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thebiggerbear · 1 day ago

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I absolutely adored this!!! Ever since I came across this I have been wanting to read it and I was not disappointed!!! I LOVED Jessica Rabbit when the movie came out and always wanted to be her but then when I rewatched the film when I was a little older, I went

"Oh!" Lol, so she's been a crush of mine for a very long time and I was beyond excited to come across your story.

Her eyes scanned the room until they found her—Jessica Rabbit, the stunning redhead, sitting at the bar, a vision of elegance and allure in her form-fitting, glittering red dress.

I love how aesthetically pleasing the visual is that you give us of her because it is so on point!!!

She slid off the barstool with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly and met her halfway, wrapping her arms around Y/N in a warm, welcoming embrace. “Hey, you,” Jessica purred, her voice like honey. “I’ve missed you.” Y/N wrapped her arms around Jessica’s waist, pulling her close. “I’ve missed you too,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to Jessica’s temple. “You look amazing.” Jessica chuckled, a soft, melodic sound that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. “You’re not so bad yourself, Y/N.”

Perfect greeting!!! I wish I knew of a more eloquent way to explain the feelings I got reading this scene. I literally experienced what Y/N was feeling, down to the physical sensations, but without the beautiful redhead in front of me. 😭 Flawlessly written!!!

Before Y/N could respond, their drinks arrived. Y/N took a sip of her whiskey, savoring the burn as it went down. Jessica opted for a martini, elegant and refined, just like her. They talked for a while, sharing stories and laughing together. Y/N loved the sound of Jessica’s laughter—it was genuine, full of joy. She found herself getting lost in Jessica’s eyes, the way they sparkled in the dim light.

I don't think I can say it enough, the shape your writing takes and how seamless it fits to this character just absolutely astounds me (in a very good way) and makes the reading experience that much more enjoyable and pleasant. You really nailed this!!!

One evening, they found themselves surrounded by boxes, the living room a chaotic mix of Jessica’s glamour and Y/N’s rugged style. They were sitting on the floor, a bottle of wine between them, laughing over some old photographs they had discovered. "Look at this one," Jessica giggled, holding up a picture of Y/N in her teenage years, dressed in a band T-shirt and ripped jeans, her hair a mess. "You were such a rebel." Y/N chuckled, taking the photo from her. "Still am, in a way," she said, looking at Jessica with a playful grin. Jessica smiled, leaning in to kiss Y/N's cheek. "I love that about you," she said softly. "You’ve always been unapologetically yourself." Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest. "And I love that you love me for it," she replied, brushing a strand of Jessica’s hair behind her ear.

This was such a cute moment that then flowed into a very loving and sweet exchange between them that just had me

A few days later, they hosted a small housewarming party, inviting close friends to celebrate their new life together. The apartment was filled with the sound of music and laughter, a testament to the love and happiness that now filled the space. Jessica was the perfect hostess, moving through the crowd with grace and charm, while Y/N played the part of the attentive partner, always by her side, making sure she had everything she needed. They were a team, a perfect balance of glamour and strength, and their friends could see how happy they made each other.

Beautifully written!!! I could see it clear as a bell along with how well they balance each other out and are perfect partners, just as much as their friends could.

"That was amazing," Jessica said, leaning her head on Y/N’s shoulder. "Thank you for making this so special." Y/N wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "Anything for you," she replied, kissing the top of her head.

And I would like to thank you for writing this and making it special as well!!! My younger self is floating away somewhere about a hundred feet above us, sighing happily with humongous heart eyes. This was pure fluff and sweetness and I just absolutely LOVED it!!! Thank you again for writing it and for sharing it with us all. You truly have a gift as a writer and you're an excellent wordsmith, my friend. I really hope you write more for this character or even this particular reader x Jessica dynamic if you ever feel up to it, I would LOVE to read it if you do!!! 😀💖��

Jessica rabbit x female reader

Y/N adjusted her leather jacket, tugging at the collar in a futile attempt to shake off the nerves. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen Jessica Rabbit a hundred times before, but every time felt like the first time. There was something about the way Jessica moved, the way she looked at her, that made Y/N feel like she was falling all over again.

She took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the club. The place was dimly lit, filled with the low hum of chatter and the occasional clink of glasses. Her eyes scanned the room until they found her—Jessica Rabbit, the stunning redhead, sitting at the bar, a vision of elegance and allure in her form-fitting, glittering red dress.

Y/N felt a smile tug at her lips as she walked over. Jessica turned, her eyes lighting up when she saw Y/N approaching. She slid off the barstool with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly and met her halfway, wrapping her arms around Y/N in a warm, welcoming embrace.

“Hey, you,” Jessica purred, her voice like honey. “I’ve missed you.”

Y/N wrapped her arms around Jessica’s waist, pulling her close. “I’ve missed you too,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to Jessica’s temple. “You look amazing.”

Jessica chuckled, a soft, melodic sound that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. “You’re not so bad yourself, Y/N.”

They pulled apart, and Y/N took a moment to admire her girlfriend. Jessica was the epitome of glamour and sophistication, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride knowing that she was hers.

“Let’s grab a seat,” Jessica suggested, gesturing to a booth in the corner. Y/N nodded, taking Jessica’s hand and leading her to the secluded spot.

Once they were seated, Y/N ordered drinks for both of them. As they waited, she reached across the table, taking Jessica’s hand in hers. Jessica’s fingers were soft, delicate, but her grip was strong and reassuring.

“So, how was your day?” Y/N asked, tracing circles on the back of Jessica’s hand with her thumb.

Jessica sighed, a contented smile on her lips. “It was good. Busy, but good. I had a photoshoot this morning, then a meeting with my agent. But now, I’m here with you, and that’s all that matters.”

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest. “I’m glad you could make it. I know you’re busy.”

Jessica shook her head, her eyes softening. “I’ll always make time for you, Y/N. You’re important to me.”

Before Y/N could respond, their drinks arrived. Y/N took a sip of her whiskey, savoring the burn as it went down. Jessica opted for a martini, elegant and refined, just like her.

They talked for a while, sharing stories and laughing together. Y/N loved the sound of Jessica’s laughter—it was genuine, full of joy. She found herself getting lost in Jessica’s eyes, the way they sparkled in the dim light.

At one point, Jessica reached across the table, cupping Y/N’s cheek with her hand. “You know, I’ve been thinking about something,” she said softly.

Y/N leaned into the touch, her heart beating a little faster. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Jessica bit her lip, looking a bit nervous. “I’ve been thinking about us. About our future.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected this, but she was intrigued. “What about our future?”

Jessica took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Y/N’s. “I want to be with you, Y/N. Really be with you. I want us to move in together, to build a life together. I know it’s a big step, but I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Y/N felt a rush of emotions—surprise, joy, excitement. She squeezed Jessica’s hand, her own eyes shining. “I want that too, Jessica. More than anything.”

Jessica’s face lit up, and she leaned across the table, capturing Y/N’s lips in a soft, tender kiss. Y/N kissed her back, pouring all her love and affection into that one moment.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both smiling, a sense of happiness and contentment settling over them.

“I love you, Y/N,” Jessica whispered, her eyes filled with emotion.

Y/N felt her heart swell. “I love you too, Jessica. Always.”

They spent the rest of the evening talking about their plans, their dreams for the future. It felt so right, so natural, and Y/N knew that this was where she belonged—with Jessica, building a life together.

As they left the club, hand in hand, Y/N felt a sense of peace. She glanced over at Jessica, who was smiling up at her, and knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together.

They walked through the city streets, the cool night air wrapping around them. Jessica leaned into Y/N, her head resting on her shoulder. Y/N wrapped an arm around her, holding her close.

“I can’t wait to start this new chapter with you,” Jessica said softly.

Y/N pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Me too, Jessica. Me too.”

They continued walking, lost in their own little world. The city around them seemed to fade away, and all that mattered was the two of them, together.

When they finally reached Y/N’s apartment, they took the elevator up to her floor. Y/N unlocked the door, holding it open for Jessica. She stepped inside, glancing around the familiar space. It was a little messy, but it was home.

Jessica looked around, a smile on her lips. “I can see us here,” she said softly. “I can see us making this place our home.”

Y/N felt a surge of emotion. “Me too,” she said, her voice thick with feeling. “I can’t wait to start this journey with you, Jessica.”

Jessica turned to her, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s neck. “Neither can I,” she whispered, leaning in for another kiss.

They spent the rest of the night talking, making plans, dreaming about their future. It felt like a dream, but it was real, and Y/N knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful.

As they lay in bed together, Jessica curled up against her, Y/N felt a sense of contentment wash over her. She held Jessica close, listening to the sound of her breathing, and knew that they were exactly where they were meant to be.

“I love you,” Y/N whispered into the darkness.

Jessica stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “I love you too,” she murmured, a smile on her lips.

Y/N kissed her forehead, holding her close. “Goodnight, Jessica.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Jessica replied, her voice soft and sleepy.

Y/N closed her eyes, a smile on her lips, and let herself drift off to sleep, knowing that she was exactly where she was meant to be—with Jessica, the love of her life, by her side.

In the following weeks, the couple's life slowly intertwined as they started the moving process. Jessica's belongings, previously scattered in her luxurious apartment, were now finding a place in Y/N's cozy home. The scent of Jessica’s favorite lavender candles filled the air, blending with Y/N’s coffee and leather aroma. It felt right, the way their lives were meshing together.

