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[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ, 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.8k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! college!au, minor illness/sickness (heatstroke), semi-established relationship (poly), hurt-comfort, feelings of inadequacy, pet names (baby, baby girl, honey), fingering, oral (m & f!receiving), safe word (not used, just mentioned)

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ It’s kinda crazy that Gojo, Geto, and Shoko ended up in the same class because how did jujutsu tech manage to find two special grade sorcerers and a reversed curse technique user all at once. Being in their class would’ve been like Destiny’s Child except everyone but you is Beyoncé.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

A bird swoops lazily overhead. A black dot silhouetted against the white flame of the sun burning overhead. Sheets of heat shimmer off the pavement, tracing out rippling waves in the humid air that wane only in the shade of the trees. Still, spears of sunlight pierce through the leaves, each wavering beam feeling hot as cigarette burns even in the small halo of shadows cast by the outstretched branches. A breeze meanders through the courtyard, doing little to stave off the midsummer heat. Like tossing a single cup of water on a blazing inferno, the reprieve from the heat is only momentary. 

If the oppressive heat bothers Shoko, she doesn’t show it. Her face is veiled in a grayish haze as she takes a drag of her cigarette, sinuous threads of smoke curling through the sweltering air. Another breeze limps past with a bit more force, enough to knock the smoldering ash from the end of Shoko’s butt. It lands in her lap, eating a black hole through the cloth of her skirt before she can dust the mess away. A dot of pale skin beams through the deep blue fabric, too big to be salvaged. Shoko gives you an unamused glower when she catches the edge of your stifled laughter, tossing away the remnants of her cigarette to look closely at the damage. She brushes away the last bits of ash before clicking her tongue, sulking over the destruction of a recent purchase. 

“Maybe if you hadn’t been smoking on campus…” you hum with just enough amusement to earn you another side-eyed glare. Despite the heat you lean in closer, until your shoulders are touching, so you can whisper in her ear. “Do you want me to buy you a new skirt, honey?” 

Shoko matches your sardonic tone, eyes curved into half moons as she mockingly hums. “Fuck off.” 

She smells like cigarettes and melon shampoo as another gust of muggy air wafts past, stirring up sparkling particles of pollen that cling to the sheen of sweat shining on your skin. Everything is sticky and overwhelming, but the world shrinks to something more manageable as you tilt your head back, eyes closed to the pinholes of sunlight twinkling through the treetops. Bursts of red play behind your eyelids, vision going bright and hazy when your eyes finally open. 

“I’m assuming you’re done for the day?” Shoko asks, nodding to your abandoned weapon as she fishes in her pocket for another cigarette. Yaga-sensei had recently granted you stewardship over a cursed tool from Jujutsu Tech’s extensive armory with explicit instructions to practice before taking the bow on any field missions. Gaudy and ornamental as it is–clearly a show of some past sorcerer’s craftsmanship–the bow carries the ability to hit any target the wielder can imagine. It’s why Yaga-sensei entrusted the weapon to you to begin with. Your infallible memory makes you the perfect user of such a cursed tool. Given enough practice. 

It’s been a strenuous task and the courtyard is littered with the fruits of your labor, arrows imbued with trace amounts of cursed energy strewn across the ground. 

“It’s better to start small,” is all the advice Yaga-sensei had to give on the matter. Practice, as per his instructions, has been little more than standing in one spot while Shoko went around campus naming off landmarks and collecting the arrows as they hit their target. The torii gate near the dorms, the old well behind the cafeteria, the broken statue near the track field. Your phone battery is nearly depleted from how long she’s been going around the school grounds, giving you new targets through the speaker. The soreness in your arm had been expected given that the bow was sized to someone larger than you, making the draw strength something difficult to contend with on the first few shots. It’s simmered to something tolerable but that still leaves the mental strain it takes to perfectly visualize each location. It’s taxing on the mind, and the beginnings of a headache that could be attributed to heat exhaustion is starting to drum up behind your eyes. 

When you don’t offer an answer Shoko brushes her fingers across your forehead, outwardly it seems like she might be brushing the stray hair from your forehead but you recognize the trained calculation behind the simple touch. She wipes your sweat on her ruined skirt and purses her lips. No verbal admonishment comes, but you can tell by her expression exactly what she’s thinking. Estimations of your temperature as it correlates to your current state surely running through her head, but she’s never been one to nag you into submission. Shoko is nothing if not a watchful entity. Simply standing idly while people make decisions, only giving input when asked. Which you haven’t because you can expect a barrage of “I told you so’s” for straining yourself to this point of exhaustion over simple practice. Not a mission, not even a precursor to an aptitude test. Just practice for the sake of honing your skills. 

It’s that gnawing sense of perfectionism that has you standing despite Shoko’s skeptical glare. She won’t say it but the medical training in her is clearly showing on her face, frowning as she watches you collect your arrows. They’re still imbued with trace levels of your cursed energy but without the bow they’re only going as far as a normal arrow. The sun beats down on your back, singeing your skin even through the fabric of your shirt every time you stoop over to pick up another arrow. Shoko sighs, muttering something about “always so damn stubborn.” 

“It wouldn’t kill you to take a break.” She says. More directly this time. Combat has never been Shoko’s strong suit. Her reversed cursed technique being far more suited to the walls of an infirmary than any active battle. Practice for her is suturing and sterilizing. Nothing like the grueling physical feats you’re expected to endure for the sake of honing your craft. But even still she’s one of the few marvels attending Jujutsu Tech because no one seems to have a stronger aptitude for reversed curse techniques than Shoko. It’s truly unfair that of your four-student class, you’re the least remarkable. It makes you want to work harder, twice as hard as anyone else, to prove you deserve your place here. So instead of slowing down and taking that recommended break, you roll your shoulders and force yourself to focus. 

“I took a break.” You did. Because why else would you have been sitting around underneath a tree if not to take a break from the boiling heat that’s melting you down to a paste with the way you’re sweating. Your skin and brain feel like they’re about to liquify and evaporate. But you can’t relax. Even when you sat beside Shoko the feeling of peace was only momentary. The silence brought on by exhaustion only lasted until you gained a second wind strong enough to get you back on your feet, bow in hand despite the way your shooting arm is really starting to ache from the heavy draw weight. You had some experience with using a bow and arrow but it didn’t mean the strength needed to shoot such a massive weapon wasn’t laborious. Still, the dull throb in your arm gives you something to think about that isn’t them. The other two members of Yaga-sensei’s second year class. 

Flashes of white and black cross your mind. Abstract, undefined. Not enough to draw your mind away from your next target: the dead tree in the far corner of the courtyard. Should you shoot facing away or try aiming upwards, towards the sky? An ordinary arrow would fly straight up, perhaps get snatched off course by the wind, but no matter the direction you shoot, an arrow shot from this bow will always hit its mark. You feel the cursed energy singing through your hand as you nock your arrow. 

“That wasn’t a break. You sat down for two seconds.” Shoko rolls her eyes as she watches you draw the bow. “I know you said you’re fine, but–”

“I am!” You say too quickly. Shoko frowns at your insistence. “I just…” You struggle to come up with an explanation for your erratic behavior that doesn’t start and end with the anxiety burning like acid in your stomach. Stinging and simmering as it spreads through your nerves, leaving you with nothing to say in your defense. You hazard a shrug, hoping your indecision will mollify Shoko. It doesn’t and she levels you with an expectant tilt of her head. 

“It’s stupid.” And it is. Because how can you explain that you feel like an imposter in a school with such a rigorous entrance exam? They wouldn’t have let you in if you weren’t worth the trouble of teaching and you know that, yet you still can’t shake the feelings of inadequacy. Not when you’re learning in the shadow of the two most promising sorcerers of the modern era. And it doesn’t help that in your bid to be more like them, you’ve gone and gotten yourself far too involved. What started out as you probably being a bit of a nuisance–always close, underfoot like a puppy–turned into them seeking out your company once you realized the desperation could be dialed back a bit. In trying to seem uninteresting after following them for so long, you made yourself easy to miss. Because, of course, they’d notice if the person always standing in their shadow up and disappeared. 

Now, you’re tangled in a web of their making. A fly struggling beneath the watchful eyes of those spiders keeping you close. It feels suffocating, like chains tightening around you every moment you let yourself slip deeper into the oddity that is your relationship with the Special Grade sorcerers. Gojo Satoru. Geto Suguru. Even thinking of their names has started to spike your pulse with anxiety. And “relationship” is too charitable a word for the arrangement you have with them, seeing as you’re little more than an accessory, something to be added and removed at a whim. A cage of your own making. It’s what you get for always trailing after them like their talents would pass through their air and cling to you, make you worth more than you are. Now you’re here. Always at an arm’s length. Never closer and never further, held firmly in a place they can always reach you regardless of your own conflicting feelings. 

It had been fun at first, to know they wanted you in their lives, in their bed. Although, the newness of the physical arrangement wore off quickly. Now it feels like the tenuous bond has degraded beyond what it had been even when you were nothing more than a tenacious classmate. Before you’d been acquaintances, maybe even friends, but now it feels like you’re something less than even that. A person to pass in the halls and accompany on missions. It stings at your pride to know you only lasted a year. Chewed up and spit out now that your second year classes have reached the halfway mark, a break between semesters fast approaching. 

“Can’t be that stupid if it’s bothering you,” Shoko says patiently, lighting up another cigarette. She takes a deep drag as she waits for you to shuffle through your thoughts, landing on the least offensive truth you can offer. 

“I want to break up with Gojo and Geto.” It’s hard to break something that was built on shaky foundations to begin with, but it’s the best you can come up with without explaining the winding ins and outs of your strange situationship with the men in question. Because Shoko–hell, everyone–thinks the three of you are dating. Like a proper relationship. A happy crowd of three. Shoko blinks through the haze of smoke streaming from between her lips before nodding pensively. 

“You can try.” 

It’s something ominous, though Shoko looks a bit miffed about having to be the one to tell you. Like you should know better than to even consider something like that. The words settle like cold stones in your chest. Heavy and shivering despite the heat still bearing down through the clouds. She goes to sit back in the shade, pulling out her phone to text someone. You ignore the tap-tap-tapping of her keyboard in favor of pulling back your bow string again, aiming at a cloud passing overhead. The arrow shoots up, before winking out of sight with a faint glittering burst, like a flash of light off the edge of a blade. It lands in the trunk of the dead tree with a dull thud. And because you can and it’s something to cut through the cluttered thoughts, you keep shooting. Landing arrows around the courtyard because you’re too tired to go through the ordeal of hunting up every arrow if you go back to shooting them around campus. 

“I think that’s enough for today.” A new voice rings through the courtyard, distinct enough to distract you. A face cropping up unbidden in your mind’s eye, thoughts of the people you’ve been spending your afternoon avoiding springing up like weeds in a garden. Blue eyes and dark bangs invade your thoughts and you lower the bow before you can send an arrow into someone’s head. If you lacked discipline, were more easily startled, you might’ve shot before your reflexes caught the mistake in your mental visualization. Gojo would be fine with his infinity but Geto has no such barriers protecting him from unforeseen projectiles. Red covers white and black as you imagine the arrow piercing through his skull. 

“I’m fine.” It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself. Now that Geto is standing in front of you, your mind has turned to tangles once more. Your usually calm and collected thoughts knotting up on themselves. He and Gojo scramble your brain in a way no one should be able to, like a radio losing signal and turning to static. It makes you want to give up on the endeavor of loosening the mess with slow, careful consideration. Quicker to cut out the tangles and be done with it. White threads. Black threads. Snip them all and watch the tension unravel. 

“You shouldn’t be practicing outside like this when it’s so hot. When’s the last time you took a break?”

“I took a break!” Shoko doesn’t offer support when you look to her to corroborate the half-truth. Instead the fledgling doctor shoves her phone in her bag and you realize the betrayal. It must’ve been Geto she was texting. Shoko isn’t the type to share anything she’s told in confidence, so there’s no worry that she mentioned anything you said to him, but she must’ve said something to raise a flag in his mind if he showed up so quickly. Shoko dusts the dirt from the back of her skirt before drifting past the two of you, murmuring about going home as she leaves you alone with your not-boyfriend. 

For all her nonchalance, Shoko is quite perceptive. A trail of smoke follows after her as she retreats, effectively extracting herself from the equation before she becomes a factor in a fight. Because that’s all you and the boys seem to do anymore. Over nonsense. About you training too hard and them treating you like something that needs protection. Or perhaps it’s just you fighting. Spitting and clawing like a caged animal because that’s how they make you feel. Small and weak and trapped. 

Even from a distance, Geto is overwhelming and it has your hackles raising before he says anything more.  

“I took a break.” You bite out, hoping your attitude will ward him off. “Now let me practice.” Unfortunately, Geto won’t give you the satisfaction of being done with the conversation just because you’re feeling a bit angry. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” There’s that edge of concern you’ve come to know so well. That softness in his voice that sounds almost patronizing, like you’re not aware of your own body’s limits. It makes you sink deeper into your irritation. 

“Yeah,” you scoff, “because I’m some weak Grade One sorcerer.” 

“I didn’t say that. Stop putting words in my mouth.” Quieter, to himself, he mutters about how you and Satoru are just alike, “so fucking stubborn.”

“If you overwork yourself you’ll get hurt. I’m just worried about you.” And there it is. He’s worried. Thinking about you in a way you’ve never had to think about them. As something weak and needing a watchful eye to keep them safe. Gojo and Geto are literally the strongest sorcerers of the new generation. No one has ever had to worry about them. And if they have–you have, though you’ll never admit it–it’s a wasted effort. They return from every mission almost completely unscathed. Only as ruffled as a few hairs out of place because Geto is lethal without having to manifest his collection of curses, and nothing can touch Gojo without his permission. The memories of him letting you go beyond that barrier of infinity crop up unbidden in your mind and it makes you fit another arrow on your bowstring. Burns are starting to form where the bow chafes at your fingers but you pull back the string again, deciding to shoot another arrow dead ahead with no other target in mind. 

“Don’t worry about me.” The words sound empty even to your own ears. Because as much as you crave your own type of recognition, want to prove that you’re not the weakest–most useless–second year student, you like knowing that you have their attention. Something like if you can’t beat them, join them. You’ll never surpass Gojo or Geto’s abilities but you’ve still earned their approval in a way no one else has. Even if it’s all balanced on a precarious edge. So close but so far. They have each other, and then you. They could take it all away in a second and sometimes you wish they would. It would save you the ordeal of being seen as the bad guy for cutting ties with them when everyone knows how attached the three of you are. If you aren’t with Shoko you’re with them and seeing any of you alone is a rare occurrence. It’s something you’ll have to get used to because losing them might mean losing everyone. Shoko doesn’t seem to think it’s possible but what if you prove her wrong? 

Another shot hits its target. What if you’re wrong? 

Geto sighs, real loud like he has a right to be upset. Like his mind is anywhere near as hoarded yet empty as yours. The thought of leaving makes you feel light with released anxiety and heavy with the guilt of betrayal. All at once. Too many knots. Too many thoughts. The bow falls to the wayside as you press your hands to your head, trying to will away the pain stabbing behind your eyes. Headache–maybe heatstroke–made worse by all the stress Geto’s caused just by existing near you. You lean down, hands grabbing vaguely at the ground, smacking blindly across the pavement until you find your bow. 

The sun is bleaching everything bright white and it’s hard to see even with your eyes squinted against the throbbing pain and stabbing light. The arrows are abandoned, far too many strewn about to be of concern at the moment. Right now, all you want to do is get away from Geto. Go somewhere where he isn’t and recollect your thoughts. Somewhere inside, with water and air conditioning. Your footsteps are staggered, legs feeling more like melting wax than anything solid beneath you. 

Move, you try to say, go away. It’s a slurred groan but you shoulder past Geto anyway. Or, at least, you try to. Instead you bounce off of the solid planes of his body. It sends you stumbling in another direction, so quick that your vision begins to dip and swirl like looking through water. There’s the vague sound of something warped and panicked but mostly it sounds like you’re underwater. Everything is shimmering black and blue for a moment before even that fades to nothing. 

