don’t know what came over you, you got desperate, doing anything to make it feel real. You look at yourself in the mirror, you can’t meet your own eye, instead you focus on the tiny bruise forming under your chin, in the shape of your thumb.

You wake up early the next morning, needing to apply more makeup than usual to hide your late night activity. You found yourself staring at Bucky during the morning debrief, taking in every detail of his face, neck and hair. The man dressed like a swat team member at all times, revealing nothing. He gloved his hands, even here, where everyone knows and accepts him.

You found him in the kitchen later that day, glove free. He was setting a mug down in the sink, when you walked in. “Hey.” You say, not wanting to make things awkward. “Hi.” He says, in a customer service kind of way. Like he’s only saying it to be cordial. You open the fridge and fish out your lunch that you brought, a chicken salad, it was your go to for an effortless lunch.

You make yourself comfortable at the counter, chomping away at the lettuce that filled the plastic container. You watched him as he washed the dishes remaining in the sink. You smile to yourself, he’s such a gentleman.

You tentatively watch as his vibranium hand holds on to the dishes. It’s fluid, no robotic tics in his fingers. You know your eyes were locked on him for too long when he clears his throat. “You taking notes on how to wash dishes?” He says, meticulously drying off the gleaming metal.

“Sorry.” You say, averting your gaze from him. You stare at the slices of grilled chicken, not feeling hungry anymore. You got caught red handed.

“That wasn’t an answer.” He says, laying the hand towel on the counter, putting his hands on his hips. “I saw you this morning too.”.

Your breath hitches, he doesn’t know about last night, he couldn’t, you needed to relax yourself and try to lie your way out of this. “I wasn’t staring at you, I’ve just been zoned out a lot lately.” You hope that works.

Bucky nods his head, “That makes sense, or at least it would, if I couldn’t sense how tense you are. That’s the opposite of zoned out. I heard your heart beating faster when I turned around. You’re in the moment, not your head.” He reads you like a book.

You don’t know what to say, do you spill every detail or do you just admit to your school girl crush. You meet his eyes “I just think you’re cute Bucky. Is that a crime?” You laugh, you couldn’t feel your face since all of the blood rushed to it. You close your salad, placing it back into the fridge. “You caught me.” You raise up your hands defensively.

Bucky doesn’t react, almost as if he doesn’t believe you. Even though you didn’t lie, you get nervous, like he was about to catch you up.

“Is that so?” He says leaning against the counter, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You watch as the metal plates slide into place.

“Mhm.” You can’t even form a sentence as you watch the veins in his other hand strain. Your tongue moves against the roof of your mouth as you imagine the metal shoved in there. You’re close enough to see the details, micro bolts, chips and scratches in the black finish. You can feel it all with the tip of your tongue.

Bucky breaks you from your trance. “I can smell you, y’a know?” Your eyebrows furrow, you thought you used the right amount of perfume this morning.

He steps closer to you, using his body to press you against the steel refrigerator. “Why would your pussy be so wet, if it’s just an innocent little crush?”. You can’t get out of this, so why not go for it.

“I was looking at your hands, since they’re the only part of you’re not covered in black polyester.” You give him a smug look. “Watching my hands made you this wet?” He slips his flesh hand into your panties, curling them at your entrance. You nod, building up the courage to grab his hand, sucking on the metal fingertips. It’s different than what you imagined, warmer.

Bucky closes his eyes as he pictures his cock in your mouth instead of his fingers. “I was imagining what you taste like,” you lean forward and lick a strip up his neck, it’s exactly how you imagined. “, what it felt like to run my tongue all over your body.” You say, surprised by your own confidence.

He pushed his fingers inside of you, liking the dirty words spilling from you. You moan, reaching out to grasp his black vest. “Let me touch you.” You say, pulling his hand from your pants. He grabs your arm and drags you out of the kitchen.

You’re thrown on his bed before you know it, he climbs on top of you, going in for a kiss. You turn your head, not letting his lips meet yours. “Let me.” You wiggle out from under him, standing up.

He sits in the middle of the bed, his feet dangling off the side. You drop to your knees and begin to untie his boots. He gives you a confused look when your remove them and move up his legs to his belt, unhooking it and removing the button on his black cargo pants.

You look him in the eyes as you pull down the zipper. You remove his pants swiftly, moving to push his vest off, you have to get up on the bed, straddling his bare legs. He looks up at you, amazed by you taking the lead. You peel off his black t shirt and he’s left in his socks and boxers.

You move back off the bed, admiring him splayed out. “You’re so perfect.” You say, running your hands up his thighs. You lean down to kiss each of his knees.

You keep your eyes locked on his face as you kiss up his thighs, ghosting over the large bulge in his boxers. He takes a shallow breath when you kiss his hips. Like he’d never experienced it before. “So beautiful.” You say, licking the happy trail growing up his stomach.

Bucky’s been getting a vantage point of view from resting on his elbows. You put an end to that by pushing him down, making him face the ceiling. You press your lips to both of his biceps, hovering over him when you finish.

“Can I kiss you now?” You say, satisfied with making your way up his body. He nods, keeping his hands to his sides while you devour his mouth, biting his lip and sucking on his tongue.

“I’m gonna take real good care of you, okay?” You ask before you get back on your knees. Bucky gets back on his elbows, not wanting to miss the show.

You free him from his tight boxers, letting him spring up towards your face. You take a moment to take a mental image of him, laid out so vulnerable. “Thank you, tiktok.” You whisper to yourself, grateful that a video effected you like it did, or else you wouldn’t be here right now, trying not to choke as you force every inch of him into your mouth. You wanted him to be proud and satisfied, even if it meant a sore throat.

[ducktoo]

Choose

Kim Minju x Reader

Note: first 2025 fic legggo! Miss seeing Minju around TT

Kim Minju

The name was practically a brand on its own. She wasn’t just a household name—she was the household name.

Not just in South Korea, but globally—a star whose name was synonymous with elegance, talent, and quiet determination. From her humble beginnings as an idol in a popular girl group to her meteoric rise as an actress, she’d built a career others could only dream of.

Critics raved about her ability to convey raw emotion in dramas that consistently topped ratings, and audiences adored her versatility on the big screen. Whether she was playing a fiery prosecutor in a courtroom thriller or a broken-hearted artist in an indie romance, Minju brought every character to life with a grace that felt effortless.

But behind the glitz and glamour, the award shows and flashing cameras, was a woman who hated doing the dishes and could never fold her laundry properly.

That’s where you came in.

The first time you met Minju, she wasn’t the polished actress everyone else saw. She was a frazzled young woman who had just moved into her first apartment after leaving her group, staring hopelessly at a mountain of cardboard boxes. You had been the part-timer hired by her agency to help her unpack and organize things for a day.

“Hi…I’m Minju,” she’d said with an awkward smile, wearing sweatpants and a messy bun. “I’m really bad at this sort of thing, so... please don’t judge me.”

You’d laughed, her candidness catching you off guard. “Pfff… no judgement…maybe. Just tell me where you want everything.”

One day turned into a week, then a month. By the time she’d landed her breakout role, you’d somehow become a permanent fixture in her life. Officially, you were her house helper—a job that involved cooking, cleaning, and occasionally wrangling her into her hectic schedules. Unofficially, you were her confidant, her sounding board, and her backup alarm clock when she hit snooze too many times.

It wasn’t glamorous work, but it was steady, and it let you witness a side of Minju no one else saw. The Minju who ate ramen straight out of the pot at 3 a.m., who cried over cheesy romance movies, and who practiced her lines in front of the bathroom mirror with more passion than she ever showed on set.

Although…you weren’t sure when your job title had expanded to include helping her choose a husband.

“Y/n, do you think this looks good on me?”

Her voice drifts from the walk-in closet, soft yet commanding, the kind of tone that doesn’t allow for a half-hearted response. You glance up from the laundry pile you’ve been folding for the past twenty minutes, catching sight of Minju stepping into the room in a pale blue dress.

It fits her perfectly, accentuating her delicate frame without being overly flashy. If anything, the dress looks like it was made for her. But you’ve learned to temper your words around her. Minju doesn’t need flattery—she needs honesty.

“It looks…good,” you say simply, folding another shirt with mechanical precision.

She frowns, turning back to the mirror. “Just good?”

You pause, trying not to sigh. “Fine…It looks great. You could wear a potato sack and still outshine half the world.”

Minju’s lips curve into a small smile, but it fades quickly as she smooths the fabric over her hips. “It’s not about outshining anyone, Y/n. I need to look like someone who’s ready to settle down. Someone... wife-like.”

"Pff…his clothes won't be folded anytime soon."

"Yaaaaaa" Minju whined, but the tone remains light.

Despite the teasing, the word wife hangs in the air between you, heavy and unspoken. You focus on the shirt in your hands, folding it once, then twice, before placing it neatly on the pile.

“I think you’re overthinking it,” you say, your voice steady despite the subtle tension building in your chest. “If a guy can’t see you are wife material, that’s on him, not your dress.”

Her head turns sharply, eyes narrowing. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being paraded around like a prize at an auction.”

“That’s a little dramatic,” you reply, finally meeting her gaze.

“Is it?” she shoots back, her hands planted firmly on her hips now. “I’ve got a dinner tomorrow with some CEO my manager thinks is perfect for me. Perfect age, perfect background, perfect everything. But do you know what’s not perfect?”

“Your minju ga tto moments?” you suggest, unable to resist a smirk.

“You,” she huffs, throwing a pillow at you. You catch it effortlessly, placing it on top of the laundry pile as if it belongs there.

“You’re the worst house helper ever” she mutters, but there’s no venom in her tone.

“I’m your only house helper,” you correct, standing and stretching your arms over your head. “And I’d argue I’m doing a pretty decent job.”

“Debatable,” she mumbles, turning back to the mirror. She’s quiet for a moment, her reflection deep in thought. Then, as if deciding something monumental, she spins back around.

“You’re coming with me tomorrow.”

You blink. “…What the f*ck?”

“To the dinner. You’re coming with me,” she repeats, crossing her arms like it’s already decided.

“Minju, I think you’re confusing me with your manager—”

“No, I’m not.” Her voice softens, but her eyes stay locked on yours. “I need someone there who’ll actually tell me what they think. Someone who’s not afraid to call out nonsense when they see it.”

“Right. And…you’re asking me?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m not exactly the type to blend in with high society,” you point out, gesturing to your worn-out hoodie and jeans. “They’ll take one look at me and think you brought your assistant as a pity date.”

“First of all, you don’t look that bad,” she says, her lips twitching in amusement. “And second, I don’t care what they think. You’ll just sit there, eat your food, and occasionally tell me if the guy is worth my time.”

You open your mouth to protest again, but the determination in her eyes stops you. She’s already made up her mind.

“Fine,” you relent, leaning back against the couch. “But I'm sitting nearby, not at your table."

"Nope." Minju demanded. Her lips loudly popped the 'p'. "You're sitting with me, hon."

You could only sighed at her antics. "…don’t blame me if I scare him off.”

Her smile returns, small but genuine. “That’s exactly why I’m bringing you.”

-

The restaurant feels like a different universe, the kind of place where the chandeliers probably cost more than your yearly rent. As you step inside, you’re painfully aware of how out of place you look, despite Minju’s efforts to make you “presentable.”

The tailored suit she picked out for you fits fine, but the collar feels like it’s choking you, and the tie might as well be a noose. You tug at it instinctively, only to have Minju swat your hand away.

“Stop fidgeting,” she whispers, her voice low but firm.

“Ya, it feels like I’m wearing a straightjacket,” you mutter under your breath, glancing around at the other patrons. Everyone looks like they stepped out of a luxury magazine, and you feel like an impostor sneaking into their world.

Minju sighs, looping her arm through yours as she steers you toward the table. “You’re fine. Just... don’t embarrass me.”

“That’s a tall order,” you joke, earning a glare that makes you straighten up immediately.

As you approach the table, the man—Jae, or whatever his name was—stands to greet her. His suit is sharp, his smile even sharper, and he exudes the kind of confidence that comes from always being the most important person in the room.

Minju is poised as always, but you can tell she’s studying him with the precision of someone trained to spot subtleties. Her eyes flick to his tailored suit—dark, impeccably fitted, clearly custom-made. His watch glints under the low lighting, its sleek design screaming exclusivity. She notices how his shoes are polished to a mirror shine, a detail she quietly admires, though it’s more the habit of presentation than the man himself that earns her approval.

Her gaze lingers on his face for a moment longer. He’s conventionally handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline so chiseled it seems engineered. His skin is flawless, either naturally or through an aggressive skincare regimen, and his neatly styled hair has the kind of sheen that comes from salon-grade products.

But it’s his smile that makes her hesitate. It’s too practiced, too polished. The way his lips curve feels less like an expression of genuine emotion and more like a calculated performance. Minju can’t quite put her finger on it, but something about him feels... rehearsed.

“Minju,” he says, his voice smooth, “you’re even more stunning than I imagined.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Great start, mister.

Minju smiles politely. “Thank you. This is Y/n, my house helper and friend.”

Jae’s gaze flickers to you, and his smile tightens ever so slightly. “Ah, I see.”

You shake his hand, trying not to let his patronizing tone get under your skin. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” he replies, though you’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean it.

You sit down, carefully unfolding your napkin and placing it on your lap like Minju instructed. It’s a small gesture, but it feels absurdly formal. The waiter arrives almost immediately to take your drink orders, and Jae doesn’t even glance at the menu before ordering an expensive bottle of wine.

“Water’s fine for me,” you say, earning a subtle nudge from Minju under the table.

-

As the evening progresses, you can’t help but feel like a fish out of water. The silverware is arranged in a way that makes no sense to you, and you’re pretty sure you’ve been holding your fork wrong the entire time.

Jae, on the other hand, seems completely at ease, dominating the conversation with tales of his business ventures and luxury vacations.

“And of course,” Jae says, swirling his wine glass like he’s performing for an invisible audience, “I make it a point to give back. Philanthropy is very important to me.”

“That’s wonderful,” Minju says, her voice even.

You nod along, keeping your expression neutral even though every word out of his mouth makes you want to groan.

“So, Y/n,” Jae says suddenly, turning his attention to you for the first time all night. “What do you do besides housekeeping?”

“I’m Minju’s househelper…just housekeeper yeah.” you reply, keeping your tone polite.