"Look at this one," Jessica giggled, holding up a picture of Y/N in her teenage years, dressed in a band T-shirt and ripped jeans, her hair a mess. "You were such a rebel."

Y/N chuckled, taking the photo from her. "Still am, in a way," she said, looking at Jessica with a playful grin.

Jessica smiled, leaning in to kiss Y/N's cheek. "I love that about you," she said softly. "You’ve always been unapologetically yourself."

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest. "And I love that you love me for it," she replied, brushing a strand of Jessica’s hair behind her ear.

They continued sorting through the boxes, talking about their memories and making new ones as they did. The night was filled with laughter, kisses, and the promise of a future together.

Jessica was the perfect hostess, moving through the crowd with grace and charm, while Y/N played the part of the attentive partner, always by her side, making sure she had everything she needed. They were a team, a perfect balance of glamour and strength, and their friends could see how happy they made each other.

As the night drew to a close and the last guest left, Y/N and Jessica found themselves alone in their apartment. They collapsed onto the couch, exhausted but happy.

"That was amazing," Jessica said, leaning her head on Y/N’s shoulder. "Thank you for making this so special."

Y/N wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "Anything for you," she replied, kissing the top of her head.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying each

#jessica rabbit x reader #reaper2187 #fic recs

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marleneoftheopera · 5 months ago

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Act 2 photos from the Love Never Dies China Tour.

#i think only one or two of these were posted on their own #so many nice photos i hope get shared in full quality one day #i always love photos of the dressing room scene #the trio shot with the phantom through the mirror is pretty neat #nice ominous touch #Luke mccall #manon taris #Niall sheehy #olivia barnett legh #love never dies #lnd china tour #love never dies china tour

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hwallazia · 7 months ago

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ANT!FRAGILE – 최산

synopsis . in which you pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

pairing . choi san & fem!reader

genre . smut (mdni!) fluff at the end, comfort, established relationship, idol!au, and a poor attempt of comedy.

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle | apply to join my taglist ♡

word count . 3,1k

DISCLAIMER! unprotected sex (wrap before tap!), bath sex, slight degradation? (reader’s referred as “dumb girl” once), dirty talk, softdom!san, sub!reader, dacryphilia?, slight overstimulation, hickeys, size difference, bulge kink, cow girl position, petnames (princess, love, darling & more), teasing, squirt, suggestive language (yn tells wooyoung to kill himself, jokingly! they’re two very friendly friends ;)), coachella san (as a warning itself, yes).

NIC’S NOTES this took way too long for no reason at all (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠) but here it is! my brain rot of coachella san (ofc with teeth rotting fluff at the end bc i’m the one writing it) also, lowercase is intentional! (again, too lazy to write it properly;;)

you should’ve seen it coming after you found out that your boyfriend, san, would be performing at an event as important as coachella. not that you were complaining though.

you knew how much your boyfriend loves attention, how much it turned him on to hear the fans scream for him, and how the cameras adjust their lens to zoom in on his face or his toned muscles from dancing and moving from side to side. there were constant conversations in which san would ask you “should i wear this?”, “if i unbutton a couple of buttons will i get a reaction from atiny?” of course, you’d tell him dismissively that no matter what he does, he’d always get a reaction from everyone, from you especially.

but taking off his shirt in the middle of a concert? really?

you had already seen him without clothes on the upper part of his body, of course, —and also without clothes down there, but let’s omit details—. the thing here’s that you knew how cautious he was with his clothing, always trying to cover what was most important. but this surprised you, and immensely.

it is, in fact, a sight for sore eyes. but a certain level of jealousy invaded your body; you liked to think that you were the only one with the privilege of seeing his well-worked body. but now millions of people and locals would have photos and videos of your shirtless boyfriend on stage. you definitely couldn’t accept it, even though the entire internet already knows exactly what ateez’s choi san looks like underneath the expensive fabric that covers him at concerts.

you were fully aware that this was his job, and that he was paid for it, but did it really have to be him? why not any other member? maybe seonghwa? or mingi! what about him? he also has a pretty active and... desperate fanbase. it was obvious that more than one fan would pay to get, at least, a glimpse of his abs. so, with so many options, why was your boyfriend the exposed person?

but of course you couldn’t show up in his dressing room with a jealous expression clearly decorating your face, you had to act like the sweet and tender girlfriend you were and put jealousy aside for a moment. your boyfriend had just finished performing on a dream stage for any artist, you couldn’t ruin his night because of a little scene.

you weren’t a jealous or toxic lover; you were a conservative one. you liked knowing that you were special to san and you expected exclusivity from him; consequently, he would receive the same treatment. but you should’ve expected it when you started dating choi san. he’s an idol and that's his job: to cause, in any way, the attention of the fans which, consequently, would keep them afloat or flying through the charts.

but, that was an indelible feature of yours. therefore, in some way, you would make it noticeable.

you hit your knuckles a few times, with moderate intensity, against the modern metallic door decorated by a gold star that highlighted your boyfriend’s band name. you watched as the handle turned slightly and opened the door wide, managing to discover wooyoung with a foaming glass of champagne that found its rest in the palm of her hand. behind his figure, you could see mingi sitting on a noticeably comfortable leather couch next to yunho, both of them clinking their glasses together with a clink; yeosang and seonghwa taking a selfie in the mirror and jongho and hongjoong talking animatedly, perhaps about the upcoming scenarios you thought.

“what the hell are you doing here?” wooyoung said, looking at you confusingly. you narrowed your eyes slightly at his quick lack of courtesy.

“good night to you too, wooyoung. you were incredible out there.” you replied sarcastically, hoping he would finally greet you properly.

“oh thank you so much. but seriously, what are you doing here?” he asked once again.

“what do you mean what am i doing here? i came to congratulate y’all for the show because you totally killed it. all the atiny around me went absolutely feral because of you guys.” you praised, and wooyoung grinned nicely. jongho and hongjoong came up behind him, intrusively joining the conversation.

“well thank you very much, yn.” jongho responded and you gave him your purest smile, truly meaning your words.

“but i also came here to congratulate my boyfriend personally?” you interrogated since his figure wasn’t appearing in your visual field.

“that’s why i was asking! damn, you really don’t listen." wooyoung sentenced, his gaze being comparable to that of a mother scolding her daughter. “as soon as the concert was over, he changed and went to the hotel to see you. he thought you’d be there.”

“but i don’t have a ride home, and my phone died” you explained, doe-eyed as you waited for wooyoung, or any of the boys, to take the hint and quickly take you to the hotel to your boyfriend.

“you could just ask for it, you know?” wooyoung tsked, but finally surrendered to your big, brown eyes with a sigh. “give me two seconds to look for the car keys. i’ll take you there.”

and that’s what he did as fast as lighting since he knew they’d only have that night all for themselves before flying back out to korea. the next day would be full of promotion of their songs to the locals and their stage in coachella, so san wouldn’t be able to even spend a bit of his day with you.

during the ride to the hotel, wooyoung spoke, “hey just don’t tire him out since we have quite the amount of work to do tomorrow.”

“you know, you could say something like ‘have a nice time together’, ‘take care of him’, ‘call me if you need anything-” before you could continue, he interrupted you briskly.

“oh hell no. the both of you are responsible adults who know how to take care of themselves without someone else’s help so don’t even try to bother me tonight because i’m exhausted as shit.” he confessed, hands adjusting their position on the steering wheel when cornering.

“oh so now you’re saying i’m a burden?” you asked ironically, knowing wooyoung would catch it was only a joke.

“oh you do know how to think!” he smiled looking away from the road for a bit to lock gazes with you. wrinkles decorated the corner of your eyes as you closed them a little.

“go kill yourself.” you huffed.

“shut up, you love me,” his puckering lips sent a flying kiss to you. he stopped his words briefly, “actually you kind of have to, since i’m taking you with your beloved boyfriend.”

“touché” you agreed.

the ride to the hotel was quick and calm since you were talking and joking animatedly with wooyoung. and when you least expected it, the car stopped moving. consequently, you turned to look out through your window, yellow lights, and gold decorations hurting your eyes with how beaming they looked, even when it was one in the morning.

“here we are.” wooyoung turned to look at you, his sincere eyes transmitting warmth, “remember what i told you-”

“yeah, i got it mom,” you answered, rolling your eyes vexingly. the man gave you an annoying gaze, so you replied, “what? you’re acting as if you were my mother! chill out, for fuck’s sake. as you said, both of us are responsible adults who know how to take care of ourselves.” you used his own words as a weapon to defend yourself against his exaggerated concern.

“whatever. just go,” he unlocked the car’s door so you could get out of the car once you finished your little conversation. “he’s been a pain in the ass lately because he hasn’t had time to see you.”

“imma get going then,” your hand approached the car door handle and finally opened it and got out of the vehicle. “thank you, woo. i owe you one.”