It’s cold. Not a bitter kind of cold but something chilled and pleasant, made less frigid by a vague sort of warmth wrapped around you to stave off the biting edge of the water. Everything is tepid and dim as goosebumps prickle up your arms. The budding shivers are chased away by gentle hands soothing over your damp skin. It’s enough to shock you to full attention after lingering in the soft ether between sleep and wakefulness. Water sloshes around you, splashing over the side of the tub as you bolt upright, hands gripping the edge of the porcelain as you struggle to make sense of your surroundings. The last memories you have are steeped in searing heat and blinding light, pinched with pain as the sun leached away at you. The sun is gone now, replaced with the milky white light of the moon. It spills through the open window, highlighting the sharp edges of marble and chrome; the expensive appliances of a luxury apartment. 

Hands tease at your waist, pulling softly to coax you back to where you’d been laying against their chest. You know Gojo just by touch. It’s a privilege few are afforded now that he’s developed a mastery of his infinity, yet here he is wrapping his arms over your stomach to keep you close to his chest. His heart beats steadily against your spine, a consistent metronome that clashes with the anxious skipping of your own pulse. The headache that had been pounding away at your skull like a hammer and chisel is gone, replaced with the sound of your blood rushing in your ear as each subtle touch of Gojo’s fingers tracing against your skin sends you reeling. 

Lips find the tip of your ear, then the edge of your jaw before settling against your pulse fluttering in your throat. His silence is nearly as deafening as your racing heart. It’s so strange to find Gojo so quiet as he presses feather-light kisses into your skin. A damp hand presses into your forehead. There’s a faint hum and then a sigh before his slender fingers drift over your eyes. His lips are at your ear again, the feeling of his breath rushing over your skin making you shiver in his arms. 

“Stop thinking.” His voice is unexpectedly harsh, like he’s angry with you, and it only makes you think harder. It’s obvious you’re in his apartment but the spaces in between point A and point B are blurred, a staccato rush of images flickering in and out of focus. You were at school and then suddenly you weren’t. Last you remember, you were with Geto. Near Geto. Trying to get away from him. And now you’re naked in a tub with Gojo, and he’s upset with you. He says it again, “Stop. Thinking.” 

Because you value your sanity, or what little shred of it you have left, you really do try to calm your racing thoughts but it’s so hard with him so close. And he won’t let you go. His hand stays over your eyes, pinning your focus on him and him alone. His voice. His skin. His anger. Because no matter how much Gojo tries to mask his emotions with a veneer of humor it’s always painfully clear when he’s upset. At least to you. His voice gets lower and his smiles get tighter. Every word that comes off his tongue now is graveled with restraint and it only works to further scramble your mind. Makes you anxious at the unknown. The feeling of being caught in a web springs to life again as his fingertips dance over your stomach, slender fingers feeling like the legs of a spider tying you up in its web. It gets your breaths quickening until you can’t fill your lungs fast enough, heaving and gasping as you grab at the edge of the tub, trying to pull yourself away from him again. 

Let go. Let go. Let. Go! 

It’s a mantra marching through your head until he lets you free at last, so quickly that you go spilling over the side of the bathtub. The tiles are cold and unsympathetic and you yelp as your knees land hard against the marble. Gojo watches you, blue eyes almost glowing in the dimness of the moonlight. You scramble gracelessly to your feet, snatching up the first towel your hand touches as you rush to be away from him. Today was meant to be spent in seclusion. Away from Gojo. Away from Geto. Yet you’ve been pushed towards both of them like a compass leading you north because Geto is just beyond the bathroom door, on Gojo’s bed. 

It’s brighter in the bedroom, lit by the bedside lamp as Geto looks up from his book. It’s set aside quickly in favor of moving towards you. With each step he takes you find yourself drifting towards the door. Your clothes are nowhere in sight and the towel you grabbed hardly offers enough coverage for you to flee back to your dorm in, but the alternative of staying here, with them, is wholly unappealing. Just the thought of spending another moment with them ties knots in your stomach. 

Nervous. They make you so nervous. So anxious about every facet of your existence. They won’t say it but you can see it in the way they treat you like something left over. Something to dote on when they’re done focusing on each other. It was nice at the start because you could pretend you weren’t bothered, but now it’s all you see. A divided front. You. And them. With such an obvious split, it’s only fair that you should have the choice to break free completely. Screw what Shoko said. Of course, they’d let you go. They hardly have you to begin with. But all that bravery evaporates the second your back hits the wall, cornered under Geto’s watchful eyes. 

“Back up,” you breathe, not daring to look him in the eyes. His hair is loose, sweeping over his shoulders to curtain your face as he leans his head against yours. All he says is, “no.”

“Please, back up, Geto.” He’s always preferred manners and you try to sound docile even as your voice starts to shake. You feel him shake his head. No, again. 

“S’not my name.” His hands trace up your shoulders, thumbs brushing against your neck before hooking under your jaw to make you look at him. Slowly he asks, “What’s my name?” 

“Suguru.” It’s something weak and scratchy as your throat tries to close around each syllable but he hums like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. The meager croak is echoed as Gojo emerges from the bathroom with Geto’s name on his tongue. There’s a dozen unspoken thoughts in that single word, all of which Geto seems to recognize in an instant. 

“She’s fine, I got her. Always.” Geto says like you’re a dog that tried to bolt the moment the front door was left open. And despite how insistent you’d been earlier, and how easily Geto said it now, you’re not fine. Truly, you’re the farthest thing from it, and their hovering is making it worse. They usher you towards the bed and you’re perched on the edge as they crowd in around you. 

There’s too much skin involved. With your clothes missing you’re left in a towel, clutching it to your chest to lessen even a modicum of the vulnerability you feel with both men staring down at you. Geto reaches to brush a strand of hair away from your face and you shrink back. His hand falls away but it only leaves space for Gojo to come closer. 

“Stop touching me.” Gojo hums like he didn’t hear you even as his lips find the furrowed space between your brows, lined taut with tension beneath the softness of his mouth. 

“Stop touching me!” Your voice is cracked and edged with hysteria but it works well enough to get them to give you even just a moment to think. Steadying breaths rattle in your chest as you try to pluck up the courage to look at them. Geto catches your eye first because he’s the easiest to look at. His face has always been more guarded, more neutral, than the telegraphing billboard that is Gojo and his big blue eyes. Your thoughts are already so scattered and looking at him will only make it worse. Geto tilts his head as if he’s weighing each thought in his mind. 

“What’s wrong?” His tone is cold. Stripped of that usual affection drawl, Geto’s voice sounds almost angry. Somehow it’s everything and nothing that you wanted to hear. Anger will make this easier. If they’re frustrated and bitter it will be easier to cut ties. Still, hearing how detached he sounds makes something inside you crack. 

“Let’s break up.” In all your imaginings there was anger. Shouting and fighting, though never begging. You couldn’t imagine you’d be worth the loss of even a shred of dignity to them. Why would they lower themselves to beg you to stay? But instead of anger, your words are met with laughter. 

Quiet at first and then louder as Gojo nearly doubles over with how hard he’s laughing. As if you weren’t even worth the effort to get upset. He couldn’t even muster a single harsh word. Instead he’s laughing and the familiar sound is like salt over soil, withering your resolve. The heat of your desperation simmers to something cold and shriveled in the wake of his poorly stifled amusement. 

“Stop it!” It’s small and petulant but he quiets down almost instantly, as if he hadn’t been giggling just a moment before. All the mirth drains from his face and turns to something blank and menacing, blue eyes flashing in the low light. You say his name hesitantly, suddenly unsure of yourself, and his eyes narrow. 

“Try again.” He’s as insistent as Geto that you call him by his given name. You’re far too close to be playing at calling them by their surnames, as if they’re just passing acquaintances and not your supposed partners. 

Softly, you say his name, “Satoru.”

“That’s right, baby. You know my name. Tell me again. Say my name.” He’s getting in close again, face so close to yours that you can’t see anything but him. Pure white hair, clear blue eyes. He’s smiling again. Something coy and teasing as he waits for you to say what he wants to hear. He hears it once then says, “Again.” And again and again as he leans in closer with each murmur of his name until his lips are sealed over yours and his name is only a breath shared between shallow kisses. 

“You know my name, baby,”–he spares another kiss–“so call me by it. I’m not some random guy for you to be calling Gojo. Never have been. Never will be.” The latter declaration sounds almost threatening, and it reminds you that you just tried to sever this bond of familiarity between the three of you. Yet here he is telling you it will never be that easy. Why can’t it be? How entrenched are you in their lives that you can’t walk out just as quickly as you came? Time spent with them is sparing between missions. Today has been a seldom quiet moment to yourself between field work and neither of them had come to see you until Shoko went and planted that seed of doubt with Geto. 

“We’re not together now,” you try to insist upon your previous request. “It would be strange to call you by your name. We hardly see each other. Wouldn’t people think it’s weird if I addressed you so casually?” 

“You know that’s not true.” Geto says, thumb pressed against his brow. A habit of his that spells out his frustration as clearly as any words could. 

“Majority rules.” Gojo teases. “You’re not leaving us so you better quit bringing it up before we think you’re serious.”

“I am serious!” You feel Gojo laughing at you more than you hear it. The steady rumbling in his chest as he pulls you to lay beside him on the rumpled sheets. He kisses the tip of your nose and chuffs out an amused “nah,” as if his words are enough to void your own. 

“What’s your safeword, baby?” Geto asks from the foot of the bed. The suddenness prompts you to answer quickly, an ingrained instinct drawing the word “cloudy” off your tongue. Geto hums and touches your ankle. His fingers aren’t as delicate as Gojo’s. There’s more weight behind even the lightest touch as his fingertips find the jut of your bone before drifting higher, raising goosebumps on your exposed legs. He climbs onto the bed, hand lingering on your skin as he looks down at you. 

“What’s wrong, baby? The truth this time.” 

“I want to break up. That’s all.” It feels like a lie when you’re confronted with Geto’s piercing gaze. Gojo scoffs from his place nuzzled against the column of your neck, lips pressing hot kisses against your fluttering pulse. 

Geto presses further. “Why?” 

Why? As if you had to justify your desire for distance when it’s all they’ve been treating you with. A constant reminder that you’re different, separate. They’re doing it even now, minimizing your words to nothing even as you try desperately to get them to understand that you’re serious. It’s like they’re keeping you on a leash and you’re tugging at your lead, begging to be set free. 

“It’ll be easier for all of us.”

“Easier, how?” Gojo asks as he traces over the shape of your collarbones above the cover of your towel. 

“No one will have to pretend anymore.” 

“Who’s pretending? ’Cause it sure as hell ain’t me.” Gojo snaps, arms cinching tighter around your waist. 

“You been lying to us, baby, is that it?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “Our girl’s been playing with our feelings, huh, Suguru?” 

“That’s what I’m hearing.” Geto agrees. 

That’s not true. If anyone’s been lying, it’s them. Treating you so sweet when it’s plain to see the only people that matter to them is each other. They’ve always been together until you stumbled along, weak and starry-eyed. Wholly intent on earning your place in a group of such skilled sorcerers. They doted on you, taught you, loved you, but how truthful can a love borne of pity be. You’re a kicked puppy limping along behind them and it’s taken you this long to realize how truly pathetic you’ve been. Training makes a sorcerer, not trailing behind in a race you’ll never win. Chasing the backs of two people you can never hope to reach. It’s cruel of them to pretend you were ever someone worthy of being beside them. It was never going to be you and it makes you wonder how long they planned to let you live in this delusion.

“I’m not the one lying.” It’s quiet, barely the wisp of a sound, but they hear it. Gojo sits up quickly, pulling you with him so that he and Geto can pin you between them once more. 

“So it’s us?” Gojo bites, voice grated with anger. “You think we’re lying about our feelings. You think we don’t love you?” It’s better that you can’t see him as he kneels behind you, chin hooked over your shoulder, but there’s nothing shielding you from Geto’s endlessly dark glare. His head tilts, bangs sweeping over his eyes as he stares down at you with a harsh set to his lips. 

“Who said that, baby? Who told you we didn’t love you?” When you shake your head, Geto scoffs. 

“Don’t tell me you made up that lie yourself.” Gojo grunts. “You got lost in that pretty little head of yours and decided we don’t love you anymore, is that it?” His hand is over your eyes again, turning the world dark. It’s something he’s always done, covering your eyes like putting a blanket over a cage. It forces your mind to quiet, to focus on less. A habit you assume he developed as an extension of his own. 

He dampens his Six Eyes with blindfolds and tinted glasses, so of course he’d know exactly how to quiet your mind when it starts to race out of control. Your hands lift towards your face, uncertain if you want to move his hand or hold it closer. Your fingertips rest against his skin, not pushing, not pulling, but without your arms against your sides the towel slowly comes loose to pool around your waist. Warm hands are quick to chase away the chill of the room as Geto’s fingers brush against your ribs, Gojo’s free hand settling lower on your waist. They both move in closer until you’re locked between their bodies. Gojo at your back and Geto against your chest. The latter lifts your hips, pushing the towel aside completely as he pulls you into his lap. You can’t see him through Gojo’s hand, but you’re sure Geto is staring at you, gaze likely steeped in disappointment. 

It reminds you of what Shoko had said, “You can try.” And this is your reward for the effort. Trying suggests a margin of error for failure, and you’ve failed spectacularly. Undressed and caught between the two of them, feeling their hands against your naked body as they try to convince you to stay. 

“You’re wrong, pretty girl,” Gojo hums, cheek pressed up against your ear as he leans over your shoulder. His voice comes from all around you. Humming through your spine and over your shoulders as the soft timbre comes up from his chest and settles as a low draw in his throat. You hear it nearly echoing in your ear as his mouth ghosts over your skin. He’s so close, hand still guarding your eyes from seeing anything beyond his skin. He’s got you surrounded and it’s only made more overwhelming as Geto moves in closer until you can feel his breath against your lips. His face is different from Gojo’s as he nuzzles against you. The white haired man is made up of straighter edges–a slim jaw and sharp nose–to match the deceptive softness he presents to the world, like a blade hidden in a sleeve. Geto is comparatively more broad, all brute strength and heavy hands as he presses his nose against yours. 

They’re being gentle. You can feel it in the way their muscles move beneath their skin, tensing and curling with controlled strength. They’re so strong and you feel like a feather caught between two rocks as they press against you, woefully inferior and easily brushed aside. Still they don’t allow you to float away. Both of them press close to keep you exactly where they want you. Lips find your skin. Warmth blooms across the curve of your shoulders and up the column of your neck as soft pecks graze your parted lips. There’s nothing heady or frenzied about this moment. It’s less feverish than you’re used to, yet there’s no absence of emotion because being between them has always been fraught with passion. A hand trails across your chest, settling over the steadying thrum of your heartbeat, and you realize belatedly that they’re going slow for your sake. Just a moment ago you’d been overwrought with panic and each of their glancing touches works to bleed the tension out of your body. 

“Still with us?” Geto asks. He and Gojo always seem to move in tandem. Geto’s hand has only just started to tip your head up to meet his gaze when Gojo’s hand finally slips away from your eyes. You must say something in the affirmative because Geto hums, thumb brushing over your lips before he looks over your shoulder at Gojo. Something unspoken passes between them in the briefest glance and then you’re moving, getting dragged into Gojo’s chest as he sits up against the headboard with you between his legs. His towel has been brushed aside as well, leaving only Geto clothed. He evens the odds a fraction by pulling his shirt off, ruffling his hair so it falls messily around his face. Pretty.

Geto scoff, “Now you have something nice to say, baby?” You hadn’t meant to say it out loud but they both seem amused if not a bit mollified by the slip of your tongue. 

