#for some reason I want it to be soft and a little angsty

[nkplanet]

THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER

older!dean x fem!reader cw age gap, nsfw below cut (mdni), size kink (+ implied choking kink?), bunker era (think s9-10, so dean is 34-36 ish and reader is early to mid 20s), a little angsty in one or two places

notes my final assignment of first year is due in 12 hours. i wrote this instead. also i don’t usually write smut so if it’s shit dhmu

older!dean was hesitant to do anything with you at first. there’s thirteen years between you, and he’d always said it was too much, that he was too old for you. eventually, after months of teasing and flirting and god knows how many repetitions of “i know what i want, dean,” he’d grabbed your face and kissed you hard.

older!dean treats you like glass that he could break at any second. he’s gentle — gentler than he ever was with any other girl. he kisses your forehead, always has a gentle hand on you, and generally takes care of you. he cooks for you, wraps blankets around you when you fall asleep researching, and acts like the definition of a gentleman (to sam’s utter delight — the new material he’s gained to tease his brother with is endless).

older!dean shares his music with you. you call him old for it, and he makes a suggestive comment about you benefitting from his experience. he makes you a tape of songs he loves and catches you playing it in your room on more than one occasion. the two of you bond massively over music, with him showing you the rock he grew up with and you showing him newer stuff, like paramore. he’ll never admit that he thinks hayley williams is awesome, but you know.

older!dean hates taking you out on hunts. you met through hunting, and you’re a damn good hunter yourself (his words), but that will never stop him worrying. he’s protective, almost overwhelmingly so, on hunts, and you’ve had more than one biting argument about how he needs to let up. he promises he will some day, but you still see his eyes on you constantly. he needs to make sure you’re there, to make sure you’re safe.

older!dean loves to tease you with pet names to see how flustered he can make you. there are some he uses that are nice, and make you feel nice and warm inside, like angel and sweetheart. (darlin’ with his texan twang, always gets you blushing.) he tries to call you baby, but you veto it, stating the age difference as a reason. he tries to tease you, occasionally calling you kid and kiddo until you stop calling him honey and start only referring to him as old man.

older!dean absolutely loses it when you get hurt. you go on a hunt with sam, despite your boyfriend’s protests at getting left behind, and when sam calls as a heads up that you’re injured, he’s an anxious mess until you reach the bunker. you walk through the door bruised and a little bloodied, and he’s all over you. he doesn’t leave you alone, even after you’ve been cleaned up and ordered to rest by sam. he’s constantly touching you, either holding your hand or rubbing comforting circles on your hip. even when you heal he’s hesitant to let you out of his sight again, stating in the middle of a dark night while he holds you close that he can’t lose you.

things with older!dean start out soft and pretty vanilla, as he doesn’t want to push you or hurt you. he’s so caring and gentle with you, making sure you enjoy yourself and holding you close and making sure you finish first.

when older!dean finds out you’re just as freaky as he is, it’s over for you. he’s relentless, testing new things with you almost every night. youre sure you’ve tried every position by now, but dean’s favourite is a tossup between missionary, where he can watch your face as he all but pounds into you, and cowgirl, where he can watch as you tire yourself out on top of him (being able to see your tits bounce is also a bonus).

older!dean loves it when you suck him off but let’s be honest: he’s a huge munch. he’s eaten you out in more places than you can count, including (probably) every surface in the bunker, the backseat and driver’s seat of the impala, countless motel rooms and even a few diner restrooms.

older!dean has trouble letting you take control sometimes. he feels a little strange, given the age gap between you, but when you do get chance? he loves it. being completely under your control, letting you do whatever you want? it’s like a dream come true for him. but, despite how many times you start on top, it always ends with him snapping his hips up into you or flipping you over and finishing what you started.

older!dean loves it when he gets to see just how much bigger he is than you. when he can hold your waist and his hand seems to just dwarf you, or when he has you in his lap and his hands cover your hips completely. he especially loves watching as he takes you, and when his large hand wraps around your throat with just enough pressure for you to feel it.

regardless of how vanilla or how insane the sex is, older!dean never misses a second of aftercare. he’s always right there, with either a warm bath or a damp cloth depending on how tired you are. he’ll massage your thighs after they’re spent from riding him or comb out the tangles he made in your hair, whispering sweet nothings to you and holding you like you’re fragile because, to him, you are. even when he’s let you take the reins, he holds you close as you drift off to sleep, pressing gentle kisses on your face and tracing his hand down your back.

[000000-000000-000000]

Bite the Hand (Brian Thomas/Hoodie x Reader)

f!reader, pre-established relationship, angsty (a lil) smut, slapping, spitting, degradation, creampie, he's an asshole in this one lol

1.6k words

You don’t even know how it started.

Something small. A wrong word, a wrong tone, a wrong look. Maybe it was just a long day for the both of you, or maybe it was just a spark that blew up the fuse to something bigger and unaddressed, festering under the pretense of love and thrill.

Now, your cracking shouts are echoing through the pacing of his boots on the floorboards of your shared cabin, every footfall louder, more forced, angrier and just barely held together.

“Fuck you, Brian!” Your voice cracks, but you don’t care. “You think you can just—just control me? Just tell me to sit here like some fucking dog while you go around killing and—"

His laugh is sharp, humorless, mean. “Yeah? And what the fuck are you gonna do about it?”

It feels like years of patience and understanding are being flushed down the drain when you stare back up at him, teeth creaking in your mouth under the force of your jaw, just trying to be reasonable, to calm yourself down, to—

He just fucking scoffs at you, all dismissive and mocking, and that's really all it takes for you to finally snap.

You lunge to shove him, hard enough to make him stumble back a step. Not enough to really move him, but enough to challenge him.

The second his eyes drop to yours, you know it’s over. You feel your hands run cold—not with fear, but a feeling of impending something.

He steps forward. You don’t move. He grabs you—yanks you into him, fingers digging into your jaw, squeezing until your lips part in a sharp gasp. His other hand grips the back of your neck, holding you there, keeping you still.

“Try it again,” he mutters, voice low, calm—too calm.

So you do.

You slap him across the face in a moment of adrenaline and instinct, your palm stinging with the force you put into the strike.

His breath catches. His head turns just slightly from the impact.

But then he’s just laughing again—just a soft little huff as he shifts his jaw, drags his tongue across his teeth—and slaps you back.

It’s sharp, quick, more shocking than painful. But it makes your knees buckle, makes your breath hitch, makes something inside you snap all over again.

You’re on him before you realize it.

Grabbing, clawing, biting at his lip when he crashes his mouth against yours. His hand is already around your throat, squeezing, pressing you back against the nearest wall.

“You wanna fight me, sugar?” he murmurs, lips brushing yours, breath warm and slow, too calm when he starts tightening his grip, pushing down your windpipe. “That what you want?”

You don’t answer. You can't find the words or the breath to.

So his hand slips up to your jaw in a brusque movement that pushes your head into the wall, fingers digging into the muscles of your cheeks to pry your mouth open, before he spits straight down the back of your throat.

And you fucking moan.

His grin is razor-sharp and knowing, mocking tone in his voice. “Yeah. That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

Before you have the chance to swallow the spit that's trickling down your throat, he’s moving—yanking you around, bending you over the couch, pressing his weight against your back as his fingers shove into your mouth again.

“Bite,” he mutters, voice rough, wrecked. “Bite down, bitch, swear to fuckin' God, I dare you.”

But you don’t. You can’t.

Not when he’s got his other hand between under your pants, two fingers dragging through the humiliating slickness pooled in your panties, rubbing, teasing, slapping your clit just to hear you gasp.

“Talk all that shit,” he breathes, pulling his fingers away, undoing his belt with one hand. “And you’re this wet?”

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t give you a second to process before he shoves your pants down, before he’s inside you and bottoming out in one brutal thrust, before he’s gripping the back of your neck and fucking you open.

It’s raw. Messy. Filthy. It's the only flicker of familiarity still daring to keep you wanting it.

He’s slapping your ass, your face, your clit, leaving red-hot stings in his wake, laughing like the fucking asshole he is when you flinch and cry out but still grind your ass back into him like you fucking need it. No words. No tenderness. Just raw, blistering rage channeled into every relentless thrust, into the way he presses his hand between your shoulder blades to arch your back deeper, into the way he keeps your hair in a tight fist, forcing your head down into the cushions, cock bruising your cervix like he's trying to break you.

“Look at you,” he groans, voice shaking, movements getting sloppy. “Thought you were mad at me, sweetheart, you like being dicked down by a murderer? You're—fucking sick."

You can’t answer or spit anything back at him. Just clawing at the surface beneath you, gasping, moaning, tears slipping down your cheeks from the sheer intensity of it.

And when you come—hard, helpless, body clenching, shaking, squeezing around his cock so tight you feel like you might snap it inside you—he pulls you up, hand still around your throat, mouth against your ear as he growls—

“Stupid fucking bitch."

And fuck, you don't know whether to be hurt or flutter around his cock again.

Your body is limp against him, still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but Brian doesn’t let up. Not even a little.

His grip stays tight around your throat, his chest pressed to your back, his cock still buried inside you, twitching, pulsing. His breath is ragged, uneven, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

But he doesn’t.

His hand slips lower—smears spit and sweat across your collarbone before wrapping around your jaw again, forcing your head to the side, straining the muscles in your neck. His lips are right against your cheek, his voice dripping with some kind of threat, or promise.

“You done?”

You should be. You should tap out, should give up this fight that, if you're being honest with yourself, you don't even remember where it started. He made his point, you proved it, it should end here.

But you don’t.

Instead, you laugh. A breathless, shaky little thing—half a moan, half a challenge. "Eat my shit, Hoodie." You spit it out with venom like it's some slur. And shit, you see it as one.

He stills behind you, almost long enough to make you shiver in anticipation.

Then?

He spits in your mouth again, and before you can have a reaction to it, his palm cracks across your face again, far harder this time. Angrier.

Your head snaps to the side, cheek burning, ears ringing—and your body responds. A full-body shudder, a sharp pulse of pleasure between your legs, a whimper that you can’t swallow down fast enough.

Hoodie fucking growls.

“Ohh, you love this, don’t you?” His fingers dig into your jaw, smearing the spit across your lips. “Love bein’ treated like a fucking whore?”

Your moan is answer enough.

His hand moves down—pushing between your thighs, feeling the mess there, groaning when he realizes you’re still soaking.

Then he pulls out.

You whimper at the emptiness, at the loss of him, but it doesn’t last long—because he flips you onto your back, yanks your legs apart, and slaps his cock against your cunt, making a filthy, wet smack echo through the room before spitting down over your clit.

You barely have time to react before his hand cracks down over it, making you jerk—legs snapping shut on instinct, body twitching from the sharp jolt of pain and overstimulation.

Hoodie grins, dark and sharp. “Sensitive?”

You nod frantically, panting, eyes glazed, body barely holding itself together.

He shoves your legs back open.

“Too fuckin’ bad.”

Then he’s inside you again, all the way, his hips slamming against yours, forcing you to take every brutal inch of him. Harder. Faster. Meaner.

He fucks you hard, deep, pounding into you like he’s got something to prove. Like he owns you. Like he wants to ruin you.

And fuck, maybe he does. Maybe this is weighing on him more than he lets on.

He slaps your face again, with the back of his hand this time, gently—just enough to make you open your mouth.

He spits right onto your tongue again, knuckles then lightly smacking up into your chin to close your mouth.

“Swallow.”

You do, so fucking readily, lips parting again like you're just waiting for another.

That’s what fucking breaks him. Even now, with your cheeks reddened by his hands, with this argument feeling like a detrimental crack in your dynamic, you still take what he gives you, still milk his cock with every thrust, still look up at him like you're ready to be fucked within an inch of your life.

His grip turns bruising, punishing. His rhythm stutters. His moans turn into deep, desperate groans, his breath catching, his fingers digging into your ass as he loses it, his release violent.

He slams deep—so fucking deep it knocks the air from your lungs—and comes inside you, filling you with thick, angry spurts of cum, grinding through it, making sure you feel it.

And when it’s done, when you’re both ruined, breathless, spent?

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, voice low, raw, wrecked, so deceitfully gentle it gives you fucking whiplash.

“…Still mad at me, sugar?”

[mongoosingisme]

Okay, hear me out, I'm sure this has probably been done a lot but, it's the 1st year of the flower dance and fem!farmer wooed shane up to 8 hearts. Farmer attends the festival in the proper attire (a pretty white dress and heels) and seeing shane all dressed up makes her all hot and flustered. She obviously asks Shane to dance and he begrudgingly agrees, but they instead sneak off into the forest for a little bit of "fun" instead. Protection? It wasn't planned soooo....oops. Pull out game? Weak. 🫣 They return to the festival afterwards for some sly comments from the others.

HELLO FRIEND!

I've tried to write this several different times, and then I got angst-pilled and wrote some other stuff and it all came together.

So... yes. A continuation of the couple other Shane fills I posted this week (here and here). Had to massage the ask a little bit (picturing it as being between 4 and 6 heart events), and it came out probably a little more dark/angsty than such a lighthearted ask would probably warrant so... uh, yeah.

(seriously, though, reach out if you want me to take another swing that isn't connected to other stuff and is maybe a little more light and bright).

Gonna be one more in this series that'll wrap it up.

Okay! No more housekeeping!

Title: (still don't know what to call these things - doc was named "Shane dance req")

Pairing: Shane x fem!farmer

Word Count: 4170

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only, if you would be so kind

Tags and fic under the cut!

Tags: Shane real real sad, alcoholism/depression stuff, blow jobs, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, super weak pullout game, not great examples of communication

When Shane was a kid Marnie had this dog. Ugly fucking thing, all drool and rough fur and this shit eating grin.

He loved that dog. He’d crawl into Shane’s bed at night, lay his head over his hip, all heavy and warm and stinking and love.

But then one summer the dog wasn’t there anymore. He had killed a chicken. Big teeth, thin neck, a mess of blood and feathers. You couldn’t have a dog that killed chickens around a farm, so he had to go live somewhere else.

Shane knew how that dog felt.

The farmer. He’d gotten a taste, and he wanted more.

Shane worked very hard not to want things.

Shane was failing.

It felt heavy. Everything felt heavy. 

“Are we gonna talk about all that?” She’d asked it a few days later at the saloon, voice quiet and soft, making sure Emily was elsewhere.

“Nope.” It was all that needed to be said. All that he could possibly say.

“Okayyyyy…” Her mouth was in a flat line. Another kind of honest look. Then she looked away, rested her cheek in her hand.

He wanted to be her hand.

He could still taste her.

He wanted more. It nagged at him. Made it all heavier. An unfinished task. Like if he did it maybe he could finally find some relief. Check the last box. 

He had a drink. It helped cover up the taste.

He should do with himself what Marnie did with the dog. Send himself off somewhere else, where there was less potential for pain.

That place didn’t exist, though. So he let himself sink.

Into drink, yes, of course, but also into the farmer. Because she was still there, somehow, still warm and real and honest and when he made her laugh he still felt like maybe there was a good reason for him to be on earth after all.

They spoke more. Sitting on the dock in the chilly early spring air. Or, most nights, at the Saloon. Slouching against the bar, lost in the way she managed to drag words out of him, circumventing the invisible boot that always felt like it was pressing into his throat. The teeth around his neck.

She saw more too. What he looked like when he was low. In his natural state, radiating spikes of pain that punctured the people closest to him.

It was okay. He had room for shame.

He didn’t have room for her, though, and the feelings she ignited in him. Feelings he could name (hope, joy, connection) but would not, would never, could never admit, because they were the feelings that didn’t stick around, and the holes they left behind were so much more painful than if they hadn’t been there at all.

The alcohol helped, for the most part.

It might be a problem.

———————

Shane was an atheist, but if he thought it would make the farmer stop showing up in dresses he could absolutely be convinced to pray.

Spring. Flower Dance. He was there. It made Jas and Marnie happy to see him there. He owed them that. Owed them the suit and the bow tie. Owed them the freshly shaved face and combed hair. Owed them the flask left at home.

Well. Two out of three wasn’t bad.

He spotted the farmer before she spotted him. This was a good thing - he’d probably have a stroke if he had to speak while processing what he was seeing. She was in a dress again. White this time. Light and floating around her knees. Pretty shoes that made her a little taller (his height exactly, if he figured correctly).

She looked radiant. That pure sun smile. Those warm, endless eyes. Hair done special and necklace on and bright and shining and kind and open and he wondered if he’d feel the same if she came up to him and took his hand in front of everyone and

(fuck no absolutely not, this was not what we are thinking about…)

Her shoes made her walk a little differently, back arched a bit, calves shapely. He could see the backs of her knees. She’d be soft and sensitive there. He could run his fingers back and forth over her skin, make her gasp and squirm.

(he knew what it sounded like when she gasped now, knew the sharpness of the intake, the gentle ‘hah’ that followed, knew a few ways to make her make that sound but there would be more, there would have to be more, so many ways to make her gasp that he hadn’t found yet…)

Her neckline wasn’t plunging, not exactly, but gathering, sleeves dropping off her shoulders in a way that insisted he trace his gaze across her chest.

(he’d touched her there, once, just the once, just his hands, he should have used his mouth, could have marked her, it would have faded by now but he’d know the spot, could look at her and remember how it’d felt to press his mouth there, but all he could do now is imagine and stare and…)

Shit. He was starting.

He focused quickly on the table in front of him.

Food was something to do, at least.

Take her taste out of his mouth.

He grabbed a macaron.

“Is that a bow tie?” She’d sidled up to him. 

He focused on the cookie, and the way his flask felt heavy in his pocket. “Don’t say a thing.”

She just smiled. “You look so perky! Like you’re about to round out a barbershop quartet!”

“Yoba’s Light, must you?”

“Or like you'll try to sell me a clarinet or something. Mr. Music Man!”

“Leave,” he said. “Go be somewhere else.”

“Only if you agree to dance with me!” Bright eyes. Sunshine smile.

“I would rather snort lead paint dust than dance at this thing,” he said. The cookie was dry in his mouth. Cloying and sweet.

The farmer’s sweetness was different. 

If she asked him to dance again he was going to say yes.

He needed a drink. 

“Hey kids!” Emily was there, sneaking the last macaron from under his fingers. “You dancing today?”

“Yes,” the farmer said.

“No,” Shane said.

Emily raised her eyebrows. “You two better get your stories straight.”

“Dance with me?” No bright eyes. No sunshine smile. Just her, sweet like a maple candy he’d had once, melting away on his tongue like it was never there in the first place, but the flavor remained.

“You’re not going to leave me alone until I say yes, are you?” 

“Nope!” She waved to someone over his shoulder. 

“Fuck,” Shane muttered, just to himself, then “fine.”

She smiled, small and controlled. There was a bit of impishness in her eyes. “Perfect. You’ll have to teach me the steps though.”

“Fuck,” he said, for her this time. 

She laughed. 

It all felt lighter, just for a moment. It made him feel like he was spinning up and up.

What goes up must come down.

“Show us how it’s done!” Emily was grinning over a madeleine.

Shane felt like he was losing control over the situation. 

As if he had any to begin with.

“I am not giving you a dance lesson in front of all these people.” He grabbed a fistful of meringues, popped a couple in his mouth. They dissolved instantly.

Not like her. She melted but she lingered.

“So go find a quiet spot and teach her!” Fucking Emily. She always knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Great idea! Come on!” And the farmer was holding his hand now, pulling on it, off towards the woods, and something was skipping in his mind, stuttering, trying to keep up because he absolutely felt the way he thought he would if he she did that, light shining through his body (hand to shoulder to heart to throat), a crushing weight lifted, and he could loosen if he wanted to, in the wake of it, but he tensed instead, because the holding of a hand implied a hand eventually letting go, and it all comes crashing back down so much harder when it gets lifted for a moment.

Emily winked, gave him a little wave as his feet moved without his approval.

The farmer’s hand was solid. Warm. Calloused. Strong. 

He wondered what the callouses would feel like if they rubbed against his lips. If they trailed over his stomach. If they wrapped around his -

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in something that didn’t have the word ‘Joja’ on it.” 

They were walking, just walking, hand in hand like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“How else am I supposed to feel like I’m thriving?”

The farmer snorted. Then, soft and sincere: “you look really good.”

What do you say to that?

“Thanks, you too,” he finally muttered.

“Don’t I?” She smiled at him. “Took me an hour to get my hair together. I used to take an hour on my hair every morning when I lived in the city. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to have that much free time now.”

Shane made a sound of acknowledgement. 

One of the nice things about the farmer was that she rarely required him to have something to say.

“Think this spot is good?” They’d wandered off on a side trail, ended up in a little clearing.

Shane was struck by the fact that they were alone together. This was very rare.

Shane was struck by the fact that the farmer was absolutely beautiful, looking at him all gentle and at peace and like she was just where she wanted to be.

Shane was struck by the fact that he wanted her. He always wanted her, but it was suddenly so much more intense, so overwhelming, because she was right there, looking at him the way he looked at her, like she saw something she wanted, like she was looking at something worth wanting, and he wanted to drop to his knees.

“Yeah, this is fine,” he managed. 

“So how does it go?” She was looking at him expectantly.

“Huh?” 

“The dance. The one we’re supposed to be practicing. Is your tie restricting blood to your brain?” She reached out, fiddled with the bow.

Shane reached up and grabbed her wrists without thinking. They fit so nicely in his hands. “Don’t,” he said. “That took me twenty minutes to tie.”

He didn’t let go.

He could feel her pulse thrumming.

Her cheeks were a little flushed.

Her eyes dipped down to his mouth.

(It could happen it could happen he could check that box right now and be done with it and it would be fine, it would be okay, it was nothing to worry about because it’d be over and he’d know and the taste would be gone and he could finally finally move on…)

He rubbed his thumbs over her wrists. Slow.

“We’re going to have to talk about this at some point.” She sounded breathless. 

“Yeah,” Shane lied. Then he moved her.

There was a simplicity to bodies that Shane appreciated. A kinetic intelligence that had always been with him. Move this way and that will happen. Apply pressure here and see results there. It had made him a monster on the gridball field, taking down larger players with ease and precision.

Shane knew where his strengths lay.

He knew how to move a body. So he didn’t need to think about how to angle his grip to make the farmer take a step backwards. And it was easy to crowd into her space, press his forehead against hers, make her shift and stumble where he wanted her to go - up against a boulder that he knew would support her just where she needed it, on her shoulders, her hips, the arch of her back as he pressed her against it.

His mouth was on her skin, her neck, but only for a second because her hand was in his hair, pulling him up, making him look at her.

Her eyes.

He tried not to groan.

“Promise me,” she said. “Promise me we’ll talk about this.”

“I promise,” Shane lied.

(it was okay, he had infinite…)

“Okay,” she said, fingers loosening.

He wished they wouldn’t. He wished they’d stay right there, strong and harsh and demanding and showing him exactly what she needed, exactly what he could give her that wasn't a lie.

“Okay,” she said again, and his mouth was falling.

Dresses. Fucking dresses. So different from flannel and denim. So easy to move. Those sloping sleeves that dropped with the slightest nudge, baring curved shoulders and long neck and mounded flesh and skin and skin and skin and skin and skin.

And there it was. That gasp. She made it as he raked his lips across her chest.

(soft and warm, always, every part of her so soft and warm…)

She smelled incredible, like cedar and lavender and soap and just a little bit of sweat, and her chest was moving, heaving up under his mouth as he kissed her, mouth open and lax, chin and cheeks sliding, smooth for once (though part of him craved the friction, the resistance, the reddened skin that proved he was there).

Dresses. Fucking dresses. With tiny zippers in the back that were a bitch to get a good grip on, but once you did they came down so easy, and fuck, the farmer, so put together with a pretty strapless bra that he could pull down like it was nothing. 

Her breasts were warm and heavy as he cupped them. She sighed, pressed up into him.

A sigh was good.

A gasp was better.

He squeezed, observed the indentations his hands made in her flesh. She gasped, arching her back against the boulder.

“There you go.” He wasn’t sure if he said it or thought it. 

Her nipples had tightened, two pebbled tips, and it felt right and good and needed to pinch at them, thumbs and the sides of his forefingers.

(fuck, just like he thought, just like he dreamed, those sounds, sounds like “yes,” like “more,” like his name all broken and gaspy because she loved it, loved his fingers and his hands and his voice…)

“There you go.” He was definitely saying it out loud, and she was whimpering in return. 

His mouth wanted to say more. 

He filled it with her instead. Sucked. Grabbed at her hips as she arched again. Memorized the way she moaned. The way she tasted. Felt her tremble as his teeth scraped over her. Tried not to groan as her hands made their way back to his hair.

He failed.

"That feels so good," she was whispering, and it went straight to his cock. “So fucking good, Shane.”

(His name his name his name his name…)

The other side now. Sucking and scraping and groaning, he couldn’t help it, the sound ripping out of his throat because her hands kept holding him there. 

But then they were pulling, and he was letting her go, and she was saying “I owe you” with the cutest fucking little smile. He didn’t know what she meant until she lowered herself to her knees in front of him, and then he knew exactly what she meant.

Her hands. On his belt. His pants. Pulling. Tracing over his hips. Wrapping around his cock. She was gentle, looking up at him with eyes that were happy and present and just a little mischievous and she looked good, so fucking good down there

.

(So good, such a good fucking girl for him, down on her knees like that with her dress pulled down for anyone to walk by and see her, see her like that, all undone for him, all down on her knees with that smile that felt like a kiss, hot and dirty and intimate and he wanted to kiss her, drag her back up by her hair and…)

She flicked her tongue against the head of his cock, then took it into her mouth. 

He groaned.

Her lips stretched around him, warm, hot, so hot he was dying. 

He needed more.

He reached for her head, her hair, but she slapped his hands away, drew back to say “you mess up my hair and I’m ripping out your bow tie.”

Of course she’d make him laugh like that. 

“Noted,” he said. He realized his voice sounded warm.

And then she was on him for real, mouth stretching down, enveloping him, soft and suction and heat and wet and perfect. So perfect. He wanted to tell her, to unlock his throat, to let the words fall out

(So good so good so fucking good for me sucking my cock like this out in the open, so pretty for me on your knees, fucking made for me aren’t you, fucking made for this…)

But he pressed his lips tight. Closed his eyes. Let the entirety of all that was him rest at the point where her mouth stroked his skin.

It felt like light. Like letting go.

He wanted to let go.

But not yet. 

Now or never, he realized. 

He had to see. Had to check that box. Put it behind him.

He grabbed her hair, pulled her face back. She went easily, looked up at him. Her lipstick was smudged, her eyes a little wet.

He was going to make a mess of her, wasn’t he?

“Are you fucking kidding me?” It was the hair, he realized. 

Well. In for a penny, in for a pound. He kept one hand on her head, used the other to rip out his bow tie, and then he was pulling, something deep in him filling at the way she gasped, different this time, excited, anticipating, an edge of pain.

(Gonna make a mess of her, make a mess of this…)

She was easy to move, so pliant, goosebumps pricking up her arms as he settled her stomach and chest against the rock. He leaned against her, let her feel his weight. His mouth was by her ear. He let his lips touch it. Not a kiss, just a touch. Like his hand that had come around to cup her neck. Just a touch. Just a touch.

She was moving. Hips hitching back, rubbing against him. Throat flexing as she spoke: “Shane, fuck, I need you… Yoba, just fuck me, please.”

Her light. From her throat through his hand to his shoulder to his mouth. Filling it with her taste, too much, too full to keep the words inside, so as he reached up under her dress, pulled her underwear down, pressed his fingers against her he started to speak.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking wet for me, look at you.”

The words made her moan, or maybe it was his fingers working up inside of her. 

“You’re gonna feel so good, aren’t you? Gonna be good for me?”

He barely knew what he was saying, but she was agreeing with it, nodding, whining, moving her hips.

“That’s my girl. That’s my fucking girl.” He had to let go of her neck to get his hand around his cock, to rub it against her, so wet and welcoming, so warm, so fucking warm, all the time, like sunlight, pulling him in, (“I’ll pull out” “fuck, just do it”) deep, deeper, and he could feel her shift around him, making room, making space with a whimper and a whine and a groan (though maybe that was him) and he was enveloped and it was all lifting, lifting off of him, the weight, and fuck if there was space, if there was room in his life for good he could enjoy it, live in this moment, let it fill him and brace him and fix him like some idiot part of his brain still thought was possible.

But there wasn’t space.

So this had to be it.

She was looking over her shoulder at him. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes soft and hazy. Beautiful. So beautiful she couldn’t possibly be for him. “You feel good,” she said. 