He nods slowly, his smile almost condescending. “That’s... noble. It must be fulfilling to work for someone like her.”

“It is,” you say simply, ignoring the way his words make your stomach twist. "She's a good person to work for…"

Minju shifts uncomfortably, clearly picking up on the tension. “Y/n isn’t just my househelper,” she says, her tone sharp. “They’ve been with me for years. I trust them more than anyone.”

Her words catch you off guard, and you glance at her, surprised. There’s a sincerity in her voice that makes your chest tighten.

Jae, however, seems unfazed. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “Loyalty is such a rare quality these days.”

As he speaks, his voice is smooth, his words carefully measured to sound charming without crossing into arrogance. She notices how he holds her gaze just long enough to seem interested but shifts his focus to his wine glass in a way that feels almost dismissive. It’s subtle, but Minju catches it.

She always catches the subtleties.

Still, she plays along. She smiles when he compliments her, nods when he  launches into a monologue about his career—something to do with technology and blockchain, and asks polite questions to keep the conversation flowing. But every now and then, her gaze drifts to you. You’re sitting stiffly, your hands clasped in your lap, your eyes darting between the silverware and your plate like you’re trying to decode a secret message.

“And of course, we’re always looking for ways to innovate,” Jae says, swirling his wine like he’s in a movie. “The future is all about disruption.”

“Disruption?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds... interesting.”

Jae chuckles, a sound that grates on your nerves. “Yes, yes! It’s about breaking the norms, you know? Creating new opportunities.”

“Right,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Like disrupting this conversation with a sales pitch?”

Minju chokes on her sip of wine, quickly covering her mouth with a napkin. Jae’s smile falters for a moment before he recovers.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it a sales pitch,” he says, forcing a laugh. “I’m just passionate about what I do.”

“I can see that,” you reply, your tone flat.

Minju shoots you a warning look, but there’s a flicker of amusement in her eyes. You force a smile, resisting the urge to continue your sarcastic run.

For Minju’s sake, you bite your tongue and focus on the plate in front of you.

-

The meal itself is exquisite, but you’re too preoccupied to enjoy it. Every detail of the restaurant—from the pristine tablecloths to the hushed murmurs of other diners—feels like a reminder that you don’t belong here. But every time you catch Minju glancing at you, her expression soft with gratitude, it feels worth it.

She’s trying to hide her discomfort with Jae when she turned her attention back to him, but you can see it in the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. And that’s enough to keep you on your best behaviour, no matter how much you want to call him out on his smugness.

When Jae leans in to comment on the wine selection, Minju notes the way his cologne—a sophisticated, woody scent—lingers in the air. It’s pleasant, but it doesn’t linger with her the way simpler, more familiar things do. Like the faint scent of laundry detergent you carry when you come in from running errands, or the sharp tang of cleaning supplies after you’ve wiped down the counters.

She glances at him again, taking in the way he gestures with his hands—broad, sweeping movements that seem designed to command attention. He’s polished, no doubt about that. But Minju’s gut tells her that beneath the polish, there’s something... hollow.

By the time dessert arrives, you’ve somehow managed to keep your composure. Minju excuses herself to the restroom, leaving you alone with Jae.

“So,” he says, swirling the last of his wine, “you must see a lot, working for Minju. I imagine it’s quite the experience.”

“It is,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. “You’re lucky, you know. Not many people get to be so close to someone like her.”

Your grip on your fork tightens, but you force a smile. “You’re right. I am lucky.”

Minju returns moments later, her presence immediately easing the tension. She glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing slightly. “Everything okay?”

“Perfect,” you say, standing to help her with her chair. “Just perfect.”

-

As the evening progresses, it becomes increasingly clear that Jae is more interested in talking about himself than getting to know Minju. He interrupts her stories to share his own, checks his phone under the table, and even orders dessert without asking if she wanted any.

“Minju,” he says at one point, leaning forward with what you’re sure he thinks is a charming smile, “I have to say, you’re even more beautiful in person than you are on screen.”

“Thank you,” she replies, her smile tight.

“And I’m sure someone like you must have a very busy schedule,” he continues. “But if we were together, I’d make sure you had time to relax. Maybe even a vacation. The private villa I mentioned would be perf-”

“Excuse me, but what’s your favourite film of hers?” you interrupt, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Jae blinks, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been talking about how amazing Minju is,” you say, folding your arms on the table, “so I’m curious. What’s your favourite film of hers?”

Minju turns to you, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Well, uh...” Jae stammers, clearly scrambling. “There are so many great ones, it’s hard to choose.”

“Come on, Just pick one,” you press, leaning in slightly.

He clears his throat, his confidence wavering. “I think the one where she plays that, uh, spy? You know, the action movie.”

Minju tilts her head. “I’ve…never played a spy.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“Oh, right,” Jae says quickly, laughing nervously. “I must’ve been thinking of someone else.”

You sit back, biting back a laugh. “Right, understandable. That's…a good suggestion for her next role.”

Minju also bit her lip, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

-

By the time you leave the restaurant, Jae’s enthusiasm has dwindled significantly. He bids Minju a somewhat awkward goodbye, promising to call, though you suspect she won’t answer.

Back at the house, Minju lets out a heavy sigh, kicking off her heels and tossing them unceremoniously by the door. “Well, that was a disaster,” she groans, plopping onto the couch with an exaggerated huff.

“You’re welcome,” you reply dryly, loosening the tie she forced you into. The thing’s been choking you all evening, but at least the dinner’s over. "Far out, this is choking me."

She shoots you a glare, though it lacks any real bite. “You didn’t have to roast the guy alive.”

“What? I was just asking innocent questions,” you say, shrugging nonchalantly as you loosen another button on your shirt. “If he can’t even name one of your works, he’s not worth your time.”

Minju groans again, pulling a throw pillow into her lap. “Maybe I’m just not meant to find someone. This is the fifth disaster in a row.”

The vulnerability in her voice makes your chest ache. You look over at her, noticing the way her shoulders slump and how she’s hugging the pillow like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Aish, you’ll find someone,” you say quietly, trying to sound reassuring but feeling like your words are hollow. “It’s not like you’re in a rush, right?”

She turns to you, her expression unreadable. “What if I’ve already found them?”

You blink. “What? Who? I kept track and you crossed all of them.”

“Well what if…the person I’ve been looking for has been here all along?” she says, her voice soft but steady, her gaze locked onto yours.

"Minju," you repeat, but it comes out like a plea. "The heck you're saying?"

She sits up, crossing her legs beneath her, and shifts closer to you. The pillow falls forgotten onto the floor as she leans in, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Why do you think I’ve been dragging you to these dinners?" she asks softly.

"Uh…" You blink again, trying to piece together her meaning. "…Because you wanted my opinion on these guys?"

She shakes her head, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at her lips. "No, stupid. Because I wanted you to tell me they weren’t good enough for me. I wanted you to realize that no one else could ever measure up to you."

Your brain screeches to a halt. You can feel your face heating up, the familiar panic rising in your chest. “Uh... sure, yeah,” you stammer, scratching the back of your neck. “I-I mean, you’ve got me and all, but I don’t think I’d make a great husband. I can’t even fold fitted sheets properly.”

“Y/n, I’m serious.”

“Right, serious.” You laugh nervously, trying to deflect. “Well, you know what they say, the best relationships start with someone who knows how to fix your coffee machine when it breaks—”

“Jung Y/n.”

Her voice is firm this time, and it stops your rambling dead in its tracks. She shifts closer, her hand reaching out to rest on top of yours. The warmth of her touch sends a jolt through you, and you freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

“Kim Minju,” you say, your voice cracking slightly as you clear your throat. “You’re tired. It’s been a long day. Maybe sleep on this whole ‘husband-hunting’ thing, and tomorrow you’ll realize it was just—”

“It’s not ‘just.’” Her grip tightens, her eyes glistening with something you can’t quite name. “You’ve always been here for me. You know me better than anyone else, and you make me feel... safe. Like I don’t have to pretend to be anything other than myself.”

You swallow hard, feeling like your heart is about to beat out of your chest. “Minju, I... Look, you deserve someone who can give you the world. I’m just your househelper. The person who unclogs your sink when it’s backed up with hair.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “You’re more than that, and you know it.”

“Do I?” you blurt out, your voice louder than intended. “Because honestly, I’ve been trying to keep my distance for ages. You’re—you’re Kim Minju. Successful, gorgeous, amazing Minju. And me? I’m just—”

“Mine,” she interrupts, her voice barely a whisper.

That one word makes your entire argument crumble. You sit there, stunned, as she inches closer, her eyes searching yours.

"…Fair move, damn it." You muttered, ignoring the rapid beating of your hearts and the continuous butterfly in your stomach.

“So…are you really going to make me spell it out?” she teases, though her voice is laced with emotion.

You let out a nervous laugh, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “Well, I do like it when people are straightforward, so maybe a—”

Her lips meet yours before you can finish your sentence. It’s soft, tentative, and completely disarming. Your mind goes blank, every sarcastic comeback dying on your tongue.

When she pulls away, her cheeks are flushed, but her eyes are steady. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“I—uh—” You blink rapidly, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Yeah, no big deal. Happens all the time. People confess their undying love to their house helpers every day.”

Minju giggles, leaning her forehead against yours. “You’re so stupid.”

“Yeah, but you’re still here,” you mutter, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Always,” she whispers.

Her fingers lace with yours, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe. You let yourself hope. Because the real one wasn’t someone Minju needed to find—it was someone who had always been beside her, waiting.

And now, finally, she’s chosen you.

[realhotgirlshitah]

Getting high with Luigi… yeah I have thoughts and none of them are clean.

The party is a mess of flashing LED lights, sweaty bodies, and the kind of cheap beer that leaves a sticky residue on the floor. The bass is pounding so loud that you can feel it in your ribs, the whole house practically shaking with the weight of the music and the drunken chaos of a hundred different conversations clashing all at once.

But none of that matters.

Because you and Luigi have long since peeled away from the noise, slipping into the one place in the frat house where nobody ever thinks to look—the upstairs bathroom.

The only light in the room is the golden glow from the cheap vanity bulbs above the sink, casting everything in a warm, hazy filter. There’s a half-used bar of soap by the faucet, someone’s forgotten makeup bag sitting next to it, and a faint lingering smell of cologne and shampoo in the air.

But the real highlight of the room is the bathtub.

It’s an old clawfoot, deep and wide, big enough to comfortably fit two people. And that’s exactly what it’s doing.

Luigi is stretched out on one side, all long legs and lazy confidence, his broad shoulders propped against the porcelain, one arm draped casually over the edge. His other hand is occupied with the joint between his fingers, lazily bringing it to his lips before exhaling a slow stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

You’re perched on the other end, back pressed against the opposite side of the tub, knees drawn up slightly, watching him.

Or, more accurately, trying not to watch him too obviously.

Because Luigi is always attractive—annoyingly, unfairly attractive—but high Luigi?

That’s something else entirely.

His sharp brown eyes are a little hooded, half-lidded and unfocused, giving him a sort of effortless, dreamlike quality. His usually furrowed brow is smooth, his sharp jawline relaxed, and the dim lighting makes the natural golden warmth of his skin look even more intense. His full lips, usually quirked into an arrogant smirk or a cocky grin, are slightly parted as he exhales another cloud of smoke.

And when he tilts his head back slightly, exposing the column of his throat, his messy curls falling away from his face, you’re pretty sure you could die happy in this exact moment.

Of course, you can’t tell him that.

So, instead, you take the joint from his fingers and raise an eyebrow. “Jesus, you look like you’re about to start reciting slam poetry.”

Luigi snorts, lips twitching into a lazy smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were anti-intellectual.”

“Oh, I’m very anti-intellectual,” you tease, taking a slow drag, holding his gaze as you inhale. “I’d much rather listen to you talk about, I don’t know, the merits of beer pong strategy.”

Luigi exhales sharply, shaking his head. “See, this is why I have to educate you.”

“Educate me,” you repeat, voice dripping with mock offense. “I am way smarter than you.”

That earns you a lazy, knowing smirk. “Are you?”

“Mmm.” You nod, holding his gaze, blowing a slow stream of smoke toward him. “That’s why I don’t waste my time pondering whether or not we’re all just someone’s science experiment.”

Luigi’s smirk widens. “It’s not a waste of time. It’s probability. Statistically, it’s more likely that we are in a simulation than not.”

You tilt your head, rolling the joint between your fingers. “I don’t know, dude. I feel like if we were in a simulation, my life would be a lot more interesting.”

Luigi huffs out a laugh, tapping ash into an empty red solo cup on the sink. “Oh, yeah? What do you want? More aliens? More explosions?”

You shift slightly, adjusting your position in the tub, the porcelain cool against your skin. “More orgies, honestly.”

Luigi chokes on a laugh, his smirk faltering as he coughs out a bit of smoke. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “That’s what you’d change if you could reprogram reality?”

You grin, passing the joint back to him. “I’m just saying, if we’re really being watched by some higher intelligence, the least they could do is add some better entertainment.”

Luigi hums, taking another hit, eyes flickering over you as he exhales. “I think you’re just bad at finding your own entertainment.”

There’s something about the way he says it—low, knowing, something just beneath the surface of his voice that makes your stomach tighten.

The thing is, Luigi has always been like this with you. Teasing, cocky, challenging you in ways that make your blood run hot. It’s been your dynamic for as long as you can remember—constant bickering, constant one-upping, constant tension that neither of you have ever really addressed.

And yet, it’s never felt dangerous before.

But right now, sitting across from him in this tiny little bubble of smoke and warmth, his voice low and his gaze heavy-lidded, you can feel something else threading through the usual banter.

Something thick and electric.

Something dangerous.

You shift again, not even thinking twice about it, and then suddenly, you’re moving over to his side of the tub, your knees pressing into the firm muscle of his thighs, your hands bracing against his broad shoulders as you settle yourself right onto his lap.

Luigi doesn’t say anything at first.

He just blinks at you, his long lashes fluttering slightly, his breath catching for just a fraction of a second before he exhales, slow and measured, smoke curling lazily from his lips.

Then, finally, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “What, not enough space on your side?”

You inhale deeply, the scent of weed, cologne, and something uniquely him filling your lungs. You exhale just as slowly, fingers curling slightly where they rest against his solid chest. “There’s never enough space when you take up, like, ninety percent of it.”