“Our boy is pretty, isn’t he?” Gojo asks, shifting his hips until you can feel the length of his approval pressed against the small of your back. Wet and hot, leaking and throbbing against the base of your spine as his hands press against your stomach to pull you impossibly closer. 

“Gentle.” Geto reminds him, eyes fixed on the way Gojo’s fingers are making impressions in the softness of your skin. Any harder and he’d start to leave bruises but Gojo knows better. Geto wouldn’t let him hold you hard enough to break and Gojo himself is far too aware of his own strength to ever lose control like that. 

“M’always gentle,” he says against the nape of your neck, the sentiment nearly lost as his teeth scrape across the sensitive skin. A shiver skitters down your spine, skin dotted with goosebumps as his tongue soothes the faint sting his teeth left behind. 

“I know you are,” Geto agrees, reaching past your shoulder to touch Gojo. The man nearly purrs, a soft chuckling noise vibrating against your skin as his tongue tastes where your pulse is rushing in your throat. 

“We’re always gentle with you, aren’t we, baby girl?” Geto’s eyes are on you now. The pitiful little “yeah,” you manage to squeeze out around the lump in your throat hardly qualifies as an answer. But they are, and isn’t that the worst part? They’re so gentle with you like they know you’re too weak to handle them unbridled, like you’re wrapped in caution tape and stamped with stickers marking you as fragile. Weak. It’s embarrassing that even in their most vulnerable state they’re more than you could ever hope to handle. 

“Our girl.” Gojo sighs. The strongest sorcerer of the new generation and yet his touch is so gentle it seems almost hesitant as one hand moves away from your waist to dip between your legs. He echoes the whimpering sound you make as the pads of his fingers brush against your clit, seemingly reveling in the way your body tenses as he traces gentle shapes against the sensitive bud. His touches are fleeting, teasing, hardly enough as he pants against your shoulder. Geto’s hands smooth up the inside of your thighs, thumbing against the muscles as he spreads your legs wider for Gojo to touch. His second hand comes away from your waist to join the first, teasing at your fluttering heat before sinking a singular finger inside. He groans louder than you do, mumbling against your dampening skin about “so wet, baby,” as he works his finger inside you, adding another and another as he stretches you out with each curling thrust of his fingers. 

Geto seems content to watch, thumbing soft circles against the shaking muscles of your thighs as Gojo takes his time loosening you around his fingers. 

“You’re making a mess, baby girl.” Geto teases. You can feel it. Gojo is frustratingly good at everything he does and this is no exception. He’s winding you up tight as he hooks his fingers against that spot inside you that has you keening and arching away from his chest. There’s the faint sound of a protest, a groaning “no!” as Gojo’s body follows yours, not letting you put any distance between you. 

“Be nice,” Geto laughs, pushing against your sternum until your back is against Gojo’s chest once more. Once you’re settled his hand trails to your nipple, brushing against the pert bud before the heat of his mouth swallows your breast. His tongue laves over your skin, leaving a glossy wet trail across your chest as he nips and licks at your breasts. It’s all overwhelming. The heat of two bodies against yours, reflecting the warmth of your own. Sweat gathers where Gojo is panting against your neck, lashes tickling your cheek as he looks down as where Geto is leaving faint marks against your skin. Your hips shift, trying to shy away from the mounting pleasure but Geto’s hold on your thigh is unflinching and only works to push you further into Gojo’s lap. You can feel the latter grinding against you, cock drooling against your skin as he grinds against your ass. 

“Fuck, baby,” Gojo’s whining now, in that same breathy way he does whenever he’s at the edge of cumming. “You close, baby, gonna cum for me?” His fingers work faster inside you, rubbing real nice against your clit as he babbles a mantra of “cum, baby, please, please, cum,” in your ear. You do because they don’t give you much of a choice with the way they’re hitting all your weak spots at once. Just one of them is enough to override your senses, but together they all but melt your brain until your thighs are shaking and you’re staining the sheets with how hard you’re cumming. Gojo doesn’t let up on your clit but he pulls his fingers out of you with an embarrassingly slick sound to fumble for his cock. Geto helps, lifting you higher so Gojo can slot his cock against your pussy. He leans forward like he’s trying to wrap himself around you, rutting feverishly against your wet heat and whining when he doesn’t end up inside you. Geto seems to take pity on him, brushing Gojo’s hand aside to stroke his flushed cock soaked with a mix of both of you. 

“I got you, baby.” Geto hums, leaning over to kiss Gojo. With the way they’re meeting in the middle, just over your shoulder, you can hear every sound they make with frustrating clarity. Every little groan Gojo makes as Geto kisses him. It’s loud and sloppy and you feel spit dappling your shoulder when they pull apart, joining the sweat already beading on your skin. 

Geto murmurs, “You too, baby girl,” before enveloping you in a kiss of your own. His tongue finds yours easily, coaxing you into a deeper kiss as he groans against your mouth. He kisses you like he’s trying to swallow you whole, to consume every part of you. It’s startling and grounding all at once. A kiss like that can’t be fake. It eases a bit of tension from your body and Geto feels it, humming against your mouth as he pulls away, a faint smile on his lips. He kisses you again only briefly before moving lower, dappling your skin in warm kisses before he settles on his stomach with his head between your legs. He gives Gojo’s cock a few more teasing strokes before wrapping his lips around his swollen length. Behind you, Gojo keens, wrapping his arms tight around you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. Geto’s eyes are on you as he swallows Gojo’s dick. 

“Fuck,” Gojo shivers against your back. “Wish I could see him. Tell me what he looks like, baby. What does our boy look like between our legs?” It’s an odd request if only because Gojo can see so much. Yet here he is relying on your vision to tell him what he can’t see. 

“S’pretty,” you tell him, “so pretty.” 

“Yeah,” Gojo agrees instantly. “Yeah, our boy is so pretty. Fuck, Suguru!” 

“He’s taking you so well.” Geto hums at the praise and Gojo whines behind you, hips jerking up. Geto’s hands settle on your thighs once more, gripping like he needs something to focus on while he’s taking Gojo’s cock to the hilt. You lay a shaking hand on his head, fingers carding through his soft hair, pulling it away from his face as he blinks up at you. 

“So pretty, Suguru.” He pops off of Gojo’s dick at the sound of his name on your tongue, shifting forward until his lips are wrapped around your clit. Your hand tightens in his hair, unsure if you want to pull him away or guide him closer as the simmering sting of overstimulation slowly bleeds through your body. He decides for you, pulling away far too soon and dragging you up with him. You fall against his chest as he nods for Gojo to move. You’re laid out in the space he leaves as Geto shoves his pants down his thighs.

There’s a wet spot on the fabric from where his cock has been leaking in its confines, precum beading on the flushed head. Gojo is quick to clean up the mess, kissing the tip of Geto’s cock and taking him halfway down his throat. Geto groans, tossing his head back in a wave of glossy black hair as he takes Gojo’s mouth with a few short thrusts before pulling the blue eyed man off of him. He keeps his hand in Gojo’s hair, guiding him up to his knees to kiss him again. There’s a peek of tongue between their mouths and it has your thighs pressing together just watching them kneeling over you. 

“Want you,” Geto breathes against Gojo’s lips, hardly parted from their kiss. “I don’t care how, jus’ want you.” An approving hum follows as Gojo lays himself on top of you, hips slotted against your. 

“Lift up,” he murmurs, sliding a pillow under your hips as he grinds his throbbing cock against you. “Feels so good, baby.” He whines. When he leans in to kiss you, there’s desperation sparkling in his eyes. He’s kissing you hard enough to push your head back into the mattress, nipping and licking like he’s trying to pour everything he can into the press of your mouths. His body is pressed against yours in every way he can manage. Fingers threaded with yours as your hearts beat in feverish tandem, hips pressed flush as Gojo grinds against you. There’s the vague sound of a cap popping then a pitiful whine against your mouth as Geto’s hand finds Gojo’s hip, holding him still as he presses a lubed finger inside Gojo. He melts in an instant, squirming and whining as Geto keeps him steady with a hand on the small of his back. He takes his time with Gojo, letting him relax into the feeling and stalling when he whines about it being too much. By the time Geto is satisfied with how prepared Gojo is, the latter is stumbling over his words, babbling about “please, I want it, please, please!” with his hips caught between you and Geto. He can’t seem to decide exactly what he wants but Geto does it for him, leaning against his back as he strokes his dick. 

“You want it?” Geto teases, nosing at the hollow behind Gojo’s ear. The white hair man nods, face drawn in desperation as he ruts into Geto’s fist. “What do you want, baby boy?” Geto asks as he drags the head of Gojo’s throbbing cock through your wet folds. 

“Inside!” Gojo’s voice cracks with the volume of his desperation. Geto chuckles and kisses his shoulder. 

“Whatever you want, baby.” He hums, guiding Gojo inside you. His shaking stills in an instant as he melts against you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whines. “It’s so warm inside. Squeezing me so tight, fuck!” His babbling only devolves further as Geto presses inside him, nearly incoherent as he writhes between your bodies. The strongest sorcerer reduced to a whimpering mess before you, because of you. There’s something reassuring about it as you brush Gojo’s damp hair away from his eyes, tasting the salt of his sweat as you kiss his forehead. He can barely return the affection, nuzzling against your cheek as Geto pulls back to start fucking him in earnest. Gojo finds his rhythm pinned between the two of you, rutting into you whenever Geto pulls away. His fingers are back on your clit, making a mess between your prone bodies as he tries to rush you towards the edge. He’s already shaking and whining, teetering on the edge of pleasure from all of Geto’s attention. 

“Gonna cum, baby?” Geto huffs. There’s a nod and a litany of words spilling from Gojo’s lips that sound like “m’close,” as his hand grabs Geto’s thigh to pull him closer. Gojo grinds against his cock, fingers not letting up on your clit as he makes himself cum on Geto’s dick. 

“Good boy.” Geto coos, hands soothing against Gojo’s waist as he shivers. He’s close, you can tell by the way his hips are stuttering, balls tightening as they smack against your skin. He cums hard, body going rigid as he spills inside you. Still, even when he’s finished he doesn’t stop moving his hips. Bright blue eyes stay locked on the frothy mess seeping out around his cock until Geto gets him to pull away. His cock is soft and flushed between his legs, strings of your shared arousal staining his skin as Geto lays him down beside you. Gojo is quick to cling, slinging an arm across your waist as his head settles against your shoulder like he can’t bear to part from you for even a moment. His hand seeks out yours, twining your fingers as Geto fills the space Gojo left inside you. He chuckles at the wet sound it makes as he sinks inside you, hair curtaining your face as he leans down to kiss you. 

“Feel so good, baby girl. So fucking good. Can’t believe you wanted to take this away from us.” He groans as he sinks into your heat. Gojo had gotten you to the edge, wound you up near to snapping, and Geto doesn’t seem keen on giving you a moment to relax. His hips grind against yours with startling intensity, like he’s fucking all his anger into you. 

“Tryin’ to leave us like we don’t fucking adore you. You don’t even realize how much we need you, do you?” He grits out. They need you? It sounds inconceivable, and yet here you are. In Gojo’s bed, with Geto losing himself inside you. Who else has been allowed to see them like this? 

“You’re good, baby.” Gojo whispers. “So strong and so kind. We gotta be gentle with you, can’t let you get tarnished and jaded the way we have. Gotta keep our girl protected and happy for as long as we can.” He kisses your ear. 

“We’ve seen so much,” Geto pants. “Can’t let you end up like us.” Somewhere in his soft groans there’s a promise, a vow to keep you away from the things they’ve seen. It makes something come loose in your chest, a tension unraveling at last as tears prick at the edge of your vision. It’s a sorcerer’s job to protect and they were protecting you. All this distance and turmoil you’ve been suffering because they want to protect you. Not because you’re weak but because they’re strong. You’ve heard whispers of the things that happened while they were in high school, things you’d never wish on your worst enemy. Gojo had died somewhere in their second year. Of course they want to keep you behind them, a wall between you and the cruelness of their world as Special Grades. Your vision swims with tears as you pull Geto into a kiss, mumbling out sniffling apologies. 

“M’sorry, m’sorry! I just wanted you to take me seriously. It always feels like I’m an afterthought when it comes to missions.”

“Baby, you’re the only thought.” Gojo sighs. “You’re our soft place to land and we’d like to keep it that way. We like you soft. You can be strong all you want but when you’re with us, you gotta let us treat you nice, yeah?” You think you nod, babbling back an affirmative, but it’s hard to know as the head of Geto’s cock grinds against your sweet spot, his fingers rubbing over your messy clit. Gojo thumbs at your nipple and it’s the last bit you need to send you over the edge with a cracked shout. 

“That’s right, baby, shit.” Geto groans as you clench around him. He presses in close, forehead against yours as he works himself to the edge. Each panting breath is shared between you as you rest the hand Gojo isn’t holding against the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly in his hair. 

“Please, wanna feel you. Please cum, Suguru,” you whisper against his lips. He returns the coaxing with a soft “fuck,” pressing his weight against you as he cums with a graveled grunt of your name. You feel the mess leaking down your thighs, a mix of Gojo and Geto dripping out of your cunt as Geto pulls away with a few fluttering kisses. 

“Thank you,” he says between each press of your lips. “Thank you for trusting us.” Belatedly, you realize you had trusted them. Implicitly. Geto had even gone as far as reminding you that you had an out, asking for your safe word even when you could tell he didn’t want you walking away from them. Even in your anger and panic you’d trusted them to treat you carefully, and they had. Gojo is still pressing soft kisses into your skin as he clings to you. His leg has found the space Geto left between yours, hooked over your thigh to keep you from squirming away from his sweaty embrace. 

“Don’t get too comfortable.” Geto says as he runs his hand up Gojo’s thigh. “We all need a bath and I’ve gotta feed you two.” 

“M’not hungry.” Gojo grouses, burying his face further in your neck. 

“Don’t be a brat.” Geto groans. “And we definitely need to get some fluids in this one.” He says, wiping the sweat from your brow. “She was already dehydrated. We shouldn’t have tired her out like this.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, really meaning it this time, but Geto brushes you off. 

“You probably feel fine but you’ll be complaining about a headache in an hour tops, so up you go. Shower, then food. You can whine about how mean I’m being once you’ve gotten something to drink.” Gojo grumbles something that sounds faintly like “I’ll hold you to that,” as he gathers you into his arms and carries you to the bathroom. They argue about who gets to wash you and what food to order, falling into the familiar rhythm of push and pull between them with you as the mediator, gently guiding their petty arguments with a soft laugh. It’s a comfortable place to be, just one step behind them. 

[moonchildstyles]

would elan y/n like fashion week? would harry go with her as her bodyguard or her boyfriend?

wordcount: 3.6k+

—————

(Y/N) stood still as Dom fluttered around her, his hands making the finishing touches on his vision. As soon as the invitation to sit in on some of the premier shows of Paris Fashion Week—front row, no less—he'd been dreaming up an entire scheme of different looks and aesthetics for her to conquer. Sketches and rounds of approval started the process, only to finish with a handful of tedious fittings until they landed on the final looks. A handpicked team accompanied them to the city, complete with hairstylists and makeup artists (Y/N) had only ever seen on her socials. While it wasn't the first time she'd attended Fashion Week shows, this was the first time she had been invited to go international at the invitation of a few of the houses, and Dom wanted to ensure it wouldn't be the last. 

First up: the Jean Paul Gaultier show and the silken outfit Dom had put together. 

As soon as she finished her breakfast that morning, she had been settled in the eye of the whirlwind that was her team, readying her for the show. Dom was insistent on finishing her off in time for a personal photoshoot to be done to add to his portfolio (and her Instagram) as well as hitting the small carpet that would be set up outside of the show for her to be pictured for the event. Everything was going to be perfect, he promised. 

(Y/N) went along with every one of his whims, standing, bending, and contorting exactly how he wanted until he finally came around for the finishing touches. From the corner of her eye, as Dom perfected the effortless-but-purposeful folds, she could see Harry lingering in the corner of the room, his watchful eye stuck on her. 