If only there were space.

“Baby…” It fell out, looking in her eyes, and it made her smile, and it was fucked, it was all fucked, wasn’t it, because he couldn’t go back, couldn’t unfeel her, couldn’t unsee her, couldn’t let go of her taste.

There was nothing left to do but what his body was screaming for. 

To move.

An arm around her waist. A hand around her neck. Lips fastened on her shoulder. Hips shifting, ears listening, and yes, a gasp, a tightening, and so he did it again, felt her groan reverberate through his hand (hand to shoulder to heart), and then there was rhythm, something to follow, to fall into, to finally finally shut his mind off for one damn minute and feel.

Cool stone seeping in through his elbow.

Soft skin so easy to mold and move.

The farmer. Tight around him. Squeezing and taking. Giving back movement and sound and if he weren’t so far gone, so caught up in her he’d worry that they might carry, that someone might hear, but there was nothing on his mind, a merciful blank, a space, there was space, space that he could fill with her, like he was filling her.

(fuck fuck fuck he was doing it he was doing it he was here and she was here and they were moving together and it was like floating it was like falling it was like waking up it was like going to sleep it was like climbing it was like slipping it was nothing and everything and)

He wanted her to want this like him. Remember this like he would. He dropped his hand from her throat, found her clit, all wet and swollen and (fuck fuck fuck) her sounds were changing, breathier, rising in tenor and tension and he needed it, needed her to feel it too, how the weight could lift.

“Yes,” she was saying, over and over. Voice tight and shaking, trembling under him, hitching and tightening in a way that made his stomach drop, his hips tighten, his mind go blank and 

(oh shit oh shit oh shit too much too much can’t move can’t think can’t breathe can’t fucking…)

He was making a mess of her.

Like he made a mess of everything.

For a moment it all lifted.

In an instant it all came crashing back down.

“Fuck, did you…?” She was looking over her shoulder as he was pulling out, pulling away. Eyes (those eyes, those pretty pretty pretty eyes) still blown dark. Hair unkept. Lips swollen, like she’d been biting at them.

He wanted to push right back into her again. 

He wanted to run. 

“I… shit…” What the fuck do you say to that?

She was turning, rearranging her clothes, and there were things he was supposed to say, feelings he was supposed to be having, but there was no room for them, none, (only shame, infinite room for shame) but still she was there, and her hand was on his cheek. “We have to talk about this, Shane.”

“I know.” It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t a promise either.

“They’re going to miss us at the dance. We need to get back but…” She sighed. Stoked a thumb over his cheek.

(How? How? How did she have space for him, still, with all that was falling and all that was crushing and all that was him?)

The words were all caught up in his throat.

He needed a drink.

She was fixing his tie. Smoothing her hair. Swiping at her lips. Undoing the mess he made.

He wanted to fall to his knees.

“Come on.” She held onto his hand, led him back to the festival.

She had an infinite capacity for love, he realized. He could bask in it. Photosynthesize. Wrap that vine around her and let it grow and grow and grow until eventually it choked out everything around it. Thick and thorny and invasive, winding around her neck, impossible to remove once those roots got deep.

“Your bow tie’s a little crooked.” Emily. Back at the dance. The farmer was off making her rounds. 

He wondered if she could still feel him inside of her. 

“Did you two have fun dancing? You missed the big show.” Em was futzing with his tie, and his arms felt too heavy to bat her away. 

“Fucking hate this festival,” he said. 

“There’s always next year.” She ruffled his hair. 

Shane said nothing. Watched the farmer. Tried to decide if her walk was different. If her shoulders sloped. If she could feel his weight. 

He could feel it.

What he carried.

What pressed in on him.

Like a boulder on his back.

Like teeth sharp on a throat.

Her taste was still there.

It wouldn’t go away.

And Shane had to decide if he could live with the consequences.

[writingastory]

Headcanons: The Morning After

Prompt: "It’s the first time they’ve woken up together in the same bed, and one partner is mesmerized by the other’s sleeping face—softly watching them wake up, still sleepy and a little disoriented."

Pairings: Xavier x fem!reader; Zayne x fem!reader; Rafayel x fem!reader; Sylus x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff, suggestive thingies

Genre: "Normal" AU (no Evol, no Wanderers - just normal life)

A/N: I originally wanted to write some angsty, but couldn't bring myself to it. Life's hard enough, let's enjoy some fluff. Hope you enjoy! 💕

🌟 Xavier was still fast asleep by the time you woke up. The sun was tickling your nose in a way it usually did not - and it took you a moment to realize why it felt so strange. You were not in your bed... or your room for that matter.

🌟 Looking around, you found your clothes strewn about the room - and your boyfriend in bed, right by your side, under the blankets. Naked. Just like you.

🌟 A pleasant shiver ran up your spine, images of the night before flickering through your mind. His touches, his kisses - the way you two entangled under the sheets, and became one...

🌟 You smiled and traced the light marks on your skin. Xavier stirred lightly next to you and you couldn't help snuggling into his back, leaving gentle kisses on the back of his neck. Your fingers traced his spine with a feather-light touch, before continuing to draw invisible patterns into his skin.

🌟 He stirred again and rolled onto his other side, facing you. He blinked a few times and scrunched his nose cutely as the light hit his eyes. You giggled and kissed his nose. "Good morning," you whispered, cupping his face gently. He hummed in response, a small smile forming on his lips.

🌟 Xavier was far from ready to start his day. He scooted closer to you and pushed you onto your back slowly, snuggling into your side, his face hidden in your neck as his arms engulfed you carefully - as if you were a precious treasure that would break if he used too much force. His lips found your collarbone, planting soft kisses on the warm skin there.

🌟 "Good morning, indeed..." he mumbled between kisses, his hand finding your thigh, pulling it over his hips to lock you together once more. His one hand gripped your knee to hold your leg in place as his other snaked around the back of your neck to keep you close to him, stealing kiss after kiss from you, each one deeper and more intimate than the one before - and you suddenly had the feeling that you would not leave that bed for a couple more hours...

❄️ Zayne woke up before sunrise - 5 AM sharp, as he did every single day. His internal clock was as precise as a Swiss watch. He jolted slightly as he felt movements next to him; it was a strange feeling to share the bed. The smallest of smiles graced his lips as his eyes fell onto your form in the dim light of your shared bedroom, buried underneath the many blankets.

❄️ He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, his head resting on his hand comfortably. Zayne watched you in silence, enjoying the serenity of the moment. He was in no hurry. You two had been dating for months and decided to go on a last-minute vacation in Snowcrest. Away from friends, family - and work. A well deserved break from life that had gotten just a tad too hectic lately.

❄️ Zayne just loved spending time with you. He had invited you on this vacation for this very reason. You two becoming intimate was not planned - but not unwelcome either. It was simply the perfect addition to a perfect day.

❄️ He scooted closer carefully, trying not to wake you up. He just needed to be closer to you now, feeling your soft skin under his fingertips once again...

❄️ You stirred a bit as his fingers trailed over your exposed neck and shoulders, reaching the edge of the blanket. Slowly, he pushed them off your form, small goosebumps appearing on your warm skin. Maybe it was selfish - he should let you rest for however long you needed to - but...

❄️ His lips followed the path his fingers forged a few moments earlier, leaving tender, loving kisses. He felt your stir once more before your opened your eyes, smiling fondly. "Hey..." your voice was hoarse, still thick from sleep. "Hey," he answered quietly, the tiniest smirk forming on his lips. "What time is it?"

❄️ "Probably around 5 AM," Zayne answered, his lips reaching the small dip between your collarbones. You hummed, your eyes falling shut again. "Why are you awake already? I thought we're on vacation?" A chuckle left your lips, and Zayne continued planting kisses on your soft skin. "We are," he answered, slowly rolling on top of you again. "I just... need another taste."

🎨 The air flowing into the room was fresh and cool, carrying a salty taste from the sea. The long white curtains danced in the light wind, the sunlight streaming through the opened windows. You groaned a bit at the sudden coolness, only then feeling the weight on your back. Rafayel clung to you, snoozing happily, his head resting between your shoulders, his arms tightly wrapped around you.

🎨 He mumbled something incomprehensible and nuzzled your skin gently, littering sleepy kisses over your back. His hands shamelessly started wandering along your body, quickly finding and settling on your breasts, squeezing them gently.

🎨 "Good morning?" you chuckled lightly, not minding the needy fondling. "It is a good morning," he answered, his grin audible in his words, his hands squeezing your mounts again as if agreeing to his statement.

🎨 "Stop that," you giggled, trying to wiggle away from him - unsuccessfully. He deliberately pinned you down with a chuckle, his lips attacking your shoulder and neck. "Why would I? The noises you make are just so cute~"

🎨 He was relentless in his attacks, his kisses turning sultrier and sloppier with every passing minute. "Say," he groaned, pressing his hips against your behind lustfully, "this is not just a vivid dream, is it? And last night..."

🎨 You hummed in pleasure, thinking about the passionate moments you two had shared. "I don't think so," you answered with a light smirk, finally able to roll onto your back. He was above you immediately, his eyes filled with need and longing, as if he was still not sure if you were really there or just a cruel trick his mind was playing on him.

🎨 His lips found yours in a sweet kiss, filled with adoration and gentleness. He looked down at you again before stealing another kiss - the second of many many more that day.

🐦‍⬛ Usually, Sylus was a night-owl, and sleeping during the day. However, after your first time making love... he couldn't bring himself to leave the bed, and so he found himself between the sheets, with you in his arms. His fingers drew lazy patterns into your skin absentmindedly.

🐦‍⬛ Your head rested on his chest as you snoozed peacefully, fully content and safe in his strong and warm embrace. He was so sweet. So gentle. So loving. And now, with the way he held you, sleep had a tight grip on you. You refused to wake up and leave your cocoon of warmth and comfort.

🐦‍⬛ Eventually though, your mind was slowly pulled back to reality, your lids fluttering a few times as you woke up. "Good morning, kitten," he whispered, his deep voice filling the silence in the best way possible. You looked up at him slowly, only then realizing that he was, in fact, still there with you.

🐦‍⬛ "Morning..." you mumbled, rubbing your eyes gently. "Don't you have work...?" You yawned, propping yourself up slowly to look down at him. Sylus shrugged in response, a small smirk playing on his lips. "I can leave, if you want."

🐦‍⬛ You frowned and snuggled back into his side. "No," you said firmly, wrapping yourself around him slowly. "I was just confused for a second."

🐦‍⬛ He chuckled a bit, wrapping his arms around your form again. "That's what I thought," he smiled, kissing your forehead gently. "Luke and Kieran can deal with whatever's going on today. I'm not leaving this bed until you kick me out."

🐦‍⬛ You quirked a brow, grinning slightly. "Is that a promise?" you asked, nuzzling his neck gently before placing a kiss on his skin, right where his pulse was thrumming. Sylus hummed deeply and closed his eyes, pushing his head back and exposing his neck to you and your advances. You grinned and nibbled his skin, carefully at first... but it didn't take long for you to full-on attack his neck with kisses and love-bites. "Kitten," he droned, rolling onto his back with you on top of him, "I hope you intend to finish what you started."

[honestsycrets]

mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.

❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.

❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.

❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.

Peter has it out for him.

It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.

Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.

“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.

“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it. 

“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”

Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.

Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.

“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”

His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.

“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”

“Is Peter here?”

His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.

“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”

“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.

Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.

The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free. 

He's so fucked.

“You would have said no, amado mío.” 

You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--” 

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--” 

“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.” 

They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--

“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.

He didn't need a baby, he didn't.

He blames Peter for having such a good baby.

She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face. 

“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets. 

“She likes it.” 

“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.” 

“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar. 

"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.

You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.” 

“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.

“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.” 

“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”

“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,” 

Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face. 

“As many as will make you happy.” 

Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.

"I never thought about it."

"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.

The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.

“We’ll see, Miggy.” 

We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.

A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.

“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?” 

You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for. 

“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father. 

“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”

A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.

“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.” 

“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."  

She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable. 

 Low sperm count his ass. 

It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it. 

“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.” 

“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”

Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.

“Miguel.” 

Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel. 

“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them. 

“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.” 

He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly. 

“Sí, Miggy?” 

“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so. 

Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.

Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that. 

“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place. 

“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder. 

“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"

You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.  

“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”

Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck. 

“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.

"Sí, mi vida?"

His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”

“¿Qué?”

“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone. 

“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”

You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day. 

You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is. 

“Miguel. Speak to me.”

“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.

“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready. 

“It will.”

As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall. 

“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.” 

“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"

“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.” 

“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.” 

“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck. 

“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.” 

Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest. 

“Who would come in?” 

“Peter,” you answer. 

It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see. 

“The balcony, then.” 

“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?” 

“Maybe.” 

No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.

He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter. 

“Bend over.” 

"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now. 

“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.” 

“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”  

“Can’t you be be good for once.”

You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.

“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.

Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth. 

“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.

“No condom?” 

“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again. 

“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back. 

“Now he says I’m good."

“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability. 

I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable. 

“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”

“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”

Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach. 

“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body. 

It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs. 

“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days.  “Like… not this.” 

Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers. 

“I’m open to suggestions.” 

He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.

The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.

“Hey, Miguel.” 

“Don’t start.” 

He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging. 

“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--” 

“Let me guess. She told you.” 

“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?” 

“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”  

Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe. 

“Are you sure? I know--” 

“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.” 

“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?” 

He leers. Peter scuttles away. 

Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.

He can’t wait.

[wendichester]

Hiii could I request a pt 2 to miniskirt?? Honestly anything with teen!dean tbh maybe it ends up being that r knows exactly why dean gave her the jacket, or some sort of awkard/sweet confession and fluffiness? Or an angsty route where dean lashes out and r can't understand why which leads to a fluffy confession? Literally anything, your writing is so so good each and every time 🙂‍↕️

✮⋆˙ miniskirt²,

summary. you’re rocking a miniskirt and dean goes crazy!

pairing. teen!dean winchester x best friend!reader

wordcount. 518

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ read part 1

Dean doesn’t know what the hell is wrong with him.

All day, he’s been a mess—on edge, jittery, snapping at people for no reason. It’s stupid. It’s irrational. And it’s all because of you.

Because you showed up this morning in that damn skirt.

And now you’re sitting next to him in the Impala, legs tucked up on the seat, wearing his jacket like it belongs to you. Like he belongs to you.

And maybe that’s what’s messing him up so bad.

He grips the steering wheel tighter, eyes fixed on the road. His knuckles are white. The engine hums beneath them, the radio low, but the silence between you is loud.

You tap your fingers against the window absentmindedly. “Are you gonna keep brooding all night, or are you gonna tell me what’s up?”

Dean exhales sharply through his nose. “Nothing’s up.”

“Uh-huh.” You shift, turning to face him fully. “Because you’ve been acting weird since lunch, and considering we spend, like, ninety percent of our lives together, I think I’d know when something’s up.”

Dean clenches his jaw. He doesn’t want to do this. Not now, not ever. But you’re looking at him, waiting, and there’s something knowing in your eyes.

Like you already have him figured out.

You lean in slightly, voice softer. “Is this about the jacket?”

He stiffens.

“Oh my God.” Your lips part in realization. “It is about the jacket.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It totally is!” You sit up straighter, grinning now. “Dean, did you—”

“Don’t.”

“Did you give me your jacket because you were jealous?”

Dean groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ.”

You burst out laughing, delighted. “Dean, that’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, glaring at the road like it personally offended him.

“I mean, I thought it was kinda obvious, but I wasn’t sure—”

“What was obvious?”

“That you like me.”

Dean nearly swerves into oncoming traffic.

He yanks the wheel back, heart slamming against his ribs. “What?”

You’re still grinning, completely unfazed. “You like me.”

He swallows. His ears are hot. His pulse is a damn drumline.

He could deny it. Brush it off, make some joke, keep things the way they’ve always been.

But when he looks over at you—wearing his jacket, all warm and soft and entirely too pretty in the glow of the streetlights—he realizes he’s so, so tired of pretending.

“…Yeah,” he mutters, grip tightening on the wheel. “I do.”

Your smile softens. “Good.”

Dean frowns. “Good?”

You shrug, leaning closer, your warmth seeping into his side. “Because I like you, too, dumbass.”

Dean’s stomach does a weird little flip. His chest feels too tight.

He doesn’t know what to say, what to do.

And then you’re leaning in, hand curling around his bicep, looking at him like he hung the damn moon.

“Pull over.”

Dean swallows thickly. “Why?”

Your fingers slide down his arm, tracing his wrist, teasing at his palm.

“Because I wanna kiss you,” you say simply. “And I don’t think you should be driving when I do.”

Dean’s foot is on the brake before you finish the sentence.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @aerinu ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @bejeweledinterludes

[moonlight-prose]

HEART MADE OF GLASS

a/n: this is totally not to make myself feel better. totally not self indulgent cause i couldn't finish cooking my dinner last night. that gif is also self indulgent. but also hopefully a distraction from how angsty this kind of is. divider as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics.

summary: you couldn't control when they could come. the waves of nothingness - of battling with your body and mind in the hopes it would cause a shift. you wanted to control it. he simply wanted to help.

word count: 1.1k

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, disassociating, depression isn't outright stated but that's what it is, meat eating (sorry i'm an iron anemic bitch), logan's love language being acts of service.

The fire alarm never went off when you were in the kitchen. So he felt his heart jump at the sound of it blaring through the small apartment. Even down the hall and in the bathroom he smelled the bitter smoke as it rose from the pan you were currently staring at. A blank expression on your face and hand gripping the handle.

He meant to grab his flannel and join you for dinner. What he didn't expect was the emptiness of a silent kitchen not filled with your usual music. Your soft hums as you try to keep in tune with the song.

Logan's favorite pastime was standing in the doorway watching you cook whatever creation came to mind. Whether it tasted good or positively vile, he'd eat it one way or another. He'd swallow happily with a grin simply to see that smile bloom across your face. A look he did everything possible to keep right where it was meant to be.

"Bub?"

You startled, flinching at the sound of the alarm as you shoved the pan away from the burner. "Shit. Sorry."

A frown etched onto his face at your quick apology—your eyes never quite meeting him. "Everythin' okay?"

"Yeah," you said, lying right through your teeth. "I just got distracted."

Logan could hear the bullshit louder than the alarm. He knew something was wrong, because he'd seen it before. The silence that filled a once loud household. How you slowed down during the day, unable to finish simple tasks without pushing yourself over the edge. He watched you dwindle down to the barest bones your body had to offer and yet you never asked him for help.

You never explained why it occurred.

This wasn't in part because you didn't want to. You did. You simply held no real reason for why your body—your mind—chose to betray you at the oddest of times. At first you figured it was the lack of sleep. The restlessness that ate away at your body each night—keeping you up and active until finally you wore yourself out.

But this wasn't that.

This came from deep inside your chest, lingering beneath the surface—waiting for something good to happen before it struck with a vengeance. This protruded out of your very nightmares.

"Need some help?" He knew the answer before it came. No.

What could he possibly do that you hadn't tried a million times over? There was no easy fix for something this brutal. Silently, you begged him to leave the kitchen and find something else to occupy his time. He stubbornly stood behind you, watching over your shoulder as you dumped the now burned pan in the sink. What might have been a delicious steak now looked like a charred brick.

The sight of it still smoking only seemed to dampen your mood further.

You fought to keep yourself there, in the moment. But the dazed expression from earlier began to slowly trail its way back up your face. Until you could do nothing but stare at the mess you made, exhaustion slicing down to your bones.

His looming presence became an afterthought to all that filtered through your head. All the brittle and vile thoughts you tried to keep at bay. Some days they managed to weasel their way past your infinite walls. Some days...they found joy in tearing you up inside little by little.

Voicing it aloud though would never be an option to the havoc you tried to tame.

"C'mon," he muttered, his hands pulling at your hips to move you. "Out of the kitchen."

"I can finish–"

His glare was devastating.

Most of the time you'd ask him to tell you what he was thinking. Tonight you understood his demand. Get out of the kitchen before you hurt yourself. Let him do what you often did for everyone else.

Give him the chance to put you first.

He points to the chair originally pulled out for him. "Sit down."

But unlike other people he encountered, you were far more stubborn. "I don't–"

"Sit on the chair bub. Or I'll tie you to it." The grin he gives you is filled with sarcasm, but you can see the truth shining in his eyes. He wouldn't hesitate to follow through on a promise like that. He wouldn't even blink. "Your choice."

There was no argument left to throw at him, because his attention was elsewhere. So you sat. You allowed yourself to rest as he stumbled his way through the kitchen. Logan couldn't really cook. He picked up what he could through the life he lived, but nothing came out exactly perfect. That wasn't what warmed your heart at the sight of him standing there intent on delivering a meal worth eating.

He didn't shy away when you tried to push. When the horror that you needed someone to help was no longer a fact you could ignore. No matter how hard you shoved and bit and did what you could to scare him off. Logan pushed back. He quelled your bite with a stature of resolute stoicism.

With an exhale, he flipped the burner off and slid whatever he'd made onto a clean plate. Watching him move felt as if you were being placed in a trance. You almost told him that once in your first week of dating. Something told you he already knew by the way your eyes tracked him from the kitchen to the table.

"Steak," he said, sitting with a grunt.

A quick glance told you one thing. Logan didn't know shit about cooking steak.

You grinned nonetheless.

"There's..." Red spilled down the side, pooling on the plate as steam hit your face. "How long did you cook it?"

He shrugged, slicing it with ease and plopping a piece into his mouth. "Tastes fine to me."

"I'm sure it does."

"Watch it bub," he muttered mid chew, his lips curled into a smirk.

Making a show of zipping your lips shut, you took the piece he offered you. And as he did each time before, you ate it with a grin simply to watch his smirk turn into a smile. There may have been no salt, no extra flavor, and strangely a charred sensation with each bite. But you could taste the love spreading across your tongue with ease.

"Delicious," you garbled in the hopes he'd understand how much you loved him.

He snorted, shoving the plate to the center of the table. His thumb swiped at the juice that leaked from the corner of your mouth, causing your heart to jump erratically in your chest. Even on your bad days he managed to flip the switch in your mind with simple touches and soft looks.

"'M gonna order a pizza."

Leaning into his hand, you pressed a kiss to his wrist. "Thank you."

[lumosou]

୨୧ — Breathing After the Ashes. 𖦹 , ✿ + ꕤ

ꕤ — Character(s) ; Harry J. Potter x Fem!Reader

ꕤ — Synopsis + Wc ; In the quiet after the storm, Harry learns to feel again—through stolen touches, whispered truths, and the solace of you. Together, you find warmth in the wreckage, and a reason to hold on. 7.9k

ꕤ — Discretion ; 18+ MDNI! angsty feelings alllll around, some fluff but mostly angstyish, the smut is so gentle and soft!!!!! mostly healing sex between reader & harry, they both need therapy.. penetrative sex! kisses as well 🫡

ꕤ — A/n ; this fic is lowkey my child but i also lowkey hate it! wtf! the pacing is kinda awkward and also repetitive bc this is genuinely the longest thing i’ve ever written and idk how to deal w it, bare with me i promise ill get better as i go 😭 i do hope u guys enjoy it somewhat!! reblogs and feedback are so so appreciated 🫶🏻

; masterlist.

The Great Hall wasn’t the same anymore. The enchanted ceiling still glowed with its usual charm, painted in amber hues that mirrored the late summer sunset, but the light felt muted somehow, swallowed by a weight too stubborn to dissipate. It hung in the air like smoke from a dying fire—bitter, clinging, impossible to outrun.

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, the hum of voices around him blurring into an indistinct murmur. His eyes stayed fixed on his plate, laden with food he didn’t remember serving himself: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, a gleaming crescent of gravy. None of it tempted him. The thought of eating made his stomach twist uncomfortably, a dull ache that spread through his chest.

The war was over. Voldemort was gone, his name no longer a curse. This was supposed to be the part where relief set in, where everything hurt a little less. Instead, Harry felt as though he was still wading through the rubble, shoulders bowed under the crushing weight of those who hadn’t made it. Colin Creevey. Remus. Tonks. Fred. Their names were a mantra he couldn’t stop repeating in his head, their faces seared into his mind’s eye.

His grip on the fork tightened until it dug into his palm, the bite of metal a thin distraction.

“Harry.” Hermione’s voice was a soft thread that tugged him out of his spiral. He looked up, startled, to find her hand brushing against his arm. Concern clouded her features, her brows knitting together. “You don’t have to stay here. If it’s too much, you can—”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, sharper than he meant to. The words came out like a reflex, cutting her off mid-sentence. Hermione flinched, pulling back her hand, and for a fleeting moment, guilt gnawed at him. But he shoved it down. He didn’t want her worry, her pity. He didn’t want any of it.

Ron shifted beside him, chewing on a hunk of bread like it was his way out of the tension. He didn’t speak, though Harry could feel the sideways glance he shot him. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until Harry let out a slow, controlled breath and placed his fork on the plate. The metallic clang rang louder than it should’ve, making him wince.

The scrape of his chair against the floor cut through the noise of the hall as he stood abruptly. “I need some air,” he muttered, already turning away.

He didn’t wait for Hermione to protest or Ron to offer some half-hearted comment to fill the space. His feet carried him toward the door, away from the low hum of conversation and clinking dishes. Toward the one place in all of Hogwarts where the noise couldn’t follow. Where he could finally, maybe, breathe.

─────────────

The Astronomy Tower had always been Harry’s escape. Perched high above the rest of the castle, it was the only place where the world felt distant enough to bear. The sprawling grounds stretched out below him, bathed in the purples and blues of dusk, and for a brief moment, the sight eased the tension coiled in his chest. He leaned heavily against the stone railing, its chill biting through his sleeves, and the wind making his already wild hair even messier. It carried the sharp, clean scent of freshly cut grass, grounding him in the present even as his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

The sound of footsteps startled him—not loud, but enough to break the fragile stillness he’d sought. He turned sharply, hand brushing the wand tucked in his pocket, only to pause when a voice cut through the quiet.

“Are you hiding too?” you asked, lingering near the top of the stairs. The dim light softened your features, but it didn’t quite mask the curiosity behind your words. There was no malice in your tone, only a quiet humor that made his shoulders drop slightly.

“I wasn’t hiding,” Harry said automatically, though even to his ears, the denial sounded weak.

You tilted your head, unconvinced. A faint smile ghosted across your lips, but your eyes remained guarded, unreadable. “Right. You’re just conveniently up here, avoiding everyone, the same way I am.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, his fingers brushing the edge of the railing. He didn’t respond, unsure how to defend himself—or if he even wanted to. There was something about the way you stood there, hands loosely at your sides, your voice soft but steady, that caught him off guard. It wasn’t pity or prying curiosity, just… understanding. Like you could see the weight pressing down on him and felt no need to ask what it was. Like maybe you carried some of it yourself.

He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking back to the horizon. “I guess you’re not.. wrong.’’

You stepped closer with quiet purpose, each movement deliberate, as though gauging the fragile equilibrium of Harry’s silence. He didn’t flinch or shift away, didn’t so much as glance at you. His gaze stayed locked on the horizon, but you could feel the weight of his awareness, the way the air between you seemed to hold its breath. When you finally stopped beside him at the railing, the stillness wasn’t stifling. It was tentative, balanced, as though it might shatter if either of you spoke too loudly.

“It doesn’t feel like the same place, does it?” Your voice was soft, your eyes fixed on the horizon as the last threads of sunlight dissolved into the hills. The sky deepened into shades of indigo and amber, blurring the edges of the world.

Harry nodded, though the motion felt stiff, half-hearted. “No,” he said, but the word came out hollow, too small to carry the weight behind it.

You leaned forward on the railing, fingers brushing the cool stone. “It’s strange,” you murmured, more to the sky than to him. “You think coming back will fix things, like the castle will just… feel the same. Like being here should make it easier. But it doesn’t. It’s all still different.”

Harry turned his head slightly, his gaze catching yours out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t mean to linger, but your words struck something raw, something he hadn’t managed to put into words. You’d said it so simply, yet it was exactly what had been clawing at him for months.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s not the same.”

Your eyes flicked to him, your expression unreadable. “And neither are you.”

The observation hit like a hex, sharper than you’d probably meant it to. Harry’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists against the stone. “Nobody is,” he said, his voice low and edged with a bitterness he didn’t entirely mean to direct at you.

But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t back away or apologize for the truth in your words. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, a flicker of understanding softening your tone. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” you said, your voice gentler now. “War changes people. It has to.”