Luigi huffs a quiet laugh, his hands instinctively finding their way to your hips, fingers settling warm and heavy against the curve of your waist. It’s an innocent touch, something he’s done a thousand times before. But right now? Right now, it feels like a live wire pressed against your skin.

And then you feel it.

The slow, creeping realization of just how firm he is beneath you.

How solid his thighs are against the insides of yours, pressing up exactly where you’re sensitive, where you’re already way too warm.

And just like that, the air shifts.

Because you can feel it now—all of it.

The heat of him, the slow, easy rise and fall of his chest beneath your fingertips, the way the rough denim of his jeans is pressing exactly where it shouldn’t be, igniting something slow and insistent low in your stomach.

Your breath hitches, barely noticeable, but he notices.

Of course, he does.

Because Luigi feels it.

He feels the way you stiffen slightly, the way your thighs instinctively press tighter around him, the way you hesitate for just a second too long before shifting again, just a little, but enough that the movement sends the slightest friction sparking against your core.

Luigi notices.

And when he does, his smirk widens just a little.

His fingers flex against your hips, like he’s testing the weight of you, like he’s grounding himself.

“You okay?” His voice is lower now, rougher, thick with amusement.

You swallow, forcing yourself to breathe. “Yeah.”

“You sure?” His thumb strokes along the fabric of your dress, slow and teasing. “You just got really quiet all of a sudden.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the way your pulse stutters at the deliberate touch. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”

Luigi hums, considering this. Then, without warning, he shifts his leg slightly beneath you, just a minor adjustment, something so subtle it shouldn’t have an effect on you.

But it does.

The movement sends a slow, unexpected drag of friction right against your already sensitive core, making your breath hitch before you can stop it.

Luigi’s smirk deepens. “Huh.”

You clench your jaw, narrowing your eyes. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” he muses, dragging the word out, his voice lazy, knowing. “Just funny.”

You raise a brow, forcing your expression into something unimpressed. “What’s funny?”

Luigi tilts his head slightly, considering you. “You.”

You scoff, shifting slightly, which is a mistake, because the movement only presses you down harder against him, the fabric of your dress doing nothing to shield you from the sensation of rough denim pressing against where you’re starting to throb.

Luigi inhales slowly through his nose, and when you look at him, really look at him, you see the way his pupils are blown, the way his jaw is a little tighter now, the way his hands are gripping you a little firmer, like he’s holding back from something.

Oh.

Oh, he’s feeling it, too.

The realization sends a hot wave of satisfaction rolling through you, emboldening you.

So, instead of pulling away, instead of laughing it off, you decide to test him.

You shift again, slower this time, more deliberate.

Luigi’s fingers dig into your hips harder.

“Jesus,” he mutters, half-laughing, half-exhaling. “Didn’t even realize you were doing it at first.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “Doing what?”

Luigi exhales sharply, his fingers sliding lower, down to the curve of your ass, gripping firmly.

“This,” he murmurs, and then he moves you.

It’s subtle at first, barely more than a slow drag of your hips against him, but the sensation is enough to send a shiver straight down your spine.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your hands tightening against his shoulders.

Luigi grins, slow and lazy, watching you. “Feels good, huh?”

You don’t answer at first, too focused on the delicious friction, the way the heat is building, slow and insistent, the way every little movement is sending sparks licking up your spine.

Luigi leans in, his voice nothing but a soft, teasing murmur against your ear.

“You’re soaked,” he breathes, fingers pressing into your ass, rolling you against him again. “Didn’t even realize, did you?”

Your breath stutters, a soft sound escaping your throat.

Luigi chuckles, low and dark, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Oh, baby,” he coos, gripping you a little tighter. “You needed this, didn’t you?”

You swallow, trying and failing to control the way your hips stutter against him, your body desperate for more.

Luigi feels it.

And that’s when he decides to help.

His grip tightens, his hands guiding you now, slow and teasing, dragging you against his thigh in a way that makes you whimper.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, watching you, watching the way your lips part, the way your lashes flutter. “Go ahead, baby. Take what you need.”

Luigi’s grip is strong, firm, guiding you with deliberate slowness, teasing you with lazy drags of your core against the rough denim of his thigh. Every movement sends sparks licking up your spine, the friction igniting something deep and insistent inside you. The joint in his fingers smolders lazily, sending another soft swirl of smoke curling into the air, but his attention is all on you—watching the way your breath stutters, the way your lashes flutter, the way your lips part in quiet, shaky little gasps.

You’re barely even aware of how lost you are in it—how desperate you’re starting to sound, little whimpers slipping past your lips as your hips move in slow, rhythmic rolls, grinding against him in search of more. It’s not enough, not quite, but the teasing build is making your head swim, the steady pressure turning your brain to static.

And then he stops.

His hands fall away from you completely, leaving you suddenly weightless, untethered, forced to chase your own pleasure without his guidance.

The sudden lack of control—the absence of his firm grip—is a shock to your system.

Your movements falter, just for a second, your body aching for that solid pressure, for the way he was rolling you against him just right.

You blink, breathless, tilting your head to look at him. “Luigi—”

“Hm?”

His tone—that lazy, teasing mockery—sends a fresh wave of heat shooting through you.

You huff, shifting against him again, trying to find the same friction, the same pace, but without his hands holding you down, it’s not enough.

He notices. Of course, he does.

His smirk grows. “Somethin’ wrong, baby?”

You glare at him, shifting again, but it’s not the same, it’s not enough, and it makes you whine, frustration slipping into your voice.

“Luigi.”

He exhales another slow stream of smoke, watching you through hooded, knowing eyes. “Dunno why you’re looking at me like that,” he muses, tapping ash into the empty red cup beside the tub. “You were doing just fine on your own.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re such a—”

“What?” His fingers brush against your thigh, just barely, the ghost of a touch that makes your breath catch, but it’s not enough, not even close. His smirk is all sharp edges, cruel, his voice mocking. “Go on, baby. Say it.”

You glare at him, a fresh wave of heat rolling through you, both embarrassment and frustration curling tight in your gut. You want to slap that smirk right off his face. You want to grind down against him harder, make him feel how fucking wet you are for him.

So you do.

You roll your hips deliberately, dragging yourself along the solid heat of his thigh, your movements slow, calculated, and needy all at once.

Luigi exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t touch you.

His hands remain limp at his sides, one still holding the joint between two fingers, the other resting lazily against the rim of the tub. He lets you do it, lets you hump his thigh, lets you grind yourself against him, but he doesn’t help you.

And it’s driving you insane.

Your breathing gets heavier, your whimpers turning softer, breathier, your body desperate for that extra pressure.

Luigi hums, tilting his head slightly, eyes flickering down to where your dress has ridden up around your thighs, where your damp panties are soaking through the denim of his jeans.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, grinning, his voice thick with amusement. “Look at you.”

Your face burns, heat flooding beneath your skin, but you don’t stop—you can’t.

Because you’re so close, the pressure building, the friction making your thighs shake, but it’s not enough, you need more, you need him.

“Luigi—”

Your voice is a whimper now, pleading, breathless, and he fucking loves it.

His smirk deepens, but he still doesn’t touch you. “You’re whining, baby.”

“Shut up.”

His laugh is low and slow, vibrating through your skin, and when you move again—when you press down harder, desperately seeking that perfect angle—his hands twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to grab you again.

You see it.

You feel it.

And it makes you even needier.

You let your forehead drop against his shoulder, whimpering softly into the warm skin of his throat, pouting against him as you continue to grind yourself down.

He exhales another slow stream of smoke, the scent curling around the two of you, wrapping you both in a thick, heady fog.

But he doesn’t move.

Not yet.

Not until you break.

Not until your voice turns soft and needy, your whimpers shaky and desperate, your hips stuttering as you chase it, as you beg for it without words.

And then—finally—he gives in.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice rough now, the teasing edge starting to fray as his hands snap back to your waist, gripping you hard, pulling you down against him, dragging you against his thigh deliberately, roughly, guiding you exactly the way you need.

You gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as he grinds you against him, the pressure perfect, the friction intense, his voice turning low and thick, dripping with filthy, taunting satisfaction.

“There you go, baby,” he coos, dragging you against him harder, feeling the way you’re soaking him, feeling the way you tremble in his grasp. “That’s what you needed, huh?”

You whimper, barely able to breathe, your pleasure climbing higher and higher, a hot, pulsing coil threatening to snap.

“You gonna come just like this?” His voice is a smirk, mocking but low and wrecked all at once. “Grinding all desperate on my lap?”

You whine against his throat, your hips stuttering, your body losing control.

Luigi groans, feeling it, feeling how sloppy you’re getting, how soaked his jeans are beneath you. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, gripping you harder, dragging you against him roughly, deliberately, pushing you over the edge-

And then you snap.

Your body locks up, your thighs trembling, your breath breaking as liquid pleasure spills over, soaking completely through his jeans, your pleasure ripping through you so violently that you sob against him.

Luigi stills.

Then he laughs, low and breathless, running a slow hand over the soaked denim of his thigh.

“Jesus, baby,” he mutters, grinning, his voice wrecked and pleased and fucking feral. “Did you just squirt all over me?”

You groan, mortified, hiding your face against his neck.

His grin grows.

Then, with zero hesitation, he takes another slow drag from the joint, exhales against your ear, his voice low and dangerous.

“Next time, I wanna feel that on my cock.”

A/N: yall im sorry i just saw the messages the messages between max and lu where he says he’s high and i had to take 20 minutes out to word vomit out my nastiest thoughts about stoner Lu. That’s it. I’m a whore and one that has a whole fic needing to be finished but I did this instead. Crazy.

[rodentluvrr]

Threads of love

Pairing: Law x reader Summary: Law watches as you go through your nighttime routine, unable to resist being close to you. CW: it's a little 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 touchy-feely but no smut (kissing, touching) Word count: 1523 A/N: I was brushing my hair after going to the gym and thought of this. I need to get locked up🧎‍♀️

The soft hum of the bathroom light filled the quiet space, blending seamlessly with the gentle swish of your toothbrush as you moved it in steady, practiced strokes, the repetitive motion so ingrained in your nightly routine that your mind wandered elsewhere. The air smelled of mint and soap, a familiar scent that wrapped around you in the stillness of the night. Everything about this moment was routine—brushing your teeth, staring into the mirror, following the same monotonous rhythm you had every evening before bed.

Your reflection in the mirror stared back at you, as you stared at yourself, lost in thought. The fluorescent glow of the light overhead casting an ethereal halo around your silhouette. You looked beautiful in the way only true relaxation could bring—the soft glow of contentment settling over your features, the tension of the day melting from your expression. There was something effortlessly radiant about you in this quiet moment, a kind of beauty that came not from perfection, but from simply being—unburdened, at ease, and entirely yourself.

The door to the bedroom stood ajar, a sliver of dim light spilling in from the bedside lamp. Beyond the open door, Law sat in the dimly lit bedroom. His golden eyes, sharp yet lazy with the heaviness of approaching sleep, following your every movement with quiet intensity. His presence wasn’t loud or demanding. He wasn’t making any noise, nor did he call out to you. He simply watched, content to do nothing but observe you.  The faint creak of his chair was the only indication of his presence as he rested his chin in his hand, observing you with an intensity that sent a subtle warmth crawling up your spine. He wasn’t in a rush; he never was. Law’s gaze was unwavering, a silent promise that he was waiting for you.

You could feel the warmth of his gaze on you, a quiet, steady presence even without looking directly at him. There was something about the way he watched you—patient and intent—that made even the simplest movements feel effortless, natural. The way you lifted your arm to rinse your mouth or how your fingers combed absently through your hair as you pulled the elastic free felt unhurried, almost graceful, as if, in his eyes, everything you did was something worth noticing.

The strands spilled over your shoulders, cascading in soft waves down your back. You ran your fingers through them, shaking them out as you absentmindedly searched for your brush. But before your hand could reach for it, a presence—familiar and steady—slipped in behind you.  

The heat of him pressed against your back, solid and reassuring. Strong, steady hands slid over your stomach, pulling you against his chest in an embrace that was both possessive and reverent.

 Law pressed himself close, his body fitting perfectly against yours. The touch was firm but not urgent, slow, and deliberate in a way that made your breath catch slightly.

Law’s scent enveloped you, something distinctly him—clean linen, ink, and a faint trace of salt from the ocean air that always seemed to linger on him. It was a scent you had come to associate with comfort, with home.

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t need to.

His lips ghosted over the nape of your neck, brushing against your skin in the softest, most deliberate of touches. A soft kiss, more breath than contact, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. Then another, this time firmer, lingering just a second longer. The way his breath fanned across your skin sent a shiver rolling through you, the sensation both soothing and electrifying. He wasn’t just kissing you—he was savoring you, indulging in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His movements weren’t rushed—no, Law was never rushed. He took his time, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along the right side of your neck.

You exhaled, your body instinctively leaning back into him.

"Law," you murmured, the corners of your lips tugging into a small, knowing smile. "What are you doing?"

"Just holding you," he murmured against your skin, his voice low and velvety, laced with something lazy and indulgent.

"Liar," you teased, tilting your head instinctively, unwittingly giving him better access to your neck as your heart fluttered at the way he held you—so sure, so steady.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, the vibration pressing against your back. He tightened his arms around you slightly, fingers splayed against your stomach, his touch possessive but gentle. "Fine," he admitted, lips brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw between words. "You know I love your hair."

You rolled your eyes, "You're insane, you creep." you muttered playfully, though the way your heart fluttered at his words told another story.

Law hummed in response, a sound of amusement, before nuzzling into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "Maybe," he murmured, the faintest smile in his voice. "But you already knew that."

You sighed, though it wasn’t one of exasperation—it was one of surrender, of contentment. Your hands lifted, resting lightly over his where they held you, fingers grazing over his knuckles.

"I just think your hair is gorgeous," he murmured, his breath a whisper against your skin. "And you look beautiful when you let it down." His voice dipped lower; the hesitation laced within it making your chest tighten. "You have me under your spell. I can't resist you."