“you owe me way too many to count ’em” wooyoung wheezed. “but yeah, we’ll add it to the list.” he gave you one final smile, which you reciprocated sweetly.

you finally closed the door and watched wooyoung make his way back to where coachella was taking place, he’d probably go to enjoy the rest of the night’s stages with his members. you genuinely wished for him to do well and arrive with the boys safely, but now you had something more important to do: pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

after you saw wooyoung getting lost on the dark LA highway, you turned around and ran towards the hotel to get into the elevator and quickly dial the floor of your boyfriend’s room.

once there, before your brain could think about it, your legs moved on their own and guided you recklessly toward the door. you hit your knuckles against it a few times, but there was no response.

“sannie? it’s yn. are you there?” you mutter softly against the door frame. another moment of silence came in response.

remembering your boyfriend had given you the key card, you pulled it out of your coat and faced it against the handle. after a soft peep sounded, you opened the door. just to be greeted with a dim-lighted room.

you wandered around the room, looking carefully at the floor so as not to bump your feet against any furniture or step on any item of clothing that, perhaps in a hurry, had been forgotten on the carpeted floor. you kept repeating your boyfriend’s name until the silence stunned you. the dazzling city lights illuminating what the poor little lamp that rested on the nightstand could not illuminate.

suddenly everything went silent. until you heard, in the back of your head, a faded tune. you quickly recognized the melody and started humming the song, the lyrics of the weeknd’s starboy being the only thing you could think about.

once again, you knocked a few times on the door, this time receiving a response from the other side. a dull “who is it?” was heard. “it’s me, love. yn.” you replied.

“oh, babe! come in!” he said happily, you could imagine the adorable smile drawn on his lips.

you turned the handle gently. and lord, didn’t the scenery you were greeted with turned you on.

your boyfriend’s toned body resting on the bathtub, lavender-scented bubbles covering most of it, his nipples being exposed to the fresh bathroom air that would soon turn into a heavier one, and his arms resting on each side of the tub. a serene, yet excited, expression decorating your boyfriend’s gaze.

“hi, beautiful,” he welcomed you. his eyes becoming crescent moons due to the effect of his beaming smile.

“there they are, those beautiful eyes i love so much,” you mumbled, walking right next to him to caress his left cheek soothingly. “how’re you feeling, champ?”

“alive as fuck,” both of you giggled at his response, your loving gaze locking with his for a moment of comfortable silence. suddenly you felt his hand fondling yours.

“mind joining me here?” his sharp eyes turning darker than they already were as they looked at you. fortunately for your boyfriend, you were willing to give him the moon and the stars that night.

you still can’t explain how you ended up on top of san, the water covering up to your navels, while he moved his thumb masterfully over your clit and his fingers repeatedly entered your cunt. his phalanges stretched you deliciously, causing several moans and moans from you.

“is that the spot, sweetheart? you're shaking so much.” his voice was hoarse and deep as the ocean, causing dizziness to affect your common sense.

“y-yes, don’t stop, please- ahh! ngh...” you could barely answer.

“sorry, love.” he announced before stopping his movements, drawing a annoyed, pathetic whine from your swollen lips. before you could insult him, he spoke first. “’wanna feel your tight cunt cumming around me, pretty.” during his brief pause, a pitiful cry from you was heard. “will you let me?”

“yes!” you answered desperately, “y...yes, i’m all yours, sannie. use me.”

san let out deep groan, which resonated inside your ears and made your heart jump out of your ribcage for a second. you rapidly adjusted yourself so you could reach the height of his crotch and massage his veiny, prominent erection, then align it to your entrance.

“go down slowly, don’t want my pretty girl to break.” he expressed, his soft, low voice driving you insane. still, you looked at him with cocked eyebrows.

“break? hah. surely, coachella drove your ego up to the clouds.” your eyes stabbing daggers into his. his hands found a home on your hips, slightly drawing them down to insert his cock inside you. your hand landing on his bare chest stopping his every move.

“nah. it’s just that you’re kind of fragile after all.”

you knew he was messing with you, provoking you. if there was one thing he always reminded you of, it was how strong, determined, and passionate you were, and it was one of the many features that made him fall deeply in love with you.

“let’s see who’s the fragile one here” you went down without warning on his cock, surprisingly touching your cervix all at once. a moan was snatched from both of you. your shaking body began to move carefully up and down him.

“f-fuck, yn- mm,” you heard a strangled moan from your lover, his lower lip was caught in between his teeth.

“f-fragile? that’s y...your- ah! your shit ass cock.” you manage to respond, notoriously provoking him.

“i don’t think it’s a shit ass cock, beautiful- ngh.” he panted, “just look how full you are.” he held your hand delicately despite the momentary brutality and placed it over your belly, a small lump formed there, “full of me, and my shit ass cock.” san breathed, kissing your collarbone, leaving cute lovebites in it. “you cry and beg for it every single night, hun. what does that have to say about you, hm?” a pitiful whine left your lips, demonstrating san that you were truly incapable of formulating coherent words. you were just too fucked out.

“well, lemme tell you,” he continued. “you’re just a dumb girl who needs to be fucked by a big fucking cock, otherwise, you don’t stop whining.” he said profoundly, his voice stimulating all your senses at once as he absolutely ravished you. “isn’t that right, princess?”

“i- ah! sannie, pleeease.” you blubbered, your eyes shedding the most precious tears.

“i asked you a question, darling. and i expect you to answer.” he sentenced sternly, grabbing your jaw and mushing your cheeks together. a pout was, therefore, formed on your lips.

“yes! yesyesyes, you’re right. i just need and think about being fucked by your big fucking cock-” you acknowledged, immersed and lost in the feeling, feeling like he was fucking you just like the first time.

“you’re such a cutie when you whine for me.” he chuckled while you, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back your screams anymore. his eyes stuck to your bouncing breasts, and your parted lips.

“what happened, princess? is it too much?” he cooed at you, looking at you adoringly, his eyes beaming at the sight of you.

“n-no,” you tried with all your might not to stumble over your words, but it was almost impossible since your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion of your boyfriend's cock into your tight cunt.

“no? let’s see if it is now,”

your bastard boyfriend directed his hand toward your vagina, his ring finger and middle finger deliciously touched your clit. san watched as you exploded inside, his cock was bringing you closer to an abysmal orgasm that you doubted you could withstand, but you were a masochist, and despite all of this, you continued to go up and down on his cock sloppily.

“san! i’m s-so close- fuck!” your frowned eyebrows, reddened cheeks, swollen lips, and arched back made san float, he couldn’t worship you more than he already did at that moment. he was internally so grateful that you were his. only his to kiss, to hug, to fuck, and to adore.

you had had many guys behind you in the past, and they all promised the same thing: ‘i promise you the moon and the stars’, but absolutely none of them reached the level that choi san reached, who promised and delivered to make you see the stars, the moon and– fuck, he made you see the entire milky way every time you were with him.

“go on, babe. let it out for me, i got you,” he hid his face in the crook of your neck when you slowed down bouncing, and then he lifted it up. his lips brushed your neck, a position which he took advantage of to lick and suck on the side of it, adorning it with some nice and new hickeys next to the ones he did some moments ago.

san did everything he could to give you a good orgasm, a strong one, but pleasant. he loved seeing your expression as you had reached the peak of pleasure, a squirt erupted between your bodies, causing strangled moans to come from both mouths. your walls became tighter, squeezing out every drop of cum held in san’s hard cock. you felt how a strip of that viscous, white essence warmed your insides even more. the feeling even being comfortable in some kind of way.

“see? i didn’t break, idiot. hah,” you huffed out a sigh, looking at that beautiful face that you would never get tired of.

“mhm, you’re always so strong and beautiful. aren’t you, my love?” he reacted breathlessly as he stroked your cheek, as if it were the finest diamond.

“always, and only for you,” you wrinkled your nose as you looked at him foolishly in love.

you turned and felt stupid every time you were around this man, but what could you say? you weren’t complaining at all.

that man was capable of loving you in all your facets, in all your states and moments.

you were also grateful that choi san was yours, and solely yours.

“well, big boy,” you started, settling into his chest with him still inside you, keeping you warm, “i’m very proud of you and your achievements, love. you really brought home the trophy.”

“actually, you came here all by yourself.” he flirted, a cocky smile causing a giggle to ring inside your ribcage. “hm. thank you, princess. but the actual trophy is you and will always be you.”

you hid your face with your hands, splashing a little water unintentionally, “don’t start being all mushy, you softie. i’m gonna cry otherwise,”

he laughed, his voice causing your skin to vibrate lightly. “okay okay. wanna finally wash up?”

“can we just... stay like this? just for a bit,” you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth your boyfriend provided you.

“of course, princess. whatever you want,” he held you in his arms safely, making you sleepy. two minutes of silence filled with tranquility and love passed, until san started talking, “remember you’re always my trophy.” he muttered lowly with his honey-dripping voice.

“babe,”

“hm?”

“shut up.”

| masterlist

#© hwallazia #ateez #ateez smut #choi san #choi san smut #san smut #san x reader #choi san x reader #san fanfic #choi san imagine #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic

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sugarcoatedstarkey · 10 months ago

Text

Firsts

pairings - Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

summary - Rafe was always there for your firsts.

warnings - drinking, drugs, language, fem receiving oral. (18+)

An/ I have other fics I should be finishing but this came to me this morning and I needed to write it!

Rafe Cameron.

Rafe Cameron was your first everything.

First friend, first girl boy hug, first kiss, first touch, first time, you hadn’t expected him to be your first heartbreak though.