He wanted to argue, to say something sharp and deflective, but the words caught in his throat. Because you weren’t wrong. He wasn’t the same person who had fought his way out of the Chamber of Secrets or stood in front of the Mirror of Erised. He wasn’t sure who he was now—just that he wasn’t enough.

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt different. Not heavy, not empty, but something quieter, more bearable. Your arm brushed his lightly as you leaned forward on the railing, the contact fleeting yet somehow electric. He stiffened, his pulse jolting unexpectedly, and he waited for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” you said after a moment, your voice low, steady. “I just thought you might not want to be alone. Sometimes it helps.”

He swallowed, his throat dry, and tried to muster some kind of response. He wanted to tell you he didn’t need anyone, that he was fine—had always been fine—on his own. But the words wouldn’t come. Maybe because they weren’t true.

“Thanks,” he said eventually, his voice barely audible, as though saying it too loudly might break whatever fragile thing had settled between you.

Your lips curved into the faintest smile, one that felt less like triumph and more like an offering. You leaned back against the railing, gaze lifting to the stars beginning to scatter across the night sky. They blinked faintly in the deepening dark, small points of light that somehow didn’t feel so far away.

For the first time in weeks—months, maybe—Harry let the tension in his chest ease just a little. The world still felt impossibly heavy, but next to you, it didn’t feel so crushing.

Maybe you were right. Maybe not being alone did help.

─────────────

The two of you stayed there, side by side, the silence between you settling into something quieter, more natural. Harry’s hands curled around the cold stone of the railing, the familiar feel grounding him as his eyes traced the lines of the grounds below. The weight on his chest hadn’t vanished, not completely, but your presence dulled its sharp edges, made it something he could carry, if only for a little while.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Your voice cut through the stillness—not loud, not accusing, just curious.

Harry turned his head toward you, startled by the observation. But you weren’t looking at him. Your gaze stayed on the horizon, your features lit faintly by the glow of the rising stars.

He shrugged, the motion small, self-contained. “Guess I don’t have much to say.”

You hummed softly, the sound low and thoughtful, almost like you were agreeing with him. “Sometimes it’s easier that way,” you murmured. “Less to explain.”

His grip on the railing tightened, knuckles pressing white against the stone. He wanted to ask how you could say something like that, how you seemed to know exactly what he was thinking when he hadn’t even said it aloud. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Some part of him was afraid that asking might shatter whatever strange, fragile understanding hung between you.

“Not everyone sees it that way,” he muttered instead. “Most people just want me to talk. Like if I say something, it’ll fix everything.”

You turned your head then, and he felt your gaze settle on him—steady, unflinching, impossible to avoid. “They probably think it’ll make them feel better,” you said, your voice calm but edged with certainty.

Harry blinked, the words landing harder than he expected. He hadn’t thought about it like that before, but of course, you were right. People didn’t just want him to be okay—they needed it. They needed Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, to be fine so they could tell themselves that things might still go back to the way they were.

“But it’s not about them,” you added, your tone softening just slightly, as though you’d noticed the way his jaw tightened. “It’s about you.”

The words struck something deep, loosening a knot he hadn’t realized had been pulling him taut all day. He turned to look at you fully now, his gaze searching your face for something he couldn’t name. But you weren’t watching him like everyone else did. There was no pity in your expression, no awkwardness. Just quiet understanding.

“Why are you up here?” he asked, the question spilling out before he had time to think better of it. He didn’t want to talk about himself anymore, didn’t want to keep peeling open wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal.

You hesitated, just for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to answer. Then your lips quirked into a faint smile—tired, almost self-deprecating. “Guess I needed to get away too. Being around people all the time… it’s exhausting.”

He nodded slowly. That, at least, he didn’t need explained. The noise, the questions, the endless parade of looks that didn’t ask but expected—it was suffocating. Up here, though, the castle below felt distant enough to forget, just for a little while.

“It’s different up here,” he said after a pause, though he wasn’t sure he’d meant to say it out loud.

You glanced at him again, your expression softer now, as though something in his words had shifted the space between you.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he added quietly, surprising himself with the honesty of it.

You blinked, tilting your head like you hadn’t expected it either. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the tension in his chest eased, just a fraction. Whatever warmth flickered there wasn’t tied to the war or his title or anything he’d done to save the world. It wasn’t about being Harry Potter. It was just you.

You gave him a small, knowing smile, and for a moment, the weight of everything slipped from Harry’s shoulders. The ghosts quieted, the endless expectations faded, and the hollow ache that lived in his chest dulled just enough. Up here, with you beside him, the rest of the world felt far away, like it couldn’t reach him.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said lightly, leaning back against the railing, arms folding across your chest. The breeze stirred your hair, the faint scent of pine and earth clinging to it, and Harry found himself watching the way the dim light softened your features.

“The Boy Who Lived doesn’t strike me as someone who needs anyone.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, but the warmth of it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Is that what people think?”

You tilted your head, considering. “People think all sorts of things about you. Half of it’s probably rubbish.”

That drew a soft laugh from him, low and unexpected. The sound sat strangely in his chest, but it didn’t feel unwelcome. “You’re probably right.”

You glanced at him then, head tilted, your gaze curious but not intrusive. It wasn’t the sharp, prying look he was used to, the one that demanded answers or apologies or pieces of him he didn’t have to give. Instead, it was quieter, like you were searching for something without expecting him to offer it. Harry shifted under the weight of it, his fingers curling tighter around the railing, but before he could say anything, you spoke again.

“Sometimes I think people forget you’re just… human.”

The words caught him off guard, sinking into him like a stone dropped into water. You didn’t say it with pity or reverence—just a soft kind of honesty that made his breath catch. It was like you weren’t talking to Harry Potter, the Chosen One, but just Harry, the boy standing beside you on a cold, quiet night.

For a moment, he couldn’t respond. The silence between you stretched, filled with a thousand things he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. “Sometimes I forget that too,” he said finally, the confession slipping out before he could stop it. His voice was barely audible, and yet it felt louder than anything he’d said in months. “It’s like… if I’m not fighting or fixing something, I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.”

You turned to face him fully now, your expression soft but steady. “Maybe you don’t have to figure that out right now,” you said. “Maybe it’s okay to just… be.”

The simplicity of it stunned him. Just be. As though it were that easy. As though he could strip himself of everything he carried and exist without purpose or expectation. Harry’s grip on the railing tightened. “I don’t know if I even know how to do that anymore.”

“Maybe you don’t have to do it alone.”

The words hung in the air between you, weightless and heavy all at once. Harry’s gaze lifted to meet yours, his heart stumbling in his chest. You weren’t looking at him the way most people did, like he was a puzzle to solve or a hero to rely on. You were looking at him like he was… enough.

He swallowed, his throat dry. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Your lips curved into a soft smile, but there was something in your eyes—something faintly sad and yet unwavering. “Because I think you need it.”

The knot in his chest twisted, a sharp ache he hadn’t felt in years threatening to rise to the surface. He blinked hard, pushing it back, refusing to let it crack him open. Not here. Not now.

His hand moved almost without thinking, brushing against yours where it rested on the stone. It was a light touch, tentative and fleeting, but enough to send a jolt through him. He froze, half expecting you to pull away, to retreat the way everyone else eventually did.

But you didn’t.

The touch lingered, delicate and unspoken, neither of you pulling away. It wasn’t an accident, nor was it intentional in a way that required words. It just was, the kind of quiet moment Harry didn’t know how to name—simple, yet heavy with meaning. His gaze dropped to your hand, where your fingers just barely grazed his, and something unfamiliar stirred in him, warm and disorienting.

“I’m not used to this,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them. The night breeze nearly carried them away, but you heard him.

You turned your head, curiosity softening your expression. “Used to what?”

“Someone just… being here.” He let out a dry laugh, short and humorless, as if mocking himself. “Most people either avoid me or expect something.”

Your fingers shifted, brushing his more firmly, the subtle movement grounding him. “I don’t expect anything, Harry.”

His name, spoken so gently, without expectation or weight—it shouldn’t have struck him the way it did. But it lodged in his chest, the simplicity of it making his stomach twist. You weren’t trying to be anything other than honest, and somehow that made it worse.

He looked at you then, really looked at you. The moonlight played across your features, softening the edges, casting faint shadows against your skin. Your gaze met his and didn’t waver, holding steady in a way that made his chest tighten. There was something solid about you, something he couldn’t explain but couldn’t deny either. An anchor, maybe, in a world that had only ever felt like chaos.

“I don’t know how to…” The sentence faltered, crumbling before it could finish. Harry shook his head slightly, as if that might hide his frustration. How to what, exactly? Let someone in? Say what he was feeling? Be himself again?

“You don’t have to explain anything,” you said, like you could read his mind. Your voice was low, steady, but kind. “I meant it. You don’t have to do this alone. Whatever this is.”

A lump rose in his throat, the kind that tightened every word into silence, but he nodded, managing a quiet, “Thanks.” It felt small, inadequate, but you didn’t seem to mind. You just gave him a smile—small but warm, like the kind of light you don’t notice until it chases away the dark.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence wrapped around you, not heavy or cold, but something softer now. Warm, even. Harry let himself sink into it, his shoulders easing, his usual tension slipping away bit by bit. He glanced down at the grounds, the glow of the castle windows below casting long, soft shadows over the grass.

“Do you ever think about leaving?” you asked suddenly, your voice breaking the quiet but not shattering it.

Harry blinked, caught off guard. “Leaving Hogwarts?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… walking away. Starting over somewhere far from all of this.”

He hesitated, the idea catching him in a way he wasn’t expecting. The thought of leaving everything—this castle, its whispers, the weight of who he was supposed to be—was both terrifying and strangely tempting. To go somewhere he could just be Harry, without the war, without the name, without the constant pull of the past.

“Sometimes,” he admitted, the word quiet but honest. “But… I don’t think I could. I don’t know who I’d be without all of this.”

You nodded, like you understood. “Maybe that’s something you figure out with time.”

There was no judgment in your voice, just patience, and that startled him more than the question itself. Harry turned to look at you, searching your face for something he couldn’t name. You weren’t pushing him. You weren’t rushing him to have answers he didn’t have. And somehow, that made him ache.

“What about you?” he asked, the words coming out before he could stop them. “Would you leave?”

Your smile was faint, wistful, like the question had passed through you a thousand times already. “I think about it. But I always come back to the same answer.” You paused, your gaze slipping to the horizon. “I don’t think running away fixes anything.”

He nodded slowly, letting the words sink in. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

You laughed softly, and the sound caught him by surprise. It wasn’t loud, but it was real, and it made something in his chest ease. “Only probably?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile finally breaking through. “Fine. You’re definitely right.”

“There you go,” you teased, your tone lighter now. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

It was strange how the conversation shifted, how the tension between you melted into something easier. Lighter. For the first time in longer than he could remember, Harry felt himself relax into the moment, his guard lowering just enough to let the night and your presence settle over him. For once, the weight on his shoulders didn’t feel so crushing. For once, the world outside the two of you could wait.

─────────────

The hours blurred together, the sky above deepening into a velvety indigo scattered with stars. The castle had fallen silent, the faint hum of voices and clatter of dishes from the Great Hall fading into memory. You hadn’t moved far from him, and Harry found himself noticing—really noticing—how the quiet didn’t feel oppressive anymore. It wasn’t heavy or suffocating. It was just… there. And for the first time in what felt like forever, it was bearable.

When you turned to him, your gaze was steady, searching but not invasive. “Do you think you’ll ever feel normal again?”

The question caught him off guard. It wasn’t laced with pity or weighed down with expectation—it was just honest. Simple. It twisted something inside him all the same. Harry swallowed hard, the knot in his chest pulling tighter.

“I don’t know what normal is,” he admitted, his voice low, like he was confessing something fragile to the night itself. “Maybe I.. never really did.”

You nodded, like that answer didn’t surprise you. Like it wasn’t the wrong one. “I think a lot of us feel that way.”

You didn’t push, didn’t prod for more, and that—more than anything—made him want to keep going.

“When it ended…” He trailed off, his eyes dropping to his hands on the railing. They looked unfamiliar, scarred and pale against the stone. “I thought it would stop. The hurt. I thought I’d feel relieved.” His jaw tightened, and the next words slipped out like they had been waiting for years. “But it didn’t. And now I don’t know if it ever will.”

The admission hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Harry’s fingers curled against the railing, the cold bite of the stone grounding him. He didn’t look at you—he couldn’t. He didn’t know what he’d see in your eyes, and some part of him was afraid of it.

“You lost so much,” you said softly, your voice steady but laced with something achingly gentle. “It’s okay to feel like that. No one expects you to just move on.”

Harry let out a hollow laugh, bitter and quiet. “Everyone expects me to be fine. To be Harry Potter, the one who saved everyone.” He gestured vaguely to himself, his voice cracking under the weight of it. “They don’t want to see this. Whatever this is.”

“I do,” you said, your voice unwavering.

The words hit him like a punch to the chest, knocking the air clean out of him. His head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours. There was no hesitation in your expression, no doubt. Just quiet sincerity, so clear and certain it left him breathless.

“Why?” The question fell from his lips before he could stop it.

You shrugged, a faint, bittersweet smile curving your lips. “Because… you’re more than what everyone sees. And because I think you deserve someone who doesn’t just want the shiny bits of you.”

Harry stared at you, his chest tightening painfully. He didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to process something so simple yet staggering. No one had ever said anything like that to him before—at least, not in a way that felt this real.

The air between you shifted, heavier now, like it was carrying something unspoken, something fragile but undeniable. You weren’t touching, but Harry could still feel the warmth of you beside him, like a presence he didn’t want to lose. His heart pounded harder, the sound of it loud in his ears.

“I don’t think I deserve it,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible.

Your brows knit together, a flicker of sadness crossing your face, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you stepped closer, close enough that he could see the faint curve of your lashes, the soft press of your lips. “I think you do.”

Harry inhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the railing as you moved into his space. His pulse thundered, and his mind raced with the weight of the moment, with how close you were, with the quiet pull of something he wasn’t sure he had the strength to reach for.

“I don’t want to screw this up,” he whispered, the words raw and fractured.

“You won’t,” you said softly, your voice steady but kind. “But you don’t have to decide anything right now.”

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, and he felt something shift in him—like a thread unraveling after being pulled too tight for too long. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers brushing yours again.

This time, you didn’t just let the touch linger. You let your fingers twine with his, warm and certain, the weight of it enough to crack the walls he’d been holding up for so long.

Harry’s breath hitched as your fingers laced with his, the touch so simple yet carrying the weight of something he didn’t quite know how to name. It sent a ripple through him—a warmth that started in his chest and spread outward, leaving a faint ache in its wake. His grip tightened slightly, hesitant but sure, and he drew in a shaky breath, trying to ground himself in the moment.

You didn’t push him, didn’t say a word. You just stayed there, steady and close, your thumb brushing softly over the back of his hand. The stars above blurred into the edges of his vision, the castle fading into shadow. The world narrowed until it was only you, your touch, and the quiet hum of something unspoken between you.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice low and uneven. His green eyes searched yours, wide and vulnerable in a way that made his chest feel both too tight and too open. “I don’t know how to let myself… feel like this.”

You didn’t flinch or pull back. Instead, you gave him a small, steady smile, your free hand lifting, hovering just near his arm, a silent question. “You don’t have to know how. You just have to let it happen.”

Harry exhaled, shaky and raw, but didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned closer, his forehead almost brushing yours. His heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else, but for once, he didn’t care. He was tired of holding himself together, of keeping everyone out, of pretending he didn’t need this.

And then, almost instinctively, he closed the space between you.

The kiss was gentle, hesitant, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile. Or maybe breaking himself. But the moment your hand slid to his cheek, grounding him, something inside him unraveled. He pressed deeper into the kiss, his other hand rising to rest lightly at your waist. It wasn’t desperate or hurried—it was slow, deliberate, filled with everything he couldn’t put into words.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, pulling him closer, and Harry felt something crack open in his chest. It wasn’t pain, but a kind of aching relief, as though he’d been holding his breath for years and was finally allowed to exhale. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t drowning.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the cool night air, Harry didn’t go far. His forehead rested lightly against yours, his hand still at your waist, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric as though afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Sorry,” he murmured, though there was no regret in his voice, only uncertainty. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted, your voice soft but certain. Your hand slid down to rest over his chest, where his heart still raced beneath your touch. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A quiet laugh slipped from him, more a sigh than anything else. “I’m not used to this.”

“Neither am I,” you admitted, your fingers tracing small, absent shapes against the fabric of his shirt. “But.. I think we’re allowed to have this. Even after everything.”

Your words settled deep in his chest, heavy and grounding in a way that didn’t feel like a burden. He didn’t know if he fully believed you—not yet—but for the first time, he wanted to. He wanted to let himself try, to let himself have this, even if it scared him.

“Stay,” he said quietly, the word barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a question. It was a plea.

Your lips curved into a small, tender smile, and you nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

─────────────

The space between you thrummed with tension, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but electric, alive with everything unspoken. Harry’s hand lingered at your waist, the tips of his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt, hesitant but wanting. His other hand gripped the railing behind you, steadying himself as he leaned in, his lips hovering just shy of yours. Your heart pounded, loud enough to drown out the quiet of the night.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted closer, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt, clutching the soft cotton as though it might keep you tethered. His breath ghosted over your lips, warm and uneven, and when he kissed you again, it was different this time—no hesitation, no doubt.

It started slow, the way it had before, soft and searching. But when you pressed closer, your body molding against his, something inside him gave way. The kiss deepened, shifting into something more urgent, more unrestrained, as if the careful control he had been holding onto had finally slipped. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, nothing else existed but the heat between you.

Your hands slid up his chest, fingers trailing over the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He felt so solid beneath your palms, so real, and yet the way he kissed you was anything but careful. Your hands found his shoulders, clutching tightly as he kissed you harder, his need for you palpable. One of his hands left the railing to thread through your hair, his fingers tangling there with a kind of reverence that sent a shiver down your spine.

The rough stone at your back was cool, grounding, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of Harry’s body pressed against yours. He seemed to be everywhere at once, overwhelming in the best way.

“Is this okay?” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and unsteady.

You nodded quickly, your breath catching as he kissed you again, more certain this time. “Yes,” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling. Your fingers slid to the nape of his neck, brushing against the soft, slightly damp strands of his hair. “More than okay.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. His lips left yours, trailing down along your jaw, slow and deliberate. When he reached the curve of your neck, the heat of his breath against your skin sent a spark shooting through you, and you couldn’t stop the quiet sound that escaped your lips.

The noise seemed to break something in him. His hand slid lower, from your waist to your hip, his thumb grazing the bare skin just above the waistband of your jeans. His name slipped from your lips without thinking, and Harry groaned softly, the sound reverberating against your throat. He pressed you more firmly against the railing, his body bracketing yours as though he wanted to block out the rest of the world.

His mouth continued its path along the line of your throat, slow and reverent, stopping just above the collar of your shirt. Every kiss left a trail of fire in its wake, every touch pulling you deeper into him.

“Tell me if—” he started, his voice hoarse and uneven, but you cut him off, your hands gripping his shirt to pull him back up to kiss you again. This time, you were the one who deepened it, letting him feel the weight of everything you couldn’t say. He responded instantly, his hands roaming over your waist, your hips, your back, as though trying to memorize the shape of you.

You broke the kiss only when you couldn’t breathe, your forehead resting against his as you whispered, “Not here.”

Harry froze for a moment, his breath heavy against your lips, his eyes locked on yours. They were dark, intense, filled with something raw and vulnerable. You half-expected him to hesitate, but instead, he nodded, his hand sliding down to find yours. His grip was warm, firm, and steady, like it was the only thing anchoring him.

“Come on,” he said quietly, his voice low and sure.

You didn’t need to ask where. You just followed, your hand in his, trusting him completely.

─────────────

Harry led you through the castle’s dim corridors, his hand steady in yours. The silence wasn’t awkward—it buzzed with anticipation, each step echoing softly against the stone walls. His grip was firm but gentle, grounding you in the moment, though the occasional brush of his thumb against your skin sent a quiet thrill through you, making it harder to focus on anything but him.

He didn’t tell you where he was taking you, and you didn’t ask. You trusted him completely.

When he stopped, it was outside an empty classroom near the Charms corridor. The door creaked softly as he pushed it open, revealing a quiet space bathed in silvery moonlight pouring through tall, arched windows. The room was unremarkable, desks and chairs pushed to the sides, but it felt secluded—safe. A haven away from the weight of everything outside.

Harry let go of your hand only to close the door behind you, locking it with a flick of his wand. The soft click echoed in the stillness, and your pulse quickened as he turned back to face you. His gaze met yours, sharp and intense, and for a moment, you felt frozen under the weight of it.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low, almost uncertain.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you stepped forward, your hands finding the front of his shirt again, pulling him down into a kiss that left no room for doubt. His lips met yours hungrily, and his hands found your waist, anchoring you against him. This time, there was no hesitation in the way he held you, his touch firm but reverent, like he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.

The kiss deepened quickly, the tension that had simmered between you all night spilling over like floodwaters. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, his body pressed against yours like he couldn’t bear even a breath of space between you. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward, and he broke the kiss only long enough to let you pull it over his head, the fabric falling to the floor.

Your gaze drifted over his chest, tracing the faint scars etched across his skin, each one a reminder of everything he’d endured. The moonlight highlighted every line, every curve of muscle, and for a moment, he looked vulnerable—unsure. His chest rose and fell quickly, his nerves evident, but you didn’t let him linger there.

Your fingers brushed over his scars, soft and deliberate, and you leaned in to kiss him again. He melted into it, his hesitance replaced by a quiet urgency as his hands slid to your hips. His lips left yours to trail down your jaw, finding your neck, his kisses slow and infused with something akin to hunger. The heat of his mouth against your skin made you shiver, your breath catching as his fingers found the hem of your shirt and lifted it.

You raised your arms to let him pull it off, and when he stepped back just slightly, his gaze lingered on you in the moonlight, reverent and full of something raw that made warmth bloom low in your stomach.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say it aloud.

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, his hands wandering your sides and back, like he was mapping every inch of you. You barely noticed the edge of a desk pressing into the backs of your thighs as he guided you backward, his movements growing bolder with each passing moment.

Your fingers drifted down his chest, following the ridges of his muscles until they found the waistband of his jeans. You worked the button free, and Harry let out a low groan, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice strained, his green eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart stumble.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of nerves and desire coursing through you. “I want this. I want you.”

Something in his expression shifted, the raw emotion behind his gaze making your chest ache. He kissed you again, slower this time, as though he was trying to pour every unsaid word, every feeling he couldn’t name, into the press of his lips.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you onto the desk with ease. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, the warmth of him against you making your breath hitch. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered sound felt all-consuming, pulling you deeper into him.

The world outside disappeared. There was no war, no expectations, no fear. Just Harry—the feel of his hands, the heat of his mouth, the quiet way he murmured your name like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight you both carried didn’t matter. In this moment, there was nothing but the two of you, and that was enough.

Harry’s hands gripped your thighs firmly, his touch grounding and electric all at once. His kisses grew hungrier, more insistent, his mouth moving against yours like he’d been holding back for far too long. The edge of the desk pressed into your back, but the slight discomfort melted away beneath the heat of his body pressing against yours. Everything about him—his hands, his lips, the low, ragged sounds he made—consumed you entirely.

Your fingers worked at the top of his jeans, fumbling slightly in your haste. Harry groaned softly against your mouth as you finally managed to pull them down, his breath hitching sharply when your hands slipped below the waistband of his boxers brushing against the heated skin just above his throbbing length. His hips jerked slightly at the contact, and the sound that escaped his lips was low and guttural, sending a rush of heat spiraling through you.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His green eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, and filled with something raw that made your pulse stutter. His hands slid to your hips, fingers brushing against the hem of your jeans. “Can I?” he asked, his voice low and rough, barely steady.

“Please,” you breathed, lifting your hips to help him.

His gaze stayed locked on you as he slid your jeans down, the fabric brushing against your skin in a way that left you shivering. The look in his eyes made your breath catch—a mixture of reverence and want, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His hands trembled slightly as he tossed the jeans aside, and the way his gaze raked over you, slow and deliberate, made warmth bloom low in your stomach.

“You’re…” He trailed off, his words faltering as his eyes met yours again. He didn’t need to finish the sentence; the intensity in his expression said everything his voice couldn’t.

You reached for him, pulling him closer until his bare chest pressed against yours. The heat of his skin against yours sent a shiver through you, and when his hands slid back to your thighs, parting them just slightly, you gasped quietly. His lips found yours again, slower this time, deeper. Each kiss was deliberate, filled with a need that made your whole body tremble.

One of his hands slipped between your legs, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your underwear. The touch was tentative at first, testing, but when a soft moan slipped from your lips, his confidence grew. His fingers pressed more firmly, tracing the heat of you through the fabric, and you arched into his touch instinctively, the sensation overwhelming.

“God, you’re so—” Harry broke off with a groan, his free hand gripping your thigh tightly as you rolled your hips against his hand. His breathing was unsteady now, ragged and uneven. “You’re perfect.”

The words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making your pulse race. You reached for him, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, finally pulling the restrictive barrier between the two of you down. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as your hand wrapped around him, the heat and weight of him making your own breath falter. He let out a strangled moan, his hips rocking instinctively into your touch.

“Wait,” he murmured, his voice tight, like he was holding on to the last threads of control. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands trembling as they moved to your waist. “I want to—can I—”

You nodded quickly, your cheeks warm, reaching for him again to help guide his length inside you. The desk creaked faintly as he stepped closer, his hands finding your hips as he lined himself up with you. He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the world stilled.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice softer this time, steady but full of emotion.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice sure despite the nerves and anticipation rushing through you. “I want this, Harry. I want you—all of you.”

That was all he needed.

Harry leaned in, his lips finding yours again as he pushed forward, slow and purposeful. The initial stretch made you tense, your fingers instinctively tightening against his shoulders. But then his breath brushed warm against your cheek, and the soft, shaky sound he let out as he slid deeper sent a ripple through you, easing the tension and replacing it with something else entirely—something that left you breathless.

“You okay?” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours. His voice was tight, laced with restraint, and it made your heart ache in the best way.

“Yes,” you whispered, your nails digging lightly into his skin as your body adjusted to him. “Just… don’t stop.”

His jaw tightened, and he nodded, his hands trembling slightly where they gripped your waist. He started to move, his hips rolling in a slow, achingly delicious rhythm that made your breath catch. Each motion sent a wave of heat building steadily through you, your body arching instinctively toward his as though you couldn’t get close enough.

“God,” he groaned, the sound rough and raw as it left him. His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you slightly to meet his thrusts, and the shift made you gasp. Your head fell back against the desk as the new angle sent a spark shooting through you. “You feel so—”

The rest of his words broke off into a low curse, his lips finding your neck again as his movements quickened. The world beyond the room ceased to exist—the only things that mattered were the soft creak of the desk beneath you, the heat of his body against yours, and the quiet, desperate noises that escaped him with every thrust.

Your hips tilted to meet his rhythm, and the friction left you dizzy, sparks lighting beneath your skin. Your hands slid into his hair, tangling in the messy strands as his face buried in the curve of your shoulder. His breath was hot against your skin, and each groan that escaped his lips sent a shiver coursing down your spine, your body arching into his as the pressure low in your belly coiled tighter.

“Harry,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips like a plea, raw and unrestrained. His response was a groan that seemed to echo through you, his hands gripping your hips tighter, his touch almost possessive as he pulled you closer.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, the words rough against your skin, reverent and awed. His voice broke slightly as he added, “I—I can’t…”

“Don’t hold back,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. Your hands slid down his back, clutching at his waist to anchor yourself. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

For a brief moment, his pace faltered, his forehead pressing against yours as though grounding himself in the moment. And then he kissed you again, hard and desperate, his lips crashing into yours as though he needed you more than air. His rhythm grew uneven, each thrust deeper, more precise, until the tension inside you snapped.

The wave that crashed over you left you trembling, your body shuddering in his arms as the heat and intensity overwhelmed you. His name slipped from your lips again, barely audible, as you clung to him.

Moments later, Harry followed, his movements faltering as he buried himself in you one final time. A low, guttural sound escaped his lips as he trembled against you, his forehead dropping to yours. His breaths came fast and ragged, his chest heaving as he held you close, his hands gripping your hips as though afraid to let go.

For a long time, neither of you moved. The room was silent except for the soft hum of your breathing, the faint rustle of fabric as Harry shifted, wrapping his arms more securely around you. He pulled you close, his body still trembling faintly, and you rested your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing aimless patterns across his back.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a moment, his voice hoarse but filled with quiet concern.