His words sent warmth flooding through you, not just over your skin but deep into your core, spreading like a slow-burning fire that curled in your stomach and pooled low within you. It wasn’t just the heat of his touch or the press of his body against yours—it was the way he spoke, the weight of his voice, the quiet reverence in his tone that made something inside you melt, dissolve, and reform entirely in his grasp.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," you whispered, turning your head slightly, enough to catch the corner of his jaw with your lips.

He let out a small exhale, something close to a sigh, though not of frustration—more like quiet resignation. His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between your bodies.

"It is," he murmured against your ear, his voice dropping an octave. "Because it means I can't help myself."

You turned fully then, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath your palms, a slow and reassuring rhythm. His golden eyes met yours, no longer filled with amusement but with something deeper, something heavier.

"You make it sound like I mind," you said softly, searching his gaze.

Law studied you for a long moment before his fingers lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. He tucked it behind your ear with a gentleness that made your breath catch. "Do you?"

You smiled, shaking your head. "Not even a little."

His expression softened—just barely, but you caught it. Law wasn’t someone who openly expressed emotion the way others did. His love wasn’t loud or obvious. It was in the way he watched you from across the room, in the way his fingers lingered on yours when he handed you something, in the way he pulled you close without words.

And right now, it was in the way he looked at you like you were something rare, something precious.

"You really are something else," you whispered.

"Mm." His hum vibrated against you, a sound of agreement, of satisfaction. His lips brushed against your temple, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.

A shiver ran down your spine, though not from the cool air or the dimly lit bathroom. It was from the way he stayed close, from the warmth of him, from the quiet certainty in his presence.

And you found that you did not mind one bit.

Not when it was Law. Not when it was him.

Not when you fit together like this—like something inevitable, like something true.

His hand, warm and steady, traced up your spine, stopping just beneath your jaw. His thumb brushed over your pulse, feeling the way it raced beneath his touch. He smirked, dark eyes glinting with something unreadable, something only you were ever meant to see.

"You're thinking too much," he murmured, his voice low, a quiet command wrapped in affection.

Before you could answer, his lips found yours—slow at first, deliberate, like he was memorizing the shape of your lips. Then deeper, more certain, as if sealing the moment between you.

You sighed against him, melting into the kiss, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His other hand slipped to your waist, grounding you, pulling you closer until there was nothing left between you but the space where his breath ended and yours began.

When he finally pulled away, just enough to look at you, his smirk softened. "See? Much better."

And with another kiss—just as deep, just as consuming—you had to agree.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° stains where you should be

( hinata shoyo x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — back in my haikyuu writing era ;)

♡ word count — 1.1k

♡ content — hinata shoyo x fem! reader, brazil! hinata, pro beach volleyball player! reader, slight nsfw, 18+, no explicit nsfw but it is mentioned, manga spoilers ig? even though i'm sure that many people know how it ends, established relationship, messy relationship, yearning, lmk if i missed anything!

♡ synopsis — after half a year in Brazil, the only time hinata feels like he is home...is when he's with you.

The first time Hinata sees you, you’re standing in the sand like you were born there.

The wind howls around you, but you don’t waver. The sand shifts beneath your feet, but you don’t stumble. Every movement is precise, every step purposeful.

You’re not just playing beach volleyball—you are the game, completely in sync with the rhythm of the court, the rush of the ocean breeze, the pulse of competition.

Hinata watches, entranced.

He came to Brazil to train, to push himself beyond his limits, to become more than just the player he was. But here, on the beach, everything is different.

The sand swallows his steps, the wind steals his control, and suddenly, the court he knew so well has transformed into something untamed.

He’s never played like this before, never had to adjust for an environment that fights back.

But you? You make it look effortless.

The match ends, and he’s already moving toward you before he fully realizes it. His shirt sticks to his skin, damp from his own practice, but all he can think about is you.

“How do you do it?” he blurts out, still catching his breath.

You turn, blinking at him with an unreadable expression. Up close, you’re even more intimidating—not in size, but in presence. Like you know exactly who you are, like the world doesn’t shake you.

“Do what?” you ask, tilting your head.

Hinata gestures vaguely to the sand, the wind, everything. “That! The way you move, the way you—like the wind doesn’t even touch you. How do you jump like that?”

A slow smile tugs at your lips. “I guess I just got used to it.”

“Teach me,” he says immediately, voice alight with determination. “Please.”

You exhale, watching him for a long moment before nodding. “Alright. Hope you’re ready to eat a lot of sand.”

It starts as training.

Late-night sessions on the sand, long after the sun has dipped below the horizon. The two of you meet when the rest of the world has gone quiet, when the only sounds left are the crash of waves and the occasional distant laughter from a nearby beach bar.

At first, he struggles. A lot.

The sand betrays him. The wind mocks him. The game he thought he understood has changed, and he stumbles over his own feet more times than he can count.

You laugh every time.

“Did you just trip over the air?” you tease as he groans, face-first in the sand.

“It moved!” Hinata protests, spitting out a mouthful of grit. “I swear the sand moved!”

You roll your eyes, offering him a hand. He takes it without hesitation.

The nights blur together—long hours spent chasing the ball, learning the subtle shifts of the wind, adjusting his jumps. He gets better. He learns fast. And as the training stretches on, something else changes, too.

One night, after an exhausting session, you tilt your head at him. “My place is closer than yours,” you say. “You can crash there if you want.”

Hinata hesitates for only a second before nodding. “Yeah. Okay.”

Your home is small but warm. The kind of place that feels lived in, filled with little pieces of you—a shelf lined with trophies, photos pinned up on a board, the lingering scent of something citrusy in the air.

You toss him a towel and some clean clothes. “These should fit you.”

Hinata looks down at the oversized towel wrapped around his waist. “What? You don’t like my new look?”

You snort. “Not unless you plan on making it a fashion statement.”

He grins but takes the clothes, disappearing into the bathroom. When he emerges, you’re already settled on the couch, a movie playing in the background.

Hinata isn’t really watching.

His gaze drifts to you—the way you’re curled up, comfortable, the way the screen flickers across your face. He doesn’t know why, but he wants to be closer.

The movie ends. You stretch, turning to him with a sleepy smile. “Goodnight, Hinata.”

Before he can stop himself, he leans in and kisses you.

Your breath hitches, but you don’t pull away. You kiss him back, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer, and before either of you fully register what’s happening, you’re tangled together—breathless, desperate, lost in each other.

By the time you make it to your room, he’s memorizing the way your skin feels under his hands, the way your laughter gets caught in your throat. You sigh his name.

And for the first time since coming to Brazil, Hinata feels like he’s home.

You are happy. Really happy.

Days spent playing, nights spent wrapped up in each other, whispered confessions between laughter. You make promises in the dark, in the spaces between his dreams.

And then—he leaves.

Hinata tells you he’ll come back. Of course he will. How could he not? Brazil changed him. You changed him. He says it with so much conviction that you believe him.

But then the months pass. And pass.

You call. No answer. You text. No response.

Then one day, you see the headline.

“Hinata Shoyo Signs with MSBY Black Jackals”

The picture shows him back in Japan, grinning, surrounded by everything he once dreamed of.

Your hands tremble as you set your phone down. You wait for a message, for anything.

But nothing comes.

And for the first time, you wonder if he ever planned to come back at all.

It happens at a match.

You’re focused on the game, locked in, until you feel it—eyes on you.

When you glance to the side of the court, he’s there.

Hinata, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you like he did that first time.

Your chest tightens.

After the game, he approaches, hesitant but there.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You exhale. “Hey.”

For a long moment, neither of you speak. Then, he swallows. “Can we talk?”

You hesitate before nodding.

The restaurant is quiet. The food is untouched.

Hinata had requested a private room for the two of you, the empty room almost seeming as if it was mocking you. You'd rather be playing volleyball naked, you think.

Anything would be better than this strange form of torture Hinata has put you through.

You stare at your glass, and then the words slip out before you can stop them.

“I waited for you.”

Hinata’s breath catches. His grip tightens around his drink. “I know.”

Your voice wavers. “I waited, and you didn’t come back.”

When you finally look at him, tears are welling in your eyes.

Hinata feels something in his chest break, and before he can think—he’s kissing you.

Between kisses, he mumbles

I missed you.

Missed Brazil.

Missed us.

I love you.

When you pull away, your voice is quiet. “Then prove it.”

And this time—he will.

He swears by it.

trying to get back into multi-fandom writing :) hope this was good!

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!

[w1w2]

A Contract of Silence

Previous part | Part 2 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6,5k

Synopsis: Y/N adjusts to her new life in Giselle’s cold, opulent world, where every moment feels like walking on a tightrope.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The streets blurred outside the cab’s window as Y/N stared at the bustling cityscape. The contract she had signed felt like a phantom weight in her bag, an ever present reminder of the choice she had made.

It was a strange feeling, this mixture of apprehension and determination. She had spent the past few days packing up what little she owned, saying goodbye to the familiarity of her old life. The tiny apartment she had shared with her family, filled with secondhand furniture and fading wallpaper, now felt like a lifetime away.

When the cab pulled up to the building, Y/N’s breath hitched. The high rise towered above her, a gleaming monument of glass and steel. The doorman opened her door with practiced precision, offering a polite nod as she stepped out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he said, taking her single suitcase with ease. “Miss Uchinaga is expecting you.”

The words sent a chill down her spine. Y/N forced herself to nod, clutching her bag tightly as she followed the doorman through the grand lobby. The space was vast and pristine, with polished marble floors and soaring ceilings. Even the air smelled expensive, a faint mix of fresh flowers and something clean and metallic.

Her nerves prickled as she stepped into the private elevator. The doorman pressed the button labeled “PH” and offered her a brief smile before stepping back.

“Have a pleasant evening,” he said as the doors slid shut.

Y/N wasn’t sure if “pleasant” was the right word for what awaited her.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing a space so grand it momentarily stole Y/N’s breath. The penthouse was a masterpiece of modern design. Clean lines, muted tones, and carefully curated art pieces gave the space an air of effortless sophistication.

The living room stretched out before her, dominated by floor to ceiling windows that framed the city skyline like a work of art. Sleek furniture in neutral shades of gray and cream was arranged with precision, and every surface seemed to gleam under the soft, ambient lighting.

“Miss Y/N.”

The voice was unmistakable, sharp, composed, and commanding.

Y/N turned to see Giselle, she was dressed impeccably in a black blazer and tailored trousers, her hair pulled into a low ponytail. She moved with an air of authority, each step deliberate, her movements fluid and purposeful against the polished wood floors.

“You’re late,” Giselle said. Her tone wasn’t scolding, but it carried a weight that made Y/N’s cheeks flush.

Y/N fumbled to pull her phone from her bag, typing quickly before showing the screen to Giselle.

“I’m sorry. There was traffic.”

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the screen, her expression unreadable. “Follow me,” she said curtly, turning on her heel.

Y/N followed, her footsteps hesitant as Giselle led her through the expansive penthouse. The space was larger than anything Y/N could have imagined. Every corner seemed to radiate wealth, from the sleek, minimalist kitchen to the artfully arranged bookshelves lining the walls.

“This will be your section,” Giselle said as they stopped at a hallway branching off from the main living area.

Y/N peeked inside as Giselle gestured toward the rooms. The bedroom was impossibly large, with a king sized bed dressed in crisp white linens and a plush gray headboard. A soft rug covered part of the hardwood floor, and a floor-length window offered an unobstructed view of the city skyline.

Next to it was a bathroom that looked like something out of a magazine. The marble countertops gleamed under recessed lighting, and the oversized tub practically invited her to sink into it and forget the world for a while.

“There’s also a small sitting area,” Giselle continued, motioning to a cozy space with a loveseat and a sleek black coffee table. “You’ll find it adequate for your needs.”

Y/N nodded, pulling out her phone to type a response.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Giselle glanced at the phone briefly, her expression betraying no emotion. “Dinner is at seven. Don’t be late.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her posture as straight and poised as ever.

Y/N stood frozen in the doorway of her new room, her suitcase still clutched in her hand. The space was undeniably luxurious, but it felt... cold. There were no personal touches, no warmth. It was a far cry from the chaotic coziness of her family’s apartment.

She set her suitcase down and perched on the edge of the bed, staring out at the glittering city beyond the window. For a moment, the surrealness of it all washed over her. She was here, in Giselle Uchinaga’s penthouse because she had agreed to a life she didn’t fully understand.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled out her phone again and opened the notes app.

“I’ll make this work.”

The words felt like both a promise and a challenge. Sliding her phone back into her bag, Y/N stood and began unpacking, the faint echo of Giselle’s footsteps lingering in her mind.

By the time she finished unpacking, the clock on her phone read 6:57 PM, just enough time to head to the dining room.

The dining room was as grand and intimidating as the rest of the penthouse. A long glass table stretched across the room, its polished surface reflecting the cold, sterile light of a modern chandelier that hung above it. The chairs, sleek and minimalist, seemed almost too pristine to touch, their design a perfect match for the rest of the penthouse’s austere elegance.

Y/N hesitated in the doorway, feeling small and out of place in the cavernous space. Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag, which she still hadn’t put down since unpacking. Across the room, Giselle was already seated at the head of the table, her posture impeccable, a glass of deep red wine cradled elegantly in her hand.

She didn’t look up as Y/N entered, her gaze fixed on a tablet resting on the table beside her. The faint glow of the screen illuminated her sharp features, making her seem even more untouchable.

Y/N’s stomach churned as she glanced at the chairs lining the table. Each one seemed too formal, too far removed from the world she knew. She fumbled to pull her phone from her bag, typing quickly before holding up the screen.

“Where should I sit?”

Giselle’s eyes flicked up briefly, her gaze cool and assessing before it dropped back to the tablet. She gestured to the chair directly beside her.

“Here. Always next to me, for appearances.”

Her tone was as measured and detached as ever, but the command in her voice left no room for hesitation.

Y/N nodded, swallowing hard as she slid into the chair Giselle had indicated. Her movements felt awkward, as though she were trying not to disturb the air in the room.

Moments later, the housekeeper appeared, moving with the quiet precision of someone well accustomed to working in the shadows of power. She placed a plate in front of Y/N with a practiced grace that made the act seem almost ceremonial.

The meal was exquisite. The duck was perfectly seared, its skin crisp and golden, while the roasted vegetables were arranged in an artful pattern around the plate. A delicate drizzle of sauce completed the dish, its aroma tantalizing.

But Y/N could barely taste it.