Having been friends with him the moment your eyes landed on the quiet boy who sat on the browning grass, staring out at the kids playing. You can still remember the slight scowl on his chubby little face, you took it upon yourself to be friends with him.

Surprisingly he wanted to be your friend just as much as you wanted to be his, from that moment on the two of you were inseparable. It helped that you moved in next door to him, your parents becoming fast friends.

Throwback to the ripe age of 18, the night he broke your heart. You weren’t together, you were just best friends. Best friends that shared each other's firsts and seconds and so on. Neither of you put a label on the love you shared.

You wished you had though, the moment your eyes landed on his hands laced through Rebecca Jones’s tiny delicate hand, you knew that was the end.

He didn’t greet you that night, didn’t pull you into his famous bone crushing hug or whisper about how annoying everyone was. Instead he ignored you, Rebecca and his friends followed behind him as though he was royalty.

He wore a frightening smirk on his face the whole night, shoved at JJ Maybank who was hired as wait staff along with a fair few other pogues. Made a scene and called them names, at one point his father even had to get involved.

You felt sick to your stomach at the sight of the man in front of you, no longer the person you wanted to share your firsts with.

Fast forward to 21, you haven't spoken to him in three years. You couldn’t deny you missed him deeply, his picture still hung from the thin string lining your bedroom wall. But it was only one photo compared to the 300 you had tucked under your bed along with other memories.

It was your birthday, your eyes skimmed the people in the garden setting up for your party. Your eyes shooting to the silk black dress that hung in the doorway of your ensuite, darting your eyes back over the lawn and up at the tall house beside yours.

Your eyes search for a glimpse of Rafe but no life was found in the windows or the balcony. Letting out a soft sigh, you pushed yourself to stand. You didn’t have much time to get ready, your friends would be here soon and would want to start drinking the moment they stepped into your room.

45 minutes later you found yourself on the back porch, nursing a pornstar martini that your friend Elle had made. People had started to arrive and the sun had begun to set, your eyes searching through the sea of people for Rafe. You knew he wouldn’t show, even though at the age of 12 he promised to throw you the biggest 21st, just like the people on tv.

“Hey!”

You jumped slightly in your seat at the brazen voice, eyes landing on your friends who stared at you with worry. “What?” You questioned, grabbing a napkin you dabbed at the liquid that ran down your chest.

“I said, Barry is waiting for you by the side gate”.

All you do is nod and stand, Elle passes you the envelope of cash and keeps her eyes on the people around her. Tucking the folded up envelope in your bra, you make your way to the side of the house.

The music is loud and everyone is having a good time, your parents have gone out for the weekend to give you some space. Your friends had decided they wanted to buy something stronger than weed but were too scared of Barry to organize it themselves, but you apparently had no fear these days.

“Princess”

You knew you made a mistake instantly, Barry lent against the fence in a wife beater and ratty shorts. Smoke surrounded his face, stepping out of the dark he stopped in front of you.

You stood at the same height as him, if you had opted for heels you would have towered over him. “That dress looks good on you”.

“Here’s your money”

He cocked his head and kissed his teeth, eyes roaming your body unashamedly. You take a step back but he’s quick to step forward, gripping your wrist that held the envelope. “How about I give you something that’ll blow your mind but you pay a different way”

You shook your head instantly, you knew what he wanted. You weren’t stupid, the way his eyes darkened at the sight of you. “No I don’t think so… take the cash”

A throaty laugh escapes his lips and he tugs you towards him, your palm smacks his chest to keep you from falling into him further. You can smell the cigarette on his breath, scrunching your nose up when his lips ghost your cheek. “How about you get on your knees and put that pretty little mouth to good use”.

You tug on your wrist but his grip tightens, slipping his tongue out to wet his lips. “I have the cash, please just take the cash”.

His palm meets your shoulder, he uses all his strength to push your body to the floor and your knees hit the gravel. “Barry” you grit, your clenched fist meets his stomach and he doubles over in pain. “You bitch!”.

He coughs loudly and the little baggie falls to the floor, you're quick to grab it and jump up, throwing the envelope to his feet you step back but meet a hard wall. “Do we have a problem?”

All words that sat on the tip of your tongue vanished at the sight of Rafe, his eyes are hard and pointed at Barry. “I have the cash to pay him” your voice is just above a whisper, the skin of your bicep tingles at the feeling of Rafe’s fingers gripping tightly. “I don’t want the cash.. I want her on her knees” Barry growls, he stands up straight and steps towards you again. Pressing your back firmly against Rafe’s chest, he’s quick to pull you behind him. “She’s with me Barry”

“Oh shit man… I didn’t know she was yours!”

“She’s mine”

The goosebumps are back and butterflies swarm your belly, you zone out for what feels like a second but when you come back down to reality, Rafe is ushering you away from the scene, eyes cocking to see Barry hopping on his bike and the envelope you had for him inside his back pocket.

“I didn’t need your help”

You're not sure why you even said that, of course you needed help. There was no way you were leaving with anything unless you sucked Barry off. Rafe ignores you, pushing you forward by your lower back until you're back with your friends. Your fingers tighten around the baggie, hiding it from Rafe’s eyes.

You didn’t care that he knew you were buying drugs, it’s not like you hadn’t seen him snort lines at every party. It just felt strange, your first time doing something harder then weed wasn’t with him.

All your friends' eyes are on the two of you, mouths opened in shock. Before anyone can say anything he’s walking away, slipping into the crowd of people and disappearing. “What just happened?”

“Let’s get high”

The four of you lock yourself in the bathroom, opening the small baggie you pour the contents into your palm. “Did he say what it was?”

You shook your head, placing a small pill on the tip of your tongue. Each of their eyes watch as you swallow, holding out your palm for them to grab.

“I’m scared… I feel like we shouldn’t trust what he gives us”

“It’s fine, if it had been anything bad he would have told Rafe.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do Elle.. take the damn pill”

Each of them grab a pill and swallow, you put the rest back into the bag and hide it under the toilet sink inside your tampon box.

You're out the door before any of them can stop you, grabbing a bottle of champagne from the bench and heading back outside. Your feet take you further into the party, looking for Rafe. You hadn’t expected him to show up, your parents made you invite him since it would have been rude to throw a party next door without inviting your oldest friend.

You spot Rafe instantly, sipping on a beer and leaning against a pole. Topper and Kelce stand beside him as the two of them chat, Rafe’s eyes meet you for a brief moment before turning away from you.

Anger bubbles in your chest, storming back through the party. The bottle of champagne now half empty by the time you make it to your bathroom, the anger fuels the stupidity in your brain.

Grabbing the pills from the tampon box you take another, wanting the effects of the drug to hit you faster. But by the time you’ve taken the last step of the patio you're swaying, throwing your arms out to brace yourself. “Shit” you laugh, the empty bottle of champagne hitting the grass with a thud.

“Come dance!” Elle shouted, her tiny arms waving above her head. With wobbly legs you make your way to your friends, dancing wildly with them until a hot body comes up behind you and circles their arm around your waist, pressing you firmly to their crotch. “Hey”

You let the person dance against you, hands wandering your thighs and your stomach. The fingers of the stranger behind you brushes the underneath of your breasts before groping a handful, your mouth parts just a tiny bit and your ass presses firmer against him.

“What the fuck?”

Spinning on the spot at the loss of warmth behind you, the guy who had been dancing with you was on the floor. Rafe towered over you once again, his fingers grip your bicep and he’s pulling you away from the party. You notice no one watches the two of you, music drowning out any chatter around them.

“Rafe! What the hell is your problem!” You growl, wriggling in his grip only causing further pain to your arm. You give up rather quickly and let him drag you back into the house, pushing you through the door of the downstairs bathroom and closing the door behind him.

You press up against the bathroom sink and cross your arms, your eyes drift up and down his body. You can hear the harsh breaths Rafe was letting out, his forehead creased in anger. “I haven’t spoken to you in 3 years… you can’t just show up and manhandle me”.

His eyes meet yours finally and he takes a step closer, not close enough for you to touch him though. His cologne invades your nostrils and your cheeks heat from the memories of his hands on your body. “If you're not going to talk I’m leaving… it’s my birthday”.

His eyes finally drop from your eyes and he takes in your body, starting at your sneakers, drinking in the sight of your slender long legs, stopping for a tad longer on your breasts and then back up to your eyes.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ear, Goosebumps litter your skin and you have to brace yourself against the vanity table, legs wobbling from his gaze. “Happy birthday”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your shoulders relax at the sound of his voice. A voice you hadn’t heard up close in so long, a voice you dreamt about every night. “Thanks”.

The both of you are silent again, the sound of the party behind the door grows louder as the drugs start to lose their effect. “You look nice”

“Thanks”

He takes a step closer again, the toes of his shoes meet yours. The two of you look down briefly and then back at each other, you can smell the scotch on his breath, it's intoxicating.

“Rafe” your fingers touch his bicep softly, electricity flows through the tips of your fingers all the way to your heart. “I’ve missed you” he whispers seconds before his lips are on yours, all the memories you share together hit you like a tidal wave. Your knees buckle but he’s quick to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you closer to his chest.

“Missed you so much” he grunts, lips peppering kisses against yours. Down your jaw until they meet the base of your throat and he sucks hard, a soft whine escapes your parted lips. “Fuck”.