Seeing him like this, her view obstructed with glamorous hands flitting around her form, took her back to the day of the 132 Gala. Back then, he had barely met her eye for longer than a second, glancing at her before he would force himself to pull away. Now, he held no shame, raking his gaze over her body, taking in the cut of her dress, cinch of her curves, and every angle of her form. There was even a slight curl to his lips, lopsided with only a single dimple. She wished she knew what was going on in his head, but with the way he kept flicking down to the lace up boots that went high up her thighs she had an inkling. 

"What do you think? How do you feel? Anything you want to change?" Dom fired off, taking (Y/N)'s attention from her bodyguard and back to the task at hand. 

Across from her stood a full length mirror, giving her a complete look of her archival look and all of the details that went into making her impact. 

Reflected back at her was her own made up eyes, complete with a light sweep of blush heading up her temples, minimal eye makeup, and a muted, blurry cherry shade patted over her lips. Her hair was piled high above her head, extensions and heat-rolled curls were folded around her face to give the illusion of a halo—like the Gaultier shows from decades before they were taking their inspiration from. The star of the show was the archive piece from Gaultier themselves, white silk draped over her body with a low cut down her chest that ended high on her thighs, though the fabric was cinched around her waist with the help of a matching, gauzy  corset. It was tied tight around her middle, complete with three different sets of laces—two of which were tied at her sides with one down the center as well holding the entire piece together.

Her look was completed with a small red bag that matched the thigh high boots cinched over her legs, dyed a bright scarlet red that conformed to her shape. They were the statement piece of the look, and, watching Harry's wandering eye, they were doing their job of catching attention. 

(Y/N) smiled at her reflection, flicking her eyes away from Harry's form in the background to look to Dom. "I like it," she told him, "I feel good, I don't think we need to change anything." 

"Me neither, darling!" Dom beamed, taking her in with pride as if she were his next piece of art in his exhibit. "We'll do photos and then we go!" 

With that, Dom dismissed the glam team after calling for a final meeting this afternoon to finalize the look for tomorrow's Yves Saint Laurent show. He flitted through the room, thinking aloud as he searched for the missing photographer. Now alone, (Y/N) didn't hesitate before turning on her red heel and looking to Harry with a beaming smile on her lips. 

"What do you think?" She reached out for him, her purse hanging off of her wrist. 

Harry came to her in slow strides, taking her in with lingering drags of his eyes. When he met her eyes through the fan of his lashes, a sly grin tugged at his lips. "I don't know if y'want me to say." 

"Why not?" she asked, smiling at the way he smiled despite not being entirely sure where he was going. 

"Y'said y'don't like it when I get you all flustered before we go out," he drawled, reaching her with his arms going around her waist, "Y'told me y'think it looks obvious in pictures that you've got something on your mind." 

Happily falling into his hold, she understood where he was going with his declaration. "Because it is," she said, putting her manicured nails through his hair, "You can check any of the articles dissecting my body language when we're out, and they'll tell you that we just had sex and I can't stop thinking about it." 

He only shrugged at her claim, instead pushing forward and dotting a careful kiss on her lipsticked lips. 

"That's how I know 'm doing m'job," he murmured, pulsing his arms around her middle. His fingertips skated over the faux ties on her sides, "But, really, y'look gorgeous. 'M excited to see everyone's reaction at the show." 

(Y/N) brightened at his praise, "You think they'll like it?" 

"Sweet girl," he said, shaking his head before pulling away just enough to give her a slow appraisal, "they're going to love it. Gonna be asked to be put right in the show, I think." 

Taking in the soft of his eyes, the genuine sincerity he always laid upon her, (Y/N) couldn't hold back her smile, "Maybe."   It was her turn then to catch him in a kiss then. Though she was aware of the careful red stain on her lips, she was much too focused on the warmth of his words filtering through her system to truly care. Her arms were draped over his shoulders, fingers carding through the delicate curls on the back of his head as she sunk into their kiss. His hands on her waist tightened, keeping her close as she felt the very small curl of his lips as he smiled against her. 

It wasn't until she parted her lips, a brief taste of his tongue over her mouth, that the door to the bedroom that had been designated as her dressing room was pushed open. Dom's singsong voice filtered through, declaring something about photos only to be cut off at the sight that greeted him. 

"Oh, come on, (Y/N)," he sighed, sounding like a petulant child, "You couldn't have done this before?" 

Truthfully, she couldn't be upset with Dom for his exasperation—especially since he was one of the few who knew the real story behind she and Harry, and hadn't sold the story immediately. The effort that had gone into her makeup wasn't something she took for granted, though Harry was just too enticing at times for her to resist. Today included. 

Nonetheless, she untangled herself from around him, conscious of the red stain that now clung to the center of Harry's lips. 

"Sorry," she mumbled, feeling her skin warm when she saw the disappointed look on Dom's face, "I can fix it if it's messed up." 

Dom waved her off, storming through the room in the flourishing way he always did, "No, no, I'll call Cassandra. Just, no more (Y/N)—you too." He pointed an accusatory finger right at Harry. 

From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) saw Harry do nothing more than bundle his hands behind his back and take a step away in surrender though there was still a less-than-hidden curl amusing his lips. 

"No more," (Y/N) repeated with a nod of her head, "Sorry." 

Harry let out a huff of laughter at her side. 

—————

Flashbulbs burned (Y/N)'s eyes, even when she blinked. She posed, changing every minute to allow for new shots as she made her way down the carpet. Her name was falling from French-accented lips, calling for her attention. Giving herself a break, she looked towards her booted feet, taking a breath when the smile fell from her lips. 

She must have taken too long when she felt a gentle hand land on her back, between her shoulder blades and on the bare skin displayed by the cut in the back of her dress. The static of someone's presence clung to her when their head dipped down close to her ear. 

"You alright?" Harry murmured, voice low for only her to hear. 

Aware of the cameras that were now snapping like crazy, taking in every angle and every breath of this moment, (Y/N) turned to him, catching his eyes. "I'm okay," she assured him, giving a small nod of her head to follow after the tiny smile on her lips, "Just needed a break from the lights." 

"'S a lot today," he agreed, decidedly grim when he let his eyes graze over the barricade of photographers, "Y'want to cut it short and go in?" 

(Y/N) shook her head, "I'll be okay. Thank you." 

It was the way that Harry's gaze lingered over her, washing over her features and cataloging each of her details, that showed her he wasn't asking as a bodyguard. This was Harry—her mon amour—asking if she was ready to leave, ready for him to rescue her out of this moment. (Though he was never one to bring it up, she was sure times like these brought up the night of the 132 Gala and the nonstop probing she had gone through). 

Whatever he saw on her face seemed to be enough to assure him. A reciprocating smile touched his features before he stepped away, melting into the background once again. 

Tuning back into the moment, (Y/N) heard the clicks of the cameras and the call of her name again like the bubbling of the ocean. She didn't allow herself to think too hard before she fell into her role, a bright smile settling on her lips and lashes fluttering just right for the shots. 

Even with all of the eyes on her, there was only one pair she felt warming her back. 

—————

The final pass of the pieces were paraded down the runway, models stomping in fanciful heels with billowing fabrics and structured shoulders. Muted tones dominated the collection, complete with sparkling jewels and artful embroidery. (Y/N) clapped along with the rest of the audience as she filed away the pieces she would definitely be passing along to Dom that she could see being added to their repertoire. 

It had been a truly beautiful show, and not just because she had been invited to sit in the front row, but she was ready for it to be over. It had been a long show, and one that she wished Harry could sit next to her through, so she actually knew someone she was seated by. Her anxiety had been on a low simmer in the back of her mind, causing her to sit stiffly and shift carefully in her seat. While she was used to cameras and the lingering threat of out-of-context videos being posted, she wanted so badly to do well here—leave the opportunity open of possibly being invited back. The expectation kept her on edge.

Seeing the end of the show allowed her lungs to finally fill, knowing that she would be granted a reprieve soon. Standing ovations were given once the designer made their way down the runway alongside the models, (Y/N) joining in with a beaming smile on her features. 

It wasn't long after a quiet round of thank yous were given out by the designer, the models being dismissed to backstage, that the audience began to filter out. (Y/N) stretched to the full of her height, heels tottering on flooring. The few acquaintances she made at her bench told her goodbye, giving small hugs and bids to see her once more at the afterparties that night, eventually leaving her and her tiny bag by herself as she drifted towards the exit. 

Coming from whatever corner he huddled himself into during the show, Harry joined her side with his eyes scanning ahead for their next steps. He looked down at her when he landed a hand on the small of her back, a bounce of his brows when he caught her already looking to him. 

"Y'alright, love?" he murmured, voice a low rumble for only her to hear. 

She gave him a nod of her head, automatic smile landing on her lips. "Yeah. I think I just need to breathe a little." 

With that, (Y/N) could see the gears beginning to turn in his head. There was a plan being stitched together in his mind, ready to take her wherever he could get her a fresh breath of air and privacy. 

Handing over all of her trust, (Y/N) followed wherever he guided her, keeping her footing steady in her boots. The patrons around them thinned the closer they came to the exit as people filtered out and left down the grandiose stairs leading up to the hall. He seemed to know the space better than her, taking her down the stairs until he steered her away from the waiting cars and gathered photographers. The path he took looped around the banister of the concrete stairs, following the line of the building until they reached a quiet alcove, complete with employee only entrances and a set of dumpsters. 

The rustling of footsteps and sea of voices was far off enough now, letting (Y/N) put her guard down without any watchful eyes around. Harry's hand on her back shifted until it became an arm around her waist, his head ducking into her line of sight with the lillypad of his eyes matching hers. 

"Thank you," she said, the words coming out on a plume of air, "What did you think of the show?" 

The warmth of his eyes glazed over her, the tick in his jaw settling once he saw there really was nothing upsetting he other than the need for a breather. "It was good—interesting. Long." 

A small breath of laughter fell from her lips. "I know. It was really long, but super cool. There were a few things in there that I think I'm going to talk to Dom about." 

"Yeah?" Harry smiled, his features softening with dimples sitting in his cheeks, "Which ones?" 

His amusement only grew as she bubbled off about the pieces that caught her eye, his attention centered only on her as she spoke. His arm around her waist was warm and anchoring, keeping her in their quiet moment. (Y/N) felt warm under his gaze, the familiarity of his presence helping her down from that simmer of anxiety. 

"That corset one was really cool," he agreed, nodding his head when she vaguely described the piece, "You'd look really pretty in it, I think." 

"Thank you," she smiled, though she was halfway sure he had no idea what garment she was talking about. Delicately her hands landed on his chest, fingers denting through his clothes. "I wish you could have sat with me—I think I would have felt better." 

There was a small curl to his lips, a single dimple in his cheek. "Me too, but I saw y'made some friends." 

"Yeah," she sighed, her grip on his tightening just enough, "But, you know I get nervous. I didn't want to bother anyone incase anyone was video taping or anything." 

His smile fell then, turning his lips into a grim line of his hard features. That was something he was still getting used to—the constant access people felt they had to her, as well as the paranoia that followed when it came to that.

"I know," he mumbled, tugging her close with his arm around her waist, "But, 's over now, and you still had a little fun, right?" 

"I did," she assured him, her own features softening into a smile in hopes of lifting his spirit, "It was really cool. I've always wanted to go to one of these shows, and now I have." 

His hand on her waist gave a small squeeze, a jump of laughter pulsing from her lungs at the touch. "Good," he crooned, loosening at the sound of her laugh, "Did y'want to go to any of the parties tonight, or were y'wanting to stay in still?" 

"Probably stay in," she answered, leaning into him that much more, "I'm still tired from the flight." 

"Me, too. We'll watch one of our cooking shows tonight then, and head to bed before the next shows tomorrow." 

There was a warmth in her chest at the solid plan Harry handed her. She knew Dom would still be disappointed that she was forcing him to shelve another archival look while she stayed in tonight, but at least she would be with Harry. 

(Y/N ) didn't think before she placed her hands on his cheeks, fingertips stretching into the baby curls of his hairline. Her eyes fluttered to a close as she leant forward, tipping her chin and pressing her lips to his. Harry's arm around her kept her in a close hug to his chest, his nose nudging hers as he turned his head just right to catch her top lip between his two. 

There would no doubt be a stain on his lips, glistening with a hint of red, but she would take care of it later. (Y/N) would prefer to melt into him while she could. 

It was only when there was the scratch of someone's shoe against the concrete, that Harry pulled away. In a second his gaze was scanning around them, finding only a single patron heading down the stairs from over their heads. His eyes followed them for a moment, waiting to see if their hiding spot had been found. When there wasn't even so much as a second glance towards their huddled position, she felt his chest deflate in her arms. 

"Ready to head back?" he asked, turning back to face her once more, his eyes blooming over her. 

Taking advantage of the quiet, (Y/N) pressed her lips to his cheek once more before untangling her limbs with only her hand in his. "Yeah," she said, giving him a nod, "I think we left the driver waiting long enough." 

The relaxed smile on (Y/N) face stayed there even as they encountered new photographers, and Harry's hand in hers shifted to once again lay on her back. She couldn't wait for tonight. 

—————

BODYGUARD PROMOTED TO BOYFRIEND? WATCH AS (Y/N) AND HER HUNKY EMPLOYEE FIND SOME PRIVACY AT PARIS FASHION WEEK

Though fans and social media alike have speculated about the nature of (Y/N) and her bodyguard—Harry Styles—relationship since the day they were first pictured together, this past weekend was the first to offer any hard evidence that there was anything more than professional going on between them. 

After touching down in Paris the night before for an exclusive invite to a few of the major shows of Paris Fashion Week—including the Jean Paul Gaultier spring runway—(Y/N) had remained low-key despite her usual Parisian club becoming the place to be before the festivities of the week began. She was first seen entering the JPG show, complete with an archival look specifically from the brand, as styled by Dominic Pedretto.

While walking the carpet, she seemed to have a moment, causing Styles to step forward and affectionately place a hand on her back, and whisper something. The moment was caught on camera—which you can see in the slideshow below!—along with the way neither of them could keep their eyes off one another. It wasn't uncommon for the pair of them to be so close while waking a carpet or even just handling a crowd of photographers—as seen at the 132 Gala as well as last Summer in Paris. 

But, it was the moment after the show that has fans running wild all over social media! 

As pictured below, (Y/N) and her bodyguard could be seen taking a private moment together outside of the Oratory of the Louvre. As opposed to all of the careful touches they've shared in front of the media, they can now be seen with his arms around her waist and (Y/N) clinging to him. Our insider wasn't close enough to catch any of the conversation, but said clear smiles and laughter was seen being shared in their alcove. It was the picture of love, the insider described it. Definitely different to what has been portrayed to the media about their relationship. 

If that wasn't enough, we also have exclusive access to the kiss heard 'round the world. In the final shot before the pair parted ways for their trek back to the media, they can be seen locked in a kiss. The steamy exchange lasted only a few moments, but our source can exclusively tells us that (Y/N) seemed eager for more, immediately pulling her "bodyguard" along so they could head home and get more of each other. 

While there's been no confirmation of any kind of relationship between the two, it must be only a matter of time until we hear wedding bells!

—————

ahhhh!!! thank u sm for reading, so sorry for any mistakes I missed, and please if there's any kind of requests or ideas anyone has please lmk!!!

[aphrogeneias]

𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 — 𝒂 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you teach eddie one of your favorite songs on the guitar. at least you try to, but he gets distracted a little too easily.

The sunlight that shone through your window was caught into the stray strands of your hair, forming a golden halo around your head. It distracted him, just as the way your lips moved as you slowly sang the lyrics of the song you were trying — and mostly failing, but that was entirely his fault — to teach him, concentrating on strumming your guitar, which was perched on your lap where you sat on your bed.

Everything about you distracted him. Your sweet voice, your delicate fingers — the same ones that he loved to weave between his own, to kiss, to feel against his skin — the patience with which you guided him through the chords of one of your favorite songs.