A soft smile tugged at your lips, and you tilted your head just enough to brush a kiss against his neck. “More than okay,” you whispered.

Harry let out a quiet laugh, low and warm, his arms tightening around you. “Me too,” he murmured, his lips brushing lightly against your temple.

Finally, for what seemed like an eternity. Everything felt right, it felt okay. Like harry could just..exist again.

﹙@ 𝗹𝘂𝗺𝗼𝘀𝗼𝘂 ﹚

[yazzwrites6962]

please write more of your niragi fanfic!! i really loved it and im addicted to your writing!! 💗💗

Redemption ♡ Suguru Niragi ♡ Part Three

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Suguru Niragi x Fem!Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Part Two: Here

Part Four: Here

Author's Note: UNEDITED! Not much Niragi is mentioned in this chapter. It's mostly you, Chishiya, and Kuina bonding! I know this chapter is pretty short. I promise I'm working on more! I should have the next chapter for this out pretty soon. I don't own any characters or images!

Genre: A little angsty

Summary: After your last game, you're left swirling with the pain of betrayal. Luckily, you have Kuina and Chishiya to help you recover.

Word Count: 2029

Warnings: OOC Chishiya and Niragi, talk of injury, blood, and betrayal

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Trust and loyalty. The two most difficult things to find in the Borderlands. In a world overwhelmed by betrayal and death, rarely anyone was stupid enough to whole-heartedly believe in the goodwill of another person.

Except, you did.

You trusted Niragi, for some silly reason. Despite all the warnings, you had faith in him. You truly believed he was just misunderstood. When you called out to him for help, you believed he would he there to give it to you.

Then you watched him walk away. As your blood ran down your arms and you were so close to making it out, you watched him turn his back on you. It was only a matter of seconds now before death would find you. It was sickening. The pit in your stomach felt bottomless.

You wanted to wait. See what kind of unfunny prank this was and scold him for joking with you at a time like this, but you couldn't afford such a blunder. You couldn't afford to waste valuable seconds waiting for a man to rescue you.

No, not a man.

A beast.

That's what he is.

You couldn't just wait to die. You had to endure. You were so close, even without Niragi's help. Maybe you could still make it. Maybe you could still get out alive and hate Niragi for the rest of your life for this. You pushed yourself further, the barbs on your rope digging into your soft flesh as you reached for safety.

You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. There was only pain. The sting of betrayal made it no easier to endure, but somehow, you endured. You clawed your way to the top, finally completing the deathly challenge, without the help of the man you thought was your friend.

Resilient. You'd learned to be resilient.

You hazily found your key and pushed through your door. Your mind was foggy, and you couldn't remember much. You were surviving on pure impulse. You could only hear the sound of your heart beating in your ears.

The heart. Such a silly thing. A symbol for all sorts of a range of emotion. So complex, but so simple. Its only job to pump blood through a vessel of flesh. Your heart. How badly you wished you could tear it out, to rid yourself of the rhythmic thumping deception in your skull.

Then, your vision went black. Yet, your heartbeat endured.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You felt your soft sheets beneath you as an echo of hushed voices surrounded you. Your body ached, and your head felt heavier than usual. Your eyes peeked open, and you were thankful to find yourself in your room with Chishiya and Kuina by your sides.

"Y/N!" Kuina cried, seeing your eyes open a crack. You attempt to sit up, putting pressure on your injured palm. The pain is excruciating, and you fall onto your back once more. Kuina gingerly helps you sit up, positioning you against the headboard.

You're covered in bandages. Around your chest, neck, arms, and legs. You feel almost like a mummy, wrapped and restrained in horrible memories. Memories? Memories! Memories come flooding back to you. Hazy, but painful memories.

"Shinji! Did he make it out?" You suddenly recall the young boy who you had grown fond of during your game. Kuina and Chishiya give you a confused look, as if not really knowing who you're referring to. Of course, they wouldn't know. The Beach is filled with hundreds of people.

"What happened during your game?" Chishiya inquired calmly. "You lost far too much blood for a person of your stature. Luckily your injuries were nowhere near fatal."

"Did you patch me up?" You study the wrappings around your body. They look clean. Professionally done. Chishiya shrugged, as if not really wanting to answer your question. "My game... It had three stages. I got these from the last one. I had to... I had to climb a rope that resembled barbed wire. I tried to wrap up my hands, but it didn't work exactly."

"I'm just glad you made it out." Kuina sighed. How did you make it out? You don't remember much. Only the pain and frustration you felt as you hoisted yourself up the rope. You vaguely recall the key, and your bloody fumbling hands pushing through your door seconds before the game was over.

"Niragi. He made it out, right?" You ask, your voice sounding weak. He left you there, struggling. Why? Why would he betray you like that? Just when you'd thought you were getting through to a softer side of him.

"He's the one who brought you back." Chishiya spoke up. "He carried you back to your room while you were unconscious." Kuina nodded, leaning forward to add on to Chishiya's statements.

"Chishiya and I noticed him hauling you up the stairs. We followed you guys all the way back here. We thought maybe he was going to... Do something to you, but no. He just left you here with us."

You hum, not revealing what had happened between you and Niragi during the game. Silence filled the room as your mind raced. Chishiya stared at you quizzically.

"Are you hungry?" Kuina stood, picking up a plate from the table in the corner of your room. "You missed breakfast, and lunch. We didn't want to wake you, but we brought you food."

"Thanks." You muttered softly, taking the plate from her. The food was cold, but you didn't have much of an appetite anyway. "You guys are great friends. I appreciate you." Kuina uncomfortably shifted, glancing at Chishiya. He stood; his hands hidden in his pockets as usual.

"We will give you space to rest." He said, removing a hand from his pocket to wave Kuina towards the door. "Should you need anything, you know where to find us."

With that, the pair exit your room. You're alone, with a pile of cold food and a sore body. You now understand that you can't fully trust Niragi, as much as you wanted to.

Yet, you would've never guessed the conversation going on right outside your door.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"Chishiya..." Kuina whined as your door shut. She didn't need to elaborate further on her thoughts. Chishiya already knew what she was going to say.

Betrayal. Every relationship you had made in the Borderlands thus far was built a foundation for betrayal, and you were entirely unaware of it all.

"We do not need to discuss this here." He began walking down the hallway, Kuina trailing behind him. She twiddled with her fingers nervously.

"She's nice. She's a good person. We can find someone else. Anyone else. You pick anyone else, and I promise I'll just go along with it." She pleaded.

"Kuina." Chishiya scolded, glaring at her. "We can explore your proposition. Just not here." Kuina's face lit up, now knowing that Chishiya was considering using someone else for the plan.

"Thank you." She sighed with relief, recalling your limp, fragile body being carried back to your room. She simply couldn't betray your trust like that.

"I don't consider it for your sake." Chishiya replied shortly. Kuina's better judgement told her not to question what this meant.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It felt like you'd been couped up in your room for an eternity. Kuina would bring you meals, and Chishiya often checked on your bandages. Fortunately, he claimed you were "healing nicely". All you had to pass the time were a couple of books and a sketchpad.

"I'm bored." You complained while shoveling food into your mouth. "I feel fine enough to walk and all. Can't I just go out and enjoy the sun by the pool?"

"Swallow your food before you begin speaking." Chishiya rolled his eyes. "Your wounds aren't entirely healed. While you are making good progress, it could still get infected. Imagine that disgusting pool water making its way into your bandages."

"The things people do in that pool are disgusting." Kuina sticks her tongue out, slumping beside you on the bed. "I can't even imagine what kind of germs are in that water. Does anyone even clean the pool?"

"Tatta does." Chishiya adds. In the past few days, he has grown slightly more talkative than usual. You find it pleasant to see Chishiya opening up more.

"I don't have to go by the pool. Just on a walk, or something." You finally swallow your mouthful of food. "I promise I'll be careful, and I won't run into any trouble."

"Why do you try to appeal to us?" Chishiya raises an eyebrow. "I'm not your keeper. I only advise that you remain here and rest. Yet, you are an adult who can make her own decisions."

"I don't know." You giggle, shifting yourself so your legs hang off the edge of the bed. "I guess you two are kind of like... Parents? Mama y Papa, y'know?" Chishiya and Kuina flash disgusted looks at one another.

"Okay, Y/N. Maybe you do need some fresh air. You're losing it in here." Kuina chuckles, helping you out of bed. Had they not found painkillers for you, you would be in agony.

Chishiya left the room as Kuina helped you get dressed. As much as you tried to hide it under your cardigan, your bandages still showed through your bathing suit.

"You still look beautiful." Kuina smiled, giving you a gentle hug and trying to be mindful of your injuries. "Now c'mon. We'll accompany you on your little outing."

"We will?" Chishiya groaned from outside the door. You laugh as you turn the knob, coming face to face with the blonde. He looks as though he would rather be anywhere, but out on a walk with you and Kuina.

"We will." Kuina huffed, interlocking her arm with yours carefully. "Don't be such a party pooper. Y/N is still hurt. Besides, it'll probably do you some good too."

Chishiya shrugs, shifting his hands comfortably in his pockets, before following you and Kuina down the hall. The stairs were a bit tricky, but you felt incredibly accomplished making your way all the way down to the ground floor.

As you make it through the doors of the building, you took a deep breath. The windows in your room didn't really open, so it was nice to feel fresh air filling your lungs.

You and Kuina dominated the conversation, chatting about life as the three of you walked through the front garden. Chishiya listened and followed along from behind.

"I'm still worried." You say, watching people pass you by. "I haven't seen Shinji at all. You know, the boy from my game?" Your eyes drop to the ground as you continue. "I... I don't think he had the time to make it. He was so... Young?"

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Kuina comforts. "It's cruel. What happens in these games... It's not fair. It's like all the best people are getting hurt and killed."

"I was unconscious the whole way back here. I don't know what happened. I don't know if he made it back to the car or anything." You sigh, carefully rotating your body as you and Kuina turn a corner.

"Ask." Chishiya finally spoke for the first time during the walk. Both you and Kuina turn your head to face him, questioningly. "Ask if he made it back to the car, if it's weighing so heavy on you."

"Who would I even ask?" You scoff. Your mind wandered back to who was in the car with you. The only person you really knew was Niragi, and you were terrified at the thought of facing him again.

"Him?" Chishiya motioned to somewhere ahead of you. You turned your head forward again, facing the direction he was pointing your attention towards.

Several meters away, stood Niragi. The one person you didn't want to see. His gun was slung over his shoulder, and he stared directly back at you.

Did he remember how he watched you struggle? Did he see the blood running down your arms as you reached to him for help? What was he thinking when he turned away from you?

And what was he thinking as he began to walk towards you now?

[youreverydayfangirl]

You Are In Love

pairing: lando norris x fretwell! reader

summary: y/n y/ln has finally moved on from lando norris, or in which lando tries everything he can do to get his girl back

warning: angsty tbh, but has fluff in the end

a/n: after agessss!!! its all set in 2024

part 1 is here

"You know what I'm so done with you. Of course you want me now, I'm trying to get over you Lando, I need to get over you." She said, her voice breaking a little. He wanted to grab her, hold her, apologise.

"What if I don't want you to." He said.

She completely stepped back, tears in her eyes.

"Fuck you Lando Norris."

Y/n didn't know how it happened, how quickly love could turn into indifference. Hate was one thing. Indifference was another thing completely. It meant that hearing his name wouldn't spark a reaction from her, seeing his face didn't make her heart skip a beat. She had loved Lando since she was fifteen, but at some point you have to give up, say goodbye. Because she'd rather feel nothing that still love him.

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

2024, February

yourusername has posted

liked by landonorris, maxfretwell and 2, 395, 039 others

yourusername GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS

tagged: yourbsfusername

yourbsfusername WE LOOK SO GOOD

-> yourusername yeah we do don't we

lilymhe GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS

→ yourusername GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS

francisca.cgomes Y/N WORLD TAKEOVER

-> yourusername ofc

maxfretwell EW ITS YOU

-> yourusername get out of my comments weirdo

user1 lando in the likes again

-> user2 be so real when is he not snooping

user3 she looks so much healthier

-> user4 right this y/n era>>>

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

Y/n groaned at the insistent ringing of her phone, pulling her from a very nice nap. "What do you want idiot?" She snapped at her brother, whose face had popped up on her phone.

"Good morning to you sleeping beauty." He said, laughing at his younger sister.

"Is there a reason you're calling me at-" Y/n squinted at the time on her screen, "-3 in the afternoon?" She rubbed her eyes, not yet fully awake.

Her brother laughed on the other end. "I needed to remind you of our plans tonight. Or did you forget already?"

Y/n huffed, pushing herself up against the pillows. "Of course not. I just wasn’t expecting a wake up call," she grumbled.

"Right, right. Well, don’t fall asleep again; we’re leaving in an hour," he teased.

As soon as he hung up Y/n groaned and shoved her head back into the comfort of her soft pillows.

She met Max at a small restaurant tucked away on a quiet street, where he was waiting at a corner booth, already nursing a beer. "Hey, stranger," he greeted her with a warm hug.

"Hey yourself," she laughed, sliding in across from him. "This place is cute."

“Only the best for my very picky little sister.” Max smirked, but his expression softened as he looked at her. “So, how’s everything going? Really.”

Y/n shrugged, giving a small smile. “Pretty good. Busy, you know. I've just been focusing on working on myself and staying sober, Bsf has helped out alot with that."

Max nodded, taking a sip of his beer. “And are you… happy?”

The question caught her off guard, and she hesitated, glancing away before looking back at him. “I mean… yeah. Things have been pretty good recently”

Max studied her for a moment, his gaze knowing. “But?”

“But…” she paused, pushing the menu away and sighing. “I don’t know, Max. Sometimes it feels like… like there’s something missing. You know? Like something’s still holding me back.”

Max leaned back, watching her carefully. “Lando?”

She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “I thought I was done with that. After everything last year, I told myself I couldn’t keep holding onto him. He never even tried to reach out after everything that happened like come on. I've moved on now."

“Maybe he just thought you didn’t want him to reach out,” Max suggested gently. “You left pretty quickly.”

She stared down at her hands, fiddling with the edge of a napkin. “Yeah, but I couldn’t stay. After hearing him say… all that, after everything we went through, I didn’t know what else to do but leave.”

Max nodded, thinking for a moment before he spoke. “Look, I’m not saying you should do anything you’re not ready for, but I’ve known Lando for a long time. He’s got his faults, but I think he’s just as messed up over you as you are over him. I think he’s been struggling with it since the day you left.”

She felt a pang in her chest, memories of Lando flashing through her mind. “I don’t know, Max. It’s been a year, and I’ve tried so hard to let go.”

Max reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “And maybe you have. But maybe… maybe there’s a part of you that needs to hear him out before you can really move forward.”

She gave him a small, grateful smile, though her heart felt heavy. “I’ll think about it, Max. I really will. But for now… let’s just have a good night, okay?”

Later, when she got home, she found herself replaying Max’s words.

What if I don’t want you to?

Lando’s voice from that night echoed painfully in her mind. She’d loved him once, but now… she didn’t know what she felt.

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

yourusername has posted

liked by landonorris, maxfretwell and 4, 759, 364 others

yourusername the city that keeps the roof blazing

tagged: alexandrasaintmleux

francisca.cgomes i need you at more plssss

-> yourusername i'll see how i can manage

lilymhe i missed your cute face

→ yourusername I MISSED YOURS

maxfretwell since when were you here?

-> yourusername idk 🤷

alexandrasaintmleux 😍😍

-> yourusername LEO WAS SO CUTE

user1 Y/NLANDO CONTENT PLEASE 🙏

user2 OMG SHES AT A GPPPPPP

user3 grabbing at scraps atp

user4 LANDO WIN?

-> user5 i mean shes his lucky charm so..

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

The atmosphere was electric as Y/n made her way across the paddock. It had been so long yet felt as though no time had past since her last race. She kept her head low, hidden under one of Landos old caps he had given her as she found Max and stood next to him. The pair watching the chaos of the grid unfold in silence. Y/n couldn't help but have her eyes drawn to where Lando was standing, he looked good. Max cleared his throat and she diverted her gaze quickly.

Then, as if he could sense her presence, Lando turned around eyes darting until they locked onto her figure. His eyes soften, full of many emotions and it seemed as though all the tension that was built up in him disappeared.

"Lando." Someone calls and then the moment ends, as quickly as it had started. As he made his way over to his car, Y/n forced her gaze away, a feeling of longing and heartache in her chest.

Y/ns heart swells with pride as she watches Lando claim victory. A bright smile appears on her face and she claps her hands together, before stopping herself. As the team rushes to greet Lando, she watches him bask in the glory of his win, a grin stretching across his face as he’s showered in cheers and applause.

When he steps off the podium, champagne soaked and still radiant with exhilaration, their eyes met across the crowd once again. This time, theres an unspoken acknowledgment, a silent thank you really, for being there, even if it is in the background.

As she turned to leave, Y/ns head was reeling, feeling both pride and bittersweetness. Today wasn't just a victory for him, but a quiet triumph for Y/n too.

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

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxfretwell and 7, 942, 293 others

yourusername gala tonight

francisca.cgomes HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT

-> yourusernameI LOVE YOU

maxfretwell you look like shit

-> yourusername i hate you so much

alexandrasaintmleux YOUR GORGEOUS MY LOV

-> yourusername AHHHHHHHHHHH

landonorris you look great

user1 LANDO COMMENTED OMFGGG

user2 MOOD: FREAKING OUT

user3 EATING UP ALL THE CRUMBS

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

The room glittered under the chandelier, polite chatter filling the room. Y/n smoothed down the fabric of her gown, trying to focus on anything but the pair of familiar blue eyes watching her from across the room. Lando looked devastatingly handsome in his tailored black tuxedo, his tie slightly loosened as if he’d already grown restless.

She spent the night avoiding him, moving between conversations and photos, but she could still feel his gaze heavy on her. Y/n found herself lost in thought as she took a sip from her champagne.

“May I have this dance?” His voice startled her, smooth and familiar as he appeared at her side.

Y/n hesitated, her champagne flute trembling slightly in her hand. “Lando…”

“Please, Y/n,” he whispered, his tone softer now, begging almost. “Just one dance.”

Against her better judgment, she nodded. He led her to the dance floor, his hand warm and firm against the small of her back. The music was slow, Y/n smiled at the familiar sound of Taylor Swift and found herself relaxing a little bit.

“Why are you here?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the music.

“Because you are,” Lando replied, his eyes locked on hers. “And because I can’t keep pretending I don’t care anymore.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, all the noise and chaos of the gala faded away. They were just Y/n and Lando, two people who had shared too much history to be strangers but too much heartbreak to find their footing again.

“I—” she started, but her words were lost as Lando’s hand tightened slightly on her waist, pulling her closer.

“You can’t tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmured, his forehead nearly brushing hers.

Y/n swallowed hard. She felt it, of course she did, the way her heart raced, the way his touch ignited every nerve in her body. But it was complicated. It was always complicated.

As the song swelled, his lips hovered dangerously close to hers. She tilted her head slightly, her body betraying her better judgment, and for one reckless, fleeting moment, she thought she might give in.

“Y/n! Lando!” A sharp voice cut through the haze, and they jerked apart as Pierre's familiar face appeared.

Y/n stepped back abruptly, the spell broken. “I...I can’t do this,” she stammered, her voice trembling as she turned on her heel and walked away.

Lando stood frozen on the dance floor, watching her retreat into the crowd, his heart sinking as he realized she wasn’t ready to let him in. Not yet.

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

yourusername has posted

liked by landonorris, maxfretwell and 1, 384, 953 others

yourusername paris ✅ where to next?

alexandrasaintmleux monaco?

-> yourusername i think we can figure something out

maxfretwell come home?

-> yourusername aww you miss me???

-> maxfretwell no i miss your cooking

landonorris was it fun??

-> user1 HELP NORIZZ STRIKES AGAIN

-> user2 hes so awkward HELP

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

The buzz of her phone jolted Y/n from her daze. She reached for it, her fingers trembling ever so lightly when she saw the name flashing on the screen.

Lando Norris.

She hesitated. It had been months since the gala in Miami, and wounds from the past were still fresh. Yet, she was compelled to swipe and answer, whether it was out of curiosity or something deeper.

“Hello?”

“Y/n.” His voice was softer than she expected, tinged with something she couldn’t quite place. “Hey.”

“Lando,” she said cautiously. “What’s going on?”

There was a beat of silence before he exhaled sharply. “I...uh, I had a rough race today,” he admitted, his vulnerability catching her off guard. “And I just… I don’t know. I thought of you.”

Her heart twisted at his honesty, but she forced herself to keep her tone steady. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, though the strain in his voice betrayed him. “It’s just… you always knew how to make things feel less heavy, you know? I miss that.”

Y/n swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The conversation teetered on dangerous ground, pulling at memories she wasn’t ready to confront.

“Look,” he continued, breaking the silence. “I know things between us are… complicated. But the British Grand Prix is next weekend, and it’s a big deal for me. I’d really like it if you came.”

Her breath hitched. “Lando…”

“No pressure,” he added quickly, sensing her hesitation. “I just thought… maybe it could be a step. A chance to figure things out. Or even just to see each other without… everything else in the way.”

Y/n closed her eyes, the weight of his words settling in her chest. She wanted to say no, to protect herself from the whirlwind he always seemed to bring into her life. But a part of her - a small, stubborn part - wanted to see him again, to believe that maybe this time could be different.

“Okay,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come.”

The relief in his voice was palpable. “Thank you, Y/n. It means a lot. Really.”

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

yourusername has posted

liked by landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux and 2, 394, 954 others

yourusername a quick pit stop in silverstone

francisca.cgomes WIFEY IN THE PADDOCK

-> yourusername you know it

alexandrasaintmleux papaya has always been your colour

-> yourusername 🧡🧡

landonorris it was nice to see you today y/n.

-> yourusername great to see you too Lando!!!

-> charlesleclerc WHATTTTT

-> user1 bros as flabbergasted as the rest of us

user2 maybe he's not lando norizz afterall

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

Once again, Y/n found herself walking through the paddock, unconsciously smiling at the familiarity of it all.

She found him leaning against the McLaren hospitality building, his race suit tied around his waist, his hair disheveled from the helmet. He looked like the Lando she used to know—soft, nervous, and so heartbreakingly familiar.

“Hey,” he said, straightening when he saw her.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice careful, guarded.

“Can we talk?” he asked, motioning toward a quieter area behind the building. She hesitated, but nodded, following him.

They stopped near a secluded spot overlooking the track, the distant roar of engines filling the silence between them. Lando turned to her, his eyes searching hers for some semblance of forgiveness.

“I’ve been an idiot,” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “For years, I’ve been an idiot. I didn’t know what I had with you until I lost it.”

Y/n crossed her arms, trying to keep her composure. “Lando…”

“No, let me finish,” he interrupted, his tone desperate. “I was scared. I thought if I kept things as they were, I wouldn’t mess it up. But I messed it up anyway. I pushed you away, and I hurt you. I’m so sorry, Y/n. For everything.”

She looked at him, her walls slowly crumbling as she saw the sincerity in his eyes. “You really hurt me, Lando. You made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Like I wasn’t worth fighting for.”

He stepped closer, his voice trembling. “You were always worth fighting for. I just didn’t realize how much until it was too late. I don’t want it to be too late anymore.”

Y/n felt tears prick at her eyes. She hated how much she still cared, how much she wanted to believe him. “Why now? Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I can’t keep pretending I’m okay without you,” he said simply. “Every race, every win, every moment, I think about you. I want you in my life, Y/n. However you’ll let me.”

Silence stretched between them as she looked away, her emotions warring within her. Finally, she let out a shaky breath. “Lando… I don’t know if it’s that easy. There’s so much history between us, so much pain.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But maybe we can start over. Take things slow. Just… let me prove to you that I’m serious this time.”

Y/n hesitated, then nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay. But I need time.”

Lando’s face lit up with a cautious, hopeful smile. “Take all the time you need. I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

--------

yourusername has posted

liked by landonorris, francisca.c.gomes and 4, 583, 920 others

yourusername some flics from summer

tagged: francisca.c.gomes

francisca.cgomes OMG STUNNER

-> yourusername SAYSS YOUUUUU

alexandrasaintmleux gorgg gorgg gorggg

-> yourusername try looking in a mirror

yourbsf my fav girll

-> yourusername love love love youuuuu

user1 THE SOFT LAUNCH

user2 no lando comment i fear we're doomed

user3 landoy/n truthers how are we feeling

-> user4 NOT GREAT.....

---------

Y/n wasn't sure how it had really begun, but after Silverstone her and Lando found themselves spending more and more time together, their friendship quickly turning to more.

One Saturday afternoon they found themselves walking down to the beach. Once they reached the destination, the pair collapsed, out of breath from running around like total idiots.

Lando nudged her with his shoulder. “Remember when we used to do this when we were younger? You were always faster than me, but I swear I was the better strategist.”

Y/n laughed softly, leaning into him. “You’re right, you did always find a way to cheat your way to victory.”

Lando pretended to look offended. “Cheat? I was simply using my superior intellect to my advantage.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Sure, Lan. Keep telling yourself that.”

One evening, they decided to take a road trip up the coast. They didn't make any exact plans, just wanted to drive. The windows were down, the cool air rushing in as their music played through the car speakers. The pair decided to stop to watch the sunset, Lando using his camera to take photos of the sunset. Y/n stood next to him, watching the colours change across the sky.

"The view is amazing." Y/n said, smiling softly as she watched the sun disappear further and further into the water.

"It really is." Lando murmured, taking in the way Y/ns face was illuminated by the sunset, making her look angelic. Y/n turned to see him already staring and couldn't help but feel herself blush under hist intense gaze.

“Thank you for this,” Y/n said softly, her voice carrying the weight of all the unspoken words. “For showing up when I needed you most.”

Lando lowered the camera, his hand gently brushing against hers. “I’m not going anywhere this time, Y/n. I’m here for as long as you’ll let me be.”

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

yourusername has posted

liked by francisca.cgomes, maxfretwell and 2, 495, 593 others

yourusername back in Spa

tagged: francisca.cgomes

francisca.cgomes its honestly unfair for you to be that gorgeous

-> yourusername STAWP IT

maxfretwell nothing just you staking me

-> yourusername stalking is WILD

user1 no lando like or anything :(

user2 in the trenches right now

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

Y/n had always loved Spa, it was the first grand prix she ever attended, but today, something felt off. Whatever it was, it was making her anxious, causing her to pull back from Lando more than she would have liked.

It started when Lando and her arrived at the track. Lando was excited, practically bouncing with energy and had started rambling excitedly. Y/n however was feeling closed off, distant, something which Lando noticed immediately. He knew how to read Y/n, so he could tell when she wasn't herself. When they walked together toward the paddock, the silence between them grew heavier with every step.

"Y/n, what’s going on?" Lando asked, his voice laced with concern as they stopped by the track’s edge. She hesitated for a moment, looking out at the cars zooming by. Her mind was racing, filled with doubts she didn’t know how to articulate.

“I just… I don’t know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “This, us, it feels like it’s moving too fast. I’m not sure I can keep up with it anymore.”

Lando’s brows furrowed, and his heart sank. “What do you mean? I thought we were-”

“I don’t know what I thought,” she interrupted, turning away slightly. “It feels like we’re stuck in the same cycle, and every time I think we’ve moved forward, we just fall back into the same old pattern. It’s like… like I’m always waiting for the next mistake.” She rubbed her eyes, feeling the weight of her frustration.

Lando opened his mouth to respond, but Y/n shook her head, cutting him off. "I don’t want to fight, Lando, but I just need some space to figure things out."

His chest tightened as he watched her, her words cutting deeper than he expected. He couldn't say he was completely surprised though, the uncertainty which had haunted them before now seemed to pull them apart all over again.

“Y/n… Please. Don’t shut me out.” His voice was soft, almost pleading, but Y/n could hear the vulnerability in it.

She looked at him, a conflicted expression on her face. She wanted to reach out, wanted to say that everything would be okay, but the doubt swirling inside her made it hard. "I just need some time, Lando," she said quietly. "I need to think."

With that, she turned away, walking towards the paddock, leaving Lando standing there, his heart heavy. He didn’t know what to do or how to fix it. This time, it felt like they were both on the edge of something, and if they didn’t take a step back, they might both fall.

The rest of the weekend was a blur. Y/n kept her distance from Lando, spending most of the time with Alex and Kika and staying away from the constant tension in the air. The moment that should have been about racing and the thrill of competition was now overshadowed by the uncertainty hanging between them.