He grips your hips and drops you on the vanity table, pushing himself between your parted thighs, the heels of your shoes press firmly against his backside, pulling him closer to you. “You taste so fucking good”.

“Fuck Rafe… just like that” you whine, his hips roll against yours. His fingers grope and massage the skin of your thigh, pushing up the length of your dress to expose your nude thong. Your arousal soaks the front of your panties, your knees try to lock together in embarrassment but his thick frame holds them out. “I still make you as wet as I did 3 years ago” he groans, with one swift movement he’s ripped them at the crotch. Your pretty wet pussy exposed to his hungry eyes, his large hands tug you closer to the edge of the sink, dropping to his knees in front of you.

The sight has you clenching around nothing, arousal weeping from your needy hole. He places your feet on his shoulders and situates himself between your thighs. “Be a good girl for me y/n… let me eat your pussy for your birthday”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and nod frantically, the tip of his nose brushes your delicate clit. Your hips jut up to his face, a wicked smile paints itself on his lips. His tongue drops out slowly, the sight of the wet muscle has you whining. “Happy birthday sweetheart”

His hot tongue glides between your folds, your head falling back against the mirror in pure delight. “Oh fuck” you cried, pressing the balls of your feet into his shoulders. His hands grip the outside of your thighs, pulling your legs further apart until he can see your cunt in all its glory, glistening from your arousal. He could see your inner muscles clenching at the sight of him watching you. “Please Rafe” you begged, his lips dropped back to your pussy. Sucking and licking your overly sensitive nub, two of his fingers slip between your opening. Your back arching as he tapped at your g spot, you're sure you can see stars as he works himself on your pussy. “Sweet Jesus… Rafe! Yes yes yes”

The grunt of his approval vibrates against your clit, grinding your hips into his face. Your arousal coats his lower half, nose red from pressing himself so deep into your cunt. “I’m close! Rafe… right there! Holy shittt” your screams can be heard outside the bathroom door, the grip on your thighs are tight as he holds you close to him. You ride out your high, a thin layer sweat coats your chest and forehead. The back of your head hurts from the brutal force of you pushing against the mirror to steady yourself, you watch in silence as Rafe pulls away from you. Just as you open your mouth there are loud bangs on the bathroom door.

“Rafe! Man! Rafe quick Rebecca is outside looking for you!”

He’s out the door in seconds, leaving you alone and feeling dirty. Pressing your thighs closed you let out a silent sob, tears stream your face as you clean yourself up and throw away the ripped panties.

You take a few moments to calm down and slap some sense into yourself, you should have known Rafe was still seeing her. You should have told him to leave the moment he turned up, he was the Rafe you knew.

You exit the bathroom quietly and rush back downstairs in search of a drink, grabbing ahold of the tequila bottle.

As you step onto the patio, your friends quickly greet you. Your eyes stay on Rafe though, ignoring the chatter behind you, your eyes fall to the hand of Rebecca’s, it lay upon his chest in a gesture of adoration. A beautiful diamond placed upon her ring finger, the butterflies in your belly all but die. The beating of your heart is the only thing you hear, he notices where your eyes have landed and he is quick to place his much bigger hand over hers, hiding the beautiful ring from your vision.

He’s engaged.

Rafe Cameron got engaged.

Rafe Cameron had his first engagement and it wasn’t with you…

“Come on let’s go dance” Elle says, noticing the way both you and Rafe stare at each other. You squeeze your eyes shut for a brief moment when Rebecca reaches up to kiss his cheek, bringing the bottle of tequila to your lips. The alcohol burns your throat in the most satisfying way.

Your eyes open to catch the worry that finds its way onto his features as he watches you throw back way too much alcohol for your small body.

“Let’s get fucked up” you exclaim, walking away from your friends and towards the bar your parents had hired for the night.

“4 shots please… actually, just give me that bottle of whiskey”.

🏷️ Tag list- @laylasbunbunny @maybankslover @h34rtsformilli @hallecarey1 @outerbankspov @cameronmedia @crunchy-leaves77 @vigilanteshitposting @pedrisgatorade @rafemotherfuckingcameron @s-we-e-t-t-ea @rafesthroatbaby @alltoomay @moremaybank @mrssturnioloo @darleneslane @tierra-0604 @gabys-gabs @starkey-zegras @definitelynotholly-blog @renmpsworld @delicatepiratecloud @speedycomputerfury @tiacordelia02 @bbycowboi @jscameron @rafegirly @drudyslut @drewstarkeyslut @loverofdrewstarkey @ijustwanttoreadlols @spookyscaryspoon @ailee-celeste @ashpeace888 @xo-hayleyy-xo @ethereal0810 @tayygriffith @pankowperfection @oceandriveab @slut4ani @spideysimpossiblegirl @kamninaries @rubixgsworld @pickingviolets @wearemadeofstardust0 @one-sweet-gubler (if I have forgotten you please let me know)

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starryhutcherson · 6 months ago

Text

━━ A NEW FAMILIAR

author's note: crawled out of my hole for this one guys. sorry for being so ghost mode im working on putting out more stuff, apologies if this isn't of the highest quality as i'm running on sugar free redbull and three hours of sleep ! love my life hahahahaAHHHH

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: best friend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 4600+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Mike’s expression always glooms when you bring up the next date you’ve arranged. He knows how this story plays out; he knows the truth behind the men you’ve matched with on whatever sketchy website you’ve wasted your time on. They’ve molded themselves into the embodiment of perfection, through falsified photos and fabrications buried in their bios. His patience crumbles like fireplace ash as you skip around his living room and drone on about whatever dickhead you’ve set your poor, precious heart on.

He knows, always, the the outcome is running makeup and salty cheeks, sobbing on the floor of his living room in a creasing satin dress and his welcoming arms, a bitter exclamation of “you were right Mike” leaving your lips in the knowing silence and him gritting his jaw and pretending that it doesn’t bother him the the only habits you ever find yourself falling back into are the bad ones.

It’s no different today.

Mark or Matt or Mitch – you really were killing him, because it should be Mike. It should be him. Him that you’re getting ready for, him that you’re daydreaming about. And it’s an odd feeling, like a movie where your favorite character dies and then movie finishes and you have to accept that they aren’t coming back, no matter how long you sit glued to the reclinable chair, popcorn crunched beneath your sneakers and the credit-scene reflected in your shrinking pupils.

Mike’s not the type to be happier with the hope – he’d let the truth swallow him up, sink into his creaking bones, he’d live with the loss. But he still has hope for you. He has hope that your eyes will open and you’ll seep into his brain and his breath and his bed. He hopes you’ll start seeing him instead of just looking. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Ignorant optimism.

It feels like it.

It feels like it, right now, when he’s leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom and watching you get ready, your animated chatter reverberating around the small space between coats of mascara. He offered to give you a ride before you’d even asked, and he’ll tolerate the sting of watching you get out of the car looking all pretty for someone who isn’t him, just to make sure you get there safely. It’s the type of sacrifice he’ll make for you.

“I can’t even feel my face, I’ve been smiling so hard all day!” You squeal, powdering your cheeks with more purposeless product – he thinks it’s all pointless. You’re radiant, even in the harsh lighting of his bathroom.

He offers a low grunt. What is he supposed to say? He’s not happy. And he’s not gonna pretend he is.

You either don’t notice or choose to ignore, continuing to doll yourself up to whatever standards you have for yourself. “I mean, he says he’s been skiing since he was 6. He’s practically an olympian.”

Mike scoffs.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Can you hurry up?”

“Alright, grumpy. Calm down. I gotta do my lips and then I’m ready. Plus, nobody told you that you gotta stand here.”

A fleeting flush of fuchsia permeates his cheeks, but he looks down at his worn shoes to hide it. It’s true. He didn’t have to stand here. But if an angel was populating your bathroom you’d want to take a peek, would you not? That’s how he thinks you look. Angelic. Glowing from your soul, a content smile knitted on your lips. You might as well have a halo and wings – that heaven-sent aura is reinforced when you douse yourself in lingering washes of that sweet perfume that’s branded itself to you. He’d recognise that floral aroma anywhere, the way a shark detects a drop of blood amongst saline scattered seas.

“Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

Cruelest question of them all. “You look… fine. Good.”

A knot forms in your brow. “All this effort for that terrible answer?” Playful, but with a truthful undertone. Why do you value his opinion so much? He doesn’t want to assume anything.

“Well I’m not the person you’re dressing up for.” I wish I was. He doesn’t say the other words, but he thinks them so hard he’s half convinced if you were listening in the right spot, or looking into his eyes for long enough that you’d hear it anyway.

“Okay, okay, whatever. Let’s just get going, don’t wanna keep Mack waiting.”

Two letters. That’s all it would take. That’s all he’d have to swap to make it him.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

✩‧₊˚

Even if you aren’t aware, even if he did offer, he drives begrudgingly. He focuses as much as he can, on the road ahead and not your glistening figure beside him in the passenger seat, the very definition of temptation.

The mall parking lot is barren, a few gleaming cars scattered amongst the otherwise desolate area. He pulls into a space, sets the car in park, rakes in a greedy sigh of air.

“If anything happens, call me.”

You sneer teasingly. “Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s gonna be great, he could be my future husband, y’know.”