The tension in the room was suffocating, wrapping around her chest like a vice. She cut into the duck with careful precision, her hands trembling slightly as she brought a bite to her mouth. The flavors, though extraordinary, felt muted against the backdrop of her nerves.

Across the table, Giselle ate with the same calculated precision she seemed to apply to every aspect of her life. Her movements were methodical, her gaze focused on her plate or her tablet, as though Y/N wasn’t even there.

The silence was unbearable. Y/N glanced at her phone, considering typing something to break it, but the thought of interrupting Giselle’s icy composure made her hesitate.

Halfway through the meal, Giselle set down her fork with a soft clink. The sound, though subtle, made Y/N’s heart jump.

Without a word, Giselle reached into the pocket of her blazer and pulled out a small black velvet box. She placed it on the table between them, her movements as smooth and deliberate as always.

Y/N stared at the box, her heart racing as Giselle flipped it open to reveal a dazzling diamond engagement ring. The light from the chandelier above caught the stone, sending tiny rainbows scattering across the table.

“We’ll need to make this believable,” Giselle said matter of factly, her tone devoid of emotion.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she stared at the ring. It was stunning, far more extravagant than anything she had ever imagined wearing. She fumbled with her phone, typing quickly before holding it up.

“You’re giving me this?”

Giselle arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk. “It’s not yours,” she replied. “It’s a prop. You’ll wear it at all public appearances, starting tomorrow.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers trembling as she reached out to take the ring. The velvet box felt soft against her skin, a stark contrast to the weight of the moment.

She slipped the ring onto her finger, her breath hitching as it slid into place. The diamond sparkled brilliantly, catching the light with every slight movement of her hand.

“It fits,” Giselle observed, lifting her glass of wine and taking a slow sip. Her tone was neutral, as though she were commenting on something as mundane as the weather.

Y/N hesitated, then typed another message, her thumbs moving quickly over the screen.

“Does it look convincing?”

Giselle’s eyes flicked to Y/N’s hand, her gaze sharp and calculating. For a moment, she seemed to study the ring as though evaluating its worth before leaning back in her chair.

“It will suffice,” she said simply. “Just remember, this is for appearances only.”

Y/N nodded, her chest tightening at the reminder. She forced herself to take another bite of the duck, but it felt like swallowing stones.

When the meal was finished, Giselle set her napkin down. She rose from the table with effortless grace, smoothing the front of her blazer as she turned to address Y/N.

“My assistant will contact you in the morning to finalize preparations for the Lueur gala. Be ready.”

Her tone was calm and detached, as though she were delivering instructions to an employee rather than speaking to the person who was now supposed to be her fiancée.

Y/N nodded quickly, fumbling to pull out her phone. Her fingers moved across the screen, typing out the expected response.

“I’ll be ready.”

Giselle’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, sharp and assessing, as if she were scrutinizing Y/N for any sign of weakness or hesitation. Y/N felt her cheeks warm under the weight of that stare, but she held her ground, her back straight and her expression composed.

After what felt like an eternity, Giselle gave a faint nod of acknowledgment before turning on her heel and walking away. Her steps were soft against the polished floor, the sound fading as she disappeared into the shadows of the penthouse.

And just like that, Y/N was alone.

The silence in the dining room was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the chandelier above. The table, with its sleek glass surface and untouched place settings, felt impossibly large.

Y/N’s eyes drifted down to the ring on her finger. The diamond caught the light from the chandelier, scattering tiny rainbows across the table. It was stunning, a perfect piece of craftsmanship, its beauty undeniable. And yet, all Y/N could see was the lie it represented.

It was beautiful, flawless and completely fake.

Her chest tightened as she studied the ring, her thumb brushing absently against the cold metal band. The weight of it was heavier than she’d expected, a constant reminder of the role she had agreed to play.

For a moment, the enormity of it all threatened to overwhelm her. The contract, the charade, Giselle’s icy demeanor, it felt like stepping into a world that didn’t belong to her, a world where warmth and sincerity were replaced by calculated appearances and unspoken expectations.

Taking her phone, Y/N opened the notes app with a trembling hand. Her vision blurred slightly, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess of doubt and determination.

“I’ll make this work.”

She stared at the words, her lips pressing into a thin line. They felt like both a mantra and a desperate plea. She didn’t know if she was trying to convince herself or simply reminding herself of why she was doing this.

She thought of her mother, whose hands had grown rough from years of endless work, and her siblings, whose laughter had become rare under the weight of their struggles. They deserved better, a future free from the shadow of her father’s debts.

The coldness of the penthouse, the sharp edges of Giselle’s personality, the suffocating pretense of their arrangement, it didn’t matter. As long as it helped her family, she would bear it all.

Y/N closed the app and slipped her phone back into her pocket, her fingers lingering on the device for a moment as though it were her lifeline. She took a deep breath, the action doing little to calm the storm inside her.

Rising from her chair, she pushed it back gently and glanced around the dining room one last time. The space felt cavernous, the cold light of the chandelier only amplifying its emptiness.

Her footsteps echoed softly as she walked back toward her room. The penthouse was eerily quiet, the silence pressing against her like a weight. The city lights glittered beyond the windows, but they felt distant, like a world she could see but never truly be a part of.

When she reached her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, her eyes drifting to the skyline visible through the large window.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to wonder what Giselle was thinking. Did the CEO feel the same weight, the same sense of isolation? Or was this world so familiar to her that she didn’t even notice?

Y/N shook her head, pushing the thought away. Giselle’s world wasn’t hers to understand. All that mattered was playing her part and doing it well.

She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, her hands resting in her lap as she stared out at the glittering city beyond. The faint reflection of the diamond ring in the glass caught her eye, and she tightened her fists slightly, grounding herself in the decision she had made.

“For them”, she reminded herself again.

She exhaled slowly, lying back on the bed and closing her eyes. The city lights flickered against the walls of her room, but Y/N didn’t look at them. Her thoughts were already focused on the day ahead, on the expectations waiting for her.

Tomorrow, her new life truly began.

Morning sunlight poured into the penthouse, streaming through the towering windows and casting long streaks of light across its sleek, sterile surfaces. The golden glow softened the sharp edges of the modern furniture, but it couldn’t warm the cold, impersonal atmosphere of the space.

Y/N stood by the window in her room, staring out at the sprawling cityscape below. The world outside felt impossibly far away, the lives of the people bustling in the streets below so different from her own. Her reflection in the glass stared back at her, small, uncertain, and out of place in the luxury surrounding her.

Her phone buzzed, breaking the silence. She glanced down at the screen.

“The stylists will come to your room at 3pm. Your gown has been delivered at your doors.”

The message from Giselle’s assistant was as curt and professional as ever, but it sent a jolt through Y/N. She turned to look at the gown hanging on the hanger by her door.

It was stunning.

The gown was a masterpiece of shimmering fabric and intricate detailing. The deep emerald green material caught the light, shifting between shades of forest and jade with every movement. The neckline was elegant, dipping just enough to be daring but not over the top, and the intricate beadwork along the bodice shimmered like tiny stars.

Y/N hesitated, stepping closer to run her fingers lightly over the fabric. It was unlike anything she’d ever worn. It felt delicate, almost too precious for her to touch, let alone wear. The sight of it filled her with conflicting emotions, excitement at the thought of stepping into a world she’d only seen in magazines, and dread at the realization that she didn’t belong there.

"What if I embarrass her?"

The thought crept in unbidden, making her chest tighten. Giselle had been clear, this was business. A performance. Mistakes weren’t an option.

The hours leading up to the event passed in a blur. Y/N barely had time to think as a team of stylists and makeup artists descended upon her room, transforming her into someone she barely recognized.

A stylist stood behind her, carefully curling her hair into sleek waves that fell over her shoulders like liquid silk. The faint smell of hairspray lingered in the air, mixing with the soft hum of conversation from the team. A makeup artist leaned in close, her brush sweeping over Y/N’s cheekbones to highlight them with a subtle glow.

“Hold still,” the artist murmured, tilting Y/N’s chin slightly as she worked on her eyeliner.

Y/N obeyed, her thoughts spinning as she stared at her reflection. The girl in the mirror didn’t look like her. She looked polished, sophisticated, a version of herself that belonged in Giselle’s world. But beneath the makeup and carefully styled hair, Y/N still felt like an outsider.

When the team finally stepped back, murmuring their approval, Y/N slipped into the gown. The cool fabric slid over her skin, fitting her perfectly. The weight of it settled around her like a reminder of the role she had to play.

She took a tentative step toward the full length mirror, her breath catching as she saw herself fully for the first time. The emerald gown clung to her figure in all the right places, the shimmering material accentuating her every movement.

“You look incredible,” one of the stylists said, their voice filled with genuine admiration.

Y/N gave a small nod, her lips curving into a polite smile, but inside, her nerves were fraying.

When she finally stepped out of her room and went into the living room, she froze.

Giselle was waiting for her, standing by the massive windows that framed the glittering city skyline. She was breathtaking.

The CEO was dressed in a fitted black evening dress that hugged her figure with an elegance that seemed effortless. The gown’s neckline plunged just enough to command attention, while the intricate detailing along the sides shimmered faintly under the light. Her dark hair perfectly straightened, framing her face.

For a moment, Y/N forgot to breathe.

Giselle turned at the sound of Y/N’s heels clicking softly against the floor. Her sharp gaze swept over Y/N from head to toe, taking in every detail with a calculating air.

“You’ll do,” Giselle said simply, her tone brisk but not unkind. She extended her arm. “Let’s go.”

Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second before looping her arm through Giselle’s. The contact sent a jolt through her, but she quickly steadied herself, her heart pounding as they walked toward the elevator.

The mirrored walls of the elevator reflected their image back at them. Y/N glanced at their reflections, Giselle, poised and commanding, and herself, trying not to let her nerves show.

“Smile,” Giselle said softly, her voice low but firm.

Y/N turned her lips up into a small, tentative smile, hoping it would be enough.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped into the underground garage, where a black car was waiting for them. As they approached, the driver opened the door, bowing slightly as he gestured for them to enter.

Y/N slid into the car first, her gown rustling softly against the leather seat. Giselle followed, settling beside her with the kind of grace Y/N could only dream of emulating.

As the car drove further into the city, Y/N stared out of the window, her fingers tightening in her lap. The city lights blurred together, their glow reflecting in the glass.

Tonight, she would step into Giselle’s world, a world of power, elegance, and scrutiny.

Her heart pounded with anticipation and fear.

The car was enveloped in a heavy silence, broken only by the faint hum of the engine and the occasional soft sound of the tires rolling over uneven pavement. The dim glow of passing street lights flickered across the interior, casting fleeting shadows on the leather seats.

Giselle sat beside Y/N, her posture impeccable as always, her gaze fixed on the window. She seemed completely at ease, her sharp features illuminated by the city lights streaking past. To Y/N, Giselle’s composure felt almost otherworldly, a stark contrast to the storm of nerves building in her own chest.

Y/N reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, clutching it tightly as if the device might somehow anchor her racing thoughts. Her fingers hovered over the notes app. She wanted to type something, anything, to break the silence. But what could she say? Giselle had made it clear that this was business, and Y/N worried that even the smallest misstep might chip away at the carefully constructed façade they were about to present.

Her thumb brushed the screen, but before she could decide, the car began to slow.

After putting her phone back in the bag, Y/N’s breath hitched as she looked out the window. The grand entrance of the venue loomed ahead, its golden lights spilling onto the red carpet that stretched toward the towering double doors. Paparazzi crowded the sides, their cameras already flashing like strobe lights in the dark. The muffled hum of voices filtered into the car, growing louder with each passing second.

The driver exited and circled around to Giselle’s door, pulling it open with practiced precision.

Giselle moved first.

As she stepped out of the car, her expression transformed in an instant. The cool detachment she had worn moments ago melted away, replaced by a radiant smile that lit up her face. It was as though she had flipped a switch, her entire demeanor shifting to exude warmth and confidence.

Y/N watched in awe, momentarily stunned by the sheer charisma Giselle seemed to radiate. This was the Giselle the world knew, the poised, charming CEO who could command attention with just a glance.

Giselle turned, extending a hand toward Y/N.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice warm and inviting, as though she had been waiting for this moment all her life.

Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. She slipped her hand into Giselle’s, the coolness of Giselle’s skin sending a small jolt through her. She pushed the feeling aside as she shifted toward the open door.

The moment her feet touched the ground, the flashes erupted in a frenzy. The noise was deafening, cameras clicking, voices shouting questions, the murmur of admiration spreading through the crowd.

“Giselle, who’s your stunning date?” “Giselle, over here! Look this way!” “You two look incredible!”

The chaos of the moment was overwhelming, and for a second, Y/N froze, her body stiffening under the onslaught of attention.

Giselle’s grip on her hand tightened slightly, grounding her. The older woman leaned in just enough for her voice to reach Y/N’s ear without being overheard.

“Remember to smile,” Giselle murmured, her tone low and intimate, as though they were sharing a private joke. “They’re watching everything.”

Y/N nodded, forcing her lips to curve into a soft smile. Her heart raced as the cameras continued to flash, capturing every step they took together.

Giselle’s hand rested lightly on the small of Y/N’s back as she guided her down the carpet, her movements fluid and confident. She stopped occasionally to pose, her expression never faltering, her smile effortlessly charming.

Y/N followed her lead, doing her best to mimic Giselle’s ease. The weight of the ring on her finger felt heavier now, a tangible reminder of the role she was playing. She glanced briefly at Giselle, who turned to meet her gaze with a look so convincing, so full of warmth and affection, that Y/N almost believed it herself.

As they posed for photos, Giselle’s hand lingered on Y/N’s waist, her fingers brushing the fabric of her gown. Y/N’s cheeks burned under the scrutiny of the cameras and the admiring whispers of the onlookers.

“She’s stunning, Giselle!” someone called out from the crowd.

“Congratulations to the happy couple!”

Y/N’s smile faltered for a brief moment, but Giselle’s subtle squeeze on her hand brought her back to focus. She took a deep breath, her lips curving again as she stood a little straighter.

Finally they reached the doors of the venue, a staff member opened them with a bow, gesturing for the pair to step inside. The noise from the paparazzi faded slightly, replaced by the hum of conversation and the soft strains of a live string quartet playing in the background.