For Lando, the race itself was a blur. His thoughts kept drifting to Y/n, wondering if he had pushed too hard, said the wrong thing. He knew he had to respect her space, but the silence between them hurt more than he expected.

By the time the race weekend ended, both of them were left feeling raw and uncertain. Y/n was overwhelmed, caught between her fear of falling into the same patterns and her desire to be with him. And Lando? He was left to wonder if it was too late, if the distance between them now was one they couldn’t bridge.

It wasn’t the end, but it sure felt like one, one that left both of them wondering where they went wrong.

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

yourusername has posted

liked by lilymhe, maxfretwell and 2, 394, 056 others

yourusername its been a good day :)

lilymhe care to explain further??

-> yourusername call and ill tell you gorg girl

-> user1 what i'd give to know what they talk about

maxfretwell nah you're doing too much

-> yourusername can you stop stalking my feed for once

francisca.cgomes motherrrrr

-> yourusername STOPPPP

-> user2 and father?????

user3 i love how none of them have even acknowledged the fact that their is a man there

user4 call me crazy but i feel like that might be lando??

-> user5 i fear youre on your own with that one

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

It was late August, and Y/n found her self on vacation in Italy, trying to catch her breath after the whirlwind of the past couple of months. The tension with Lando at Spa still lingered in her mind, making her question everything. She wanted to move forward, but fear kept holding her back. She didn’t know if Lando could truly understand what she needed, or if she could even put it into words.

As Y/n was bed rotting in her hotel, her phone dinged with a message from Lily.

Hey, I need a favor! Can you meet me at the marina? 3 PM sharp. Promise it’ll be worth it.

Y/n hesitated, glancing at the time. She didn’t have much planned for the day and figured a distraction might be good for her. "Alright, why not?" she muttered, grabbing her bag and heading out.

When she arrived, Lily was nowhere to be found. Instead, she was greeted by a deckhand who handed her a note with Lando’s unmistakable scrawl.

Come aboard, love. Let me show you something.

Y/n sighed, suspicion and curiosity warring in her chest. She debated turning around but, against her better judgment, stepped onto the yacht.

The moment she was aboard, the crew set the yacht into motion, gliding smoothly out into the glittering blue waters of the Mediterranean. Y/n frowned, looking around for any sign of Lando.

“Seriously, Lando?” she muttered under her breath.

It wasn’t until the yacht had anchored near a quiet, secluded cove that he appeared, stepping onto the deck with an almost sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts.

“Lando…” she began, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“Before you say anything, just… let me talk.” He gestured for her to sit, and she reluctantly did, watching as he fidgeted nervously before taking a seat across from her.

“Y/n, I know I’ve messed up. I know I’ve hurt you, more than once. But I also know I don’t want to lose you again. Not now, not ever.” His voice was steady, but she could see the raw emotion in his eyes.

“Lando, it’s not that simple,” she replied, her voice quieter than she expected.

“I know it’s not,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “That’s why I wanted to do this. To show you that I’m serious. That I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this work.”

She glanced around, taking in the serene beauty of the cove, the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull of the yacht, the soft music playing in the background. It was a scene straight out of a dream, but it was also so Lando - grand, romantic, and slightly over the top.

“Lily was in on this, wasn’t she?” Y/n asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Guilty,” he admitted with a small laugh. “I needed backup to make sure you actually showed up.”

Y/n smiled at this, stifling a laugh.

“Look, Y/n, I know I can’t erase the past. But I want to build a future with you - a real one. No games, no misunderstandings, no half measures. Just us, figuring it out together.”

The sincerity in his voice made her chest tighten. She wanted to believe him, to trust that this time would be different.

“I don’t know, Lando,” she said after a long pause. “What if we mess it up again?”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he said without hesitation. “Together. I’m not going anywhere this time. I promise.”

Y/n stared at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but all she saw was determination.

“I can’t promise I won’t get scared,” she admitted.

“Then I’ll remind you why we’re worth it,” he said with a soft smile, reaching out to take her hand.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/n felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could finally get it right. She squeezed his hand, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Alright, Norris. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

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

yourusername has posted

liked by landonorris, maxfretwell and 5, 493, 596 others

yourusername wasnt exactly how i thought today would go but im not complaining. lando my bestfriend, i have never been more proud of you than today, congrats on your win and the constructors championship my love xx.

tagged: landonorris

lilymhe YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTEEE

-> yourusername STOP STOP STOP

ybsf yeah friends my ass

-> francisca.cgomes RIGHT????

alexandrasaintmleux FINALLY! do you know how hard its been to keep this secret

-> yourusername IM SORRYYYY

maxfretwell MY EYES??? NEVER GOING TO RECOVER

-> yourusername i thought you were supposed to be older than 5

landonorris never would've been possible without you

-> yourusername im always gonna be by yourside lan xx

-> user1 currently sobbing

user2 when i tell you i SCREAMED

user3 HE WAS THE MYSTERY GUY

user4 i was right and you can all suck it #y/nlandotrutherforlife

-> user5 you were right. i owe you an apology.

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

The atmosphere at Yas Marina Circut was electric as Lando crossed the finish line, securing another win and the constructors championship for McLaren. The McLaren garage erupted in cheers at a 1-2 podium, people hugging and cheering.

Y/n stood in the VIP area, her heart pounding with pride and excitement before she made her way out with the rest of team. As he climbed out of the car, arms raised in triumph, she couldn’t help but feel her own emotions bubbling to the surface.

Lando sprinted toward his team, embracing them but he quickly pulled away when he spotted her. He began weaving through the crowd, and before Y/n could fully process what was happening, he was right in front of her.

Without a word, he pulled her into his arms, lifting her off her feet as she laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. And then, with the entire paddock watching, Lando kissed her. It wasn’t just any kiss- it was passionate, raw, and full of everything they’d been through to get to this moment.

The crowd around them erupted in cheers, camera flashes capturing the moment as it played out on the big screens around the circuit. Y/n could hear people losing their minds in the background, but none of it mattered. In that moment, it was just them.

When they finally pulled apart, Lando pressed his forehead to hers, a soft smile spreading across his face. “I told you we’d figure it out together,” he whispered, his voice just loud enough for her to hear over the noise.

Y/n chuckled, wiping a tear from her cheek. “You did, and I’m so proud of you. You deserve this, Lando.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “We deserve this,” he corrected, pulling her close again as the crowd around them roared louder.

That night, as the celebrations continued, Y/n and Lando stole away for a quiet moment on the balcony of his hotel room. The city lights twinkled below, and Lando, still wearing his racing suit, wrapped an arm around her waist.

“This feels like a dream,” Y/n said softly, leaning into him.

“It’s not,” Lando replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s just the beginning.”

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

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liked by landonorris, maxfretwell and 6, 493, 054 others

yourusername i guess this is a full circle moment

tagged: landonorris, flo_norris_showjumping

landonorris 🧡🧡

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

after literal months pt 2 is finally up. sorry it took so long but i felt like i had to do it justice and give you guys a good pt 2 and not a half assed one. but here it is an i hope you enjoyed it. thanks everyone for all of the support i got :)

@f1fantasys @saachiep81 @tini5 @melrosaeparker @styl1shl1v @ilivbullyingjeongin @saachiep81 @chloeannabelle @sleutherclaw

[seelestars]

some bittersweet thoughts abt dating aventurine / sunday after playing 2.1…

firstly, I think I underestimated how hard it would be to get into a relationship with someone like aventurine,, he would need to trust you immensely in order to even attempt dating you

but once you do date him, he’s still very hesitant on being affectionate towards you

he had lost everything, everyone that was dear to him, so the idea of having someone he could lose again scares him

he’s careful not to grow too attached to you, always keeping you at an arms distance despite how much you love and care for him

every morning, he makes sure he wakes up before you so he can leave your side early. it’s not that he doesn’t want to be around you during such vulnerable moments, no, but rather he fears he’ll get too attached to you

he makes sure to tuck you in and press a sweet kiss to your forehead as he smiles to himself sadly before heading out

if you ask him about his reasoning behind leaving so early, he’ll just make excuses and dismiss it as ipc work (there’s a whole angsty idea I have for this related to believing he’s cheating but idk if I should write it)

you try your best to be understanding, staying by his side and comforting him whenever he needs it

in return, he spoils you using his immense wealth

see a necklace you like? no worries, just tell him—tabs always on him after all. want to go out for dinner? of course, the most luxurious restaurant rented out just for the two of you.

it’s his way of making up for his distant nature towards you, he’ll even allow you to hear some stories about his past such as the day he got branded as a slave as he stares at you with a soft gaze and a subtly melancholic smile (he even permits you to call him by his real name, kakavasha!)

with sunday, I believe he’d be a tad bit paranoid when it comes to you

as a neat freak who desperately needs control over anything and everything, he feels like he needs to have some form of control over you as well

you’re very dear and precious to him after all, and he can’t just allow you to slip away from his hands like how robin did

his little bird servants are watching you day and night, making sure you don’t get into any trouble

and at the end of the day, he always asks you regarding what you did the entire day while using his ability to make others tell the truth—he has to make sure you didn’t do anything that would potentially get you into danger, no?

he feels guilty and regretful for resorting to such methods to ensure your complete safety, but he tells himself it’s better to be safe than sorry

if he can, he’ll try to have you by his side as much as possible so he can have you directly under his watch and protect you if necessary

he makes sure to handle you extra delicately and gently, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he helps you wash your hair

he even allows you privileges such as touching his sensitive wings as well as his halo, hoping it helps convey just how special you are to him

to him, you’re safer under his watchful eye and control as the two of you happily spend your days together

if anyone had even dared to imply that they would harm you, sunday would deal with it immediately and make sure you would never see them again

even with all the dirty work he does, you’ll understand, won’t you? everything he does is for you, after all.

[winwintea]

dreamies meeting their kid for the first time + as a parent

GROUP ↬ ot7 dream x reader (ft. their child)

TAGS/WARNINGS ↬ some angst, LOTS OF FLUFF MY TOOTH IS LITERALLY ROTTING, spider-mark agenda is real, the child is sometimes a cockblock, haechan does some weird michael jackson-sherlock holmes roleplay idk it made sense in my head, jaemin going on shopping sprees, chenle never loses, ji... is ji.... (poor baby)

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ everyone say thank you to @https-lvesick for getting me on that baby fever stuff... like i hate children but i love children. iykwim... anyways this is meeting their kid for the first time, but i can't come up with reasons why they were separated so you fill in the blanks. probably angsty reasons i love angst.

Mark Lee

when you come back through that door with a child holding your hand, it’s him you meet first again, and the tears are already glossing his eyes over before you can say anything.

literally has no words when you smile at him gently, saying it’s his.

mark swallows nervously, before making his way to the both of you, holding the two of you in his arms for only god knows how long.

“i.. can’t wait to live my life with you both, my love,” he mumbles into your hair, ears slightly tinged, only causing you to laugh at his adorable antics.

as a father, he isn’t very strict, and he isn’t all that good in child-rearing, either.

but he tries! give him some slack — you have to keep reminding yourself of this when you see your child holding a sword?! 

and of course mark was in his halloween costume. typical.

“baby.. i can explain,” mark says calmly when you first find the two of them

well actually, three; it seems haechan was in on this little practice, though he quickly bolted when he saw you. good strategy.

“엄마, papa said he was iron man! he teached me how to be a superhero!” your child exclaims, flailing the sword around excitedly as your gaze only darkens.

“well, you see, i meant spider-man, but—” his words die down when he sees your unimpressed face practically dripping with murderous intent.

mark slowly kneels down to whisper something you couldn't make out to your child. the little one nods seriously, slowly putting down the weapon.

then, as seconds pass, mark immediately hoists your child up in his arms, running out of the room as both his laughter and your child’s squeals echo throughout the halls.

“mark min-hyung lee, you are so dead!” you scream, running after them.

“3, 2, 1 — I COULD DO THIS ALL DAY!” the two of them scream back, before bursting into laughter. they’re always in sync. It’s exasperating.

but you love it anyways

Huang Renjun

when you meet him at the door, there's a flurry of emotions clear on renjun's face, but his smile says it all.

“is it too much to say i’ve been waiting for you this whole time?”

regrets the fact that he wasn’t able to be a part of his child’s life for the first few years, literally becomes wrapped around your little one’s finger because of it.

so adorable and happy that he’s blessed with your lovely child, always smiling when he thinks of them.

literally makes the other members question whether or not they want a child too.

bonding time is painting of course!

usually ends up with all three of you cramped in the shower, you scrubbing furiously at the sticky paint on their skin.

“i’m sorry for having you do this all the time,” renjun's soft voice makes you forget why you were mad in the first place tbh.

massages your shoulders from behind you, causing your fingers to halt in their journey of rubbing some stubborn blue paint off your child.

“it’ll take more than that if you wanna make it up to me,” you hum, leaning back into his chest and gazing into his eyes.

your lips were just about to meet, when —

“ma, i'm not clean yet!”

damn. cockblocked by your own child.

you groan, renjun laughing as he picks up the pouting child with their arms crossed.

“don’t give 妈妈 too much of a hard time, okay?” he never forgets to take care of you above all.

Lee Jeno

when you walk through that door once more, nervously telling jeno that this child is his, you’re afraid of his reaction.

and when you finally gather the courage to do it? his jaw drops and he can’t stop staring at you nor the child and you have to help him sit and calm down.

“아빠?” your child asks, staring up at the still slightly panicked jeno as you hold your breath.

he stares for a moment, mouth wide, before finally, finally smiling, albeit a little awkward and rough around the edges. “yes, little one?”

very new to this whole parenting thing and can barely do anything without asking you first, so he feels bad quite often for having to lean on you so much.

plus he barely knows how to handle a sobbing child, nor can he entertain the child very well,

but you find that the both of them are quite content in each other’s presence as is. so that's a plus !

you'll usually find them in jeno's room together, while you need jeno to watch your child while you go out for an errand or something.

but when you see jeno, well, he starts to look ethereal as the sun shines through the windows in his room.

then, a gentle smile gracing his face as he stares at his sleeping child.

jeno utters your name, causing you to look up, only to find him tracing circles around your child’s soft skin. “딸,” he rasps out, cracking a bleary eye open and gripping their wrist softly. Then, he smiles, all sorts of soft and lovely and.. unguarded.

“You two.. are the best things that have happened to me.”

Lee Donghyuck

haechan tries swallowing back the lump in his throat when he sees you standing in front of that damned door, though to no avail as a tear slips.

starts full-on crying when you say that you’re back for good and that the child is his. it's okay, let it out hyuck. <3

“ah, crying like that on our first meeting… don’t you think your fath — i’m a bit embarrassing?” he asks, sniffling as he tries to muster a smile through his tears.

your child giggles, eyes crinkling while grinning. “no! mommy told me a whooooole lot about you, daddy!”

you have to intervene at this point to stop him from sobbing again.

haechan wastes no time in making up for what he’s missed, so he's definitely going to spoil this child every second that he can.

you’d always find the two of them either going out shopping or messing about at home

also probably just chilling in the comforts of his room, doing god knows what.

one day you were curious, so you peeked through a tiny crack of the open door.

genuinely concerned at what you saw.

was that a... trenchcoat on your child? the two of them were engaged in conversation as haechan started nodding with a serious look on his face.

“so, mj, do you think waffles make mummy happier?” your child asks, holding his magnifying glass up like a mic in front of haechan's face.

mj???

haechan strokes his chin for a moment, before answering, “seeing her reaction when we gave her the ones we bought yesterday, i dee-hee duce they do, sherlock!”

sherlock...?

“good deduck – deduction, mj! i thought so too.”

you can't help but snort as haechan grabs his crotch and poses while high fiving your child.

as stupid as this was, your heart literally melts. the two are far too cute for you, you having to calm yourself before walking in with the widest smile on your face. dorks. 

Na Jaemin

“i was hoping you’d be back, my dear.” his perfunctory smile is so smug that sometimes you just want to punch him in the face. “with a lovely little thing in hand.”

“Your lovely little thing,” you say gently, trying to ignore your anger. you were here to show your child to jaemin. jaemin looks at the two of you with surprise, the curves of his mouth inching upwards.

hey jaemin wasn't trying to be possessive... cause that's weird. but the way you emphasized the word 'your' made his breath hitch. we can unpack that later though.

for now, na jaemin is a certified sugar daddy

jaemin is wrapped around the little one’s finger, his rotten spoiling being the effect of not being in your child’s life for a good while, and, of course, his indispensable regret for having you come back to him.

you asked jeno the whereabouts of your lover and your child, only for him to give you the look, responding that they were out yet again, and are probably not coming back without a few shopping bags in hand.

okay something needed to be done about this. so you decided to conduct a harmless experiment.

placing a few coins on one side of his desk, a toy in the middle, and a beloved fruit on the side. after explaining to him that it’s to see what your child’s fate would be — picking between fortune, fun, and, well, snacks, you think — he simply leans back, interest shining in those eyes of his.

but your child pushes all these away in a second, opting to hug the wide-eyed man on the soft armchair behind the desk.

“and what.. does this mean, ma chérie?” fuck him and the words he's picked up from traveling abroad. but jaemin looked honestly confused as his hands slowly wrap around your child’s.

you smile softly, “isn’t it obvious, silly? the little rascal loves you more than anything.”

he laughs. he doesn't get it. preparing for yet another shopping spree. why do you even try at this point?

Zhong Chenle

oh my god. when he first sees you after years with a child, his child, grasping your hand, chenle has to literally take a quick second to calm down cause he’s so angry.

no, not at you, of course, he would never. but at himself.

he wasn’t there for his child, for you, and god, even if he were, would he have been a good father?

“Y/ — 甜心,” he starts, running his fingers through his already messy bed-head hair and staring at you with eyes that practically scream "please hug me, i'm insecure"

“how am i supposed to take care of a child when i couldn’t even take care of you?”

but don't worry, after many reassuring words and warm hugs, chenle's finally okay and back to his normal self, holding your child up and giggling.

maybe this was a wrong idea cause now you have to take care of a manchild and a child.

is surprisingly very gentle with your child because he honestly doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. (just because he has a nephew does not mean he knows how to parent a child.)

also very grounded and doesn’t fall for cute little tricks as much, so out of the dreamies, he’d end up becoming one of the better fathers.

also cause he never loses. and no way is he gonna lose an argument with a child.

“不行。” “爸爸, pleaaase?” “no. 不可以。”

chenle seemed to be holding a chocolate bar high above his head, steely gaze fixed on your young child trying to ignore their pleading puppy dog eyes.

“妈妈说 no chocolate, right?” your heart warms when you realize he remembered you scolding your child yesterday, though you can’t help but to feel a little bad.

“chenle,” you say, both their heads turning towards you. “how about you give the little baby some chocolate and we can eat the eggs i just made in the kitchen?”

the way both their eyes shine almost identically is so fucking adorable.

Park Jisung

??!?>!?!>?>!?@#?>(*#(@*(*#!?!@?

“that’s… mine??” “what?” “… it?” “it?” “the.. child?”

actually malfunctions.

jisung is very flustered, for lack of better terms. he was always considered the baby maknae of dream, but his own child? lord, help him.

you... him.... the baby... it or they.. came out of you??? what.

gets awfully flushed whenever he’s carrying his child around the building. everyone tries to stop and coo at the baby, + chenle and haechan have decided to make his life a living hell cracking up jokes whenever they can.

jisung is surprisingly good at getting your chaotic child to sleep with his bedtime stories, which are usually all his big yap sessions.

“and did daddy get that bruise on his forehead because he slipped while chasing uncle chenle and uncle haechan?” you question the two of them, wondering what they had been talking about earlier.

your child nods, bright eyes sparkling and grinning, “아빠 also said, ‘get back here, you devilish imbeciles!’”

oh fuck.

your accusatory gaze turns towards jisung, who averts his eyes, holding an ice pack to his bruising forehead, trying to shield himself from possibly getting more bruises.

“i-in my defense, they were—”

“one more time, park jisung, and i’m changing their legal godfathers to the two imbeciles you love and appreciate so so much.”

his eyes widen in shock, “you wouldn’t.”

“try me.”

now jisung is a grumbling mess when the two idiots are around his child, but the lack of chasing them around can be counted as an upgrade, i guess.

TAGLIST ↬  @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @ldh0000 @galacticnct @peterm4rker

[wild-jackalope]

Don’t speak! I know just what you’re saying, so please stop explaining, don’t tell me ‘cause it hurts!

pairing :: Best friend!Yuji x reader, older brother!Choso x reader (secondary)

warning :: modern au, pining, one-sided love, angst, love triangle, friends to lovers, smut, some dubcon (reader is intoxicated), fem receiving oral, unprotected p in v sex, low-key toxic at times hehe.

note :: everyone thank Gwen Stefani’s song for inspiring this fic 🙏 strap in cos this is long and angsty.

“And who’re you showing off those legs to?” Maki asked, utter judgement filling her gaze as she swept over the outfit you’d chosen.

“You don’t like?” You asked, suddenly embarrassed of the miniskirt you’d decided to try on.

“You look fine, Maki is just judgmental.” Nobara waved her off, offering a supportive thumbs up to you.

“You still didn’t answer me.” Maki continued.

“No one, this is for me.” You huffed, sure of your answer. Despite it not being the entire the truth.

“Choso, Itadori’s older brother.”

“Nobara!” You gaped.

“Seriously?” Maki’s face scrunched, eyeing you with double the previous amount of judgement. “Hasn’t he known you since you were little?”

“Well, yes —but I’m not little anymore. I’m grown.” You gazed at yourself in the change room mirror. “I want him to see that.” From the reflection, you could see Maki give Nobara a sidelong look, one that the short haired girl avoided.

Had you said something foolish? Blood rushed to your cheeks and you slipped back into the change room, closing the curtain in a quick swish. You unzipped the skirt, letting it fall to your feet and pile at the floor.

You were grown. You could see it in your body, in the plumpness around your thighs and in the breasts that were cupped by a bra. You weren’t the little girl clinging to Choso’s leg crying because of a scraped knee anymore. You were older now, you had matured in so many ways and you wanted him to see that. You placed on your clothes and scooped up the miniskirt.

If asked, Nobara would describe your feelings for Choso as a little crush, some fleeting fancy that had come with knowing him for so long. She wouldn’t be entirely wrong, but fleeting was far from correct. Each time his calm, tired eyes softened at the sight of you, your stomach flittered with butterflies. Whenever he greeted you with a tight hug, you went as soft as a melting marshmallow in his embrace and when he complimented you, telling you he was so proud of you everything crumbled, every judgment you had of yourself dissipated into utter nothingness. The feelings you had for him were seeded since you were a toddler and had since grown into a loyal love.

So, you paid for the miniskirt, uncaring of the price.

The next stop in your shopping trip was the food court, the three of you girls needing a rest and refill after depleting your collective energies shopping and discussing whatever relevant drama Nobara spilled.

“Do you need a ride home?” Nobara asked, taking a break from sipping up her boba.

“Choso’s picking me up.” You murmured, a subtle excitement tugging up the corner of your lips.

“Why?” Her brow lifted slyly and she smiled at you.

“My family is away for a little bit, so I’m staying at the Itadori’s for a week until they get back.” It wasn’t uncommon, you’d often been tossed to your next door neighbours like an orphan during childhood. However now, it was a choice from you. You didn’t need to stay at their’s. You were an adult, you could look after yourself. “Yuji wanted me to stay over.” You added. The reason why you said yes being able to spend a whole week with Choso conveniently kept from your mouth.

“What I don’t understand is why you aren’t fawning over him.” Maki stated, stabbing her glossy chicken with her fork, then biting it.

Nobara’s eyes slid over to Maki, wide at her statement. She didn’t speak though, silently sipping at her boba tea.

“Yuji?” You blinked.

“He’s pretty much the same as Choso, isn’t he?” Maki continued, chewing her meal.

You laughed. “Yuji isn’t anything like Cho, they’re completely different.” You shook your head. “Besides, I’ve grown up with Yuji, he’s like my brother.”

Nobara seemed to cringe at the notion, but still she remained silent. Maki too, continued to eat without making another comment towards the two brothers.

It wasn’t until they said their goodbyes to you, that Yuji was brought up again.

You’d left your hug with Nobara, then reached for Maki. As usual, she wrapped her arms around you with her unusual strength that could’ve left you bruised if the embrace wasn’t so brief.

“Say hello to Itadori for us.” She muttered. Now, if it weren’t for the simple action of Nobara elbowing Maki’s side, you would have responded with a chipper ‘sure!’ But as the caramel haired girl eyed Maki with a stiff annoyance, swiftly aiming for her side you suddenly felt left out, like the third wheel of some information they both knew and had not informed you of. Maki simply rolled her eyes at Nobara, uncaring.

“Uhm, okay, sure.” Your smile weakened and you waved at the two.

Behind you, Choso parked the Itadori family car in the pickup section. A car you could recognise anywhere, especially considering it had been fairly scratched up after Yuji’s father had lended it to his brother, Sukuna, who returned the car after three days of God knows what.

You slipped inside, letting the odd interaction with your friends leave you as you left them. You were far too excited to see Choso to let it linger anyway.

As you turned to see the dark haired man, he was already leaning over to bring you into a hug. His masculine scent filled your lungs like cigarette smoke and twice as addictive as nicotine, you wanted more the second he pulled away.

However, as Choso’s let go of you, he reached for your seatbelt, pulling it over you and for a millisecond, his brown eyes lifted from where the seatbelt strapped your body to your own eyes. His face so close, you could practically taste his lips. The gesture utterly melted your insides to hot lava.

“How was shopping?” He asked, returning to the wheel and starting the car.

“So good.” You sighed, still high off his close proximity. Conveniently, the branded shopping bag hiding your new miniskirt sat on your lap. “I got some nice things for myself.” You added.

“Do you need any money?” He asked, eyes floating to you for a moment, before returning to the road. A delightful shiver slipped up your spine at his glance, and you couldn’t help the grin that reached you.

“No, Cho, you know I’ve got my own money to pay for things.” You were grown, after all.

He shrugged, cracking a kind smile. “Alright, I get it. Don’t be afraid to ask, though.”

God, he was so perfect. You wanted nothing more than for him stop the car so you could smother him with hugs and kisses. “You spoil me too much, Cho. What if I asked you for a hundred?”

He shrugged, the simple movement very telling that he would give it to you, without a second thought. “You know I can’t say no to you.”

So so perfect. Maybe if he did stop the car so you could smother him, you’d ride him too, just to make him feel as spoiled as you did. You let the dirty thought linger, probably longer than you should’ve.

“We’re excited to have you over for the week, Yuji actually cleaned his room for you.” He huffed, amused, at the thought.

“Did he?” Why couldn’t you share a bed with him? You were so tired of waking up in the middle of the night halfway off the bed with Yuji’s sprawled limbs all over you— even worse, waking up to Yuji hugging you (borderline snuffing you) with all his weight.

“Mhm, he’s always so excited to see you.” A knowing smile presented itself on Choso’s lips, and you suddenly felt left out of some knowledge again. It left a bad taste in your mouth for the rest of the car ride.

Once home, Choso opened the front door for you and you were met with an unusually empty, quiet home.

“Yuji’s probably in his room, you should say hi to him.” Choso instructed, moving to the nearby kitchen and dropping the car keys on the table.

As familiarly as your own home, you strolled through the corridor. “Yuuuji.” You sung, pushing into his room.

As the door creaked open, you were met with Yuji midway through putting his shirt on. He paused just before it looped over his head, giving you a view of his toned back. Notably, his pants were spotted with a superhero logo and the shirt he had finally let fall over his body was large and baggy.

“Are you seriously getting into your pyjamas already?” You asked, full of judgement.

“It’s five pm!” Yuji retorted. “Also knock, you could’ve seen my dick.”

“Gross, and I could say the same for you.” There had been countless times Yuji had walked in on you changing, he could likely piece together what your naked body looked like with all the occasions he’s seen various clothes off you. The idea barely bothered you. You trusted Yuji after all. Trusted that when he saw you naked, he just saw you, not your body.

Technically, it wasn’t anything he’s not seen before. During the early days of your childhood the two of you would run around butt naked causing all sorts of havoc, chasing one another with water guns during hot summer afternoons or avoiding bath time together annoyingly late. Puberty might’ve changed your body, but it hadn’t changed your thoughts towards Yuji.

However, you wouldn’t be quick to take your clothes off in front of him now. “I’ll get changed too.” You uttered, opening his bedroom door wider.