Yep. Mack, the 35 year old you've met online, who’s only notable talent seems to be skiing and his greatest life achievement to date is shooting a deer, whose head is mounted to the wall in his bedroom, typically visible in the background of his many instagram posts which involved his shirtless figure straining to flex his overly pronounced bulk. A match made in heaven. He wants to scream.

And how can you even tell him to not be pessimistic? How can you look him in the eyes and act like this moment hasn’t happened time after time, the point of no return before an evening spent crying in his arms as he reassures you that your failed dates are never your fault, even though by now it seems like you must be seeking out the same genre of shitty man if you’re this good at getting your heart broken. He’s sick of picking up the fragile little pieces of his bathroom floor, cutting himself on the shards of a heart that’ll never be his. You deserve more than these half-baked, single night romances. He could show you that.

“Yeah, sure,” he grits. “Future husband. Just call me, seriously.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.”

And with that, you’re off, disappearing into the gaping mouth of the mall’s entrance, and he watches with an alkaline feeling growing in his stomach. Your hair is caught up in the wind like clothing on a washline and he thinks his hope is all drained out.

✩‧₊˚

Mike spends a good two hours back at his house. His movements feel vacuous, staring ahead at the screen, barely processing the raging garbage that masquerades as reality TV. The rain has picked up outside, licking at the window panes with a growing intensity.

He’s not happy about the jean skirt and tiny little tank top you’d clad yourself in prior to leaving, you’re probably frigid by now in the cold. You did however reassure him that Mack was gonna drive you home, or even worse, take you back to his place, so his stupid fucking elk head trophie could watch with it’s empty eyes while the pair of you fuck on the bed that his mom still has to make for him because he never can quite manage those fitted sheets, can he? Fucking manchild.

Shit. Mike’s feeling so so bitter. Maybe it’s because he’s finally realized that this is the dreaded pattern he’s going to have to endure with you until death. Or until he braves up and actually tells you that he’s been in love with you since the fifth day of second grade, when you mouthily confronted Jerry Murdoch and told him to give Mike his crayons back.

With a weak sigh, he turns the TV off with a click of the remote still encaptured in the loose hold of his fist, and decides to see if he can melt into any form of sleep – but the knock on his door prevents him from doing so.

He arises lethargically, not having much on his mind but the denial of his slumber as he shuffles over and turns the handle, but then, it’s you.

Fluttery lashes melted to black smudges beneath your eyes, a mixture of rainwater and tears, completely drenched and dripping all over his doormat, your body is trembling and you’re wracked with tiny little cries and he’s feeling so many emotions he believes he might implode.

He pulls you inside and into his arms, stroking your back in gentle, soothing motions, and it kills him that this has become routine. He’s angry. He’s sick of this.

“What happened this time?” He grunts softly.

“He didn’t even show up. He couldn’t even send a message as to why, Mike,” you sniffle into his warm chest, drunk off the even echo of his heartbeat.

A moment’s silence rots like aged fruit. He draws a breath in, then out, then in again.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You crane your face upwards to meet him, instantly bathed in a nervous shiver when you see how serious he looks.

“My phone was dead.” Is all you can manage to mumble.

“What?” He’s pissed. “Why didn’t you charge it? You could have charged it there, they have outlets at the mall. Or you could’ve used someone else’s, so you didn’t have to walk home in the rain, because you’re drenched.”

“I don’t–”

“Y’know how dangerous it is to walk around alone in this shitty neighborhood? Half the street lights don’t even work, and I don’t even know any of my neighbors, or what kinda people walk around here at night.” He grumbles. “I shouldn’t have to tell you all this, I’m sick of explaining all this to you.”

You roll your eyes irritably, releasing yourself from his arms and crossing your own across your dripping wet torso. “How was I supposed to know he was gonna stand me up? You’re telling me I should just expect it?”

He blinks like a deer in headlights, silence settles into his flesh.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

You scoff. “It’s what you implied.”

“It’s not what I—” He grumbles weakly under his breath, cutting himself off, deciding reasoning with you is somewhat of a useless attempt. “Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“What, charge my phone next time? Bring a raincoat? Yeah, great help, seriously, don’t know where I’d be without you,” your sarcasm hits like gunshot wounds to the teeth.

“Or maybe you should try to meet actual people, instead of fake ones from some stupid website.”

After a cold shiver bites up your spine, your expression deepens with defense. What is his fucking problem? “At least I try to get out of the house! At least I don’t spend every hour of every day moping around and feeling sorry for myself!”

The pair of you fight, sure, every good relationship, friend or romance or family or whatever should, but nothing like this. This is stone-set, it’s been coming for a while, the wild gesticulations and the pacing and the raised voices. It shakes the bones of the weakened house.

“Don’t,” Mike says with a furious edge, fists tightening and untightening like he’s about to take a swing at the wall, like this is going to end with bleeding knuckles nipped with shards of worn plaster. “Don’t throw that in my face, I do everything I can, for you and Abby. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“So what, you’re so fucking miserable in your own life that you have to try and control mine?”

“Control? You’re like my child! You don’t even know how to take care of yourself half the time, so yes, I try to help you not to make such shitty decisions!”

You scowl. “You’re not obligated to do anything for me, y’know Mike. Why do you keep me around if I’m that much of a chore for you!”

He snaps, the tension in his fists bleeding up into his throat, his mouth, the words clot behind his gums and suddenly they tumble out in a fury-fueled shout. “Because you’ve got no one else!”

You deflate, wilting like a flame without oxygen, and Mike deems the silence to be more cruel than anything else you’ve said to him tonight. He’s feeling everything and nothing all at once, the quiet crumbles around him like a burning building and he fears he’ll become rubble beneath the debris.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… god, just–” His eyes flick to you, and then retreat back down to the faded living room carpet. He can’t swallow his guilt this time. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“It’s fine,” you say coldly, knuckling away an angry tear. The salt water is the trick of nostalgia, you’ve cried like this so many times. Your breakage of those promises to yourself. It’ll be different. And it never is.

“No. It’s not – I’m a dick, I just… I hate watching other people ruin your life. You deserve better.”

Better. What is better? Some twisted fantasy that some people are indulged with and others are left longing for. That you’re left longing for. You know he’s tired of the same bullshit that you force yourself through, convincing yourself of change, painting yourself up to be fit for presentation, and hoping that whoever you’ve leeched onto likes what they see, so you don’t have to feel so alone anymore. You’re oblivious, painfully so. Because Mike could plaster together the cracks in your splintering psyche, if you’d just let him in.

“Whatever, Mike. It’s true anyway.”

There’s a hole in his heart in the shape of your name. He begs you. Fill it. A part of him shatters at the defeat in your words — he’s crumbled you to the bone, to the marrow. He’ll build you back up. You deserve it.

“No it isn't. No it isn’t. You have me. You’ll always have me.”

A silence pervades; the look in his eyes is one of pleading, that you’ll stop and see what he’s offering you, that you’ll stop chasing your own tail, that you’ll stop the cycle.

“Mike…”

“And Abby.”

You indulge him.

“You have me. And you have Abby. And I know that’s… not much, but she loves you. So much. And I’m sorry, ‘cause I know I don’t say it enough, I don’t…. I don’t say how much you mean to me, but I just—”

“Mike.”

He wallows in the waters of your rain kissed eyes, the way your pupils pulse and the words are falling before he can swallow them back down.

“I love you.”

He gives you that stare. That stare that’s the color of black coffee, the look that you can feel, unearthing the graveyard of wilting feelings you’ve tried to bury, the heart that beats for him him him, lodged between the ivory bars of your ribcage. He maps you out with his eyes, he looks at you the way the sun hungers for daybreak.

He’s waiting. He’d wait forever.

“And… and seeing you with these… shitty people who don’t even care about you, it just…” He sighs exasperatedly, dragging a sweaty palm down his face.

His sentences can’t seem to finish themselves. This is harder than it looks in the movies. Harder than when he’s practiced in the mirror, when Abby’s walked in and giggled at him and told him to just fess up.

“You love me? Like…”

He looks up at you like a kicked puppy. “Yeah. I do.”

You’re beyond bewildered. He loves you. He loves you.

“What– but… you—”

“You don’t have to… say anything. I just, I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t do it.”

You reach for his hand. It’s a little clammy, a little trembly, but it’s a perfect fit. Just like you.

“I love you too, Mike.”

What?

“You… do?”

He’s skeptical, but he’s also swooning. A stone man is slowly cracking.

“I just didn’t… didn’t think I could have you. I mean, you’re so… you’re everything, y’know? You’re a good brother, and you work so hard, and you’re… I’m just… I don’t think I deserve you,” you whisper, confessing. With a newfound stroke of confidence, he approaches, one hand snaking around to the small of your back, another on your cheek. He’s gentle. In his eyes, you’re porcelain. Precious. Fragile. At least, at this moment. But you love him too and that’s all he needs. It’s all he’s ever needed.

“You deserve everything.” He says it so quietly it’s barely audible. And then, nothing is audible because he’s carefully pulling your lips to his, linking you in every way, his hands tangle into your damp hair and he’s kissing you.

His lips chase yours in messy, uncalculated movements. He’s starting small. It’s been a while. And he’s gonna take his time with you. He’s gonna show you what you deserve. Soft sounds squeak past his lips as they flutter against yours, and you’re closer and closer and closer still, impossibly so.