Sitting cross-legged above your powder blue, floral comforter, a stark contrast with his ripped black jeans and the spikes on his belt, he let his mind wander as you showed him, once again, the chord progression of the chorus, leaning closer to him.

Eddie had never thought he’d be back in your bedroom after what happened. He still remembered, vividly, the suffocating anxiety that took over his body when he was there for the first time, fighting to keep you alive — he didn’t think he’d ever forget it, but the new memories he made between those four walls were enough to help him bury that one deep down, where he hoped, someday, he wouldn’t be able to find it.

It was the late nights spent going through your extensive music collection, no doubt a perk of working in a record store, but also, as he had discovered, some of it was inherited from your father's own collection. He thought he'd ask more about it, but he never had the courage to. Instead, he spent his nights tangled with you in your too soft, too cozy, bed, listening to your songs as you commented every little piece of detail you could remember, a fun fact about a verse, or a particular sound in the background of the recording.

It's all in the details, that's what rock and roll is about, you used to tell him. He couldn't agree more as he forgot all about the music and took in every little detail on your face, so close to his, but never close enough, it seemed.

It was in the improvised picnics in your living room floor, and in the cigarettes shared on the porch, in how your body curled up to his on the couch, in barefoot early mornings in the kitchen. Your mother was never home, almost never really, but that didn't seem to bother you anymore.

We can be alone together now, you used to tell him with a smile, after he told you about how lonely he felt at his own home, even though he had Wayne. It was an unspoken truth at this point — even if you have nobody else, you have each other.

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

He's brought back to reality, focusing his vision on you once again, to find you setting your guitar aside, looking at him with slight disappointment. He bit back any comments about how adorable you looked with a pout on your lips.

"Sorry, babe." He ran his hands over his face, willing himself back to the present. "S' just hard to concentrate, but I got the gist of it, I promise."

"You sure? It's not too slow?" There was a hint of a tease in your voice, in the way you quirked your eyebrow at him.

"Nah, it's the right amount of slow. You see, I found out I quite like it slow."

His smirk grew with your own, mirroring each other, a silent conversation shared with a look. As he put his own guitar on the floor, as delicalicately as he could, you crawled to him, straddling his lap and supporting yourself on his shoulders.

"That's not the impression you gave me last night."

"All I'm hearing is that I left an impression."

Kissing him, slowly at first, and then deepening it until both of you had to take a moment to breathe, you lowered him to lay underneath you, playfully glaring at him, "Don't think you're getting away from this lesson just because you're all cute, Munson."

"Again, all I'm hearing is that you think I'm cute."

What you didn't know was that he didn't need any lessons, because Eddie had memorized that song months ago, when you gifted him that first mixtape. He took the time to learn each one of those songs in order to impress you one day, but never got around to the actual showing off part.

Yet.

He'd let you teach as many songs he already knew as you wanted to, as long as you kept allowing him to kiss you like that.

[whorekneecentral]

  i don’t want to be touched this time,  i just want to focus on you right now.  + ferrari!seb and engineer!reader

you’re so evil for this.  -- this one’s for the car fuckers

Pre season testing with any other driver was a normal 9-5 stitch but when it came to Sebastian, 9-5 really meant 9 to whatever time he decided he was ready to call it a day and more often that not, it wasn’t until late into the evening. 

Day 4 of testing and Sebastian sat on the stool next to you, comparing the stats from last season’s car to the ones formed today. 

“I still think the weight is off,” he mutters, sliding off the stool. The red shirt clung to his chest, the race suit hanging off his hips as he slid his fingers over the halo. 

You spun on the stool, facing the man as he inspected the car. “I don’t know Seb, might just have been the track temp.” 

“I doubt it.” He looks over at you and your brows furrow. 

“Would you like to do my job for me, Sebastian?” You stuck the papers out for him and he smiled, “no, y/n. You do it much better than I do, and you look much better doing it, too.” 

You rolled your eyes at his comment. You had been his race engineer since his second second at Ferrari and he was going into his 4th season with the red team. Every year since, you've come so close to the championship that you could taste it, touch it, feel it and yet, it slips though your fingers. Sebastian was determined to make this car a machine; a monster made to win, doesn’t matter how many hours he’s got to spend at the track, and by extension, how many hours you had to spend. 

He leans into the car, his hand pressed to the side. “What’s the chassis made of?” He asks and you shrug. “Some sort of aluminium.” 

“Not carbon?” 

“I don’t think so, why?” 

“I didn’t even know they were still allowed to use that,” he says, “come feel this.” 

You get off the stool and walk over to him, he pats inside of the car and you lean over to feel it, your hand on the cold metal. Seb’s hand rests over yours, his other hand on your waist. 

“See? You can feel how thick it is. It’s too heavy, it’s dragging the car down.” He says to you but the words go in one ear and out the other. 

You studied the way his eyes fixed on you as he spoke; eye contact was always something he did when he spoke to people, didn’t matter who. The way his hands moved when he spoke pulled your focus until he called for you. 

“Y/n?” He pulls your focus back. 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you hear anything I said?” 

You’ve got a dopey smile on your face, “mhm kinda.” He laughed, his hand still on your waist. 

This was a typical routine for you two; pre season testing turned into car inspection and into a pre season fuck just to get it out of your systems and tonight was no exception. 

Sebastian was the one to close the gap between the two of you, you’re leaning on the side of the car when his hands slip down to rest on your ass. Your own hands coming up to tug on the hem of his shirt but he stops you. 

His lips on your jaw, down your neck and he slowly sinks down to his knees in front of you. 

“Seb,” you whispered, the man pulls one of your legs over his shoulders.

It was unseasonably warm in Maranello, Seb was thanking whatever controlled the weather because the fact that you were wearing a skirt made his job much easier. 

“Shh,” he kissed up your thigh. “Let me focus on you tonight, okay?” 

Your head falls back when you feel his tongue on you, he’s yet to move your panties and you're already a mess. Your hand tangled in his messy curls, silently thanking that he didn’t cut it yet. 

Sebastian’s eyes look up, fixed on you; your hair framing your face and your head tossed back. 

The man gets up, kissing you when he does. You can taste yourself on his lips, Seb pushes you back against the car once again, your hand slipping between the two of you as you undo his pants. Sebastian pulls your leg to hitch on his hip, your panties already pulled to the side and your dress rolled up at your hips. 

Seb pushes into you. His lips find yours, muffling your moans as he fucks you. Your nails dig into his bicep, his shirt sleeve pushed up.

At least it would be covered.

With each passing year, pre season was taking over as your favourite time of the year. 

[nickybloodhead]

************** James x Jason ************

Jason looked at himself in the mirror, doubting his idea. He liked how he looked in that silk lingerie, the chains that crossed his bare chest made him feel sexy but maybe James wouldn't like it, maybe he would laugh thinking it's a joke. He sighed hesitantly, this was stupid and maybe he would take everything off to in the end just wear his usual underwear.

He heard the front door and knew it was James, he was startled because it was early so in his eagerness to take everything off, he threw some things off the bathroom counter, causing a rumble.

He hear hurried footsteps approaching the bathroom and then a soft knock.

"Jase? All right in there?" The blond's voice sounded slightly worried, Jason mentally cursed himself and covered his face, embarrassed.

"Yes uh, I just... I threw something unintentionally." He muttered through his teeth, he knew he was blushing with embarrassment, oh, he was a mess.

"Jase... Why is there a lingerie bag here?" Yes, he was definitely an idiot, how did he forget the packaging of his little surprise there in the room? He looked in the mirror before answering and with a small boost of confidence decided to leave the bathroom. James was there by the door, and literally the air in his lungs left him, seeing Jase with that luxurious fabric barely covering his crotch and with those chains around his chest made him speechless, The heat went up to his cheeks and definitely went down to his cock as well. He looked stunning, fucking sexy.

"So uh... Do you like it?"

James was pulled out of his stupefaction, looked Jason up and down, and grinned mischievously.

"Damn, you did it for me?" He approached Jase and placed his hands on his waist, pulling him closer while his fingers played with the thin chains, God, the things he was thinking.

Jason nodded slowly, blushing under the heated look James gave him, his heart was racing because he knew that look and knew what was about to happen.

"You look delicious, Jase... And I plan to fuck you with that nice lingerie on" He whispered the last part against the neck of his lover before dedicating himself to distributing kisses through the extension of his throat. Jason clung to those broad shoulders and gasped, he felt a tingle run through his entire body as he felt the soft lips brush against his skin, James smiled when he felt his partner's reaction so with his hands going down the back of his thighs, he lifted him up to take him to bed.

The chocolate curls spread on the sheets, simulating a halo that fit him perfectly, in the eyes of the blonde, Jase was an angel, with those white panties that barely held from his sharp hip bone. He wanted to corrupt him. With his fingers he traced the patterns on the panties, teasing Jason's eager cock that was getting harder and harder, he hooked his index finger on the edge of the fabric and moved it aside to reveal the throbbing length wet with pre-cum, the pink skin contrasting against the white silk.

"God, do you know how sinful you look? You're pure temptation, baby" he leaned over Jason and licked a stripe down his erection, managing to make the curly moan desperately, ugh, he loved it when James took his time but right now he wanted his huge cock inside.

"James..." He begged with a trembling voice with desire, spread his legs and brought his thighs to his chest to show how needy he was. James' eyes darkened and with his thumb he pulled the panties to the side, revealing a pink pucker that fluttered, asking for his cock.

James decided that it had been too much foreplay, opened the drawer of the nightstand and took the lube to let it leak over Jase's eager hole, as promised, he did not remove the lingerie so it became a stained and sticky mess. He rubbed his fingers over the tight ring until it gave way enough to insert two fingers immediately, Jason screamed madly with pleasure and stood up slightly to kiss the blonde. It was a dirty, sloppy kiss, their teeths clashed slightly in the desperation of being able to be as close as possible, some drool dripped from his lips as James continued to finger fuck him, scissoring to dilate the warm wet entrance.

Jason unbuttoned his pants and took his fat cock to jerk him off, he couldn't wait to have that huge girth stretching him and filling him up nice and proper. James broke the kiss to cover his cock with more lube than necessary, however he didn't get into Jase right away, instead sliding his cock under his panties to grind himself with Jason's cock.

They both moaned each other's name and continued with the sloppy kiss, the panties were ruined, but they didn't cared about it. Their cocks were grinding against each other, the slide was intoxicating with how wet they were both from the lube, James held the chin of the curly man to guide his mouth to deepen the kiss, his other hand held one of the thighs so that Jason would remain spread.

"Tell me how badly you want it, baby..." The blond's voice was deep, almost a growl against the battered lips of the other.

“Fuck, I need it, please…” Stretched out on the bed beneath him Jason looked completely lost, he was gorgeous and James wasn't going to hesitate to give him what he wanted. His big hands spread Jase's legs a little wider and holding his cock, he guided it in slowly; he groaned and leaned his head back as he felt how well that greedy hole was wrapping around him. He held still for a couple of seconds, he was so sensitive and horny he swore he would cum at the slightest movement, he tried to catch his breath and saw Jason through his eyelashes, he couldn't take it anymore.

His hips began to move, and though he intended to go slow, the curly one's legs wrapped around him and gave him the impetus to increase his pace, the grip on Jason's hips became tighter, tight enough to know he would leave marks there, he began to thrust harder, deeper, drawing obscene moans from the boy beneath him. They didn't break eye contact, they grunted and squealed with each hard thrust, his cock throbbed and Jason arched up every time James reached that sweet spot inside him, he was so overstimulated that he didn't even need to touch his own cock to know he would cum at any moment.

James started to move faster and faster, panting and gritting his teeth every time he was balls deep in Jason, he just moaned completely consumed with lust, he grabbed the sheets and arched up, squirting his load all over his abdomen and part of James' soft belly, fuck, he was getting beefier and he loved it. The blond followed soon after, spilling his spunk deep into his boy's loins, he collapsed over Jase's sweaty, warm body, trying to catch his breath.

“Well shit, I'll be buying more lingerie if this is how you're going to get every time” Jason joked with a silly chuckle, his fingers stroking James' scalp.

“Yeah, just name the price and I'll buy you all the lingerie you want…”

Thinking on 2004 James

[midnight-ranger-general-jiyan]

Evening wind sighed over the curling and rising fields. Tattered armor and weapons lay scattered about, adding onto the chaos of the dry grass and dying flora. The remnants of battle left a lingering bitter smell in the air and a moan of pain sounded over the grass that rippled with the wind. One step, then another, the soldier with his arm hung heavy over the woman's neck is about to collapse but his feet move, possesing a mind of their own. One foot in front of another, he's sure he's about to collapse. How long has it been since the battle began or ended? Where was he? Last thing he remembers is the blinding pain that sent him tumbling, and his comrades and the General getting lost amidst the swarm of TDs, and the next moment he sees this...horned woman towering over him with the light beating at her back like a broken halo. He was dreaming, he told himself, already dead. But then her strong grip found it's way onto him, helping him rise. She doesn't speak to him, she doesn't feel the need to, and in an oddly comforting way he's thankful for that as talking would require too much strength. His feet take more steps, one foot in front of the other. His weight and balance hanging onto her like a lifeline.

"We're close.." She spoke, but by the time the wounded and exhausted soldiers manages to raise his head they've already taken several more steps ahead. She spoke softly to him, mild tone thick with indifference as she paused in her step to let him catch a breath. Had she not found him, he would've died amidst rock and torched grass. But he makes note to thank her later. Looking up he can see through blurry eyes the sight of men walking about the camp, but they were still not spotted themselves. "Just a little more.. You'll get proper medical care there, I'm certain" Jien said, nudging the soldier with the arm that was around his back. Her tail flicks behind her, stirring the grass.

@shards-of-the-lost 🐲

(first time doing this so please feel free to correct me if I've made any errors 🙏😔)

Jiyan stood at the crest of the hill, the sun casting long shadows over the battlefield below. His broadblade gleamed with the remnants of the day’s slaughter, and his spear was an extension of his will. The wind, his constant companion, whipped around him, carrying the scent of blood and the moans of the dying. In the distance, the swarm of TDs—a grotesque, relentless horde—surged like a living nightmare.

With a deep breath, Jiyan summoned his inner strength, feeling the aero energy hum through his veins. He raised his spear to the sky, calling forth the spirit of the teal loong. The air shimmered and twisted, forming the ethereal shape of a dragon, its scales a brilliant, pulsating blue-green.

He plunged into the fray, the loong at his side. His broadblade cleaved through the nearest TD, the creature’s ichor spraying across the dry grass. The loong struck out with its claws and teeth, tearing through the mass of enemies with a grace and power that mirrored Jiyan’s own movements. They fought as one, man and spirit, each bolstering the other’s strength. Jiyan’s spear whirled in a deadly dance, impaling TDs with precision and speed. He could feel the wind responding to his will, sharp gusts slicing through the air and disrupting the enemy’s formations. The loong, too, manipulated the currents, creating vortices that pulled TDs off their feet and hurled them into the sky.

Time lost all meaning in the chaos. Jiyan fought with a single-minded ferocity, every muscle in his body burning with exertion. His mind was a razor’s edge, focused solely on the task at hand. But the TDs were endless, their numbers seeming to multiply with every kill.

....

.

.

.

Jiyan stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving with exertion. The battlefield was eerily silent, the only sounds the rustling of the grass and the distant cries of the wounded. He wiped the sweat and blood from his brow, his eyes scanning the horizon. The TDs were vanquished, but the true cost of the battle was yet to be revealed.

His duty now was to his men. He sheathed his blade and set off across the field, his heart heavy with dread. The dry grass crunched beneath his boots as he moved from body to body, checking for signs of life. Some he found were beyond help, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky. Others clung to life, their wounds grievous but not mortal. These he marked for the medics, offering what comfort he could.