He groaned, leaving with a heavy walk. “This is my bedroom, y’know.”

“Not this week.” You grinned, shutting the door before he could come up with a snarky retort.

To say Yuji was just a brother to you, or your friend wouldn’t quite do him justice. Best friend didn’t really fit him either. He was all of it, altogether. The guy who’d answer your one AM phone calls when you couldn’t sleep, the guy who knew exactly how to massage the stress out of your shoulders, the guy to hold you when you cried over spilt milk— he was your guy. Your man.

You weren’t completely ignorant to the idea of dating Yuji, so many people had told you you’d make the perfect couple over the years, it was only natural that you’d consider the possibility. The beautiful moments you shared with him over the years seemed to become muddied in your mind whenever you thought of him romantically. Your stomach would flip uncomfortably at the idea of kissing him. The times you held hands innocently darkened as you considered what if we did that as boyfriend and girlfriend? So you placed the thoughts inside a jar, sealed it shut and threw it into the basement of your brain.

After pulling your pyjamas out from your stay over backpack and put them on, you called to Yuji from inside his room. “You can come back in.”

He did so, entering back into his room and flopping onto his bed. You joined him on his bed, letting yourself freely fall on top of him.

“What’s for dinner?” You asked.

He had no reaction, just the small breath that escaped him at the comfortable weight of you. “Choso ordered some pizza.”

“Movie tonight?” You continued, too lazy to formulate a proper question. Yuji would know what you meant, anyway, he always did.

“Are you finally gonna watch Human Earth Worm three with me?” He asked, head lifting to watch your face contort in disgust.

“Fuck that.” He laughed, shifting you on his stomach at his chuckle.

“Please? It’s seriously good, I’m telling you.” He whined, clear grin still on his face.

“I don’t care man, can’t we watch something nice?” You considered Choso, he’d be there right next to you on the couch, watching. “Something romantic?”

“That’s the thing! It is a romance, if you look closely it’s about the love between the monster and the protagonist.”

On second thought, maybe a horror would give you the chance to cuddle up next to Choso (as corny as it was). “Fine, we can watch it. Just stop yapping about it like such a fanboy.” You smacked a hand over his mouth, muffling the laugh that left him.

Just as quickly as you shut him up, you pulled your hand back as his slimy warm tongue swished against your palm.

“Gross Yuji!” You wiped the saliva on his shirt, hitting his shoulder. You raise your hand again in preparation to give Yuji’s chest another clean whack! However your plans are swiftly thwarted when Yuji grabbed your wrist, rolling you over with his body weight until he was above you.

You yelped, laughing as he smothered your body into the now messy sheets. He had you pinned face forward against the bed, legs kept down by his knees and your arms held back by the strength you’d grown to hate due to it giving Yuji a complete monopoly over your body in wrestling. You squirmed roughly, tugging at his grip. The attempt at freedom worsened your situation, as Yuji just laid flat on your back.

“Get off!” You laughed, choking on the oxygen that Yuji’s weight wheezed from your lungs. Harder now, you squirmed; flailing your arms, kicking your legs, rocking your hips.

“Don’t move like that—” Not a joke, you could hear it in his voice. It was a quick plea, that was followed by a harsh suck in of air through his teeth.

And for a split second, that jar you’d thrown into the dark corners of your mind loosened and you wondered what would it be like to have sex with your best friend? He’d be the type of guy who’d like to take you from behind, surely. Before the lid could completely pop off, Choso’s voice echoed from down the hall, an announcement that the pizza had arrived.

In a flash, the pink haired boy gave you one last shove into the bed, pushing himself off in a quick dash to the front door. You scoffed loudly, immediately attempting to catch up to him in a scrambled hurry, abruptly sliding into a wall at your departing balance.

Pizza and a movie was a usual treat in the Itadori home whenever you came to visit, it was probably why Yuji was so keen on having you over when he found out your parents wouldn’t be home (that, and he really hated the idea of leaving you alone in an empty home for an entire week).

With the hot food served, the three of you planted yourselves on the couch, Yuji eagerly recapping the last two movies in the Earthworm franchise before pressing play on the third instalment.

Having only worked up enough courage by the time the movie had reached its halfway mark to enact you nefarious plan to cuddle with Choso, you’d shuffled on the couch, coming close enough to have your thighs connecting.

Delicately, as if you touched him without the grace of a fairy he might not notice you and pull away, you laid your head on Choso’s shoulder. You must’ve succeeded in your sneaky efforts, because Choso didn’t blink, nor tense, instead he lifted an arm and casually wrapped it around you.

Beside you, sour eyes narrowed at the sight.

He knew, oh how he knew. Yuji was slapped in the face with your pining over his brother since he was a toddler. Even at such a young age, he could tell there was something in your eyes— a glimmer of pure affection— when you looked at Choso that simply wasn’t there when you looked at him. He initially hoped thought you would grow out of the crush, but he just watched it grow. He watched you grow into a gorgeous person, watched himself fall further and further in love with you and watched you watch Choso. Not him.

The too-familiar feeling of covetousness bubbled in Yuji’s stomach, bringing forward the storm that was his feelings for you and tormenting him. I’m back Yuji! Gleefully yelled his jealousy. I’m back and oh, I dunno, this time I might just make you tear your brother apart! Why not? Gotta get that girl sometime, you know, can’t keep fucking your hand thinking of her forever!

He could practically hear your heart dance for his brother even over the screaming gore on screen.

He was only tortured by the sight for another half an hour, completely minuscule compared to the years worth of moments like these. Like a blessing, Choso finally lifted himself from the couch to clean up everyone’s plates.

“What’d you do today?” Yuji asked, quick to distract you from the disappointment of Choso leaving.

“I went shopping with Nobara and Maki, they say hi by the way.” You utter, eyes following Choso to the kitchen.

“Did you give her some money?” Yuji asked, raising his voice to reach the man in the kitchen.

“Guys please, I don’t need money I’ve got my own.” You assured. Were they really so generous, or did they just think you were dirt poor?

“That’s what she said to me when I tried.” Choso shrugged, offering a smile to you. “It made me feel like a proud older brother.”

A thick pause filled the room before you truely processed what Choso had said. “For me?” You questioned, jaw falling somewhat slack.

“Mhm, like my little sister is finally able to take care of herself.” He added, rubbing pure salt into your icy wound.

“Oh.” Was all that managed to fall from your lips.

Yuji eyed you carefully, mouth suddenly sewn shut. His stomach filled with a heat that was not entirely unpleasant.

At first, a queazy glow flushed your cheeks, then the feeling of your ka-thunking! heart falling into your ass hit next. Beside you, Yuji watching your transformation into a heartbroken thing right before his carefully observant eyes.

Had you really been so delusional? That wasn’t it. That didn’t fit right. After everything, all the moments shared. After cuddling with him while watching a horror movie, he couldn’t have just seen you as a pathetic little sibling. Had you truely hyped yourself up to be this mature, romanticised woman and Choso only saw you as the little girl that clung to his knee, crying?

Yuji could practically see the thoughts flash over your eyes as you sat in a tranced— stunned silence. His lips parted to save you from being buried too deep within yourself but you beat him to it.

“I’m going to go for a walk.” You uttered, zombielike.

You’d left the house before either boys could offer to go with you, or utter a quick concern as to why you were craving a walk so late in the evening.

Nostalgia. It spilled like water, filling each crevice of your mind. You couldn’t help it, you had already begun reliving each memory with Choso, overthinking, overanalysing.

'Cho look! I drew something' you'd waddle over to him, holding a crinkled piece of paper scribbled with bright neons.

'Oh wow, is this for me?' He asked, a praising hand resting on your head and sliding down your hair.

'Yup!' You beamed. He'd take the paper you offered and held it with such kind care, never folding it and keeping it near his chest. Even now, you could recall the way he always held your childish offerings with such care.

Despite growing up beside Choso, you weren't his little sister. You weren't even apart of his family. Not really.

'Fight me Yuji!' You'd rile up the peach haired boy like he was a dog too much. Pinching and poking him until he'd finally pounce on you, play fighting until someone burst into tears (you, you were always the first to tap out with teary eyes). 'Ow Yuji! That hurt!'

And he'd be there, a hand resting on your head and swiping the frizzed hair from your puffy, wet face. 'I know it hurts, are you okay?'

Christ. He was ten years older than you, there was no way you were even on his radar! It didn't matter your body had bloomed, you really were still the little girl clinging to his knee, crying. Weren't you? You were, you were finally sure, now.

As you inhaled the fresh night, a subtle scent of rain in the air, you consider what to do with the loving feeling that had seeded its roots into you over two decades. You couldn't find an answer, until the love appeared behind you.

A large coat weighed over your shoulders, planted by Choso who now walked beside you. "You'll get a cold being out here in your pyjamas."

His little hints of affection had become recontextualized in your mind, now instead of thinking he had some buried fancy for you, you could see yourself in his eyes, someone young and needing care. Rocks piled in your stomach and weakly, you thanked him. Even the soft gaze he held you in differed. It was some kind of nostalgia that creased his eyes kindly, a memory of you at a younger age playing behind his eyelids, maybe.

The rocks now piled up to your heart, burying it between pointy�� jagged stones. Each silent step the two of you took thickened the awkward sorrow looming over you, until finally, Choso spoke.

"Yuji's been so excited to have you over, you know, he really likes you." He couldn't have picked a worse time to take up the role of matchmaker for the two of you. The implication hadn't seemed to reach you.

“I like you.” You finally freed the words, the piling stones now reaching your throat. It took a confused beat until Choso cleared his throat with a light chuckle and responded.

“I like you, too.” His hand came to rest atop your head, giving you a kind stroke, like he always did, before returning it to his pocket.

But you don’t. The words threatened to spill from your quivering lip. Not like I do.

"Let's head inside." Your short walk had taken you around a loop, now you stood outside the house but you weren't ready to be embraced by the homely warmth yet, you needed to think more.

"I'll be there in a sec." You kindly evaded his attempt to bring you back inside. His warm expression seemed to falter with confusion, but ultimately, he let you go, walking inside without you.

You exhaled, taking a wobbly seat above the road gutter. Little sister. The words haunted you. I like you, but no, I'm not attracted to you, I could never be! You're my little sis after all! Another exasperated sigh left you. Even your faulty confession couldn't lift the weight compressing your chest. You couldn't wait to rip off your bra, although you doubted it would elevate the internal ache.

The rejection wouldn't have been so crushing if you weren't so into him, which anyone could've assumed, but really, you were into him. Your type in men was basically shaped around Choso, having pined for him from such a young age.

Despite attempting to date during high school and the years following, you just couldn't. No man could ever really pull you from your crush, so you were never in relationships long.

But what now? You had the confirmation you'd never be with him, should you date again? Move on with a quick rebound? Go to the club and try hooking up? God you wish you could cry and just hurry up with the grieving process but you were too numb to be misty.

Taking you from the hurricane of your thoughts, steps crunched behind you, but still, you weren't done thinking just yet.

"It's okay, Cho, I'll come back inside in a moment I just—" But it was Yuji standing in the silhouette you thought belonged to Choso. "Oh, sorry." You muttered.

He joined you, sitting atop the gutter. “What happened?” He asked.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” You sighed, face falling into the palms of your hand.

“I’m glad.” You could hardly see ‘glad’ on his face, it was stone, unwavering.

“What?” What exactly was he glad of?

"You finally know how he feels about you."

"Yuji—" Utter mortification. If you'd considered the idea of Yuji knowing about your little crush for a moment longer, you'd likely think huh, I guess he would've known this whole time. He's my best friend after all. But you didn’t have time to think about it, flushing hot blood to your cheeks.

“—Now you can get over this stupid obsession with him.”

Now, finally, the tears could start to form. Yuji's cruelty broke the dam that was your numbness. You stood, him tensing over your quick movement. “Stupid ob—? ugh! You—” A reasonable sentence caught in your throat and you were only able to wave an angry finger at him. Did he really see your feelings that way? Thought that Choso liking you back was such an absurdity? That it was an obsession? You suddenly wondered, if Choso came face to face with your love for him, would he think it was stupid, too?

Yuji swallowed, silently sticking by his rude statement.

“I wouldn’t love him—someone if I didn’t think I could be loved back.” Your voice crumbled. The slight crack tugged painfully at Yuji’s heart and despite the regret that washed over his mind like a cold tsunami, he wasn’t able to utter an apology.

Before the tears burning your eyes could spill, you turned on your heel and began walking inside his home. “Wait—”

“Just let me be, Yuji.”

He’d only left you alone for about an hour.

You'd decided to hide away in his room, after all.

Creaking his door open, Yuji's head peaked through the crack. His eyes fell on you cradling a pillow on his bed, your back to him. Guilt clawed at his gut to know he was the reason you were so upset (truthfully he wasn't, but he sure as hell pushed you over the edge).

Maybe, maybe if he finally told you how he felt about you, you'd understand why he acted so cruelly. What Yuji had conveniently forgotten to consider was the sheer amount of emotions that had currently resided inside you. Another confession? Well, you might just die of a heart attack!

“We should talk—”

“I don’t want to talk, ass.” You picked up the pillow slightly wet with tears and tossed it at him. You weren’t furious with him at least, that was a good sign.

“Look, the thing is, I—”

“No! Get out Yuji—”

“But! Just wait, I have something I need to say.”

"Don't speak!" you held your hands over your ears, kicking another stray pillow at him.

He held his hands up, surrendering himself and his voice to your demands but quickly, he peeped. "Can I at least sleep?"

"Fine." You shuffled across the bed, burying yourself into your usual side and flicking the covers over your head.

With the careful ease of a predator stalking its prey through the long grass, you felt Yuji's hands and knees crater into the bed as he slowly approached his rightful spot beside you. The warmth you developed under the sheet blew away as he lifted them, fitting under the covers with you.

He shifted, finding a comfortable spot on his back staring up at the ceiling. Five minutes went by and the skin on his palms began to itch, the muscles on the back of his neck tightened.

He shifted again, an attempt to reach real comfort. After five minutes of staring at a wall his mouth went dry and his toes curled in irritation.

Again, he shifted, this time, turning to face the back of your head. You let an annoyed puff free whilst his movement crinkled the sheets loudly, one he didn't seem to hear. Five minutes passed and he remained still, but his palms itched, his neck remained tight, his mouth was still dry and his feet were beginning to cramp.

You remained in a tense, motionless lay, eyes unknowingly shut tightly, begging sleep to take you far, far away from your body.

The covers softly crinkled again, but Yuji hadn't moved. You realised the sound was his arm moving as he pressed a light hand to your back, a silent ask. Will we cuddle tonight, or are you still mad? The question soon turned into a bribe as his palm pressed into the stressed muscles in your back.

You allowed him to work his apology into your skin, thumb tracing the muscles beneath your shoulder blades back and forth, creating a relieving rhythmic pattern. I'm sorry.

He continued grinding his palms against the soft tendons of your back. I'm sorry I was such a dick.

Sliding lower, he pressed into the thin muscles of your lower back. It's because I'm in love with you.

But when his hand began to lose motivation and slip from you at your unforgiveness, you sighed, reaching to pull his hand over you. You forgave him, kinda. He grasped your tummy, pulling you into his chest and his glowing warmth.

Friends cuddle all the time, okay? It's pretty normal. Thank you very much.

You could feel his breath pat the side of your neck and his hand occasionally twitch whilst holding you. It was normal, Yuji's always had a slight twitch in his fingers whenever you felt him hold you.

“If you had a boyfriend, would we still do this?” His low words rumbled from his chest into your tender back.

"I thought you agreed to no talking." You responded.

"Sorry." A deafening silence followed his swift apology that basically begged you to answer his question.

"If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn't need this."

Again, his hand twitched.

"And if you had a girlfriend, you wouldn't need it either." It was true, and fair. Friends who cuddle only do it because they need a substitute partner, right? "G'night, Yuji."

"Night."

You weren't sure you had fallen completely asleep by the time you awoke, because when you checked your phone, you were face with the time being eleven PM. Fuck, you'd really had an early night. No wonder you hadn't slept long. Your throat ached to be soothed with cold water, prompting you to get up and poor yourself a glass.

You left the warmth of Yuji's arms, immediately regretting your decision to quench your midnight thirst. Lazily, you searched the floor for Yuji's red hoodie and placed it on.

The kitchen light illuminated your pathway to the tap and you wondered if Choso had accidentally left it on before going to bed, but you were greeted with him when you entered the kitchen.

"Oh, hey." Your voice came out in a groggy crack.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asked.

"Just thirsty."

Choso eyed you, a gentle smile pulling at his lips. You looked so cute drowning in his brother’s jumper, it warmed his heart and cheeks. “Good to see you and Yuji finally got together.”

The excitement in his words stabbed at your chest and you could feel yourself plummet into sadness again.

“I was starting to worry that you two had a fight.”

“You’re wrong.” You attempted to state the words with a strong intent, however a quiver ripped the will from you. “I don't like him, Choso.” Your burning eyes threatened your already raw cheeks. “It’s you.” You hiccuped. “Please don't think I love someone else.”

In a swift rush, Choso had reached you, bending to catch your eyes. His hands hugged your arms gently. “I’m sorry.” He murmured, softly mumbling your name. "I'm so sorry I didn't know—"

He wiped away the salty drops that pooled in the corner of your eyes, his upturned expression guiltily taking in your devastated shake.

“It’s you, I love you.” You uttered again, chanting the statement that hung around your heart.

He pulled you into his chest, cradling your head in a solid embrace that lasted until your shaky breaths subsided. You pulled away from him, noticeable tear stains watering his clothes.

He took a deep, regretful inhale and you knew the words he was going to utter. “I've always thought of you as—"

“I know. It’s so obvious.” You stated in a huff, almost laughing at yourself for having thought otherwise.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured.

“Choso,” you finally looked into his eyes, finding a sorrow lacing his dark browns, but still, his gaze was so soft, affectionately taking you in. It made your heart clench. “Does me telling you I love you, make you happy? Even a little bit?”

A beat rung out as he considered your question. “It does. Thank you.”

“Choso, will you kiss me, please?” His brows furrowed further and his lips parted to utter a polite no, but you begged again. “Please. Just so I know what it feels like.”

And Lord knows he couldn’t say no to you.

Both his large hands came to cup around your cheeks, his thumbs lightly pressing into the sides of your mouth. He dipped his head down as he angled your jaw. His lips were just as soft as you imagined they'd be and the way he kissed you with such sweet sensitivity was heavenly. Your heart stung with the melancholy of it all.

He broke away, lidded eyes solemnly staring at your tear bleached cheeks. His expression filled with utter guilt, completely ashamed he was the one making you feel this way. He pressed another, deeper kiss to your lips. As if begging that his lips would heal you, despite knowing deep down they’d likely make you yearn for him more.

The pity became too much to bear, so you let yourself fall away from his kiss. A sweet smack sounding at your lips separating.

His hands lingered until you began to speak. "Thank you, Choso, I..." You had nothing else to say.

"You should head back to bed, I'll... see you tomorrow."

He left you with those weak words filled with regret. You could practically feel the sickly feeling in his stomach as he walked to his room, metaphorical tail between his legs and head hanging low in shame.

What would did it feel like to kiss you? His little sister? Expect you weren't his little sister, you weren't apart of his family and most importantly; You were grown. You could go and do whatever the hell you wanted. So you did. To the only place that would accept a broken hearted girl with a fierce desire to get drunk. You were going put that damn miniskirt to use.

Yuji somewhat realised you were absent from his bed when he heard the front door of his house shut. You went to the bathroom, probably. Although, the longer he waited, the more he thought about it and laid there without your weight, the less asleep he really was.

When an hour passed and you still weren't back in his arms, he finally sat up and checked the time. Midnight. He first wandered the house in search of you, checking the bathroom, kitchen, lounge. You weren't there.

His heart hadn't dropped as much as you would expect it had, it merely ached because in truth, Yuji had a feeling he knew where you had gone. Checking your phone's location only confirmed his theory.

However that guilty ache developed into an aggravated disappointment during the drive to you.

His expression was scrunched with frustration by the time he reached the club, having spent $15 dollars just to enter and find you. He pushed past wobbly, half naked bodies, searching for your hair, your skin, hell he even tried to smell you over the stench of artificial smoke and spilled fireballs.

He found you tucked away in a corner, surrounded by smoothly dancing drunks, you fit perfectly into the moving crowd, having the alcohol serging your veins lull you into a swooning dance. Despite easily falling into the sea of people, to Yuji you were outstanding.

The peach haired boy became keenly aware of you in your perfectly blissful state; the flickering neons shining against your glistening skin, the way your lashes fluttered at the brightness and how your lips remained parted, puffing hot air and occasionally sipping at the almost empty glass in your hand. Wide eyed, Yuji soaked the image into the deepest part of his mind, remaining unblinking until his eyes began to burn with smoke.

Yuji had gone completely stiff against the grinding bodies and despite your inebriated condition, you had turned towards the intense aura piercing you. As though the moment passed in slow motion, the two of your eyes locked past the haze and lights. You had come to a halt, hand going weak around the glass of alcohol.

Unaware of their space, another body bumped into you, sending you stumbling forward and into another group of people who rejected to support you. You’d gone dizzy now, reaching the peak of blackout and it sent waves of disorientation over your eyes.

Now by your side, Yuji had taken you into him, holding you with a firm almost too-tight grip. His fingers cratered into the skimpy outfit you threw together before leaving, grabbing at your plush waist. You sighed against his steady, hard person. Your hand was empty now, no longer clutching your drink but being rested over his shoulder.

“Let’s go, cmon.” And despite the room thudding with music you heard his words with a calm clarity.

You came to outside the club, cool air kissing your bare legs and face. Your arms, however, were protected by a large red hoodie. You closed your eyes at the sudden vertigo, unable to remember how exactly you’d left the dance floor.

“Did you take something in there?” Yuji asked, you turned to see him sitting beside you, a wide eyed serious stare drowning his beautiful features.

You were mad at him, you quickly remembered. “No.” You brooded, leaning away from him and averting your eyes.

He sighed, relieved to see some emotion seep through your glossy eyed, dazed drunkenness. “Why are you here? And by yourself, Jesus, do you know how stupid—”

“Why are you here.” You returned, slurred venom drooling your tone.

“To make sure you’re safe, and bring you home.” He squeezed your shoulders and you realised he'd had his arms around you the entire time.

Hotness pooled around your eyelids and you slowly blinked away the wetness. “I wan’ to keep dancing.” You tried to shoulder his arms off you, failing miserably when he held you tighter.

“Just tell me what’s wrong.” He pleaded, searching for your eyes.

“I don’ wanna talk about it.” You murmured, the searing tears now falling from your eyes and to the concrete floor you stared at.

Yuji exhaled quickly, the sight of your glistening tears sucking the air from his lungs. “I’m sorry for what I said, okay? It was rude.”

“’s not that, Yuji.” You gave into his hold, letting him pull you into his warmth and smell. “He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t even see me that way. I was so stupid.”

His heart ached to see your wet, bruised eyes, the raccoon ringlets of mascara, the smear of lipstick.

“Am I ugly? Why doesn’t he like me?” The way you looked at him, your eyes wounded, pleading, inarticulate, it made his heart lurch.

He hugged you, so tightly that the bones in your back groaned.

"Stop it Yuji," You sobbed, weak hand swatting his back. He continued to hold you. "You're makin' me feel worse." You hiccuped violently, chest surging and pulling.

"Don't think about him, it's not worth it, he's not worth it. He's— Fuck." He was trying to find a tone, an adult rhythm of speech, and failing. Your shivering and sobbing had regressed him.

“Just—Jus' take me home, Yu.”

And he did, but not to his home, to yours. Empty, with nobody but the two of you.

You remember slipping, but not making any contact with the hard floor. Yuji had held you close, his arm basically attached to you, being the pillar of your nonexistent balance.

You were now in the bathroom, bright lights yelling at your hazy eyes.

“You should shower, sober up.” Yuji hoisted you up by your hips and placed you on the bathroom sink, giving his side a much needed break from supporting you.

“No.” You leaned back, lazy eyes gazing up at the ceiling.

“C’mon, please stop being like this.”

“Help me then.” You threw him a bone, letting into his ask of you.

He exhaled, relieved. “Okay, fine.” Delicately his fingers pinched your skin tight shirt, hesitating to lift. You raised your arms lazily, giving him the consent he was looking for. The shirt slowly rose over your hips, tummy then chest. Yuji let it fall to the corner of the bathroom. His eyes avoided your boobs, like he would be cursed if he copped a look. Instead he intensely glared at your face.

“S’okay, you can look.” You murmured. Yuji shook his head in disagreement, but his eyes betrayed him, glancing at your cupped tits. You huffed a laugh at his weak will. Truthfully you enjoyed the attention. You hated that you enjoyed it.

“Sorry.” He took a step back and breathed. “Look, for what it’s worth, I think you looked pretty. The skirt is cute.” You hadn’t known you craved that compliment until it filled your aching heart with flushing blood.

“Jus’ take it off.” You slurred. He did so slowly, shaken hands unbuttoning then unzipping the skirt, slipping the short garment off with ease. This time, he didn’t even hide his gaze as he stared at your underwear. He swallowed, jaw tensing.

“Can you take the rest off?” He asked, a little desperately.

“No.” You droned.

“Then I guess you’re showering in your underwear.” He finished, freeing himself from responsibility. You groaned.

He gazed at your lidded eyes intensely, trying to gauge your soberness, were you just playing with him? Were you really that drunk? You hated the silence, you wanted more from him.

“So do you like me or what?” You prodded his heart. You knew the answer. You supposed you always knew. You just never wanted to hear it until now.

“Yes. I do.” He swallowed thickly. It made him nervous when he could feel his heart beating in his ears, and wrists, as well as in his chest.

“Don’t believe you.” You muttered, swatting his arm pathetically. It was a dangerous game you were playing, insinuating you couldn’t dare to imagine someone— anyone— him— having feelings for you.

"Believe it." He warned, playfulness evading his intention.

"No." More, you wanted to tease more out of him like a comb knotting straight hair.

His hands grasped at your nude sides and he kissed you. Harsh and desperate, he was proving a point. Through your fluttering eyes you could see his were screwed shut in angered focus. He was making out with your mouth, licking up the remnants of alcohol on your tongue and teeth. Compared to his brother, Yuji was sure and feverent. He wanted you, so desperately.

He seemed like the one with the stupid obsession now.

"Shower."

You allowed his order, adding your own. “Stay. I might fall.”

Stepping into the hot water substantially dinted your drunkenness, bringing a hot clarity to your mind. The running water falling down your skull was a constant tapping reminder that this was happening, or it was going to happen.

You could see Yuji's form through the fogged glass, his back turned from the shower. You wondered briefly, was it out of respect for your naked body that he turned away from you, or maybe, was it for his own sanity?

The steamed water cleaned your face of ruined makeup and the sticky club residue. Your ears still held a slight ring, amplified by the silence surrounding the tapping of water.

When you stepped out Yuji was there to wrap you up in the towel with a turned head. Useless, really. You thought. It'll be gone soon.

In a slow walk, he accompanied you to your bedroom, a silent knowing thickening the air between you. Darkness ate up your view up him, but you could feel the tension permeate off of his body.

“Y’gonna fuck me, Yu?” You asked, staring up at him with dazed eyes.

“Yeah, I am.” His words were hugged by a breathlessness. A shortness of breath that hadn’t stemmed from his lungs, but from his heart.

You both needed it. You needed to be desired, to be wanted, to be loved and Yuji needed to finally take you, feel you, show you how much he loved you.

Again his hands found you, the first points of contact on your still wet body. Next, his lips, hunting your pulse until he reached your mouth. With his unseemly strength supporting you, he dipped you into the bed, his weight following you, pushing you further into the mattress.

You could feel is thick, strong hands on you, feeling, exploring, pulling with helpless desire but no real strength. Multitasking between your lips and feeling for the hem of the towel, unwrapping it from your body.

He stayed for a moment, bringing space between you, staring at you as if he'd never seen you before. Your breasts heaved rapidly. Your face, all flushed and blazed with lust.

"I'm gonna make you feel good." He said, struggling not to pant as he spoke. That would not sound good. That would sound weak, unsure.

Your heart was not breaking anymore. It seemed rather to broil in your chest, melt. You were afraid the heat from your heart might soon destroy your sanity in fire.

And he was so gentle, not tugging or pulling but caressing you with a consideration that was almost prissy. Fingers rolling down your damp tummy, hesitating just before your hip bone.

You spread your legs, inviting him to your aching middle. The offer knocked the air from his lungs and he knew only your taste could allow him to breathe again.