Within moments he’s whisking you off to his bedroom, his hand tangled with yours, an interlace tight enough to cause ropeburn. His skin chafes with yours, and then he’s kissing you again atop his navy comforter.

He’s gentle, respectful, but you understand what he’s trying to tell you, what he’s been trying to tell you. He speaks through silken drags of his tongue, through the hand that holds your cheek steady— he feels as though he’s gripping the very cusp of a constellation. You taste like stardust. You glow like the waning moon.

He breathes heavily in the expanse of his throat, his pants have become tight and wet and filthy; he’s been subconsciously grinding down into your lap. You’re a little shaky and your pupils have darkened with lust and he is going to show you what you mean to him. What you’ve been missing.

His hand falls lower, into the slope of torso that dips into your hips. His eyes travel back and forth, searching, hunting for the desire that he feels mirrored back at him. Do you want this, the way he does? Do you? His hardened stare doesn’t speak loud enough. He elaborates.

“Can I… uh… do you wanna…?”

Do you want to? You need to.

“Shit, okay,” he croaks out, jaw tense and tight as he traces you beneath calloused fingers. You didn’t realize you said that out loud.

He’s endearingly awkward – you know from languid late-night conversations that he hasn’t done this a lot. Maybe even at all. But he’s sweet, so sweet, like lapping up sugar and feeling it dissolve on your tongue, feeling him dissolve on your tongue, giving you comfort and cavities.

“Can I take this off?” He asks nervously, fiddling with the hem of your camisole. A short nod, and he’s sliding it over your sweat-pricked figure, admiring your contours in the whisper of evening moonlight that bleeds through holes in his moth-eaten curtains. You’re perfect, and he knew you would be.

He caresses your skin gently, drunk on the mellow feeling of your bare stomach beneath his fingertips. Your bra is black, a little lace peering along the straps, your breasts spilling into the fabric. He reaches around your back, fumbling at the clasp. When the garment drops, his hands are replacing it before you can even blink.

“Beautiful,” he manages to get out, thumbing over your nipples.

“Mngh, Mike—”

“Sh. Just let me… just let me. Let me make you feel good. Please?” He grunts out under his breathless voice, and how could you deny such a request?

The moment you agree, he’s grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you towards him slightly, so your back is nearly flat against his mattress and he’s settling himself in the gap that you create for him.

Your skirt comes off first. Your panties are undeniably soused, his fingers trace the big wet spot that’s dripping all for him, teasing you through torturously thin cotton.

“Mike,” you mewl gently, fingers settling in his nest of chocolate curls that are damp with sweat. A firm tweak and he’s groaning, his voice melting away into nothing like hot tar.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles to himself, like he’s never seen anything like it. Probably not in a while. His finger hooks beneath the waistband, pulls it out gently, and lets it go. It slaps against your hip bone and another fresh sound seeps from your lips.

“Mike, shit, please just do something—”

“Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than you, carefully sliding your panties from your waist, down past your ankles, and he’s tossing them to join the pile of clothes that has begun to collect on his bedroom floor.

You’re here, before him. The girl he waited for. Your soft flesh is glistening, clenching painfully around nothing, and he’s salivating at the sight of you. He pries your legs out further with his warm hands, leaving them to linger on your bare flesh for a few drawn out moments, before he claims what’s rightfully his.

He presses a trialing kiss to your clit, and your back curves delicately, fingers tightening their grasp in his hair. He moans into you at this action, and you, in turn, moan as well. Confidence creates itself in him with each little whimper that he gets you to release, and he’s answering back, hearing your cries, your calls of his name with his own unabashed exclamations of pleasure. This is just as good for him, as it is for you.

“Mike,” you whine gently, and he’s mumbling weak praise right into your cunt.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanted this for so long.”

It’s barely audible between his languid sucks; he’s lapping at your drooling entrance, fingers subtly creeping closer, up and along your thighs and settling right above your throbbing clit. He presses his thumb against it, tracing sinful circles against your bud— once, twice, and then you’re far too close to the edge.

“Oh, Mike I’m gonna come,” you choke out between gasps.

“Do it. Please.”

He’s begging you.

And you oblige. With a trembling sob, your thighs tense around his head, keeping him locked in place, capturing him and making sure he finishes the job, and oh does he plan to. When you soar, he’s still holding you in place, soothing the electric sparks pulsating throughout your body.

He savors your sounds, and when they stop coming, he presses a lingering peck on your inner thigh, stubble scraping at the sensitive dermis. He then raises his face to your level, the light coruscating off the filthy souvenir etched all over his face, your glittering arousal that he wears so proudly.

He steals a proper kiss from you, rubbing your side as a gentle comfort. He’s completely hard now, tenting his sweats, leaking against the fabric. You gingerly reach out, tracing what you assume to be the head of his cock, and he sags, boneless, against your touch.

“Fuck, baby I—”

“Baby?” You chuckle softly, still hazed from the candy-coated afterglow of your orgasm. The first of many, he hopes.

“Mngh— g… got a problem?” He grumbles softly, almost quivering as you begin to palm him with purpose.

“It’s out of character,” you tell him gently.

“Shit, can I be inside you?” He asks you, voice ripped raw.

And once again, Mike Schmidt leaves you breathless.

“Yeah. I need it. I need you.”

He groans, slipping off his pants and boxers without so much as another word from your swollen lips. He’s hard, angrily so, his cock pulses violently and a little whimper escapes through the crack in his bitten lips when it slaps against his stomach.

He’s stroking himself slowly, base to tip and then back again, collecting the pearls of precum that dribble from his slit. He’s never been so ready for something. For you. It’s all for you.

He’s holding you, thumbing your hip bones and gently nudging himself into your hole, cooing at every cry that crawls from the crevices of your throat. When he bottoms out, finally, it’s safe to say that he gets a little dumb. “Oh, shit, I’m not— not gonna last long, you’re so tight, shit…” He’s rambling a little. It’s cute.

A few wandering kisses land on you the way dandelion spores decorate a skyline – your cheek and your chin and your jaw, as he waits for you to let him move. You’re squeezing him for all he’s got and he’s three seconds away from spilling before he’s even so much as thrusted. You do this to him.

All those days, staring into your eyes and wondering if you’d ever see him the way you do, all those nights, stroking your hair and softening your saddened sobs after failed date after failed date. They’re all worth it.

You’re clamping down on him, warm and wet and wavering, and you’re exhaling softly through your nose and telling him to move, begging him to move, to make you feel good, and it’s what he does.

He pumps into you with passion, magnetized to your every movement. He’s satisfying a decade worth of insatiable craving, he’s chasing your hips with his. You end where he begins.

The headboard creaks and slams against thin plastered walls, one hand grips onto it with alabaster knuckles and the other one holds your hips for better leverage. He doesn’t need to say it, but each knocked kiss of his pelvis to yours is a silent I love you I love you I love you.

“Oh my god Mike,” you sob, and he slides himself deeper, hitting everywhere he wants to reach. Everywhere to make you quiver beneath him.

“You d—don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he moans lowly. “How many times I’ve imagined you like— like this.”

He’s blabbering, every stray thought that passes through his head is already blossoming on his tongue and out into the air before he can even think twice. Admittedly, you’re too blissed out in your own mind to really respond, but it’s arousing all the same.

“You’re so… so beautiful,” he’s flushed and he’s faltering, and you know he’s close before he even announces it.

“Shit, baby, I can’t— can’t last much longer,” he stammers, his bruising pace beginning to shake.

“Do it in me, Mike, please, please,” shit, are you trying to kill him? Your word is the only law he knows, and he’s wrapping his arms around your torso and diving his head in the elegant slope of your collarbone, biting down into the skin and spasming somewhere deep in your welcoming walls.

He tries to keep himself quiet, but it’s really a futile effort. His hips jut sporadically as he empties himself inside you, and the sudden flood of subtle heat is all it takes for you to topple over as well.

Bliss teeters back into reality after a seemingly ceaseless moment. He peels his head from its previous position to admire you, to stroke a stray lock of hair from your forehead and nervously greet it with a kiss.

He doesn’t let go of you. Not now, not ever, he thinks to himself. His arms snake around you tighter, and somehow it’s even more intimate after the fact. His bare chest collides with your back, his nose rests comfortably against the crown of your head. The pair of you follow each other into a dreamless sleep, safe in the sanctuary of a warm bed and an even warmer embrace.

He’s found his new familiar.

masterlist

✩‧₊

#mike schmidt smut #josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #peeta mellark smut #hunger games #michael schmidt #mike schmidt angst #mike schmidt fluff #josh hutcherson angst #josh hutcherson fluff

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superblysubpar · 2 months ago

Text

modern!husband!steve harrington x wife!you

2,603 words

warnings: so like, technically, you don't have to read "We'll Call It Love" , my modern steve series, BUT you're missing soooooo much that got these two idiots here, so I really encourage you to do so. This scene is so so so much more fun if you know all that led up to it, I promise. anyways: | alcohol mentions, slight descriptions of use by reader | smut (public - you get caught *kind of* / fingering / piv unprotected intercourse - creampie / wife,mom,breeding, all the kinks from one Mr. Harrington) - 18+ as always

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event - don't forget to vote for tomorrow at the bottom of the fic!