Jiyan’s eyes locked onto a lone figure struggling to rise, supported by a woman with horns curving elegantly from her head. The soldier’s uniform marked him as one of Jiyan’s own, his face a mask of pain. Without a moment's hesitation, Jiyan rushed towards them to offer assistance.

[civilight-eterna]

Nun Specter has been up for several days praying during daylight and stargazing through the nights and refuses to go to bed. Medics are starting to get worried but can't justify forcing sedatives into her when she's not agitated or aggressive. Irene tries to convince Specter to go sleep but after conventional methods fail, an outrageous idea comes to Irene. Seduce the nun to bed and milk all that excessive vitality out of Specter's dicks until (or even after) she passes out.

(sharks have 2 penssisisnsisenieinsjngd)

...

"...So she's done this before?"

"Mm. But she likes you a lot. So she'd probably react if you came to talk to her. I'd try. But she's known me for such a long time that she might take me for being part of her dreams again."

Once again, Skadi had a way of putting something so personal so plainly, spoken as easily as breathing. Irene should be used to it by now, but it's simply not her disposition.

"Very well. I make no promises, aside from that I will try my very best."

She can't quite tell what to make of the barely-there smile on Skadi's lips.

...

She's kneeling on her bed, the moon's glow casting her face in a pale halo of radiance.

"...What should I call you tonight...?" Irene entreats her, almost overwhelmed already.

She turns, that razor-sharp smile dimpling her cheeks.

"Whatever passes your lips most sincerely. Whatever name you can give your heart to. Whatever name you can entrust your body to the worship of."

Oh. Specter tonight, then. Irene figured as much after hearing from the medics and from Skadi what was going on, but she never wanted to simply assume, no matter the extensive lengths to which she and her paramour had discussed regarding intimacy between not only Laurentina and Irene, but Specter and Irene.

"Specter..." Irene tries to put a little more authority into her tone. It is about as effective as trying to confine air to a box. Her eyes glitter like rubies in the night as she stares back curiously, "...I heard how long you've been awake. I must insist that you come to bed, one way or another."

"One way or another?" Specter curls her knuckles beneath her chin, pouting into her long, slender fingers and casting a sidelong glance her way. "If me coming to bed quietly as told is one way...then what is 'another' way? Is it with you? Is it for you? Or maybe..."

Shark smile. Gleaming and bright, its own crescent moon across her lips.

"...maybe my most favorite way of all? In you. My precious little bird."

Irene's heart skips over a beat in her chest.

It wasn't what she'd originally planned. But her practical mind is working out the details far before her rational one can catch up.

She could get her to exhaust the last of her energy, and she could get her to do so voluntarily. A boon, for she stands no chance of overpowering her physically and taking her to bed.

Irene knows firsthand how she can be when she is obsessed with something, or someone.

And in honesty, the idea of having her beloved to herself all night after such long stints away from each other between missions is a powerful incentive to lean into her expression of desire.

"Y-Yes..." Irene swallows, her hands coming to the collar of her dress to loosen it. She can't help but feel a pinprick of dawning pride for the way Specter's eyes widen, just a touch, "...won't you...come have me? I'll be a good bird-"

Irene lets the dress slouch open, hanging off her elbows with only a few errant ribbons dancing against her skin.

"-in the palm of your hand."

...

Irene doesn't consider herself too much to look at-especially not next to Specter-but she always makes her feel like she's cut from marble.

It's excessive. It's embarrassing, how adoring her eyes get, when she drinks her in, how greedy her hands are, laying her back and divesting her of the rest of her clothes. Irene grimaces with want to cover her face, but she wants Specter's focus on the most carnal parts of it all.

"I-Inside-" She pants, wrapping her legs around her hips, "-just, hurry-"

"Eager thing." Specter's voice is like music, and she purrs against Irene's chest, kissing her way up to her throat, letting the slit of her skirt shift aside so she can unsheathe herself at Irene's entrance. "My darling songbird."

Irene can feel both of Specter's cocks, firm, velvet weights. One nudges at her entrance, the other fumbling above and rutting against her clit, both of them drooling with precum and hungry with musk.

She feels red to her ears at the way her own body responds, letting her slip inside so easily-but it's still a squeeze. Irene whimpers through it, biting her lip as Specter spoils her rotten, gathers her into her arms, pulls her up to kiss her, graze her neck with her teeth, lave over the deep plum bruises that surface with her tongue.

The second shaft twitches as its length slides along her stomach, its tip leaking over her navel.

Irene's arms scramble over Specter's shoulders, holding on for dear life as she quickens her pace.

For some reason, like this-

-It feels more romantic than she was expecting. She was worried about feeling stiff, but when she devotes herself to the task, she finds herself less self-conscious than usual.

"C-Come on-" Irene croaks, her voice sweet and small against Specter's ear, "-w-want it, so bad-"

She thinks it's very unbecoming of her to beg.

Specter clearly does not share the same sentiment.

Her body is full before she can cry out-and the one not inside of her has spurted all over her stomach and breasts. Heat returns to her face as Specter laughs warmly, begins to trace patterns in the mess decorating her body.

"Th-There now-" Irene's legs are trembling uncontrollably as she catches her breath, "-don't you want to come sleep?"

"-No."

"Wh...?"

Specter's eyes glitter with mischief from behind disheveled, pearl-white bangs.

"The night is young. Are you not a needy, sweet thing? I want to feel your heart pound with your life's blood until it sings back to me."

"A-Ah-" Irene stammers, "That's, not really necessary-! It takes...it takes me, you know. I take too much time to finish."

"We have time."

Irene can tell one thing for sure.

Specter is not tired.

...

Irene loses track of how much time passes, how much love they make throughout the night: she loses consciousness several times throughout, wakes up to Specter inside her, to herself climaxing around her, and finally, finally-

-to Specter dozing peacefully beside her.

With a huge sigh of relief, Irene slumps into the sheets and considers sending a message to Skadi that all was well after all.

No good. Her phone was in her pocket, her dress is on the floor, and she can barely move, let alone walk.

Irene instead turns to Specter, stroking her hair from her face and giving her a reproachful tap on the nose.

"You'd better...sleep for days. Alright...?"

[smallraindrops-blog]

Y'know

I think y/n (and by extension us, the reader) deserves to be a spooky monster with an equal yet more subdue spooky lover, Hypnos.

(Reading your vamp Y/n and the recent Vengful God Y/n got me kicking my feet, yes boy, go lose your humanity because Ares was a bastard.)

Y/n can be a little spooky as a treat. Here a short of vengeance/nightmare!Y/n. Love spooky hypnos though so maybe some of that later.

Tw: for dark y/n, toxic/unhealthy relationship, no beta

Gift

You found him among one of the fields of dreams, surrounded by little sheeps that ‘baa’ loudly upon seeing you. Their little black faces turned to their master, seeing if he would flee.

Hypnos didn’t therefore the sheep remained even as you moved past them. A few of the nightmares trailed after you, shifting to foxes to unnerve the dreams with smiles too large and toothy.

His shoulders tensed but he didn’t turn around to look at you. His hand continued to pet the sheep in his lap, his moonlight curls spilling down his back. Hypnos still dresses in his normal red tunic and gold jewelry after all this time.

He had rejected any of the jewelry or fine fabrics you had gifted him thus far. Even though you had caught him a few times running a delicate hand on the cool silk.

You took a moment to admire him anyway. He looked like he belonged here, with his stars and ebony halo. When he turned his head to look at you, his eyes were full of golden stardust and unknown dreams.

“Oh, you didn’t die.” Hypnos commented with a disappointed sigh. “Do you know when they are aiming the spears at you, it helps to stay in place?”

“Now, why didn’t I think of that? I must remember for next time.” You replied, the low rumble of your voice causing the sheep to tuck itself deeper into Hypnos’ arms, wary of you.

Hypnos gave it a squeeze for comfort but didn’t look away from you. “Why are you here?”

“I brought you another gift.” You informed him as you circled him. It took everything in you not to touch him. Hypnos looked like salvation every time you saw him even though you knew it was his fault that he hid you away from the world, from your parents.

“Are you finally going to let me go?” Hypnos couldn’t keep the quiet hope of his tone. You paused in front of him and knelt with one knee.

It caused the little sheep to finally flee his arms. Hypnos’ hands lingered in the air before he curled them in his lap, glaring at you.

You plucked a nearby poppy, twirling it in your fingers. The flower was the same shade of scarlet as his cloak, the petals just as delicate as he was.

“You know better than that.” You said quietly.

Hypnos’ wings jolted then tucked themselves in close to his curls. His luminous eyes darted away. “I see.”

Being trapped here, away from his own loved ones was your punishment for him. For every single day that you were trapped here, so would be Hypnos.

However you were far kinder, you allowed him to roam as he liked, to keep his little sheeps and even brought gifts for him. You lifted a hand and tucked the poppy behind his ear, much like the unintentional keepsake he had blessed you with.

“I think you will enjoy this gift.” You told him, letting your touch linger on his soft skin before pulling away.

Hypnos scoffed but didn’t right out reject you. It was his undoing sometimes, his curiosity.

With a neutral expression, you reached into your cloak, pulling the gift out where it was hidden between shadows.

When you held it out, Hypnos gasped as his whole face lit up. His hands moved toward the well loved stuffed sheep.

“Monie!” Then he hesitated, as if unsure you were going to yank it away from him. All you did was move the little stuffed sheep closer to him.

His fingers brushed against your as he took his companion back, the jolt of warmth made goosebumps appear on your skin, heat pooling into your core.

You wanted to sway into him, to feel how soft, how warm he would be under you.

It would be so easy.

He hasn't won a battle since that fateful day. But if you did, then you wouldn't be any better than those other gods.

Besides you would much rather have him come to you for the comfort of another soul.

He did once. He will again.

For now, you would be patient. The gentle, pleased smile he gave the little sheep only convinced you more that it would be worth it.

[impala-dreamer]

All Along The White Line

An SPN Story

~Take a drive to nowhere with your favorite Winchester...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

2,009 Words

A/N: NSFW. Poetical Smuts and a Dreamy Drive

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America is full of highways. Long stretches of road that endlessly and seamlessly weave through the country, leading you into the sunset or pulling you away from the twilight. The white line ‘bends and curls around mountains and forests, deserts and snow drifts; observing the climate’s change, but never changing itself. It’s one steady hand in the morphing landscape, one constant on your journey.

It can be invisible, hiding on the very edge of your vision, or it can hold you captive, trancing you like a pocket watch dangling before your eyes.

Dean likes to ride the white line, driving for hours with it in the corner of his eye. Illusion said the tire was right on top of it, but he was steady in the center of the lane, carefully gliding over the blacktop in his precious baby, with the most precious cargo by his side.

Y/N likes to sit with her back to the passenger side door. ‘All the better to see you with, my dear,’ she’d tease him, but it was true. She liked to watch him drive, to count the sunlit freckles on his cheek, to stare as his big hands lovingly turned the wheel. He was one with the leather. Years of driving had ridden a groove where his hands liked to stay. Ten and two, six and twelve. The wheel is an extension of his left hand, connected on a cellular level. It knows how to turn before Dean even thinks it, feels the intent before it’s expressed.

He smells like the car too, or does the car smell like him? Y/N can never tell them apart. Leather defines them both, that soft, worn smell and feel. His skin is like velvet, the seats like lambskin. Weathered by the miles, they both share that comforting attribute. They’re one. Y/N’s just visiting.

But Dean never makes her feel like that. When they’re alone together, driving the highways and back country rodes, he’s right there with her. His right hand lingering on the seat between them, inching closer to her until she gives in and hooks her fingers around his. It’s always the same: a sweet smile, the swift lift of her fingers to his lips. He takes his eyes off the road just long enough to look her over, to take in the beauty of her messy hair haloed by the afternoon light.

“Glad you came along,” he says, giving her hand a tug until she slides across the bench to sit by his side. He drapes his arm across her shoulders and Y/N relaxes into him, her head resting on his arm, their knees touching, her hand on his thigh.

They watch the milemarkers fly by, laughing at the town names as they pass. ‘Imalaystown’ makes Dean laugh for way too long and Y/N can’t help but roll her eyes.

They’re headed east but to nowhere in particular. There are no monsters after them, no case to be solved. It’s just the three of them. Dean, Y/N, and the white line on the side of the road. Nowhere really to go, no place they’re needed. It’s simple and beautiful and Dean wouldn’t give it up for anything.

He leans to place a kiss atop her head and Y/N sighs happily, her eyes blinking in the strobe light of the setting sun as it passes through the trees.

When the sky turns dark with streaks of pink clouds on the horizon, they start reading signs, looking for a place to stop for the night. Y/N wouldn’t mind if they drove all night, but she can hear Dean’s stomach rumbling. He’s starving, it’s true, but not just for food. The last dozen miles he’s had a craving for something more. He licks his lips and looks over at her with hungry green eyes. Her back is crammed into the corner of the door and seat, legs stretched out across the bench. She tips her head when she catches him staring, raises a brow in question.

“Whatcha thinking about?” she asks, teeth digging into the corner of her lip to stop the blushing smile.

Dean presses his tongue against his top teeth and grins. “Oh, nothing.”

Y/N laughs and gives him a nudge in the leg with her bare feet. “Come on, now you have to tell me.”

He grabs her toes, lifts her feet up onto his lap. His warm hand curls around her ankle and sends goosebumps up her leg. “Just thinking about you.”

“Anything in particular?” Stretching further, Y/N dips her toes between his legs, gently rubbing her toes along the bulge in his jeans.

A quiet moan forms in the back of his throat and Dean clicks his tongue, still teasing, still toying with her. “A few things…”

She pushes down a bit harder, runs her foot back and forth until she can feel him stir.

Dean swallows hard. “Fuck…”

Y/N bites her lip. “Yeah?”

He looks over with lust-flooded eyes and pushes her foot away. He grips the wheel, fingers falling into place at ten and two as he sits up in his seat, squints at the next roadsign. “Uh… yeah.”

He’s like a demon; eyes wild, heart racing as he tries to find a place to pull over. The turn off is dark, no street lights guide their way, no buildings as far as he can see. They’re in the middle of nowhere, lost among the fields.

His annoyance is lit only by the dash and Y/N laughs to herself, loving how enthused he is, crazed by how much he wants her. She wiggles in her seat, digs her toes beneath his leg. Absently, his hand moves to her naked calf; calloused fingers gliding upwards higher and higher. She gasps when he sneaks a finger beneath the hem of her denim shorts and teases along the crease of her thigh.

“Fuck. We need to pull over now,” she groans, spreading her knees a bit wider.

“I’m looking,” he grits, but there’s nowhere in sight.

Her slender fingers wrap around his wrist and she tugs at him, forcing his fingertips to graze over the dampness of her panties. He growls deep in the back of his throat as her hips pop up, rolling against his hand.

“Jesus Christ…”

Y/N hums desperately and it takes a mountain of concentration for Dean to keep the Impala on the road. He eyes the white line carefully and they makes a decision, turning off the road into an empty field.

The weeds are high and snap back into place behind the car, hiding the shining black monster from any passersby. But the road is quiet, not a headlight in sight as Dean parks beneath the stars and cuts the engine.

Y/N peeks up through the window and laughs. “Really?”

He’s already advancing, crawling onto his knees behind the wheel and grabbing at her ankles. “You wanna drive around for an hour looking for a room?” he sasses, lips already damp with spit, eyes sparkling with the radio’s light.

“Hell no.”

Dean slides between her legs, dropping down to distract her with a kiss as his fingers pop the button on her jeans. He licks into her mouth as the zipper falls, and Y/N gasps into his mouth at the roughness of his hands as he tears at her panties.

She lifts her hips for him, goes limp as he maneuvers the fabric, tugging it down off of her feet. She kicks her left foot up high and slings her knee over the back of the front seat, spreading herself wide for him. She grins as he takes her in, green eyes soaking up every inch of her beautiful body.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he breathes, struggling to rip his flannel away in the tight space.