Giselle turned her head slightly, her lips brushing close to Y/N’s ear as she spoke. “That’s the easy part. Now the real work begins.”

Y/N’s heart sank slightly at the words, but she nodded, her fingers tightening around her purse. The cameras outside might have stopped, but inside, the eyes of the city’s elite were already on them.

When they stepped into the grand hall, Y/N felt every gaze in the room land on her. Her smile remained, but the weight of their attention was suffocating.

Giselle led her further into the room, her hand never leaving Y/N’s back. To the world, they looked every bit the perfect couple. Poised, elegant, and untouchable.

Inside, Y/N’s nerves roared, but she kept moving forward, staying close to Giselle. She reminded herself again of why she was here, of the family she was doing this for, and of the promise she had made to herself:

The venue was even more dazzling than Y/N had imagined. The grand hall seemed to glow, its golden lights reflecting off the cascading crystal chandeliers that dripped from the vaulted ceiling. Every detail spoke of extravagance, from the polished marble floors to the intricate floral arrangements that adorned each table. The faint sound of a string quartet filled the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she took it all in. This was a world she had only ever glimpsed through the glossy pages of magazines. Everywhere she looked, people moved with an effortless confidence, their designer gowns and tailored suits exuding wealth and influence.

Giselle’s hand rested lightly on Y/N’s back, the subtle pressure a constant reminder of her presence. It was an unfamiliar gesture, not cold, but not exactly comforting either. It was calculated, like everything else about Giselle.

They moved through the crowd together, Giselle’s elegance and poise drawing every eye in the room. Heads turned as they passed, whispers trailing in their wake.

“Is that Giselle Uchinaga?” “And who’s she with?”

Giselle handled it all effortlessly, her charming smile never faltering as she exchanged pleasantries with the city’s elite. Her voice was warm and polished, every word perfectly chosen to leave a lasting impression.

“This is Y/N,” Giselle said smoothly as they stopped to greet a particularly curious couple. Her hand lingered on Y/N’s waist as she added, “My fiancée.”

The words sent a ripple of surprise through Y/N, even though she had known they were coming. It was the first time she’d heard Giselle introduce her that way, and it felt strange, like a borrowed identity she wasn’t sure how to wear.

As the conversation continued, Giselle effortlessly guided it, ensuring that Y/N wasn’t left behind. She wove their story together with precision, painting a picture of a devoted couple with a seamless blend of truth and fabrication.

“She’s been an inspiration to me,” Giselle said at one point, her voice carrying just enough sincerity to make the lie convincing. “Her strength, her resilience, it’s one of the things I admire most about her.”

Y/N glanced at Giselle, her heart twisting at the ease with which she spoke. It was all an act, of course, but Giselle played the part so well that even Y/N found herself momentarily believing it.

A small group began to form around them, drawn by Giselle’s magnetism and curiosity about her fiancée. Y/N responded with simple gestures and soft smiles, her hands moving in small, precise motions whenever someone asked a question she could answer through sign language.

“She’s charming,” someone murmured from the group.

��Giselle’s so protective of her,” another whispered.

The words floated around Y/N like a cloud, both flattering and suffocating. She focused on keeping her smile in place, knowing that every movement was being scrutinized.

The chatter of the crowd had softened to a hum, the buzz of voices fading as the evening began to wind down. Y/N found herself drawn to one of the grand windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. The view was breathtaking, a vast expanse of glittering city lights that seemed to stretch endlessly, like a sea of stars scattered across the night.

She pressed her fingertips lightly against the cool glass, her reflection faintly visible against the dazzling skyline. For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe, her chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. This quiet moment felt like a fragile bubble, separate from the noise and expectations of the evening.

Her eyes dropped to the diamond ring on her finger. It caught the faint glow of the lights outside, its brilliance reflecting in the glass. She lifted her hands to adjust it, the smooth band sliding slightly against her skin.

The weight of it was grounding, a constant reminder of the performance demanded perfection, every movement, every smile, every interaction carefully measured to fit the image Giselle wanted to project.

Y/N’s chest tightened slightly as she stared at the ring. "This is my life now," she thought. A life of pretending, of fitting into a world that didn’t feel like hers.

The sound of footsteps behind her broke her reverie, the sharp yet soft rhythm unmistakable. Y/N didn’t turn right away. She didn’t need to. Giselle moved with a kind of precision that was impossible to miss, her presence filling the space without effort.

“Tired?” Giselle’s voice was low, pitched just enough for Y/N to hear and no one else. There was no warmth in it, but it wasn’t cold either, it was neutral, like an observation rather than a question.

Y/N turned to face her, her gaze meeting Giselle’s. The older woman’s expression was as composed as ever, her sharp eyes studying Y/N with an intensity that made her chest flutter uncomfortably.

For a moment, Y/N hesitated, unsure how to answer. Her hands instinctively moved to sign, but she stopped mid motion, her stomach twisting. "She doesn’t understand," Y/N reminded herself.

Instead, she nodded, a small, hesitant motion.

Giselle’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her expression didn’t shift, but something flickered in her gaze, a brief, almost imperceptible pause as though she were processing the unspoken response.

“We’ll leave soon,” Giselle said, her tone neutral, as though discussing a routine matter.

For a moment, Y/N thought that was the end of the conversation. But then Giselle added, almost as an afterthought, “You handled tonight well.”

The unexpected comment made Y/N blink, her lips parting slightly in surprise. She had expected critique, not praise, and the words, however simple, made her stomach twist with something she couldn’t quite name.

Her mouth opened as if to respond, but she closed it again, unsure what to do. Instead, she offered a small, uncertain smile, hoping it would suffice.

Giselle’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before she turned away slightly, slipping seamlessly back into her composed demeanor. “We can’t go yet. Not before we say goodbye to the hosts,” she said.

Giselle extended her arm, her posture as poised and effortless as always. Y/N hesitated for a heartbeat before looping her arm through Giselle’s. The contact was still unfamiliar, but it steadied her, giving her a sense of direction as they moved back toward the crowd.

As they walked, Y/N caught glimpses of people turning to look at them, their gazes lingering with admiration and curiosity. 

“You’re doing fine,” Giselle murmured under her breath, her voice so low it was almost lost in the hum of the room.

Y/N glanced up at her, catching the way Giselle’s eyes remained forward, her expression unreadable. Was that reassurance? A reminder to stay in character? She couldn’t tell.

The hosts stood near the center of the room. The couple, a man in a sharp tuxedo and a woman in a flowing burgundy gown, exchanged delighted glances. Their smiles widened as Giselle and Y/N approached, and Giselle’s charm seemed to amplify.

“A pleasure to meet you,” the man said, extending a hand toward Y/N.

Y/N hesitated for a brief moment, then reached out and shook his hand, offering a polite smile. Her voice might have been silent, but she had learned long ago how to let her body language speak for her.

Sensing the unspoken question in their expressions, Giselle spoke up. “Y/N doesn’t speak,” she explained gently, her tone perfectly pitched to avoid making it seem like an inconvenience. “But she communicates beautifully in other ways.”

The woman’s curious expression softened into something warmer. “Oh, how lovely,” she said. “Do you use sign language?”

Y/N nodded, her movements measured and fluid. She lifted her hands and signed a response, her fingers forming the words. “Yes, I do.”

The woman’s eyes lit up, and she signed back slowly, her movements deliberate but kind. “Your dress is lovely.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a genuine smile, her hands moving again. “Thank you. Yours is beautiful too.”

The woman’s expression softened, her smile widening. “She’s wonderful,” she said to Giselle.

“She is,” Giselle replied, her voice carrying just the right amount of affection to make the act convincing. “I’m lucky to have her.”

The words hung in the air, stirring something in Y/N that she couldn’t quite name.

Before leaving, Giselle exchanged a few polite words with the hosts, her poised demeanor drawing admiration. Once their brief conversation concluded, she maintained her air of elegance, guiding Y/N with a light touch on her back. 

The whispers followed them out, blending with the fading music and laughter.

When they reached the car, Giselle opened the door for Y/N, the action smooth and automatic.

As Y/N slipped inside, she caught a final glimpse of the grand venue. She exhaled softly, her body sinking into the leather seat as Giselle slid in beside her.

The door shut, sealing them in silence once more.

By the time they returned to the penthouse, Y/N felt like she could finally breathe again. The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and she stepped out into the expansive living room, her legs aching from the unfamiliar heels and her face sore from maintaining a perfect smile all evening.

The silence of the penthouse enveloped her immediately, stark and unyielding compared to the vibrant hum of the event. The cold, polished surfaces of the furniture and the vast emptiness of the space made it feel less like a home and more like a museum.

Giselle, however, looked as composed as ever. Her expression was unreadable, and her posture as impeccable as it had been when they left. She strode into the living room with the same controlled grace she always carried, her movements precise and deliberate.

“Good work tonight,” Giselle said, her back still to Y/N. Her voice was calm, devoid of the warmth she had displayed at the event. The affectionate tone and radiant smiles were gone, replaced by the cool professionalism Y/N had come to expect. “The media will eat it up.”

Y/N hesitated in the doorway, her fingers brushing against the strap of her clutch. Her phone felt heavy in her hand as she pulled it out and began typing, each word deliberate and slow.

“Do you think they believed us?”

Y/N stepped closer and lightly tapped Giselle on the shoulder to get her attention. Giselle turned, her sharp gaze locking onto Y/N’s. For a moment, she said nothing, her eyes scanning Y/N’s face as though searching for something. Then, with a faint nod, she replied, “Of course. They believe what they see.”

Her tone was matter of fact, but there was an edge to her words, a quiet confidence that left no room for doubt.

Y/N nodded slowly, her chest tightening as she typed another message.

“You’re very convincing.”

Giselle’s lips curved into a faint smirk, the expression barely touching her eyes. “It’s what I do,” she said simply, as though her ability to manipulate perception was as natural as breathing. Without another word, she turned and strode past Y/N, disappearing into her private quarters.

Left alone in the vast emptiness of the penthouse, Y/N remained standing near the elevator, her phone still in her hand. The cold, clinical silence of the space pressed down on her, amplifying the faint hum of the city outside.

Y/N sank onto the couch slowly, her body sagging under the weight of the evening. The cushion beneath her felt far too soft, the stark contrast to the hardness of the night catching her off guard. She slipped off her heels, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud. Her bare feet tingled as they pressed against the cool surface of the rug, a small relief from the ache that had settled in her legs.

For a moment, Y/N stared down at her phone, her thumb hovering over the notes app icon. Her mind replayed the night’s events in vivid detail, Giselle’s touch on her back, the way she had leaned in with whispered reassurances, the convincing affection in her gaze as she introduced Y/N to the crowd.

It had all felt so real.

But now, in the cold emptiness of the penthouse, the illusion was gone. The Giselle who had smiled at her so warmly, who had acted as though Y/N were the center of her world, had vanished the moment they’d stepped through the door.

The disconnect left a hollow ache in Y/N’s chest. She had known it was an act, of course, but seeing the shift so starkly still unsettled her.

Y/N opened the notes app and stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance.

Finally, she typed a single sentence.

“I’ll keep up the act.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at the words, the weight of their meaning settling over her. She didn’t have the luxury of faltering. Her family was depending on her. For them, she would endure the coldness of this world, the carefully constructed lies, and the unrelenting presence of Giselle’s scrutiny.

With a heavy exhale, she closed the app and set her phone down on the coffee table.

Her gaze drifted toward the window, where the city lights twinkled in the distance. They felt so far away, as though they belonged to another life entirely. A life where she didn’t have to carry this weight, where she wasn’t bound by a contract or a diamond ring.

But that life wasn’t hers.

Sliding back against the cushions, Y/N closed her eyes. The quiet of the penthouse seemed colder now, but she reminded herself of the promise she had made.

"For my family," she thought.

And as the tension in her body eased slightly, she let herself drift into an uneasy sleep, the weight of the diamond ring still heavy on her finger.

[daisymbin]

could i please request suggestive prompt 21 with mingyu? thank youu 💗💗

ah!!!! I enjoyed writing this one omg I may have went a little overboard. hope you enjoy it!

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // gyu's m.list

suggestive prompt #21: "do you want me to kiss it better?"

you had always been a little careless, never one to shy away from trying new things or pushing boundaries. this time, though, it had been a mistake. you had tripped while running back to your apartment, scraping your knee pretty badly on the sidewalk.

you cursed under your breath, inspecting the small but painful cut. it stung, and you hissed as you tried to clean it with a tissue. that's when mingyu walked into the room, looking far too relaxed for someone who hadn't been aware of the situation.

"hey, what happened?" he asked, concerned but still casual. you glanced up, meeting his dark eyes, and tried to wave it off, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"just a little fall," you said, holding up the tissue as proof.

mingyu raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. "you know, i think you might need a little more than a tissue for that."

before you could respond, he reached for the first aid kit you kept in the bathroom. when he returned, he knelt beside you, his fingers lightly brushing your knee as he gently cleaned the cut. his touch was soft but steady, and the warmth of his hand lingered even after he finished.

"better?" he asked, his voice low and warm.

you nodded, a small smile forming on your lips as you looked down at him. "yeah, thanks."

mingyu’s eyes were focused on your knee for a moment, but then they flicked up to meet yours, an unmistakable glint of mischief in them. there was a playful energy in the air, something you couldn't quite ignore. he was never one to let a situation like this slide without teasing you just a little.

"do you want me to kiss it better?" he asked, the words dripping with just the right amount of suggestiveness. you froze for a split second, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. his lips quirked into a grin as he watched your reaction, clearly enjoying the way you seemed to hesitate.

your heart skipped a beat, and you opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. mingyu’s grin only widened as he hovered a little closer, his face just inches from yours now. his eyes were locked on yours, but his expression was unreadable—teasing but not quite pushing.

"you don't have to," he added, voice softening, his teasing lightening into something a little warmer. "i just thought... well, it might make you feel better."

you swallowed, heart racing. there was something about mingyu that always had this effect on you. he was always so effortless, so comfortable in his own skin, and yet always knew how to make you feel a little off balance. in this moment, you weren’t sure if he was being genuine or playful—but you couldn’t deny the pull you felt.

without thinking, you reached out, gently tugging at his wrist, pulling him just a little closer. "maybe you could," you said softly, feeling a slight flush spread across your cheeks.

mingyu’s eyes flickered, and for a moment, there was a brief, tangible silence between you both. then, without missing a beat, he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against your knee, his touch surprisingly tender despite the playful words.