Like you were his salvation, Yuji kneeled at the end of your bed, his face pressed up against your longing, breathing in your scent. His hot exhales patted your sex, dragging you into a moment of utter desire and need.

His breath came closer, until the thick humidity closed and he pressed a wet kiss to your clit. The melodic sigh of ease lifting from your mouth tugged on Yuji's already stiff dick, making him suddenly aware of his own arousal. That was for later, for now, he was starving.

He pressed another moving kiss to your bundle of nerves, adding a smooth swipe of his tongue. Another symphony played from you and he drowned himself in your cunt, playing with you like an instrument. His wet, sucking pampering your leaking sex.

The intensity ripped a twitch from your hips but Yuji caught your thighs before you could jut away.

You leaked such a bitter sweetness, it was too perfect. Food would never taste the same now that he'd had you in his mouth. Live, squirming and moaning so beautifully. When your hand came up to rake though his messy hair, he fell deeper into your cunt.

His make-out with your sex had fallen into the perfect rhythm, sending clean jolts of pleasure throughout your body, you hadn't needed to concentrate or hold your breath to be forced up the hill of your orgasm, Yuji was walking you up with utter ease.

His tongue only occasionally dipped to your chasm to drink up the slick leaking from you, but as he dipped past a single ring of your insides, a selfish desire to feel more arose.

He shifted and you felt a warm pressure circle your chasm. Your cunt was already sucking in the two thick fingers he offered you. He slipped in further, sliding along your tickling nerves, massaging you closer and closer to a release.

The tips of his fingers curled into you, working in perfect time with his mouth until you tensed in preparation around him. Another slight suck and roll over your clit had you cumming on his fingers.

You cursed loudly, a lovingly weak moan of his name leaving you.

The way your walls fluttered around his fingers had his dick jutting painfully in his pants. Now he could finally fuck you.

His weight returned over you, coming back to his rightful place above your naked body. He shed two layers, his jumper and the shirt underneath it. Not because he was feeling hot or sweaty, but because he wanted you to see his tight body and throb. Force into you a sexual attraction and utterly crush your notions of friendship.

It might've been the way he made you cum on his tongue, or the way he took your wrist and made you slide a shaky hand over his abs and chest, maybe it was the way his eyes drooled obsession when he looked at you—perhaps it was a lusted blend of everything— but you could feel the sickening flutter of love butterflies develop in your stomach.

His hand next arrived at the rim of his pants, freeing his erection from the tight confines of his pants. You hardly shied from the sight.

Nothing you haven't seen before, right? Well, the way his blood fat length leaked beads of precum that belonged inside you from his flushed, burning tip was certainly a sight you'd never seen before. He let your eyes linger. It was all for you, all because of you.

He only spared a glance to line himself against your cunt, he cared more to see the way your face would twist to be filled by him.

"Yu— oh fffuck." You weren't sure what kind of rejection would've left your mouth before you felt Yuji enter you, but you were glad it never reached your lips.

Sliding into you was like sliding into some exquisite oil. The white that flashed over his eyes at the sheer— everything— of you blurred his vision for brief moment. He blinked it away quickly, needing to see the way you threw your head back in pleasure.

His size filled you perfectly, reaching each sensitive crevice inside your mushy tunnel, you only wanted more. Yuji sat inside you for a beat, needing a break from the feeling of you sliding around him. He wasn't sure if it was his or your heart he could feel thumping between his legs. The break was short-lived when you began moving your hips in pleading.

He moved with you, using you, but letting you use him as well. The only sounds were the wet sonances of your sex and breathing; his heavy and horse, yours quick and light.

You wondered, if Choso could see you being fucked soft by his brother, would he still say 'good to see you an Yuji got together'? as if Yuji could sense your thoughts by the way your cunt fluttered around him, his fingers dug craters into your side and he spoke.

“You— shit— you thinkin’ about him?” He asked in a thin carping voice, sneering into your neck.

Your lips stayed zipped, unable to lie nor tell the truth.

“He couldn’t— hng— fucken' love you like this.” To stress his statement, Yuji rolled his hip deep into you, pressing a bruising kiss to your cervix. Your hands smacked over his shoulders, clawing his back.

"I know— oh fuck! Yu." Despair in your words, but Yuji worked to fuck it out of you, suckling hickies to your neck.

"I told you I'd make you—hahh— feel good. You feel good, baby?" He wasn't sure where the pet name came from but the moment it rolled off his tongue he knew he'd never use your name again.

His words regressed you into a submissive, panting mess. "Mhm, hngh! yes, Yu." You didn't mean to sound so ravaged and pleased, but your tone made Yuji's eager dick expand more inside you, becoming girthier with blood.

His rhythm finally dissolved into an excited bucking and from it Yuji drunk up your little gasps like a starved man. "You know I love you, yeah? My girl."

You could only nod, unable to even babble a response.

"Say it, hng— say you love me back."

"L-Love you, Yu."

And oh God, your words go straight to his cock, hurling him into a driven frenzy of mushing thrusts that glide right over your g-spot.

He can feel your cunt tighten in preparation, drawing a guttural moan from his stomach. He knew you were going to cum. It was like knowing him all these years had let him memorise your body, inside and out.

"Let me hear it, baby." He cooed softly.

Like an enraptured fizzing firework, your orgasm rolled over you. It bubbled loaded moans up your throat. You cunt fluttered around him, sucking him up, begging him to fill you with his cum. You jump at his sharp canines sinking down into the flushed skin of your neck and he shivered when he feels your nails dig into the sides of his neck.

He couldn't hold himself back anymore, barrelling over the edge as you clamped around him. His cock punctured your cervix in three strong half-way thrusts, leaving kisses of cum across your insides.

You both fucked your fleeting orgasms out on each other, you with rolling hips and Yuji with messy, unfocused thrusts that prodded against your walls mercilessly.

Even when you both came to a panting halt, Yuji still twitched hard and thick inside you.

"You're mine, now." He couldn't even conceal his absent breath. "You're my girl, yeah? M'gonna love you like this forever."

Aside from the proof in the territorial marks decorating your skin, or your gummy cunt being soaked from his cum, you already knew in your heart you were his.

But as his hips drew out in a slide you assumed would mean his exit, then pushed back in, making a circle of frothy cum and slick form around his cock you knew you weren't going to make it out alive without those words tattooed on your tongue.

[jarofstyles]

HARRYS WIFE WALKS IN.

YES!!!!!

Ok I wrote this and then didn’t post it for some reason but this is pure filth and I obviously don’t condone cheating but…. h is obsessed with y/n, what can I say 🤷‍♀️

Check out our Patreon for early access and 190+ exclusive writings

Warnings- infidelity (harry WITH reader), unprotected sex, kinda angsty, he’s a dick for doing that but he wants what he wants, filthy filth as usual

——

Harry was slowly pumping into her from behind, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he thrust his hips back and forth. He didn't notice when his wife walked into the room, her eyes widening in shock at the scene before her. She stood frozen in the doorway, her mouth parted open as she took in the sight of her husband fucking a woman she had only met in passing in their bed. Y/N's face was pressed against the pillow, her hair messy and her body shaking with each thrust. His fingers tightly gripped on her, making it clear he had no plans on letting her go anywhere- not that it looked like she would ever want to. The sounds that left her mouth were ones she had never made in her life, especially not by Harry’s hand.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a small bedside lamp. She lay on her stomach, her body spread out on the bed as Harry thrust himself into her from behind. She moaned softly with each movement, her hands gripping the sheets tightly.

The room was filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and the wet noises of their bodies slapping together. Harry's face was scrunched up in concentration, his brow furrowed as he slowly pushed himself in and out of Y/N’s welcoming cunt as his wife watched, her face a mask of shock and betrayal.

Y/N's ass jiggled with each thrust, her body shaking as Harry fucked into her. She reached back with one hand, grabbing onto the headboard for support as she tried to stay steady. Her other hand was buried under the pillow, muffling her moans as she tried to keep quiet.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight," Harry whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "So perfect." He reached around with one hand, rubbing her clit in slow circles as he continued to fuck her from behind. Nothing and no one had ever felt this good. Once he’d given into the temptation, he wasn’t able to look back. She had stolen him without even trying. "Look at that ass, bouncing on my cock like it was made for me. Think you were, Angel."

He leaned down, pressing his lips against the curve of his lover’s neck as he whispered vulgar praises. His hips smacked against her ass, the sound echoing through the room as he fucked into her harder, his fingers still working her sensitive little pearl, making her drip all over his cock- the sheets. Making a whole mess of the both of them.

It was a shift of the light that had him looking to the side, finally noticing his wife standing in the doorway, frozen as her eyes took in the scene- but he didn’t stop. No, his fingers continued to rub into his lover’s swollen clit, panting against her neck.

Harry's eyes locked onto his wife's, his face unreadable as he continued to thrust into the soft, pliant body underneath him, his fingers circling her clit, not once neglecting her pleasure. The room fell silent except for the wet sounds of their bodies coming together and Y/N's muffled moans into the pillow.

His cock was bare, slick with Y/N's wetness as he continued to fuck her from behind. He didn't seem to be affected by his wife's presence, instead focusing on the pleasure he was giving and receiving from Y/N. Call him sick, call him twisted, but finally getting the intimacy and sex he had been desperate for years was enough tale him lose his mind a bit.

The room was dimly lit but the small amount of light that filtered in was enough for his wife to take in the scene. Harry plowed into Y/N, unprotected and wet with where he had been buried deep inside her. It meant this wasn’t new, this wasn’t impulsive- this was habit. He wouldn’t fuck anyone without a condom unless they meant something.

Harry continued to fuck Y/N deep, his hips slapping against her thighs, the wet sounds from their bodies filling the room. He didn't seem to care that this was their marital bed, the same bed where he used to make love to his wife. He didn’t seem to care about anything, actually, other than the girl under him. Didn’t care about the fact that his marriage was over and she was watching the most intimate act of betrayal.

Y/N whimpered, turning her head to the side with her eyes closed. “Kiss, please.” She pleaded.

At the plea, Harry leaned down, his mouth crushing against hers in a slow, desperate kiss. His lips moved against hers as he continued to fuck her, his tongue pushing past her lips to tangle with hers. He kissed her like he was starving for her, like he needed her to breathe.

It wasn't just a one time thing, this was a full blown affair. Harry had been cheating for months, hiding his infidelity behind closed doors and lies. He had been seeing his lover regularly, making excuses to his wife about where he was going and who he was with. He was a bad person for it, and he didn’t give a fuck. This was what he wanted. This was what he was going to want for the rest of his life. Having her catch him was the quickest course of action that could have been taken.

As the months went by, Harry found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with Y/N. He loved the way she smiled, the way she laughed, the way she looked at him like he was the only person in the world. He loved everything about her and it terrified him. Being given the love he had always wanted and felt he deserved after being neglected intimately for years, he had little sadness about the marriage ending and more excitement over this new relationship. The bitterness had faded away into a true uncaring state- now that he had Y/N, he didn’t care about much else.

So when she let out a gasp, Harry didn't stop. There was no semblance of hesitation in it either, almost annoyance that he had been interrupted and had his attention momentarily drawn from the girl writhing underneath him. He only buried himself deeper inside of her, his hips grinding against her clit as he whispered soft words to her, his voice dripping with affection and love. "I love you, baby." he breathed against her ear. "Only you." A knife to the gut for his wife, probably, but he wanted the blow to be fatal. Let her hear the truth and know it was over.

Y/N had him now.

“Love you.” She slurred into the pillow, arching her back to keep him in deeper.

"Love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone." Harry replied, his voice thick with emotion. His hand snaked around her waist, the other braced against the headboard as he pushed himself further into her.

His wife watched from the doorway as Harry groaned, thrusts getting harder. "M’gonna cum inside of you." His voice filled with desire for Y/N- and her alone. He didn't care about his wife at that moment, all he cared about was the woman beneath him and the intense pleasure he was feeling. “Gonna fill you up.”

As Harry's climax built, he closed his eyes and let out a groan, the feeling of warmth spreading through him. Y/N whimpered beneath him, her body slick with sweat as she felt him empty himself inside of her, bare cock pulsing as his balls emptied inside her honeyed cunt. Painting the walls white, fucking it in a few times for extra measure. As the last waves of his passion subsided, Harry's eyes fluttered open and locked onto his wife's. He watched as her face crumpled, tears streaming down her cheeks as she took in the sight of him buried inside of Y/N, his arms wrapped possessively around her waist.

“Sorry you had to find out like this.” He murmured, pressing a few kisses to Y/N’s cheek as he looked at his wife. “But we’re getting a divorce.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Are your requests open? If not feel free to ignore this. If so you can also still ignore this but I wanted to ask, could you write how the batboys/batfam would react to a vigilante reader who left Gotham but came back a year or so later?

I don't know if you listen to Noah Kahan but maybe something along the lines of the song “Your Gonna Go Far”? It's just a good song that makes me think of them for some reason IDK 😂

Damian’s was a little angsty but eh. I held this ask off for long enough.

Dick would tease that the reason you came back was because you missed him too much, when in actuality it was more or less the opposite, he missed his fighting crime alongside his vigilante buddy.

‘Fuck off.’ You’d scoff and go to playfully push him, only for him to take it a step further and willingly fall from the rooftop you were hanging out on, and you immediately stood up. ‘Dick?’ You’d call as you peered over the ledge for him. ‘This isn’t funny!’ You shouted in attempt to hide the fact that you were incredibly fearful of the state you’d find him in.

However Dick reappears doing a handstand with a shit eating grin on his face as he used his hands to move towards you, much to your chagrin.

‘I’ll leave again.’ You threatened, crossing your arms over your chest.

‘No you won’t.’ Dick grunts as he got to his feet, still smiling as he got stepped close to you. ‘If you were hellbent on leaving Gotham forever then you wouldn’t have dared tempt the idea of coming back.’

As much as you hated to admit it but he was right, you wouldn’t leave again and even if you did originally want out of Gotham, there was too much work that had to be done here then anywhere else. You were more pretty much done with the whole leaving thing as that didn’t necessarily work out, considering just how fast you abandoned your original plan just to came back to Gotham.

‘I hate it when you’re right.’ You murmured under your breath as Dick chuckles, happy to have you back home, back to him and picking up where you both left off as though nothing had ever happened.

‘So that being all the time, right?’ He asks as he slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his side as you made a face. ‘You’d fucking like for that was the case don’t you.’ You scoffed as you looked at him, one to see him looking back at you with a soft look in his eyes, which was something new even for you seeing as yours and Dick’s relationship consisted of witty back and forth and making lightheartedly fun out of each other.

‘Only if you stay long enough to admit it.’ He says without an ounce of his usual teasing as a silence befell you both as you stared at one another, wondering where life was going to take you now you were back in Gotham.

Jason

‘I was rooting for you to stay away.’ He said upon seeing you kick one of Penguin’s goons in the head.

You shrugged. ‘Hate to disappoint but the grass wasn’t greener on the other side.’ You told him, kicking the goon’s switchblade over the rooftop and into the streets below when noticing his hand itching towards it.

‘It must’ve been at least somewhat greener considering how long you stayed there before coming home.’ Jason sassed, joining in by kicking the goon in the ribs for good measure and you groaned. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still pissed at me for leaving are you?’

Jason scoffs. ‘Noooo, why would I be possibly mad at the fact that you had done it. You managed to escape Gotham and instead of staying out of Gotham and building yourself a future where coming back wasn’t an option, you came back?! Why?! What made you think that was a smart idea?!’ He exclaims and you dropped low to perform a sweeping kick to his feet -taking advantage of his irritation- knocking him flat on his back, grabbing the lapels of his brown jacket.

‘For you DUMBASS! I came back to Gotham for you! I wasn’t about to let you rot in this shit hole without at least knowing someone gave a shit about you! Is that such a fucking hard concept to grasp?!’ You yelled at him but just before you let go of his jacket, Jason was quick to catch your wrists in one of his hands and managed to pin you to the floor as he hovered over you. ‘I don’t believe I ever once asked you to do anything for me, other than staying out of Gotham once you found an outing for yourself.’ He said in a low voice.

‘You didn’t need to.’ You told him, easily envisioning the look of frustration Jason must have on his face under the red helmet. ‘That’s was all my own doing and I don’t regret any of it.’ You grunted. ‘Not even a little. I couldn’t afford to build a future out there because there was no future for me to build when I knew I had a better chance of doing that here with you than anywhere else.’

Jason sighed, ‘you’re insufferable.’ He huffed before letting you of your wrists and standing up to his feet as he holds a hand out to you to take.

‘And you’re still a dickhead.’ You retorted smiling as you eagerly grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull you up to your feet before bringing you into his arms, holding you tightly where you melted into his body warmth.

‘Your dickhead you mean.’ He murmurs against your head.

‘yeah, my dickhead.’ You smile, knowing that evening was going to be okay from here on out.

Damian

‘I thought you skipped town.’ Damian said as he sheathed his sword.

‘You don’t sound surprised to see me.’ You replied, putting away your twin batons on your back.

Damian shrugs before looking over at you. ‘Why should I be surprised, I did say on the day you left that you’d come back home sooner or later.’ He reminds you as you both over looked the city you both once swore to protect. ‘No one leaves Gotham for long, this city has a way of pulling people back in whether they liked it or not.’

You clenched your fists at your side out of frustration because you knew that he was right, he was always right and you hated it because when you had gotten out of Gotham, it didn’t feel as though you were needed as much to protect the streets. It made you realised that being born and raised in Gotham and learning go hone the skills required to survive had became a vital part of you, a part of you that you couldn’t escape no matter has far away you go from the vile city and make a name for yourself elsewhere.

It ended up not working out and soon you found yourself going back to the place you swore you’d never go back to.

‘You didn’t miss me? Not once?’ You asked all of a sudden.

‘No. You were barely on my mind as I was busy clearing the streets you left behind.’ Damian said but even you could tell that he was lying to himself somewhat.

‘Are you sure I didn’t come to mind? Not even when you’re standing in the locations we regularly rendezvous for missions?’ You asked again.

Damian remains silent this time. Of course he missed you, there wasn’t a day that went by where he didn’t resent you for leaving Gotham, for leaving him behind when you both swore to keep Gotham safe together. Admittedly he hated you for a brief time after you left, he tried to burn every memory he had of you to prove that his hatred and resentment towards you was true, and not as an act of heartbreak and abandonment.

However Damian found himself unable to keep that facade up after three month anniversary of your departure, where found himself on the very rooftop he was now, and ironically it was the very same rooftop where you told him you were leaving Gotham indefinitely; looking up to the stars and wishing for your health and well-being whether you were.

‘No.’ Damian snipped, leaving you in a very similar to the way you had left him long ago, alone and conflicted with emotions.

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Paper Thin Walls

Your neighbor, Nanami Kento, comes over four times complaining about noise. And then a fifth time. AO3

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ Only. fem! reader, grumpy! nanami, angsty, some light vouyerism, through the wall masturbation overhearing (does that count?), cunnalingus, riding, penetrative sex, reader has female anatomy, dirty talk, kissing, not explicit spit this time but i sneak it in there (and i always will), DIRTY, NASTY, WET,

Word count: 8.2k,we looooove a bad neighbors enemies to lovers, sorry y'all but i eat it up every time, i hope y'all do too. This is probably the grumpiest i have ever written Nanami but i hope the soft at the end gave you guys the sweetie that we all know and love, especially on this blog.

THUNK THUNK THUNK 

You nearly dropped the bottle of wine you were uncorking when you heard the loud, impassioned knocking on your front door. Your friends quieted their conversation and looked to the door, a mixture of shock and confusion on their faces. 

How embarrassing. 

You rolled your eyes, already fed up with what you knew would be on the other side of the wood. You gesture to your friends to continue enjoying themselves as you would handle it. They tentatively turn back to one another huddled around your small coffee table dressed with snacks and cups. You had worked hard on this party, you didn’t get to see your friends very often so being able to enjoy a night together to relax and catch up was so valuable to you. And no dickhead neighbor with a stick up his ass was going to ruin it. Walking to the door you drew in a strained breath, trying to smooth your irritation, before unlocking, unlatching and just barely opening the door. Even just a crack was enough to see him seething in front of you. 

Kento Nanami, your neighbor. Your very irritable neighbor. The one man HOA of your apartment complex floor. Your neighbor who, since you moved in three months ago, has stopped by your apartment three times to badger you about your noise level. You had lived in apartments your whole adult life, not once has anyone complained about you, you were a MODEL neighbor: kind, social but not overbearing, always said hello in the hallway, happy to watch pets or plants while people were out of town, you are a goddamn delight as a neighbor.

It was this fucking guy who had the problem, huffing at your doorstep in his stupid little American girl doll glasses and overly neat button up shirt that he probably pressed every morning before getting dressed. 

And once again, here he stood, vein in his head pulsing against his skin, elevens creased in his forehead between his scowling eyebrows, jaw muscle looking on the verge of snapping.

“Ms—.” He started but you cut him off. 

“Good evening Mr. Nanami, to what do I owe the pleasure,” you smiled jovially, as though his presence wasn’t a nuisance, “this time.” 

“Good evening. Yes, it is the evening, isn’t it?” He made a little show of checking his bulky silver watch.

“I’m sure the very expensive looking watch on your arm could tell you that it’s 8:45 pm. A very normal time for people to be enjoying themselves, especially on a Friday night.” You leaned your head against the doorframe looking at him, “Having a little…movie night in?”

He stared at you a moment, his eyes moving over your face coldly, eyeing your sly smile, 

“so you know I’m here about the noise.” 

“You’ve never come to my apartment for another reason.” You sighed, “call it a hunch, I guess?” 

A laugh came from inside of your apartment, louder than the ambient music you were playing, not exactly helping your case. 

Nanami rolled his eyes at the laughing,“Quiet hours start at—“

“10. And I plan on honoring them, I just have some old friends over tonight. We’ll be sure to keep our joy and fun to an acceptable level.” You were feeding him the lines you knew he wanted to hear, but your performance wasn’t exactly impassioned. 

His jaw tightened again, you imagined the sound of his back teeth grinding together. He looked down at you silently and you stared right back up at him. A silent battle was had between your stares, him trying to intimidate you into the silence he craved, and you not backing down even an inch.

Finally he caved, “I would appreciate that. I am sure the rest of the hallway would as well. Good night.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Nanami.” You called down to him as he turned and stomped down the hallway to his own door. 

Right. Next. Door. 

You rejoined your friends and enjoyed the rest of your night exactly as you had before. Not turning any music down, not stifling any laughter, not dulling any conversation for the sake of thin walls. Every now and again you took a private moment to imagine your neighbor seething in his quiet, perfect little apartment all by himself.

“So….are we going to talk about how hot your neighbor is?” Soph, your best friend, posed. 

“Thank you for saying something. I barely saw him but oh my GOD.” Kat, your oldest friend added. 

You laughed, it was undeniable how handsome he was, when you first saw him as you settled in in your first week you secretly hoped he might stop by to introduce himself, entertaining the fantasy of him coming over to help you “fix something” a few too many times before even finding out his name.

“Sure he’s hot, when he keeps his mouth shut.” You sighed, annoyed, busying yourself refilling glasses, “What a waste, honestly. I’m tired of guys who think they’re too hot to be nice to people. Not even nice, just fucking polite is fine.” 

Your friends laughed. 

“When I moved in, a bunch of the other neighbors stopped by to say hello. Not him, I would only ever see him in the hallway and he wouldn’t wave, wouldn’t say hello, nothing. He’s so…..serious.” You sipped your drink remembering the times you had tried to say hello to him in the hallway only to be met with a half nod and a hurry into his apartment, “First time he ever even spoke to me was to tell me the sound of my moving in was too much.”

Soph pouted, sipping her refilled, “That’s a shame. I was going to say you should try and hit that.”

“Who knows,” Kat posed, “maybe getting laid would help him relax?” 

The three of you laughed, surely sending the noise through the wall and into the subject of debate’s apartment. 

This had been your fourth offense against him. Nanami was fed up, he had been polite the first few times, but this was getting out of hand. You had only moved in a few months ago, there was no excuse for him to have had to go over there this many times already. Sitting on his couch, drafting a complaint email to the main residential office, another roar of laughter rang from the back wall of his apartment. Nanami groaned and slumped against the back of the couch, rubbing his aching forehead. This much irritation can’t be good for him.

He had been spoiled by the place next to him having gone unoccupied for so long. He’s lived in this apartment for two years, going on a third, and nearly all of that time has been spent with no one next door. At first he assumed he was just sensitive and needed to acclimate to having someone nearby, but it was like you were broadcasting every sound directly into his living room.

The worst part was the bedroom walls. He deduced that the layout of your apartment must be a direct mirror of his own, inverted but identical, meaning the back wall of his bedroom must be the back wall of your bedroom as well. He could hear the noise from you sleeping with your television on, a terrible habit that he abhorred. He could hear the music you would play in the mornings when you were presumably getting ready for work. And for you to be so curt with him when he politely tries to let you know how easily he can hear you? It was unreasonable. 

The first time had been within the second week of you moving in. You were setting up some furniture, sounds of hammering, scooting, drilling ringing through the walls and keeping him from sleeping in on a SUNDAY morning. He had gotten up from bed, thrown on some more presentable loungewear and knocked on your door. That was the first time he had really seen you, kind eyes, pretty smile, smooth, even skin. You smiled up at him when you opened the door, all too awake for such early weekend hours. 

“Excuse me. My name is Nanami Kento, I live next door. Would you mind keeping the noise down a bit? It’s still pretty early.” 

Your smile sagged a bit, “sure! I’m sorry, I guess I’m getting used to how thin the walls are here. I’ll keep it down.” 

“Thank you.” He nodded, “and…welcome to the building.” 

“Thank you! It’s nice to meet you.” You had smiled back at him, small dimples appearing by your mouth. 

He could have fallen for you, allowed himself the rare indulgence of crushing on you. If that had been your only offense. 

The second incident was how he discovered that your bedrooms shared a wall. He had come home late from the gym. It was around two o'clock in the morning, he drug himself back home and into the shower, sleeping threatening to take him even under the heavy spray. Work had been about four hours too long, his head was aching, his workout had offered some relief but the only thing that would truly fix it at this point was the hard reset of sleep. Nanami pulled himself into bed, not even bothering to dress, choosing to ignore the remaining water that would sink into his sheets. That would be a problem for another day. Head on the pillow, cool bedding soothing his heated skin he could barely contain how excited he was to finally sleep, when he heard it. 

“o-oh….” 

It was so faint he assumed it was in his head, the product of an oncoming dream seeping over into his waking world. Ears tuning in against his will, he was able to hear the faint buzzing. He shot up, renewed energy brought about by the awareness of what was happening next door. You, his neighbor, were masturbating and he could hear you. He felt his ears get hot, his heart quicken, and --- oh christ his pants tighten. Soft moans sounding through the wall, quickening in pace, buzzing battering his brain to mush as he began to panic. He didn’t want to listen, it was wrong, this was wrong. Fuck, was his mouth watering? 

Fuck. fuck. Fuck!

He squeezed his eyes shut, covering his face with his pillow, clamping the cushion around his head over his ears in desperation. Nanami was relieved when your wimpers were snuffed out. Under the darkness of his pillow he hoped he could finally begin to fall asleep, but through the void an image began to appear behind his eyes. You, his pretty neighbor laying on your back, legs open, finger in your mouth trying to quiet yourself. How ineffective. You had been just the slightest bit sweaty when he first spoke to you. The act of dragging and pushing furniture having given your skin the slightest sheen. He was willing to bet that you had a similar glow about you now; working a toy between your legs, bed covers discarded at your ankles, a wet spot growing underneath your shaking hips---

FUCK.

Nanami sat up in a jerk, shaking his head side to side as though he could physically dislodge the picture out of his mind through one of his ears. With the pillow removed he could hear your moans rising in pitch, his dick pulsed. Fuck, this was so wrong. Were you about to climax? His heart was pounding, he was rock solid between his legs, he gripped the bed sheets tight to restrain himself from caving and pumping himself into oblivion with you. In the sickest part of his mind he wanted to press his ear up to the adjoining wall, listening to your languid moans, indulging himself fully in your passion. 

Finally, as though fate could feel his resolve starting to crumble, he heard a long high pitch whine escape through the drywall. Then silence. Then the sound of laughter from whatever tv show you put on to go to sleep. He was panting, trying to catch his breath, much as he imagined you were. He laid back against his pillow, staring up to the ceiling, mind reeling over the possibility of this happening again. How could he avoid this in the future? Should he politely inform you of the mirrored apartment layout and the thinness of the walls? 