Y/N paws at her tits through her shirt and winks. “I’m so fucking wet, too…”

Dean’s mouth floods with desire and he tosses his overshirt into the backseat. “Yeah? Nice and wet already?”

Her teeth dig into her lip. “Why don’t you find out?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

With one hand, he tugs the black tee from his head and flings it away. The soft glow from the dash lights the soft curve of his belly, the muscular lines of his arms and collarbones. Y/N sighs and reaches for him, wanting the heft of his body over hers.

Dean falls down easily, catching himself with one hand while the other fits between them. He snakes a finger through her pussy lips, humming happily at the wetness that greets him. He shoves his tongue against hers and dips his middle finger into her, breathing heavy and deep.

Y/N pants against his plump lips, eyes falling closed as he works her open. She clings to his neck, short nails digging into the tender flesh at the base of his skull, leaving tiny cresents behind. “Want you so bad,” she groans, heart racing as he grinds the heel of his palm up against her clit.

“I sure hope so,” he chuckles; gorgeous smile falling against her cheek. He lays a kiss on her jaw before disappearing, leaving her grip to slip down her body. He scrunches himself up between her legs, drags her hips upwards with a tug of his strong hands; lands another kiss between her thighs.

Y/N’s head slams back against the cool window as Dean laps at her cunt, slowly turning up the heat inside and catching every drop with his thick fingers. “Fuck, Dean…”

His lips vibrate with a hum against her clit and the tension in her belly reaches its breaking point. She snaps, cumming quick and hard on his hand, near to screaming as he quickens his pace, fucks her through it.

“Fuck yeah… that’s it…” His eyes are wide in the dark, watching her body spasm on his fingers. “Love watching you cum, baby girl…”

Dizzy, she sits up, grabs at his shoulders, silently begging for more. She scratches down his back as he crawls to his knees; bites at his biceps as he struggles with his belt.

“There’s no… fucking room… in this damned car…”

She laughs at the frustration in his voice and sits up, licking into his mouth as she helps him out of his jeans.

“There’s enough,” she assures him, laying fully down on the bench and setting her heel on the back of the seat again. Her right foot smashes onto the dashboard and Dean shoots a wary eye at it.

“Don’t break anything,” he warns, voice deep and wet.

Y/N juts her hips up high, crushing into his. “I think that’s your job.”

He leans back on his heels and gives his cock a few hard strokes. “Oh, I’m not gonna break ya… Not tonight, anyway…” He sinks in deep, moaning as her body tightens around him. He sets his hands by her head and gazes down with dark green eyes and a smile that drives her wild.

Outside, the stars shine down on the hood; a puddle of deep blank amidst the wheat and weeds. There’s not a sound for miles, just the faint push of Y/N’s voice as Dean rides her deep into the creaky seat. The springs are worn and the leather is soft, but there’s still a bounce there, and Dean’s thrusts rock the car slightly up and down.

They use his tee shirt to clean up; wrap themselves in the old wool blanket found tucked under the backseat. The radio plays something soft and familiar, and Y/N fits perfectly under his big arm. They catch their breath, slow their hearts until they can’t feel the beating from outside anymore.

Dean sighs, contented, and drops a kiss to the top of her head. “I really am,” he whispers. “Glad you came, I mean…”

Y/N breathes him in and buries her face in the crook of his neck, holding him tight. “Me too.”

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[bhaalbabebardlock]

Chapter 23- The Edict of Bane

AO3 link

Masterpost

Summary: a chapter told from Gortash's POV. He feels too many things when dealing with the chosen of Bhaal.

His intent had been clear, when he first saw her standing across his room from him. He had known she would come, known that her God's craving for death was matched only by his own God's lust for power. He had meant only to confront her, offer her a deal in exchange for her help because even though he was loathe to admit it, he couldn't go into Avernus alone. It wasn't worth the risk. This risk was better, more calculated. The Leader of the Temple of Bhaal was a useful thing to have around, lurking in his repertoire. He hadn't been prepared enough.

His eyes had raked over her, taking in the way she didn't seem to care about her disheveled, bloodied appearance. The way her dark curls tangled in coils around her shoulders, their natural black sheen diluted by the scarlet tinge of her earlier activities, leaving her with a violet halo around her head. He could see the tips of her ears poking out from under her hair, long and dark, tipped slightly red at the very edges- from blood or something else, he did not know. He continued to look her up and down, his breath catching at the way the lace of her black corset hugged the top of her chest. The setting sunlight came in through the window behind her, illuminating the soft curves of her hips, the way her leather pants hugged her thighs, her dark arms glowing in the golden rays of light. She held the silver and red dagger loosely in her palm, her elegant fingers wrapped around the hilt. His eyes drifted up to find her staring at him too, and his breath caught at the intensity of her gaze. He felt locked there, in the crimson of her eyes as she looked back at him. He had surprised himself when he had been the first to speak. She was captivating.

He found himself amused by her sharp tongue, enchanted when she had laughed, drawn in by the way her face so often quirked in a question she never hesitated to ask. It annoyed him at first, that unnerving way she had of looking past the smooth answers he returned, her face letting him know she didn't quite believe his half offered truths. The longer they talked that night after she agreed to his extension of partnership, the more he had wanted to keep her talking, his irritation melting into something else. A puzzle before him he could not solve, something that happened so rarely. People were always so easy to read, to mold. He was not used to that being turned on him.

It bothered him slightly, when she left that night and he sat the next day, drumming his fingers impatiently against his desk. He needed her. That's all this was. They would get the crown, and go their separate ways. They could not both rule after all, despite what he had said. Their gods were too selfish for that.

He had meant the sketchbook as a manipulation. He needed her to trust him. To work with him. It was easy enough, he knew how to play at kindness and he knew she didn't know what to do with it. As the weeks went by and he found himself watching her more than working on his own projects, he worried about that. About how he had come to crave watching her. Her eyes focused on the paper beneath her as her slender fingers moved effortlessly across the page. She was always so focused, when she was drawing. Sometimes he wondered what she drew, but he never asked. If she wanted to tell him, she would. He found himself charmed by the way she would mindlessly wipe her hand across her face when her nose itched, smearing it with the ink from her fingers.

More than once, he had without thinking reached across the desk, brushing his thumb across that black smudge, taking in the way she froze there while her nose crinkled, her burning red eyes looking back at him. Sometimes she swatted the hand away. Sometimes she didn't, letting his thumb linger while his fingers lightly held her jaw, always pulling away to look back down at his work, trying to break out of that mesmerizing stare. The way he found himself asking her more, wanting to know more, but never poking more than she was comfortable with. He knew she was keeping things from him. Had reservations. That was fine. They had time.

He tried not to think about the inevitable truth of what they had to do, knowing he could put it off for a time, if he wished. It would take time anyways, to gather everything they needed, secure themselves for that cold descent into the hells. He tried not to think about that too, the thought of returning there even for a moment filling him with rage. It was fine. He would get what he needed, prove he was worthy of that power. That's why he asked her to join him. The most talented blade in the hands of the most talented tongue, surely their heist would be effortless.

When she stepped out of the shadows that night, her eerie silence always making his hair stand despite the magic he surrounded himself with, he found himself unable to keep the look off his face. Concern. He felt concern. I'm always bruised, Enver. His eyes had roamed down her figure, taking in the fresh bruises coloring her arms, the way the tunic she wore clung damply to her skin. She didn't usually wear looser clothing, but he found it just as alluring as her normal attire. He frowned. The blood on that shirt was hers, pressed against her skin, drying some cut he could not see.

He stood, crossing the room to her and reaching out his hand, the way he had so many times these last few weeks. When he saw her flinch, he quickly dropped that hand, taking a small step back from her and gazing at those wide, scarlet eyes. He had defaulted to that easy banter between them, remarking on her filthy state. When she, in that blunt way she seemed to have, remarked that he should not be surprised, he felt surprised nonetheless. And something else. Guilt. He didn't know what to do with guilt. He didn't feel guilty about the people he needed to use to work his way up the ladder towards his ambitions. But here she was, standing before him, the dried blood clinging to her skin, and he felt it slicing through him. Because of me.

He finally stopped resisting the urge to reach up and brush his fingers along her jaw, freezing when her body went still, those red eyes closing as she laid her cheek in his palm. He didn't want to move, the tense coil of her feral nature always at the edge of his consciousness. When she sharply pulled away again tensing her muscles he wasn't surprised, only letting his hand fall to his side. He didn't know what this feeling was, but he wanted to make her feel better. To take care of her.

When she softly asked him to stay, her long fingers closing around his wrist, he found that he couldn't, didn't want to say no. He had given enough baths during his time in The House of Hope, consigned to a room to be the charming and elegant serving boy with the gentle touch. It was why he didn't prefer a gentler touch now, always unnerved by the way she somehow challenged that. Made him want to be tender. Soft.

Taking off the coat had brought him pause, as his eyes raked over her still form in the water. She was always asking him what he feared. Loss of control. Loss of power. Being a slave to someone else. He never answered her, offering smooth quips and smiles to abate her unending curiosity. She was here to kill him, after all. Ultimately, that would be their end, despite whatever this was. This dance they had begun between them of need, of a longing for someone to understand, of seeing how far he could push his own God while she pushed hers- it would end eventually, and he had little doubt about where he would be when it did, who would be laying upon the others altar. He shrugged off the coat, neatly laying it on the counter before disappearing behind her. When he had seen the mosaic of stripes old and new covering her back, blood beaded there still, he felt his throat clench as he lightly traced a finger down her spine.

This was different. Than all those times in that boudoir, she was different. He had found himself lifting the soap, marveling at the way her body softened underneath his touch, the soft sigh of air leaving her mouth in a way he hadn't experienced yet. She fascinated him. The way her moods shifted and melted, the way she always seemed to be moving that mind of hers.

He was almost regretful when he was done, handing her the plush towel and again averting his gaze, despite that he did not want to. When she had dropped that towel in his bedroom after asking again for him to stay, he simply could not look away, an amused grin falling across his face when he caught her smirk as she slipped one of his shirts over her head. She looked perfect that way. In nothing but his clothes. He loathed that he found her antics enticing, the way her eyes flickered up to his as she slowly spread that damning smile across her face.

She surprised him again when she pressed herself against him as they lay next to each other in the dark, his arms going around her to pull her body flush against his own. He brought his fingers down over the gentle curve of her bare hip, letting them rest there as she said goodnight, seemingly unphased as he was by their sudden closeness.

When she suddenly left the next morning, that trapped and panicked look returned to her eyes, he once again felt an unfamiliar, painful sensation in his chest. Her rejection felt especially sharp, his vulnerability a feeling that left him scowling at the papers below him on his desk. He was used to using his charm as a tool, a weapon to pull people to him and encourage them to bow beneath him. He did not want her to bow. Not that way, at least. The way her knees were always bloody and torn, she certainly did enough of that. If he wanted her to worship anyone, it was him, and him alone.

He drew his eyes back to the scatter of papers beneath him, spreading his fingers on the desk, trying to make them into a neater pile. He hated that she did this to him. He was never messy.

This would not do. He had a job, so did she. Their doctrines at odds with one another- one meant to destroy the world under her hand and the other meant to heel the world under his boot.

But then, why did he feel this way?

***

[bestwigoutlets]

Hair Extensions for Easy Hairstyle on Your Job Interview

First impressions are crucial, especially during a job interview. While your resume and skills are essential, your appearance also plays a significant role in creating a positive impression. A polished and professional hairstyle can boost your confidence and help you stand out from the competition. The h air extensions from Best Wig Outlet offer a versatile and straightforward way to achieve a variety of elegant hairstyles that are perfect for job interviews. Whether you're looking to add volume, length, or simply enhance your natural look, our high-quality hair extensions provide the perfect solution to elevate your appearance and leave a memorable impression on potential employers. Explore our collection today and find the perfect extensions to help you shine in any professional setting.

Choosing the Right Hair Extensions Before diving into specific hairstyles, it is important to choose the right type of extensions. Here are the most popular ones:

Clip-in extensions: These are temporary and easy to apply and remove. They are perfect for adding volume and length without a long-term commitment. Tape-in extensions: These provide a more permanent solution and can last several weeks. They lie flat against the scalp, making them less noticeable. Halo extensions: These sit on your head like a halo and are secured with an invisible wire. They are quick to put on and take off. For a job interview, clip-in or halo extensions are ideal due to their ease of use and temporary nature.

Professional and Easy Hairstyles Once you have your extensions, there are some simple yet sophisticated hairstyles you can create for your job interview:

Sleek Low Ponytail A sleek low ponytail is a classic, polished look that exudes professionalism. But first, you need to prepare your hair. You can start by straightening your natural hair and extensions to ensure a smooth, sleek look. Then clip in the extensions at the back of your head, focusing on the lower sections to add length and volume. Pull all your hair, including the extensions, into a low ponytail at the nape of your neck. Lastly, secure the ponytail with a hair tie and use a small section of hair to wrap around the base, concealing the hair tie. Use a bit of hairspray to smooth any flyaways.

Voluminous Curls Soft, voluminous curls can add a touch of elegance and femininity to your interview look. Here is how to achieve this style:

Curl extensions: Before attaching, curl your extensions using a curling iron. This ensures even long-lasting curls. Clip-in extensions: Attach the curled extensions, starting from the boot and working your way up. Blend and style: Gently curl your natural hair to blend with the extensions. You can choose to use your fingers to loosen the curls for a more natural look. But a wide-tooth comb will also do the trick. Finish with hairspray: Lightly mist your hair with hairspray to keep the curls intact throughout the interview. Half-Up, Half-Down The half-up, half-down style is a style balance between professional and casual, showing off your length while keeping your hair away from your face.

Attach extensions: Clip-in extensions, focusing on the lower half of your head for added length and volume. Section hair: Separate the top half of your hair from the bottom half. Create the half-up style: Gather the top section and secure it with a hair tie or a stylish clip at the back of your head. Add volume: Tease the crown section slightly to add volume, and gently curl the ends for a soft finish. Versatile Tool Hair extensions are a versatile tool that can help you achieve a polished and professional hairstyle for your job interview with ease.

Don't miss out on Best Wig Outlet's limited 4th of July sale! Start shopping today and take advantage of our exclusive holiday discounts, plus enjoy free shipping on your order.

Visit our online shop now to explore our extensive collection and find the perfect hair extensions to elevate your look.

[megamobilestylesposts]

10 Best Kristen Stewart Hair Ideas

Kristen Stewart, the enigmatic celebrity we all wish was our best friend, has graced us with a style evolution, and her hairstyles have played a significant role.

More than just hair, it's a form of self-expression that takes us on a journey through her various phases.

Let's dive into the 25 best Kristen Stewart hairstyles that define her unique charm.

10 Kristen Stewart Hair Ideas

Kristen Stewart's hair ideas offer a glimpse into her bold and eclectic approach to beauty. Let's explore ten of her iconic looks and provide step-by-step instructions on how to achieve each stunning style.

1. Braided Bun Hairstyle

Kristen effortlessly exudes romance with a braided bun. Achieve this look by French braiding both sides and transitioning to a three-strand braid above the ears, creating a half-up halo.

Add a middle section and French braid on both sides.

Transition to a three-strand braid above the ears.

Back-comb the crown for volume.

Pin the braids into a low bun.

Gently loosen the strands for a relaxed look.

2. Side Parted Braid Hairstyle

For casual volume and movement, try side-parted braids. Clean sections and a firm hold from a gel-like Gorilla Snot can enhance this edgy twist.

Use a tail comb to create clean sections.

Secure braids with Gorilla Snot gel for a sharp finish.

3. Retro bangs

Recreate the vintage, pin-up-inspired bangs from Kristen's Met Gala appearance. Use a small hair donut, a round brush, and a curling iron to create the classic curve.

Shape a small hair donut to the desired size.

Style the hair with a round brush and curling iron.

Wrap hair around the donut and secure it with matte bobby pins.

4. Chained Hairstyle

Enhance any bun with a hair band or your favorite chain links. Kristen proves that adding chains can transform a traditional look into a unique and eye-catching style.