"there," he said with a grin, pulling back. "all better."

you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the situation had become. but somehow, mingyu made it feel like the most natural thing in the world.

your heart skipped a beat, and you opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. mingyu’s grin only widened as he watched you squirm, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. but you weren’t going to let him win this time. after all, he always flirted and teased, and you were getting a little tired of being the one caught off guard.

taking a deep breath, you decided to play along, even if it made you nervous. "well, now that you've kissed my knee," you started, giving him a teasing look, "my heart feels unwell."

mingyu blinked, confusion flickering across his face before his lips curled into a knowing smile. "oh really?" he said, voice now more serious, but still with that hint of playful arrogance. "and why is that?"

"i think i have a case of the butterflies," you replied, your voice light, but you couldn’t stop the flutter in your chest. "so maybe you should kiss me better."

mingyu’s expression softened just a bit, his eyes darkening with a sincerity that made your heart race even more. he leaned in closer, not teasing now, but purposeful. "you want me to kiss you better?" he asked again, this time his voice low, his words almost a challenge.

you hesitated for only a second before nodding, your pulse quickening in anticipation. without wasting another moment, mingyu closed the distance between you two, pulling you in and pressing his lips against yours with a deep, urgent kiss. it was everything you’d been trying to avoid—intense, electrifying, like a storm that had finally come crashing down.

when he finally pulled away, you were left breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. mingyu’s expression had shifted slightly, his grin replaced with something that bordered on vulnerable. he ran a hand through his hair, looking at you with a playful yet serious look in his eyes.

"now my heart feels unwell," he muttered, voice low and teasing once more. "guess you’ll have to kiss me better now."

you raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your composure despite the butterflies still fluttering wildly in your stomach. "but if we keep going, we're only going to take turns being unwell, I can't keep kissing you forever,"

mingyu chuckled, his warm breath brushing against your lips. "you can't? i definitely can. it just makes the job a little easier if you take care of me sometimes too, just to, you know, make it fair?"

you weren't sure what came over you, or what gave you such big confidence to even have a conversation like this with him, but mingyu's smile was enough to make your resolve crack. "let's make it fair then," you answered, your hands reaching for the ends of his collar, pulling him in. this time, you leaned in with purpose, your lips capturing his in another kiss.

he didn’t pull away this time, his hands finding your waist, holding you close as the kiss deepened. there was no teasing now—just the undeniable chemistry between you two, raw and intense. when you finally pulled back, both of you were left breathless, hearts racing.

"not all aches go away so fast," mingyu murmured, his voice low, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he gazed at you.

"what do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, still lost in the aftertaste of the kiss.

"i mean," he said, his tone suddenly more serious, "i think... you're gonna have to kiss me more and take care of me for a while. i'm not sure how long this ache in my chest will last. maybe a few years, maybe a lifetime, who knows?" his boyish grin was still there, but his eyes—those dark, soulful eyes—were locked onto yours, filled with something deeper now.

you felt your heart do a little flip. "you're serious, aren’t you?" you whispered, your voice a little shaky. mingyu's big smile drops into a small, scared and hesitant smile. he nodded, never breaking eye contact, his expression soft but filled with that same playful intensity. "mm," he says, "so serious."

the weight of his words hung in the air, a promise and a challenge all at once. you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, a mixture of awe and affection. your fingers lightly brushing his cheek. "guess i’ll just have to find a way to live with that ache of yours."

mingyu’s grin grew, that mischievous sparkle in his eyes returning. "guess we’ll both be living with a few aches for a while, then."

you leaned in once more, pressing your lips to his. this time, there was no rush. just the warmth of his lips on yours.

[gilbertscurls]

impressed — matt sturniolo

Chris opened his mouth to say something, probably something dumb and sarcastic like “Do you smell that? Smells like desperation,” but he didn’t get the chance.

Suddenly, Matt burst into the house like a Category 5 hurricane, slamming the door shut behind him with a resounding bang and wild eyes that screamed “emergency.” Without a word, he zipped to his room, then to the kitchen, and began feverishly wiping down the already clean coffee table in the living room. Then he sprinted back to his room. Then the bathroom. Spray bottles were involved. Disinfectant fumes wafted into the hallway.

Chris blinked. “Did he… did he just vacuum the ceiling?”

Matt looked around the house like a man possessed—eyes scanning the perimeter, jaw set, hoodie slightly askew like he’d run a mile with it half on. He muttered something unintelligible, then beelined straight for his room, again. A loud thud followed by the sound of drawers opening and closing echoed through the hallway.

Then he reappeared. Still didn’t say a word.

Nick blinked. “Um.”

“Um, man?” Chris called out as Matt breezed past with a lovely bouquet of colorful flowers in hand—sunflowers, tulips, and even one slightly confused-looking rose shoved in there like it didn’t know how it ended up in this situation. Matt shoved them into a vase with the desperation of a man trying to win an Olympic medal in floral arrangement. He looked at the bouquet like it had just appeared out of nowhere.

Chris furrowed his brow. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, hi,” Matt said like he’d only just noticed they were in the house. He tossed a dishtowel over his shoulder like a frazzled sitcom dad. “Y/N’s coming for dinner, so you need to get out of here.”

Chris blinked again. “Excuse me?”

Nick, from his spot on the couch, held up his phone and didn’t even try to hide the recording he’d started. “What do you mean ‘get out of here’? I live here.”

Matt picked up a throw pillow, fluffed it, and then threw it—lovingly but with purpose—at Nick’s head.

“I need this place to look... romantically effortless,” Matt said, using finger quotes like he’d read it on a Pinterest board and memorized it like scripture. “You guys ruin the vibe. You radiate… fraternity house.”

Chris scoffed. “Dude, last week you ate Froot Loops out of a measuring cup because we were out of bowls.”

“Dude,” Matt said, dead serious, “you guys are embarrassing. You’ll say something weird, or try to vibe check her, or worse—start beatboxing over the pasta.”

“Okay, that was one time,” Chris mumbled.

“One time too many!” Matt shot back. “This is the first time she’s coming over for dinner, not just hanging out. This is a big deal. This is real-life boyfriend stuff. I bought vegetables, Chris. Vegetables.”

Nick smirked. “Name three vegetables.”

“Nick.”

“Name one vegetable.”

Matt paused. “…Carrots.”

“Solid.” Nick nodded.

“Anyway, out. Both of you. I need a calm, peaceful environment. Ambiance. Romance. I lit a candle!”

Chris sniffed the air. “Why does it smell like pumpkin spice and bleach?”

“It’s a theme.”

Nick and Chris exchanged glances.

“You're freaking out,” Chris said gently, like a man trying to reason with a cornered possum. “Y/N already likes you. You could show up in a Shrek costume and she’d still think you’re cute.”

“Yeah,” Nick added, “and you literally snort-laughed root beer out of your nose on your first FaceTime and she still wanted to hang out again.”

Matt stopped. Blinked. Slowly turned to them.

“…You think I should change shirts?”

Chris groaned.

Just then, a knock echoed from the front door.

Matt yelped and flailed for the Febreze, spraying a wide mist across the living room like he was blessing it. Then, he gave the boys a look—a desperate, pleading “please just disappear” look.

Chris sighed and made his way to the back. “We’ll be downstairs. If you need anything, don’t.”

And as they exited stage left, muttering about how they’d never get this time back, Matt stood in the middle of the living room and took a deep breath. The candles were lit. The lights were dimmed just the right amount. The flowers were centered. And his Spotify playlist labeled “Romance but Chill but Not Too Chill” was queued and ready.

He looked around the room one more time, smiled to himself, and whispered, “Game time.”

When you walked in, he greeted you at the door with the softest smile and an awkward, “Hey, uh, I made spaghetti.” You didn’t say anything about the faint smell of lemon-scented cleaning spray.

You just smiled back.

And Matt forgot all about the pasta timer going off in the background.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @shadowthesim237, @courta13, @frankdelreyy, @evansturn, @bamsblooming, @backwardshatnick, @whore4chris

[fashionteahouse]

hiii 💗 can you do a paul nsfw abc hcs plss?

heyy 💜 ofc ! this was fun hope you enjoy :)

nsfw alphabet hcs - paul lahote

sfw version

a ~ aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

his body is in a totally relaxed state, it's like he took a chill pill. his mood is noticeably chipper. he likes to hold you close, but stresses that you both have to use the bathroom so he can fall asleep with you in his arms. cleaning you up is something he doesn't have a problem with and takes his time doing so.

b ~ body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

it doesn't take much to guess that the cheeky bastard thinks that the thing between his legs is his favorite body part. he likes the chiseled muscles that are also on his body, showcasing his strength.

he really enjoys his partner's hands, they completely melt him because of how soft they are so he wants them to always touch him in and out of the bedroom. he also enjoys your eyes, they speak volumes in the bedroom to him and love keeping eye contact with you during.

c ~ cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he made it an effortless mission of how you have to cum before he does. even though it's a rare occasion, he enjoys cumming inside of you. something about you oozing out his seed, rocks his world. if he can't cum inside of you, he opts for right on your stomach.

d~ dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

he didn't think he would like it as much as he does, but he really enjoys cyber sex. you both don't do it as much since you two see each other pretty often in person.

e ~ experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing)

hes pretty experienced. many would think that his experience came from the local girls he's gotten around with but, he lets people think so. his real experience came from accidentally diving into the world of messing around with women who were older, due to his maturity, so he learns quickly how to pleasure one's body and where things are. he knows exactly what he's doing and has great pride in knowing so.

f ~ favorite position (this goes without saying)

he really enjoys back shots, he likes the sight of you taking him all in. he encourages you to buck back on him.

g ~ goofy (are they more serious at the moment? are they humorous?etc.)

hes more serious in the moment, his focus goes all into the moment. his dirty talk might have a glint of humor on rare occasions.

h ~ hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

it's not too long, he keeps it to a nice trim. the carpet does match the drapes.

i ~ intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he very much makes sure to let you know how beautiful you are while naked. whispers of how pretty and beautiful you are, come without fail.

j ~ jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he really only does it when you both can't see each other for any reason.

k ~ kink (one or more of their kinks)

besides dirty talk, being overstimulated, whether it's you or him. he likes the tingly feeling so much that he wishes it could last forever. mirrors are another one that he's into. he really enjoys looking at the reflection of both bodies responding to one another. he talks you into watching what he sees in the reflection at times.

l ~ location (favorite places to do the do)

secretly enjoys doing it in secluded public places if it's on a spur of the moment but his home is his favorite. there's no room for interruptions.

m ~ motivation (things that turn them on or gets them going)

all you have to do is say his name and it's over. whether it's during an everyday conversation or when you pant it out. he enjoys physical affection so rubbing or feathered touches gets him going. prolonged eye contact when having a simple conversation will bring out his wild feelings. when things get too heavy, he likes the sight of you touching yourself while he's inside of you.

n ~ no (turnoffs or absolutely wont do)

sharing. hes very possessive with who he's with and wouldn't want anyone else to see what he gets to see. he can't do it with music playing, it will distract him.

o ~ oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

he's not too big on receiving, he likes giving way more. he's very skillful, your responses would agree with him. with his patience, he thinks it's more fun to give but he wouldn't turn down the times you would want to go down on him.

p ~ pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

he starts off painfully slow but as it gets more heated, he picks up the pace, having you clutch onto him with all of your strength as he's close. he lasts pretty long and is greedy with his time.

q ~ quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he would be a fan of them, the heart racing idea of having a quick heated session. he gets to see for himself how quickly you can fall apart in his arms. it happens a lot, it ends up making you appreciate the moments when he gets to take his time.

r ~ risk (do they like to try new things)

he would try new things if it were safe but to be honest, there's not anything that he hadn't tried before that he knew he would enjoy.

s ~ stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

he could go all day if you let him. each round is pretty lengthy so he understands if you don't want to push for a third or fourth round.

t ~ toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he doesn't own his own, however if his partner had them, he would be curious on how to use them on his partner. other than that, it's more of an out of sight, out of mind.

u ~ unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

he really enjoys being a tease. he likes to make his feel ups slow and sensual, knowing it drives you crazy. he's fascinated by how your body reacts with just dry humping. he likes it when you are on your edge and he doesn't let you cum, it gets you to say his name. when you try to tease, he warns you to say you’re playing with fire but you soon find out why: you beg him to pick up his agonizingly slow strokes as he mischievously smiles down at your begging.

v ~ volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

his grunts are quiet at first but he eventually matches the volume you make, as he gets more turned on. his dirty talk is to a low volume but as he's close or hits a good spot, they transfer into groans that gradually gets into a crescendo.

w ~ wild card (random headcanon for the character)

one time when you were away for a couple of days, you left him voice messages and he missed you so much, he jerked off to the sound of your voice as he listened.

x ~ x-ray (lets see what's going on under those clothes)

he's sort of beautiful. as much as he went through, no ugly scars can be seen. a bit longer than average but the width with a nice curve steals hearts. in your opinion, he has a very recognizable dick.

y ~ yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

he always wants it to the point he's greedy at times. he almost wears you out but there's no complaints.

z ~ zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he doesn't feel the drowsiness after, but when you're zonked out, he follows. it isn't until he wakes up, feeling like he slept really well. he loves after sex naps.

[tacobacoyeet]

let's be friends | tashi duncan x reader (patrick zweig x reader)

warnings: SMUT 18+, cheating

It starts with a look.

Not a dramatic one. Not a sweeping, heart-stopping, violins-in-the-distance kind of look.

Just a glance. Too long. Too soft. Too knowing.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor in Patrick’s living room, a beer in one hand, your chin tipped back with laughter—warm and open and a little too loud—over something Art said that wasn’t even that funny. The TV flickers in the background. Someone’s half-finished drink sweats on the coffee table. The room smells like takeout and fabric softener. And Tashi watches you laugh like it’s something private. Tashi’s on the couch behind you, sprawled out like she owns the place—because she kind of does. And when you tilt your head to glance up at her, something in her expression sticks.

It’s not surprise. Not amusement.

Interest, maybe.

And then it’s gone.

You blink. You sip. You look back to Patrick, who’s started ranting about some guy on the challenger circuit who swings like a puppet.