Nanami purchased a white noise machine the following day. Only after stopping by your apartment and asking you to keep the television noise lower at night, saying he was a light sleeper. He hoped you would make the connection that he was struggling towards, voice clipped and cheeks blushing furiously as he nodded and retreated to his own domicile. He leaned up the door as he shut it behind himself, sighing in relief, praying that this would be the end of it and he could forget the saccharine sweet sound of your moans.  

The third incident was far less indecent, but no less annoying. He was home early from work, having taken off an hour or so before he usually would as he completed a big project that had taken over two weeks and was dead tired. All he wanted was to eat dinner, watch a movie, relax and push all the numbers and negotiations out of his head. Apparently you had the same idea. When you arrived home, he knew because your slamming door shook his wall as well. It had been a week or so since he last heard you but still the sound brought a crimson flush to his face. He didn’t hear much after that for about a half hour, that is, until you turned on your music. Loud, bossa nova or jazz or whatever it was sponging into the insulation between your two abodes and resounding around his own apartment. He couldn’t hear the movie he had put on, he couldn’t enjoy his dinner, hell— he could barely think. He had given you a pass when it was intimate noise but this was unruly and excessive. 

He stomped out into the hallway, the music echoing out there as well. And over to your door. He knocked, maybe a bit too hard, and waited for your arrival. When you did open the door, after just enough time for him to consider knocking again, he once again had to look down to meet your eye line. Music flooded out from the doorway, warm amber light, and the smell of sizzling peppers and oil wafting out, carried by the soundwaves. 

“Hello again, neighbor!” You greeted him, smiling warmly with big, full eyes. 

“The music.” He hadn’t meant to sound so stiff, he had intended to greet you politely and remind you of the wall's thinness but he had had it. Here you were enjoying your cooking and music and inhibiting his ability to do the same, it was unfair, unjust. 

You sighed leaning against the door frame huffing out, “We just can't seem to find a comfortable level, huh? You picked a good movie, very suspenseful soundtrack, one of my favorites actually.” 

Nanami straightened up like a shot, how could he have been so stupid? His television was right up against the “back” wall of his apartment, right against your kitchen wall. The sounds of his apartment, although infrequent, had echoed through your walls too. How many sounds, he wondered. 

“You--I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” He began but then hardened again, “You should have told me to turn it down, I would have been more than happy to oblige.” 

“Hm.” Your lips formed a tight line, “I’m not really into ordering strangers around in their own homes.” 

It was the first and only time you had sassed off to him. He was taken aback, he could feel his neck heating up under the collar of his shirt, his fists balling up at his sides as he furrows his brow at your disrespect. 

Scoffing, he finds the words, “just be courteous to your neighbors.” 

Nanami descends down the hallway, flexing and un-flexing his hands in measured attempts at cooling himself, before he could step into his apartment you called down after him. 

“The therapist was dead the whole time, that’s why his wife won't speak to him! The guy at the beginning shot and killed him!” You shouted and slammed the door behind you.  

It was an incredibly childish move on your part. If someone had done that to you, or if you had even heard of someone desecrating the ending of one of the best mystery thrillers of all time, you would have been furious. But something about this man brought out such pettiness in you. You couldn't help it. You half expected him to knock again and berate you for spoiling his night once again, but instead you heard the sound of his apartment door shutting and the movie resume. 

Credit for sticking it out and watching the movie anyway. You couldn't help but smirk a bit, impressed. 

It has enough legs to stand on its own even without the twist, it really is a good movie, you felt bad for wrecking it. It really was one of your favorites, similar tastes. Maybe this whole time you could have been friends. Although, you couldn't imagine being friends with someone so stuffy and entitled. It didn’t matter that he watched some of the same movies, so did lots of people. It didn’t matter that he was handsome and well dressed. It didn’t matter that when he played music in the mornings it overlapped with your favorite artists. He was an ass and never even bothered to introduce himself once before complaining about you. 

This back and forth had brought you all the way to tonight, him trying to reign in your party, stifling your enjoyment of it and making you hyper aware of every loud burst of laughter or adjustment of the volume. Despite your efforts to ignore it at this point, the desire to be a courteous neighbor occasionally won you over and you found yourself engaging in more subtle, intimate conversations, lowering the music and talking softer. 

When the party finally came to an end and your friends kissed you goodbye and left, giggling down the hall, you waved to them and watched as they slipped down the hallway. Your eyes fell on the neighboring apartment's door, you checked the time. It was just after ten, Nanami was probably asleep, snoozing soundly after having gotten his words in about your party and your carelessness. Feeling the bile of anger rising in your throat, you decided to turn back and retreat to your own apartment. The soft unlocking sound brought you back to the empty hall. 

Nanami stepped out, wearing a pair of expensive looking sweatpants and a dark grey sweatshirt. Even through such baggy clothing you could see his impeccable build, thick, ropey neck, broad shoulders, long, sturdy legs. His hair was down and unstyled, sandy stranded falling onto his forehead, some even extending far enough to brush against the bridge of his nose. A pair of headphones hung around his neck. He looked right back at you.  

“You’ve had headphones this whole time?” Was all you could think to say. 

“Everyone has headphones.” He shrugged leaning against his door frame. 

You wanted to think of something snappy to say back, but your tongue felt fat in your mouth. You had never seen him like this before, completely undone, hair mussed, body relaxed in place of his rigid posture, clearly exhausted enough that bothering you would be too much energy. 

“Your friends leave?” He asked, peeking down the hallway past you. 

“Mmhm. Right on time.” You pointed to your wrist where a watch would be.

To your surprise a low chuckle emanated from his chest. It was warm and hearty and genuine. The sound tugged at your stomach. No -- lower than that. Maybe it was the wine, or your friend's insistence on his beauty that made him have this effect on you suddenly. 

“Sounded like a good party.” His voice mimicked his earlier clipped irritation but it felt less authentic this time, as though he were playing a part. 

“It was.” You smile already nostalgic for the company of your friends, their warm energy, “You could come to the next one, you know. We don’t actually have to not like each other.”

Nanami’s head cocked to the side a bit, dark amber eyes crinkling in confusion, “I don’t not like you.” 

You almost laughed out loud, to think that he could pretend that this whole time he has just been being neighborly? 

“Right. Because badgering people every other week for three months over petty shit is something you do to people you like.” 

Nanami made a small clicking sound, “There’s just…Rules. It’s not personal, you’re just loud and other people live here. I don’t not like you!”

“I’m not loud!” You shouted, which did not help your argument, “You’re just uptight.” 

“I’m not uptight! There are rules, both in this apartment and just socially! Who blasts music at eight am on a sunday?” Nanami stepped closer to you, almost at the midway point between your apartment doors. 

“Who goes to the gym and comes back slamming doors at two in the morning? You don’t hear me complaining about that, even though it happens every night.” You matched his advance, standing at the equivalent point to wear your living room wall would meet his inside of your apartment, “Some people are trying to sleep.” 

Nanami couldn’t stop the words before they spilled out, he leaned his head down to you venomously, “Doesn’t sound like a lot of sleeping to me.” 

Your eyes flew open, your chest caved and your throat knotted. You searched desperately for another meaning, scrambling your brain for recent late night annoyances he could be referring to, but you knew. And he knew too. Shames burned your cheeks, you felt so exposed. 

“You’ve been listening to me?” You gasped, “What are you, some kind of pervert?”

“Pervert?” Nanami gaped at you, “Our bedrooms share a wall, I’m not staying up late to listen to your little audio drama. You're whimpering practically loud enough for everyone on the street to hear.”

You flushed deeper, cheeks practically on fire, “y-you should have said something.” 

Nanami sighed, “I’ve been trying!” 

You started to put things together. His flushed, nervous expression whenever you ran into each other in the mail room or the hallway. The increasingly sterile way he spoke to you about the noise. This whole time he had heard you…intimately…and tried to tell you as discreetly as he could. A bit too discreetly. 

You buried your face in your hands, “Fuck. I’m so embarrassed.” 

Nanami’s gut twisted at your distress. This was the exact situation he wanted to avoid, he didn’t want to embarrass you, he didn’t even want to tell you if he didn’t have to. For the first time in this whole mess, he touched you. He reached out and gripped your shoulder lightly. The heat of his palm warmed your clammy, shame soaked skin. 

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s…personal and I understand that, but it’s not anything to be embarrassed about.” He attempted to soothe you, his thumb experimenting with small strokes. 

You looked up at him, swallowing down the lump in your throat, “I never hear you…do that. You probably think I'm some weird sex freak.” 

A soft rosy blush came over his nose and cheeks. 

He decided to try and level the vulnerability, “I-uh…usually…do that… in the shower.” 

Suddenly his hand on your shoulder felt hot and heavy, he wasn't sure if he should remove it or if that would send the wrong message. What message was he hoping to send? This had suddenly become loaded and confusing. 

You nodded in response, feeling a bit better now that he had exposed part of himself to you. You couldn't keep your mind from picturing him  breathing hard in a steam filled shower, his head falling back in pleasure, hand running down his body to pump his-----

Fuck!

“I don’t think you’re a weird sex freak.” Nanami offered. 

“Thanks.” You let out a small laugh.

You looked up at him, catching his teak wood eyes. Long, dark lashes encircled them, a light dusting of freckles resting atop his chiseled cheekbones. Shapely, rose hued lips were parted slightly as he looked down at you. The air between the two of you became thick and sticky. He was curved over you slightly, maybe even subconsciously. 

“Can I ask you something?” He whispered, just barely loud enough to hear. 

“About…that?” 

He nodded. 

You nodded. 

Nanami swallowed, eyes scanning over your lips, “I haven’t…heard anyone else…with you.”

You waited a moment, “That isn’t a question.” 

“You sound, sometimes, like you might…want some help.” Nanami leaned in closer, his eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes, “Do you?”

Your breath left you, your voice had long abandoned you, you could only try desperately to parse out how you had gotten here. He waited patiently for an answer, suddenly suave and confident. He had always been self assured, you just assumed it was arrogant entitlement. It never occurred to you that he could be so charming, so flirtatious. He knew what he was offering, you knew what this would mean. The instances of rigidity morphed in your memory into a heated chase, reaching its end here and now. You had been caught. 

Finally, you nodded your head, “Yes.” 

He closed the distance between you, pressing his hot lips to yours in an instant. The hand from your shoulder moved to the back of your neck, pulling your chest against his, as the other arms snaked around your waist. After the initial moment of shock, you moved your arms around him to grip his rippling back. The first kiss is long, passionate and deep, his arms feel so strong around you, you can feel the curves and cuts of muscles that you hadn't even considered. He pulls away only for a second to move his head to the side and realign himself to give you a hot, fevered open mouthed kiss, sliding his tongue between your lips and massaging it against yours. You felt dizzy, gripping him tighter, for stability of course, you move your hands up his back and brush your fingers against the cropped undercut at the nape of his neck. He let out a low moan, almost like a purr, into your mouth. You couldn’t help but smile a bit, testing it again and pulling another throaty sound from him. You pulled your lips away momentarily. 

“I see why you need the shower.” You tease.

He nods against your forehead, catching his breath. You capture him in another kiss, leading him clumsily back to your apartment door, struggling with the knob a bit before he reaches around your hip to turn it for you and push inside, using his foot to swing the door shut behind him. Leaning back against your front door, he pulls you close to him once again, holding your body close to his, feeling the heat and weight of you in his arms. The way your apartment smells, like food and candles, earthy scented; sandalwood, laurel, magnolia. The dim, warm secondary lighting. He absorbs it all. It's so, you. 

Your tongue is moving against his now, and he finds himself being kissed as much as he is kissing. He likes how active it is, no part of you feels not focused on him at this moment and he's so grateful. You lead him back to your bedroom, exactly where his own would be on the other side. He lets his hand travel down your back, feeling down to your waist and over your hips, experimentally gripping the flesh there. Fuck, when you werent annoying the life force out of him, you were so gorgeous. A beautiful, full, woman’s body, confident movements, alluring in every sense of the word. Your bedroom was the same as his, no shock there, still just slightly too small to comfortably house a king bed, which he cursed himself for squeezing in. You had a queen, a perfect size, the window on the side wall had sheer cream colored curtains allowing moonlight to coat the room in a magic, blue glow. You had pulled away from him, doing some light mood setting, lighting a bedside candle, brushing discarded clothes and a book from your bed. He recognized the cover of your book, he had read it too last year. 

“She dumps the creepy coworker guy and goes back to working at another store. It’s incredibly cathartic. A shame you’ll miss out on it.” He runs his spine down the copy of your book on your bed, lifting it and flipping through a few pages, a devious smile itching the corners of his lips. 

You look at him, eyebrows raised in alarm. 

Nanami shrugged, “you ruined my movie. I ruin your book’s ending. Good read though.” 

To his surprise, you laughed through a wide smile, “It is a good read, especially the second time.” 

He laughed and shook his head. It was maybe the first time you had seen him actually smile, warm and easy. The just starting lines on his face extending around his mouth in little arches. He really was radiant, sharp features highlighted by the dream like light of the bedroom, blues and amber licking shadows over his face as the firelight moves. The laughter fades and you both look into one another. He looks over your features, lips swollen from his kiss, your eyes meeting his in a trusting, conspiratorial gaze. He feels his lips twitch again into a smile, and steps towards you. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He cups your face, tenderly, his other hand circling your waist as he brings you to his lips. 

The kiss has morphed into something deeper, kinder, less fevered, more focused and somehow even more passionate. When his tongue enters your mouth its not pushed or pressed, it slides languidly and easily against your own. As a polyglot’s tongue drips words, his drips kisses, sensuality. Your hands find the hem of his sweatshirt, slipping underneath, feeling the hardness of toned muscle and bone underneath. You did hear him return from the gym at god awful hours, it makes sense that he has something to show for it. Nanami hisses as you slide your hands around his hips to his back, moving up further, feeling every valley and peak of his hard work. Spurred by your action, he mirrors you, moving his hand under your shirt. Instead of following your lead, he opts to go for the front, gliding his hand up your abdomen and cupping your breast in his hand over your bra. He gives it a small squeeze, making you squeak. Another throaty hum comes from his chest. 

He guides you with his hips, not breaking the kiss just yet to seat you on the bed, with him stood between your legs. Encouraged by your pawing at his torso, he breaks from your lips to remove his sweatshirt, revealing rows of carefully built abdominal muscles, as you had felt already. What you didn't expect was the melange of scars in various stages of healing across his chest, stomach, and shoulders. Some white and flat against the surface, some pink and recessed still healing themselves. You couldn't help the small gasp you sucked in at the sight. 

What the hell happened to him? Or was it still happening to him?

“It's just skin, grows right back after enough time.” Nanami looked down at himself, following your eyeline across his body. 

You sat up further, carefully moving your hand over his toned stomach, across a particularly large, although healed line on his side. 

“Seriously, it’s--” Nanami started but you cut him off by removing your own shirt, pointing to a scar on the lower right side of your stomach, above your hip bone. 

“Appendectomy.” You smile at him wickedly, “You’re not so tough.”  

Nanami can’t help but chuckle, rolling his eyes and climbing over you onto the bed. 

“I didn’t realize I was in the bed of such a badass.” one of his big hands moves over your barely scarred hip, then up your side. 

You moan and arch up at his touch trying to control your shaking breath, “m-mhm, I’m very b-bad a-a…”

Another moan consumes your sentence as he kisses the side of your neck. Taking his time to suck and lick at the soft skin from your shoulder to behind your ear. You make no effort to hide how good it makes you feel, squeezing his large, tight bicep and rocking against him, head lolling to the side. 

“That’s right, you are very bad.” Nanami bites lightly at your jugular point. 

You whimper against him, his teeth on your neck setting your body ablaze. You nod. 

“You’ve been such a bad girl, whimpering just like that all night while i'm trying to sleep. Pretending you don’t know I can hear you.” The dirty words drip off of him like honey directly into your waiting mouth. 

He has moved to hover completely over you, one hand on your thigh, pulling it around his hip, leaning on the other crooked near your head. You can feel his hips against yours, even through his pants you can feel how hard he has become. He can certainly feel how hot and wet you are becoming, you pray that your panties and pants are helping you maintain some kind of decency. That prayer goes unanswered as Nanami moves his hand from your thigh to between your hot writhing bodies, cupping your sex. 

“Is this what you need, baby? You need someone to help you feel good?” He whispers into your ear, one finger starting to move up and down your clothed slit. 

You nod before you can speak. 

“Ask me. Ask for my help, baby.” He grunts against you, you can no longer feel his erection pressed against you, but you can hear his voice becoming strained and rougher, indicating his own resolve has wavered as much as yours has. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him back to your lips and plead into a kiss. 

“Please, please Nanami, please help me.” The kiss is sloppy and wet, saliva and sweat spilling between desperate lips. 

“Kento, please. When I’m fucking you, please use my first name.” He snakes an arm between your body and the mattress and removes your bra, moving down your body with hot, wet kisses. 

You arch up again, the eroticism of being undressed by him titillating your sense beyond your imagination. He latches onto one of your hard nipples, swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh, dark eyes watching closely for your reactions. 

“Kento…oh Kento.” You try the name out, it fits perfectly in your mouth, tastes like honey when you speak it.

It was like he was studying you, gauging reactions and preferences in fractions of a second that other partners had been too hurried to discover. You returned your hands to his hair, threading your fingers and his blonde strands together. He bit and sucked and kissed and lapped at your breasts, giving each one equal, focused attention, squeezing them together and separately like he could never get enough. Finally he detached, a string of saliva connecting him to your skin. His eyes flicked up at you, catching his breath and moving down your body further, his hands moving over the waistband of your pants. Your breath hitched up in anticipation, your bottom lip clamped between your teeth. He met your eyes and searched for any sign of hesitation, if he were to allow his mind to process what was happening he might have stopped himself, citing how messy it could be to be involved in a sexual tet-a-tet with his next door neighbor, perhaps you were doing exactly that. 

But you moved your hand over the side of his face, brushing a few strands of hair off his forehead, smiling sweetly. 

“Please Kento…I need your help,” your voice was so sweet and so soft as you pleaded with him, “....please.” 

He kisses underneath your navel and slides your pants off of your legs, discarding them onto your bedroom floor. He took the moment of readjustment to remove his own pants, leaving both of you in only your underwear. He moved back in between your legs, he could practically see through your flimsy white panties, wetness having made the fabric dark and molded to your skin. He could see the curve of your labia, where they separated, the inner folds hidden but begging for him. Wetness has spread to your thighs, making your skin glisten and sparkle. He looped his thumbs into the band of your panties and slipped them off, joining the mess of clothes already on the floor. Now bare before him, he could feel himself drooling at the sight of you spread out on your bed. Just as he had imagined you, no. No, much better than he could have imagined. Soft, full body, marks blooming on your skin from his kiss, chest heaving and jiggling in turn as you pant for him. Between your legs a perfect oasis of petals waiting for him to part and indulge himself. 

“...stop staring..” Your cheeks burned as he sat back taking you in. 

Nanami leaned down, lips nearly brushing your mound, “I’m admiring.”

You open your mouth to say something sassy but he licks up your slit, silencing you. He smiles a cocky smile at you and does it again, this time taking even more time to reach the top. 

He’s fucked. He knows it from the first taste. He has always had a proclivity and a preference for eating pussy, enjoyed and indulged in the tastes of many women, but none like this. None that have brought him into a haze with a single taste. He dives further, separating your outer lips with two v-ed fingers, showing him the pearl of your clit and your drooling hole. He experiments with pushing his tongue into you, hearing and gauging your moans. It feels good, so good, but he knows he can do more. Feeding his tongue into you once more before he flattens it against you and laps up to your clit again and again. Your hips buck up at that, one of his big hands presses down on your stomach, keeping you in place. He swirls his devil’s tongue around your clit again and again in an agonizing whirlpool before sucking hard at the swollen bud. You can't contain the cries and whimpers spilling from you, you try to move against his hand, you try to pull at his hair to detach him from you, offering you a moment to catch your breath but he doesn't move an inch. He’s a messy eater, chin and nose dripping just as much as his mouth. He’s a loud eater too, moaning at your taste, at the sound of you writhing for him, grunting as his hips rut against your mattress unwittingly. 

“K-kento, I--I think I…” You struggle to string together cohesive words but the fevered lapping between your legs keeps you stammering. 

“Go ahead, baby. Cum on my tongue.” Nanami’s voice was low and gravely, full of need and desperation of his own. 

But this was different, there was a tightness in your abdomen that was unfamiliar, you were confused and panting, worried that something else may happen. 

“W-wait, I--” You tried to move yourself onto your elbows just as Nanami pressed further down on your stomach. 

Before you knew it you were cumming, squirting into his mouth, onto your sheets. You cried out in one long pleasure filled scream, partially his name, partially just exaltation. Nanami drinks from you like a holy well, reverent and indulgent all at once. As though he may never taste you again. FInally he lets you push him off of your twitching sex. His face is soaked, he licks his lips, fingers too, anything that may carry some of your release. You watch him with hazy, drunken eyes. Sat back on his heels, coming out of his own cloud of pleasure, he watches you come back to your body. You look beautiful, panting on your back for him. He leans over you again and kisses your lips softly, then deeper, and deeper still. His tongue tastes like you, your hands are quick to pull his hips to yours. 

“Think you can go again?” Kento huffs out as your grind against his clothed crotch, he can feel the wetness of your climax seeping into his boxers, commingling with his own leaking anticipation. 

“I need it. Please fuck me, Kento.” You have no room for coyness or pride anymore, you have only room for him. 

He nods, burying his head in your neck and removing his boxers with your frantic help. You feel his hard length freed against your thigh. He’s bigger than you imagined, thick and leaking already. You wanted to taste the beading precum, feel the heat and weight of him in your mouth, but you would have to find another time because Nanami was just as desperate to be inside of you as you were to be filled by him. He lined himself up with your begging hole, not yet pushing inside. He looks into your eyes before kissing you, hard and deep, no barriers, no holding back, as he pushes into you. He’s thicker than you even thought, the stretch burning as you arch up into him, whimpering. 

“Take it all baby. I know, I know, just a bit more. You can take it.” He soothes against your lips, thrusting further.

You let out a small, cracked cry as he continues, pressing kisses to your neck. You rake your nails across his hip, desperate for something to cling to. You’re grateful for your surprisingly wet climax earlier, the lubrication helping to ease the insertion. When he finally bottoms out, and you feel his hips flush against yours, he stills. His tip is kissing your cervix, he's trembling above you as he too struggles to adjust to the tight fit. 

“You feel so fucking good, you’re so tight, so fucking wet for me.” He mutters against your neck, your jaw, anywhere he can find to kiss. 

“Fuuuuuuck, Kento.” Your pain finally gives way to pleasure. 

Just in time for him to pull his hips back slightly and thrust into you further. Both of you moan into the silence of the bedroom, as he repeats this over and over. Setting a medium pace of intense thrusts deep inside of you. You're squeezing him tighter and tighter. 

“Please baby, relax a bit. I can’t move much more.” Nanami begs, moving one hand to your clit and circling it gently, attempting to extend your pleasure. 

You try to obey, taking a deep breath and allowing him to make you feel good, as he promised. You release some tension and find his pace more languid and fluid, assisted by his careful thumbing of your clit. Your hands move up and grip the pillow behind you as he increases his pace, pumping into you faster and faster by just a deep. A dance begins with your two bodies, moving in sync, maximizing the joint pleasure. 

“Fuck! Ah, baby. Yes!”

“Oh! Kento, Kento! Yes!! Right there, fuck!”

“There? You like that? Of course you do, bad girl”

“Uh huh, Fuck me like a bad girl, Kento! Fuck” 

Cries of pleasure fill the room, Kento luxuriates in the fact that his own bedroom, sitting empty, is just on the other side of the wall, where the headboard is smacking rhythmically. He brings you to another mind melting orgasm with his thumb and cock working in tandem. You whimper out praises of his skill, his size, his words, Him. Once you have caught yourself again from the freefall of climax, you sit up, pushing on his shoulders. He's too big of a man for you to really push, but he sees your desire and rolls the pair of you so that he is now on his back. Your thighs ache already from being spread so long, but not to be out fucked you hitch your hips up and down his length as fast and accurately as you can. His hands settle on your hips, squeezing bruises into the supple flesh. 

“Fuck baby.” His jaw hangs open as he watches you bounce and grind on him. 

Emboldened by the blush settling on his face, you take one of his large, calloused hands from your hip and slide it up your body and to your mouth, where you suck two of his fingers into your mouth. He shudders and a dangerously loud moan spills from his lips. You swirl your tongue around his thick fingers, tasting remnants of your climaxes, tasting his heated skin. Your hips never stop, riding him and sucking his fingers. You see him sweating beneath you, eyes rolling back, mouth agape, tongue threatening to flop out. The hand on your hip squeezes and pushes you down further on him. 

“Baby I-- Fuck!” Nananmi hoped he would catch it in time but you surprised him and he couldn’t contain himself in time. 

He holds you down on his pelvis as his cock twitches inside of you releasing a heavy load of white into you. You both let out long, whining moans as he fucks up into you desperately. After his long release has completed, Nanami pulls his fingers from your lips and pulls you down to kiss him, whimpering as your shifting squeezes his overstimulated cock. The kiss is sticky with cum and sweat and spit, and delicious all the same. The combined flavors of your endeavor sweeter than any wine, better than any meal you could have shared over a candle lit dinner. Nanami licks into your mouth, holding you flush against his chest as his cock begins to soften inside of you. You pull away enough to look at him, foreheads still pressed together. You smile, and he smiles back, so warm and relaxed. He takes in a breath to speak 

THUNK THUNK THUNK……….THUNK THUNK THUNK 

You two look at one another. The confusion apparent on both of your faces as the knocking continues. You pull off of him, already mourning the feeling of his cock no longer inside of you. Nanami is ready to kill whoever is on the other side of the door for pulling him away from your tight, wet heat. You wrap yourself in your bathrobe, and Kento pulls on his sweatpants. You both exit your bedroom, although you want to assure Nanami he doesn't have to come with you, it feels comforting to have him there when answering the door at night. If he weren't in the room with you, you would have assumed it was him at the door, but since it can’t be you are lost for who could be knocking so late. 

THUNK THUNK THUNK

You open the door to find Mrs. Sonomura, your neighbor across the hall. You often watched her collection of houseplants when she went out of town to visit her daughter. Her cheeks were dark pink and she was wearing her housecoat. You pulled the top of your robe tighter over your chest, praying your hair which you had not thought to fix wasn't too obvious.  

“Good Evening, Mrs. Sonomura. W-what can I do for you?”

She took you in and flushed even deeper, “I-I heard shouting and I…well..”

You were mortified, knowing that any respect this woman had for you must have completely dissolved. Before she, or you, could speak, you felt a heavy hand clap over your shoulder and Nanami’s body came behind yours. He had donned his sweatshirt quickly at the sight of Mrs. Sonomura. 

“My apologies, Mrs. Sonomure. I came over to complain about how loud her party had been tonight and I suppose things got a bit heated. I apologize for the yelling, we’re trying to find a way to be more….neighborly.” He looked straight at Mrs. Sonomura, smiling a charming smile, all while squeezing your shoulder. 

Mrs. Sonomura nodded hurriedly, seemingly happy to take such an obvious lie in place of the uncomfortable truth. 

“Well, I trust the two of you can work it out with the front office. Please keep it down after quiet hours.”

You nodded, “So sorry, Mrs. Sonomura. It won't happen again, Goodnight.”

You waved and watched her enter her apartment before shutting the door to your own. Nanami cocked his head down at you. 

“Won't happen again, huh?” He teased. 

“Oh shut up. We should be careful letting our ‘arguments’ get too loud again.” you sighed out, just relieved to have avoided the complete mortification of your kind, older neighbor thinking you're a slut, “Those walls really are thin.” 

Nanami wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in to kiss the top of your head. You hugged him, pressing your face into his chest. 

“You should probably spend the night.” You turned your face to the side, pressing your cheek against him as you spoke, “I’d hate for something to happen to you taking the train this late.”

Nanami laughed, you could hear it resonate from his chest, “That’s a good point. I’d hate to walk home in this weather.” 

The pair of you smiled before you led him back into your bedroom to sleep. 

OKAY YALL: I really hope you guys enjoyed this one, its been bouncing around in my head for a while and im so pleased with how it came out. Bonus Points if you know what movie//book got spoiled. Anyway, love you guys, and always i would love to know what you thought or if you have any ideas of your own! XX- Doodle.