Enhance a bun or necklace with a hair chain barrette.

Attach favorite chain links to bobby pins for a unique look.

5. French Braided Fauxhawk Hairstyle

Break the mold with a French-braided fauxhawk that adds an edgy touch to an equestrian collar. Kristen Stewart shows how to spice things up both on and off the racetrack.

Part the hair for a French braided fauxhawk effect.

6. Tight Twist Ponytail Hairstyle

Go for a layered ponytail for a tight, clean finish. A touch of hair oil or styling cream at the roots adds control and frizz-free shine.

Apply a light oil or styling cream to the roots.

Create a layered ponytail for a clean finish.

7. Brushed Back Hairstyle

Kristen's stunning brushed-back style starts with a generous mousse on damp hair, followed by strategic blow-drying and teasing for added volume. Hold the style in place with a flexible hairspray.

Prep damp hair with mousse and blow-dry.

Smooth downsides to create volume on top.

Tease the top for extra volume.

8. Side ponytail

Kristen's medium-high side ponytail with exquisite twists offers a modern take on a classic hairstyle, perfect for an ultra-chic profile.

Create a mid-raised ponytail with exquisite twists.

Let the hair fall to the side for a modern, chic take.

9. Fishtail Hairstyle

For layered strands, add wefts of hair extensions to create sturdy fishtails. The key is to gently pull the braid for intricate detail.

Add wefts of extensions for extra volume.

Pull the finished fishtail gradually to create detailed waves.

10. Up-Do Hairstyle

Master the art of a simple yet thoughtful updo, as Kristen Stewart often does on red carpets. Cornrow the bottom and braid the top for a chic look.

Cornrow the bottom section close to the scalp.

Braid the top half, tucking the ends and securing with pins.

Unleash your inner star with MOBILESTYLES

Now that you've been inspired by Kristen Stewart's hair ideas, why not add a touch of celebrity glamour to your life? MOBILESTYLES connects you with beauty professionals who can make your hair dreams come true. Embrace the transformative power of a stunning hairstyle, just like Kristen Stewart, and let MOBILESTYLES be your beauty companion on this exciting journey. Book your beauty professional today and step into the spotlight with confidence!

[fullshine2024]

Full Shine Balayage Halo Human Hair Extensions Highlighted (#4/24/4)

Description

fullshine halo hair

Hair Material: Remy Human Hair

Texture: Straight, and Have a Natural Wave When Wet or Left to Air Dry or Diffused

Color: #4/24/4, balayage dark brown with golden blonde highlights

Length: 12"-20"

12"-14": 70 gram

16"-20": 80 gram

Hair Weft Width: Approximately 10 inch

how to apply halo hair

Here's a video to show our halo hair, click here:)

Here's a video about "Full Shine Human Halo Extension #4/24/4"

Easy to Wear: Full Shine One Piece Hair Extension can be Applied in Seconds and Style in Moments.

Safe: the Invisible Crown Hair Applied with Fish Line, Avoiding the Beads/Glue.

Comfortable and Undetectable: Transparent Fish Wire and Flat Weft Making the Lightweight and Comfortable Experience.

Innovative Products: Fish Wire Hair is the most Innovative Products You’ll Love to Wear.

Human Hair: Hidden Hair Piece Human Hair Extensions Made By 100 Percent Real Hair, No Tangling/Shedding.

Covert and Natural: Can be Easily Curled, Colored to Suit Your Mood.

[thelostboylonelyworld]

While Caim tied the man to a metal table inside the cage, torso and wrists tied firmly in a myriad of places, their conversation kept turning back in his head. The guy hadn’t knew truly what were the weakness of a vampire and ended up messing it with fairy lore. He knew Santa Carla’s vamp and no one of them had weakness with silver.

Even Roland being completely delusional, Caim could admire his guts of talking back and how eloquent he was. That was admirable. And then as he turned his back to the table starting to get the tools to shave the blond’s hair he heard: pants.

He moved slowly to stare at the man, his large eyes wide for the first time and as well for the first time giving him the semblance of a lost puppy as his face paled.

I thought you were going to kill me.

He thought he did.

His lips parted, but he didn’t let the words escape. Roland baring his teeth made his heart skip a beat, even though his semblance hadn’t leaked one emotion more. And then he noticed, there were only two sharp teeth! Not rolls and rolls of teeth like the real vamps. The guy truly believed he was a vampire, so much he made a surgery to change his teeth. Caim relaxed with a chuckle as he landed his hand on the top of Roland’s hair, looking down at him almost affectionately.

“That’s nuts, man. I don’t know if I pity you or get sad for you. You really wanted to be a vampire, don’t you?Is a blessing to not be…” He said while caressing the other man’s hair absentmindedly, only now noticing how soft and beautiful it was. As his fingers slides through it and warmth sipped through his skin, a flash of idea passed through his mind. How beautiful the golden locks would look in the Sun, spread out against the grass like a halo of light. Soothing and warm in his fingertips as he played with them until he fell into the dreamland in peace for loneliness and shadows could not follow him, as long as he stayed wrapped into the light of such golden clock. Misery seemed distant then…

Blue eyes opened and they were filled with absurd warmth and devotion and even happiness as it fixed on Roland’s, and then a shadow passed through them and they became dark and angry. Without warning Caim pulled brutally the lock curled against his fingertips and the tuft of hair was now on his hand.

His jaw clenched mercilessly.

He would never have warmth.

Another lock of hair pulled.

He would never be not alone.

One more lock.

Or be at peace.

At each pull more euphoric and desperate he felt and more bloody his hands became. He could not hear any scream, for in his head these cruel voices that sounded so much like himself were too loud.

He had no content.

He would never be happy.

He didn’t deserve to be loved.

And with the last pull Caim’s almost collapsed on the table and onto Roland. If the blond’s torso weren’t tightly tied, easily he would be able to bite Caim’s neck, such was the proximity. He clutched the metal edges with slightly trembling hands. His breath was completely ragged, his face would be completely sick pale if it wasn’t for the angry red around his eyes, evidence of his suppressing tears. He could only feel the cold surface of the table. His eyes looked up then, and he was met with a bloody mess. There were little to no hair in Roland’s head, but blood and wounds in all its extension. Caim’s lips parted, and his face paled even more as he abruptly and clumsily withdrew of the table, hitting the tool table behind him.

The smell of blood was intoxicating an for the first time not in a good way.

He opened and closed his lips a lot but no word escaped him. A tear dared to run from his left eye. He was horrified.

This isn’t personal. This wasn’t personal.

But there was not what he saw right in front of him.

He wouldn’t apologize. He couldn’t. It was his job. But he didn’t want to hurt.

“T-the contractor, they-they think you are handsome, they envy, they- they want to take that vanity out of you.” He said visibly shaken, he didn’t knew how he remembered those words. They told him, when he closed the deal, to say that to Roland, so Roland would know that everything would be stripped of him, even his dignity.

But Caim knew now, as he turned his back to Roland’s table, leaning his hand on the tools trolley heavily, he knew as the almost inaudible sounds of his tears met the metal tray of torture utensils that Roland’s wasn’t the only one whose dignity was being stripped in that fucking room.

@royal-descent

"It is not a tactic I am a vampire. Why would you make the cage out of silver coated metal if I wasn't a vampire? Are you telling me I just fell into this trap I couldn't escape by coincidence?" That was all the more infuriating. He was really jus the victim of bad luck. Terrible luck. "Why should you do me any favors. Please fulfill your charge to it's fullest if you don't have the heart to set me free. What is mercy if in the end I am still bereft of life? Doing it to make yourself feel better I suppose."

The dart hit his chest with a solid thump, it was honestly surprising to the vampire, had he been sharper perhaps he could have gotten out of the way. What was truly surprising though was that he felt the drugs enter him and actually made him sleepy. It started slowly radiating from the point where it hit him. H Is arms and legs felt like iron and he slowly slumped down kneeling. HIs eye lids god heavy. "What in the name of all that is unholy is in this dart." he asked before he was no longer able to think.

Darkness overcame him. A heavy wicked darkness as he fell forward his body too heavy to move. It felt like ages and to a vampire, ages were in fact ages. HIs thoughts were swimming and fuzzy but soon they could form again. His body too heavy to move but his blue eyes shot open and he gasped a deep breath. "AH!" he gasp as he took in air, cold and sharp it filled his lungs.

He panted as he struggled to sit up. Was he bound? The sedative made it too hard for him to move his arms. "I thought you were going to kill me." he hissed his fangs bared at his beautiful captor.

[frannyzooey]

Bedtime

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

For my lovely @imaswellkid ❤️

Weeknights Universe

—

He’s dozing.

Or at least, he looks like he is — reclined on the couch, thighs spread wide in his slouch, one arm draped across his belly with the other one a relaxed extension onto the cushion next to him. His eyes are closed, a halo of dark, unruly curls over his brow, light flickering over his handsome features.

You look at him for a moment in admiration before bending for the remote.

“What are you doing?” His voice is husky and low, tinged with tiredness. “I thought you were gonna come watch TV with me, baby.”

“You’re sleeping. Come to bed.” You turn the TV off, the already dim room plunging into darkness and you hold your hand out for him.

The coffee table is stacked with folded burp cloths, an empty bottle and a pack of wipes next to them. A singular beer bottle sits next to his bare feet and you curl the edge of your mouth in an affectionate smile. He let you soak in the tub extra long tonight, putting the kids to bed before sitting down to fold the laundry and you’re still in your bathrobe, your hair damp.

You had thought about him in that bath, wishing he had been in there with you. Your hands drifted down through the hot water, caressing the petal soft skin of your hip before you slid it lower between your thighs and then you stopped — you wanted him to see the next part.

But first, you had to get him to come to bed.

“Come on, baby.” You lean over him, bracing your hands on the couch next to his head and when the sweet scent of your bath warm skin fills his senses, he smiles. You match it, pressing your mouth against his in a kiss.

You think it’s going to be a sleepy one — the kind that lingers, that doesn’t go anywhere, that’s the pressing of mouths and lips together for the comfort of it — but when his hand reaches up to wrap around the base of your neck, and his tongue slips deeper into your mouth, you think about the bath again.

The bath you wouldn’t have had time to take, had he not made that time for you.

His eyes finally open when you pull away to kneel between his thighs, the moonlight shining through the window the only thing illuminating you in front of him right now and you’re all gentle slopes and curves in your robe, carefully undoing the buckle of his belt.

The sound clinks in the silent room, the zipper loud when you pull it down. Your fingers curling under the waistband, he lifts his hips to aid your tug of his jeans and briefs down and he’s already half hard between his thighs and thick, even in rest. His hand tenderly smooths the wet hair back from your temple when you lean forward to take him into your mouth.

A quiet kiss — a brush of your lush lips around the rounded head before you slide your tongue slowly around the weight of it, and he thickens in your grasp when you start to pump him with slow, firm strokes until he’s fully hard. His fingernails make a sound when he drags them over the cushion before curling them into a fist, his breathing sounding a bit heavier when you wrap your lips around the tip of him with a suck and a low groan escapes his throat, his head tipping back.

You never get alone time like this. Truthfully, you wanted more in your bedroom, but you’ll take what you can get just to give this man of yours a gift. This sweet man, who does such a good job of taking care of others all the time. You want to take care of him for once.

“Does it feel good, baby?” You breathe the words at the base of him, your tongue laving at a divot before your lips press moist kisses up the shaft of his cock.

He hums, pushing your hair back from your face to get a better view. “You always feel good.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” you murmur, taking him back into your mouth.

“I’m thinking about that wet mouth of yours. About how much I wanna fill it. How much I wanna fuck it.”

The words said so lowly in the dark room make you shiver; your thighs shifting together to quell an aching need.

“Yea?” You slide him in as deep as you can, your tongue rounding around the heft of his cock and his hips arch up off the cushion, seeking out the slick heat. You do it once, twice, before pulling back to pump him wetly with your fist. “What else?”

“I want you to take that robe off. I wanna see you.”

You do it, resting his cock against the small slope of his belly while you slowly untie it. You shrug it off your shoulders and look up to see him looking at you. It’s a hooded gaze of reverence, of lust — and you cup the weight of your breasts in your hands, pushing them together.

“You wanna come on them?” It’s an offering, one that has him reaching for his cock to pump it lazily himself while he looks at them — but that’s not what you want. You don’t want him to lift a finger.

“Don’t, baby,” you admonish, gently pushing his hand away. “Let me.”

You push his thighs open wider, scooting your knees as close as you can with the band of his jeans around his ankles stopping you and resting your forearm along his thigh, one hand curls around the soft curve of his hip, while the other resumes stroking his cock.

He can feel the velvet brush of your breasts against the inside of his legs, the barely there touch lighting a shiver of pleasure up the length of his spine and he relaxes even more into the couch.

You’re fucking gorgeous like this.

Bare for him, only for him, every part of you soft save for the firm grip you have around his cock and the image of your full mouth makes him leak a pearly mess on your tongue, giving into what you’re giving him.

“Fuck, yes,” he groans softly when you suck a little harder, worrying your tongue just under the thick tip. “Just like that. You always know just how to do it.”

His mouth is usually more filthy than this, but it’s late and he’s tired and he’s so fucking relaxed that he can’t do anything but watch you with a slightly slack mouth; rumbles of encouraging groans spilling from his throat every now and then.

Taking your time, you work him until he’s rock hard and weeping, until it’s hard to fit him in your mouth with how thick he is, until his fingers dig into the cushion and his breath catches in his throat and he’s chanting come on, baby, come on, baby in a strain as he arches against the back of the couch —

When you feel the pulse of him starting to come, you pull off and guide the tip of his throbbing cock towards your chest, watching as it paints thick, milky white ropes across your skin. It pools between them, sliding down the plane of your chest and you lean back in to lick him clean until he softens in your hold.

He’s salty, and sweet, the musk of him familiar when you press kisses to the shallow well of his hip as he catches his breath and when you finally lean back on your heels to show him the mess he made, he closes his eyes with a frown.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologies. “I know you just took a bath —“

“Frankie,” you coo softly, interrupting him. “Honey, look at me.”

He opens his eyes, and looking right at him, you cup the weight of your breasts in your hands. His tongue runs smoothly along his bottom lip when you gather the slick, sticky evidence of his love and smear it over your skin, teasing your nipples with it, rubbing it in like a balm over your heart.

Your chest glistens in the dark and his mouth waters; a swell of arousal mixed with affection blossoming warm in his chest. It floods there, filling it and he smiles.

“You’re so fucking amazing,” he says and you grin, preening in your praise.

He chuckles quietly and sitting up with a cinch, he pulls you in for a kiss.

[haruharuz]

This is your sign to learn how to do things on your own. Not because you have to, but, because if you ever DO have to, you can.

First: Supplies

For everything you learn you want adequate supplies stored PROPERLY. I will admit here and now that the first set of nail supplies I got... Was not stored in an organized fashion. Quite literally tossed it all in a cubby bin. I know, horrendous.

But it's important that you store these things properly, or, you'll end up like me. With a lot to organize, throw away, and buy.

Amazon is your best friend for supplies. I'll be reorganizing ALL of my supplies into plastic drawers to keep things clean and neat. You can get em at Walmart, cheap.

Second: What To Learn

Hotties, you want to be able to do damn near anything on a budget at HOME if you can. So here's a massive list of things that can upgrade your lifestyle.

Nails (gel, dip, acrylic, natural, manipedi)

Hair (wig installation, braids, overnight curls, straightening, detox // clarifying, updos)

Makeup (cut crease, half cut crease, halo eye, glitter application, properly setting makeup, illusions with mild contour)

Brows (ombre/tint, waxing, threading)

Self Massage (shoulders, back, legs, feet)

Lashes (fake extensions // individuals, lash lifts and tints)

Photo editing / self photography

"I don't know how to learn these things!" YouTube, TikTok, Google. Practice.

Mwah!