But it lingers. A seed planted.

---

The first time you met Tashi, she barely looked up from her phone.

You’d just started seeing Patrick—two dates deep, that giddy sweet spot where everything is effortless and full of potential. He brought you to a casual post-practice dinner with Art and Tashi, like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t them.

Art had been polite. A little cold, but not unkind. Tashi had nodded at you once, then gone right back to whatever was happening on her screen.

You weren’t offended. You were the new girl. You were used to that.

But later that night, she’d called you smart. Offhand. Like she’d been listening the whole time.

After that, you started seeing them more. Group hangouts. Drinks after matches. Late nights in Patrick’s apartment where everyone ended up on the couch together, legs tangled and shoulders pressed close.

Tashi was magnetic without trying. Loud in bursts. Quiet in corners. She made fun of Patrick constantly. She never complimented you directly, but she remembered your favorite lollipop flavor, which bar bathroom had the clean mirror lighting, which playlist you always skipped the third song on.

At first, you thought she just liked knowing things.

Then you started noticing the way she looked at you when she thought you weren’t looking.

And the way your stomach flipped every time she did.

You told yourself it was fine. You were just becoming close. Girls got intense sometimes. Friendships could blur at the edges.

But the edges kept blurring.

And she never did anything about it.

Until she did.

---

One night, Patrick’s out getting another round, and Art’s halfway into an argument with the bartender about the definition of a double.

Tashi leans in close. Not too close. But closer than she usually sits.

“Do you always stare that much?”

You freeze. Your beer is halfway to your lips.

“I—what?”

She’s smirking. Lazy. Crooked. Her knee bumps yours.

“I’m just asking,” she says. “Because if you do, I could get used to it.”

You blink. The music is too loud. The lights too warm.

Then Patrick’s back with drinks and a stupid grin, and everything rearranges again.

But you’re not the same after that.

Neither is she.

And you both know it.

---

It doesn’t happen all at once.

It happens in moments. Small, dumb ones.

You start riding with her even when Patrick offers. You ride with her on slow mornings and fast ones, in silence and with music blaring. You ride with her because it’s easier. Because it feels better. Because it’s starting to mean something, even if you won’t admit it. You find yourselves pairing up on game nights, trading insults and high-fives that linger too long. Fingers brushing. Knees knocking. Looks held for just a beat too long. You steal sips of her drinks. She steals fries off your plate. You start texting her things that don’t need responses. She starts answering them anyway.

She starts calling you by your last name, in a voice that’s always teasing, always warm. You start finding excuses to touch her—grabbing her wrist to show her a song, brushing hair out of her face like it’s natural.

One night, you fall asleep on her shoulder during a movie, and when you wake up, she’s still there. Arm around you. Her fingers tangled lightly in the hem of your shirt.

Neither of you mention it.

But the next day, she texts you a selfie from her car, lip gloss perfect, eyebrows smug, with the caption: still waiting on my cuddle review.

You laugh harder than you should.

You send her a voice memo back. “Four stars. You run hot and you snore.”

She sends another photo immediately. This one’s worse. Or better. Her middle finger is up. Her lips are still curved in that smile you’re trying very hard not to memorize.

Five stars now? she asks.

And maybe it’s just fun. Maybe it’s just harmless.

But it doesn’t feel harmless when she watches you in group settings like you’re the only one there. It doesn’t feel harmless when you dream about her hands. When you wake up aching.

It doesn’t feel harmless when she shows up to a hangout in a tank top that’s definitely not for the weather, and you can’t stop staring.

And it definitely doesn’t feel harmless when she catches you.

When she licks a little melted ice cream off her thumb and says, without looking up, “You know, you’re allowed to want things.”

You don’t answer.

But you want.

God, you want.

And that’s the part that starts to ache.

Because Patrick is good. He’s kind. He kisses you like he means it and holds your hand like he’s proud of it. You like him. You really do.

But every time his lips find yours, every time his hand slides across your back and pulls you close, there’s a flicker of something traitorous at the base of your skull.

What would Tashi taste like?

It’s not a conscious thought. It’s not even loud. It’s just there. Present.

And when you open your eyes after a kiss, gasping, dazed, flushed from how sweet he always is with you—there’s still a name pressing soft against the edge of your thoughts.

And it isn’t his.

---

One night, it’s just the two of you. Rain tapping against the window, some old movie playing quietly in the background. Patrick’s hand finds yours where it rests on the couch cushion, fingers linking with yours like he’s done it a thousand times.

He kisses you slow, soft, like he wants you to feel how much he means it. And you do. You kiss him back, warm and grateful, even as something coils in your chest.

When you pull apart, he smiles against your cheek. “I’m really glad you get along with them,” he says, voice low. “With Art. With Tashi.”

You nod, pressing your forehead to his shoulder.

He laughs a little. “Tashi’s hard to impress. But she likes you. You know that, right?”

You swallow. You try to keep your voice even. “Yeah.”

“She told me she was glad we were dating.”

That makes your chest clench in a way you can’t explain. Your heart aches, confused and guilty.

Patrick presses a kiss to your hair. “You’re my favorite person. And I think it’s kinda cool that my favorite people are becoming friends.”

You close your eyes.

You wish that was all it was.

---

It happens on a night that feels like any other.

You’re at her place. Music low. A bottle of wine cracked open even though you both swore you were only staying in for a quiet night. There’s a half-hearted movie playing, and she’s sitting close enough that your knees touch. Not in a dramatic way. Not even on purpose. Just enough to feel it.

You're laughing at something she said—something ridiculous and small, and the sound sticks in the air between you. She watches you for a second too long. And you feel it.

Your stomach turns over. The kind of flip that’s not new anymore, but still dangerous.

She shifts on the couch, facing you more fully. Her fingers drum lightly on the stem of her wine glass. You don’t know what you’re saying anymore. Your mouth keeps moving, but your brain is stuck on the way her eyes flick down to your lips.

The tension stretches—taut and humming and painfully quiet.

And then she says your name.

Soft. Careful. Not a tease. Not this time.

You stop.

Tashi leans in. Just a little. Enough.

“Tell me to stop,” she says.

You don’t.

So she kisses you.

It's not rushed. It's not wild. It’s gentle. Testing. The kind of kiss you give when you’ve thought about it too many times to pretend you haven’t.

You gasp against her mouth before you can stop yourself. Her hand comes up to cradle your jaw.

And when she pulls back, she doesn't move far. Just enough to murmur—

“Don’t you wanna?”

Your chest rises too fast.

And you nod.

You really, really do.

She kisses you again, deeper this time. Her hands are on your waist, sliding under your shirt, fingers spreading across your skin like she’s trying to memorize you by touch.

You moan—quiet, shocked by how fast it unravels you. Tashi catches it with her mouth, her tongue slipping past your lips with such practiced ease it makes your thighs press together.

“You always this easy to kiss?” she whispers, tugging at your shirt. “Or is it just me?”

You breathe out a laugh—shaky, dizzy. “It’s you.”

She grins against your skin. “Thought so.”

She’s pushing you back onto the couch before you realize it, hovering over you with one hand braced beside your head and the other sliding down your body.

When her hand slips under the waistband of your pants, your hips buck. You gasp again, louder this time, and she watches you—eyes heavy, lips parted, like she’s starving.

“You gonna let me?” she asks.

You nod, too fast.

She hums, pleased, fingers slipping lower, slow but deliberate. The first press of her thumb to your clit has you whimpering.

“Fuck,” you breathe.

“God, you sound good,” she mutters, kissing your neck, your jaw, your cheek. “Been thinking about this every time you wore something tight and acted like you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I didn’t,” you gasp.

Tashi laughs. “Liar.”

And then she’s inside you, two fingers curling just right, and you’re gone—hips rolling, back arching, her name a broken whisper on your lips.

She takes her time. Watches every twitch, every breath. Brings you right to the edge and holds you there, kissing you slow until you’re trembling beneath her.

“Let go,” she whispers. “Come on. Let me have it.”

And when you do, it’s with a cry you couldn’t hide if you tried.

You collapse into her, flushed and panting.

And she kisses your shoulder like she's done it a billion times before. Maybe she has. Just not in real life.

---

After that night, nothing feels casual anymore.

You don’t talk about it. Not directly. But the way she touches you changes—more often, more deliberate. She stands too close. She doesn’t look away as fast.

And you let her.

You let her every time.

But it twists something sharp in your stomach when you see Patrick. When he kisses your cheek or brings you coffee or grins like he still thinks he’s the only one who gets to make you blush.

You can’t meet his eyes when he says, “Tashi says we should all hang out again this weekend. You in?”

You say yes.

You always say yes.

But it feels like lying now. Even though it technically isn’t.

Technically.

You think maybe you were fine until the second time it happened. The second time Tashi kissed you like she couldn’t help it. The second time she made you come with her mouth on you and a growl in her throat.

Because this time, when it’s over, she doesn’t move.

She stays. Curled up behind you on the couch, hand splayed on your stomach like she belongs there. Like she wants to be there in the morning.

You lie there wide awake, her breath warm on your neck, and you realize something you really didn’t want to know.

You’re not the only one who caught feelings.

And now it’s harder to pretend.

Tashi holds you like it means something. Like it has meant something. And you let her, night after night, long after the tension gave way to touch.

But something shifts in the quiet. In the way she presses her face into your neck when she thinks you’re asleep. In the way her fingers twitch when Patrick texts you.

You start noticing things.

Like how she doesn’t meet your eyes when she says his name. How she jokes about him less now. How she touches you softer after.

It should make you feel wanted.

Instead, it makes you feel split down the middle.

Because Patrick’s still sweet. Still good. Still smiles at you like you’re his whole world.

And you keep smiling back.

Even as part of you starts to wish he wasn’t in this picture at all.

---

It happens by accident. And then, almost instantly, it doesn’t feel like one.

You're at Patrick's. All of you. A lazy Saturday stretched too long, half-dressed in your comfiest clothes. Tashi’s curled in the armchair. You’re on the floor with your back to the couch, between Patrick’s knees. He's absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair while watching something dumb on TV.

And Tashi says something—something that makes you laugh. You throw your head back, and she catches your eyes. The smile she gives you is soft. Real.

Patrick notices.

You feel his fingers pause against your scalp.

“You two have been really tight lately,” he says, not accusing, not suspicious. Just curious.

You freeze.

Tashi shifts, unfazed. “She’s fun,” she says. “You did good.”

Patrick hums. “I mean… yeah. You’re both fun.”

There’s a beat.

Then he says it.

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it.”

Your heart stutters.

“Thought about what?” you ask, even though you know.

He leans forward, chin on your shoulder, voice low. “You and her. Together.”

You don’t speak.

You feel the way Tashi goes still across the room.

Then Patrick adds, quieter—

“If I walked in on something… I wouldn’t be mad.”

He squeezes your shoulders once. Just once. Then gets up to grab more drinks.

And the silence he leaves behind is electric.

You look at Tashi.

She’s already looking at you.

And there’s no hiding now.

---

He brings back beers and popcorn like nothing happened, and you pretend for a while. All of you do. The show keeps playing. The room keeps breathing. Patrick settles back into the couch behind you like the air hadn’t just changed.

But then you stand to stretch and say you’re gonna help Tashi grab something from the car.

There’s nothing in the car.

You don’t even make it to the door.

The moment it closes behind you, she grabs your wrist and pulls you in. Mouth on yours. Desperate. Sharp. Messy.

You kiss her like it’s your last chance.

“Is this what you want?” she breathes against your lips.

You nod. Hard. “Yes.”

Then Patrick’s voice calls out from the other room—“You two making out in there?”

Silence.

You look at her. She’s breathing hard, lip bitten, pupils blown wide.

Then he steps into the hall.

Patrick sees you both—disheveled, pressed together, the heat still clinging to your skin like fog.

He smiles.

“About time,” he says, and walks toward you.

You don’t move. You can’t. You expect tension. Jealousy. Confusion.

Instead, he kisses you. Then her.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “just ask if I wanna watch.”

And when Tashi grabs his shirt and pulls him in, you realize this is happening. Not a fallout. Not a crisis.

Just heat.

Just yes.

And when the three of you stumble into the bedroom, laughter and tension and hunger all tangled up in your mouths and hands, you think maybe it was always going to end like this.

Messy.

Beautiful.

Loud.

Tashi’s mouth is on yours again the moment you hit the bed, her hands already dragging your shirt up, exposing skin she’s seen but never rushed. Patrick’s behind you now, his breath hot at your ear as he lifts it the rest of the way, tugging it off like it’s a ribbon, not a barrier.

“Pretty,” he says, voice low and rough, as his fingers graze down your spine.

Tashi kisses your shoulder. “We know.”

Clothes hit the floor like they’ve been waiting. Hands overlap. You don’t know whose grip is tighter, whose mouth is lower, only that you’re unraveling fast and you haven’t even been fucked yet.

Patrick slides down first, tongue slow and sinful between your legs, while Tashi kisses you through every twitch of your body. When he moans against your clit, it sends a shock straight through your spine.

“Jesus,” you gasp.

“Not quite,” Tashi whispers, fingers sliding into your mouth as she watches you fall apart. “But close, right?”

It doesn’t stop. It just layers. Hands, lips, sounds, heat. You feel Patrick’s cock brush your thigh as Tashi pulls you into her lap, and when you sink down onto him, it’s all dizzy, all stretch and pleasure, with her mouth right at your ear.

“You’re so fucking good like this,” she purrs. “Look at you. Perfect.”

You ride Patrick with Tashi’s hands on your hips, her mouth on your neck, all three of you lost to it, to each other.

And when you come again, it’s Tashi who whispers you through it, and Patrick who groans into your skin like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear the sound you make falling apart between them.

You don’t know how long it lasts. You don’t care.

It ends in breathless laughter, bodies tangled, limbs sticky and flushed.

And when you finally open your eyes, they’re both still there.

Watching you.

Touching you.

Smiling like they’ve always known.

Like this was never a mistake.

And somewhere on the floor, someone’s sock is inside the popcorn bowl. Patrick swears it’s not his.

No one believes him.

-----

tagging: @kimmyneutron @babyspiderling @queensunshinee @hanneh69 @jamespotteraliveversion @glennussy @awaywithtime @artstennisracket @artdonaldsonbabygirl @blastzachilles @jordiemeow