A/N: I just wanted to say again, thanks for loving We'll Call It Love so much. I actually got to go see the band COIN last night, the music that inspired the fic, the screenplay, and just...wow. I don't have other words for it. Idk, feeling very sappy for all of you today and this story that means so much to me. Thanks for being here, it was fun to revisit these two 💛 and *now* I'm done with them.

Probably.

The day hadn’t been without its issues, but he’d expect nothing less, when it comes to the two of you.

First, there was Eddie’s girlfriend showing up in fake blood, late, covered in swatches of dark and gory fake gashes and goo all down her arms as she frantically rushed past him and shouted something about busy season and don’t worry, his bride was gonna look beautiful and not in a tragically haunting poetic way but in a romantic sunset kissed glowing kind of way.

Which, you did.

But then, there was an issue with the cake, which, wasn’t supposed to be a cake, but a bunch of peach pies. Robin and Nancy were whispering loud enough to bring him into the kitchen, both of their mouths snapped shut as Steve blinked at the largest solitary pie he’d ever seen. It was massive, comically so, and Robin was waving her hands at him, it’s going be fine spilling out of her lips that had just been freshly glossed for photos. Nancy was on the phone with a bakery and then Eddie was stumbling through the door shouting about canceling the order. He smiled at Steve and told him that you started crying which made him frown and start towards the direction Eddie had just come from, but his groomsman and your best man stopped him, assured him that then you started laughing, that you said your parents would have loved it.

Which, ultimately led to issue number three.

Robin had approached him slowly, fixing his tie, before she whispered that they couldn’t find you, but that there was a note, with his name on it. He had grabbed it with trembling fingers, only to find it didn’t say anything like sorry or I can’t do this, but a quote:

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

He rushed past Robin, shouted about being right back.

Steve found you on a balcony, which took a little bit of work, asking the front desk if anyone booked a room under Buttercup, or Allie, Kate, and ultimately Sally Albright. Then they wouldn’t give him the room number till he confirmed his name was Harry Albright, not Harry Burns. His breath caught in his chest when you turned to look at him, chin quivering and a quiet greeting for him before you started crying. It all ended alright, after you talked about your parents and him and all of it and he kissed you and made a joke about wedding curses. If seeing you in your dress before the ceremony already happened, where was the harm in a sunset balcony quickie?

You didn’t go for it that time, only grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room with you, asking if he was ready to get married.

Which he really fucking was.

The floor to ceiling windows overlooking the skyline had been good in theory, letting in the beautiful, breathtaking sunset as you said your vows. But they also let in the warmth, the room an oven, leading you to laughing during the ceremony and swiping at his temple with your handkerchief and Eddie fanning Robin while she officiated. And cried.

There was so much crying.

But it was perfect.

You were perfect.

“Sir?”

Steve blinked away from where he was watching you take pictures in the vintage photobooth, you, Robin, Nancy, and Eddie’s girlfriend were all crammed in, sitting on each other’s laps, to the attendant in front of him.

Perfect, but distracting.

“So sorry, what did you ask?”

The venue employee smiled, like he knew the look on Steve’s face well, and then he shook his head. “Nothing to apologize for, sir. I was just letting you know that all the gifts are put away and locked in the car downstairs as instructed by your wife. Anything else I can do for you?”

His wife.

Steve looked over at you again, sighing as you tilted your head back in a laugh at the images in Robin’s hand.

He smiled at the man in front of him and shook his hand, “No, thank you.”

You felt him before you saw him, or rather, smelt him.

Your body spun to find the source of the salty and fried scent to see Steve holding a container of fresh french fries and a smile and eyes that seemed to be perfectly made, and only for you.

“Hey Mrs. Harrington,” he kissed your cheek, lips lingered against your skin as he asked, “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you groaned, your body crumpled against his as you exchanged your glass of champagne for the fries you knew would end up being a great late night snack offered. Warmth filled your stomach at the sound of your new last name, like a lovesick idiot you swore you’d never be.

Steve lifted a fry to your mouth, eyes a deep burnt amber in the low reception lighting as he watched your lips part and steal the fry from between his fingers, his tongue with a mind of it’s own, swiping out over his bottom lip as yours brushed the pad of his thumb.

You snorted.

“You’re so easy, Harrington.”

Steve lifted the fries away from you, eyes glinting as you pouted and reached for them half-heartedly, content to just lean against his body instead as he joked, “Hey. We’re married. You have to be nice to me now.”

Warm breath hit his jaw as you huffed, “Well, if I knew that was the rule, I never would have said I do a few hours ago.”

A kiss was pressed to his neck despite your words, right against his two freckles, then a smile ghosted against his skin when you heard the low rumble in his chest.

Steve’s lips brushed your ear as he bent down, speaking softly, lowly, and sending the warmth between your stomach directly between your legs.

“Don’t start something you can’t handle, honey.”

Your head lifted, stares at one another challenging and hopelessly and sickeningly in love to anyone who was watching.

“Oh,” you laughed, quietly, leaned in to whisper against his lips, “I think I can handle you just fine, Mr. Harrington.”

He had you in the bathroom not even a minute later, one hand locking the door behind him and the other pressing over your mouth as you giggled.

Steve’s mouth was all over your neck as his hands found your hips, guiding you to the counter.

“You’re so beautiful,” words warm and sticky and sweet against your skin as your head fell back against his shoulder in a gasp when his lips found a new spot behind your ear. “Can’t believe I’m married to you. Can’t believe you said yes. Can’t believe you’re all-“

His hand smacked at your ass as he grabbed a fistful of it, scrunching up the fabric of your dress you could care less about now as he growled in your ear the word, “Mine.”

“Steve,” you hated how breathless you sounded, hated how he’d barely touched or kissed you and you were wrecked already, “Hurry.”

He whined into the crook of your neck, spun you and let his nose trace along the straps of your dress, across the lace covering your chest as his mouth followed, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Steve knelt, regretfully removing his lips from your skin so he could carefully lift your dress, handing it to you with a quiet, “Hold this, honey.”

He pressed a kiss to your check as you did what you were told, but then he got a proper look at you and your lip was captured between your teeth at his groan, from the way his hands ran through his hair.

“Fuck,” he sighed, as his finger trailed up your thigh and found custom, cream colored straps and shiny buckles and pretty lace you’d ordered just for him. “Look at you.”

“You like it?” The question answered by Steve’s own lip bitten raw, his fingers still roaming higher, up the sides of your cunt, already soaked.

“Baby,” Steve laughed, eyes cast down between your bodies, watching carefully as his fingers slipped beneath the wet lace. “Do I like it? I love it.”

“That’s,” your head fell back, exposing your neck his mouth was grateful for. Distracted by the way he dragged his fingers through you, swirled around your clit, the same way his tongue was against your throat. “Go-good.”

Steve pressed against your clit harder, humming against your skin where his mouth was still latched to when your body shook underneath him. Your thighs clamped around his hand, yours clutched at his shoulders with fistfuls of your dress still between your fingers.

He removed his fingers from you, quick to make work of his buckle and pants, aligning himself with you but hesitating just as his tip brushed against your entrance.

Steve looked up at you, under his lashes that cast shadows against pink cheeks dotted with freckles. He gazed at you with the kind of look that you imagined you gave a sunset. Admiring, awed, like you were taking in its beauty the first time every time. Like you knew your time with it might be fleeting, so you had to watch it every second so you didn't miss a single second of it.

He leaned in and let his lips brush over yours tenderly, deciding to take his time and forget the frantic pace you both had started with.

He murmured into your lips as they parted in a sigh beneath his kiss.

“I love you. So much. I think I’ve loved you since I saw you in that bar, I texted Robin about soul mates before I talked to you, I-“

You caught his top lip between yours, an over too quick kiss, but then you were speaking into the corner of his mouth, against his jaw.

“I love you too.”

Steve’s forehead knocked yours, your hips wiggled, making his dick twitch as you stared into each other’s eyes.

“Ready, Mrs. Harrington?”

The tip of your nose brushed his as your laugh bubbled out of you, voice all sarcastic and fond, “Ready? I’ve been ready, Steve. You’re the one taking his tim-ohmygod.”

Steve’s smug smirk twitched in front of you as he thrust into you while fake grumbling, “Me? How about you miss I’m gonna wait over a year to say I love-fuckyoufeelsogood…”

He rolled his hips, only getting deeper, and your thighs tightened on the outside of his, head thrown back against the mirror from the feeling of him inside you, which he followed. His lips skated over your cheek, your jaw, as he slowly pulled out of you and thrust back in.

Your mouth fell open with each drag against your walls that cling to him, that want him to stay there. A noise catches in the back of your throat every time he pushes into you, each time only harder and deeper as he babbled.

“Sorry, I wanted,” he grunted, mouth finding yours only to kiss you once and keep talking, “The first time I have sex with my wife to last, to linger, to-“

Your mouth captured his in a kiss this time, tugging on his bottom lip and gasping into his open mouth when he thrust faster, shallower, your name a begged breath between the two of you.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wait anymore,” you whimpered, your dress left your fingers so you could grip the back of his head, card your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and tug, “To finally have sex with my husband.”

Steve moaned at the word husband, twitching inside of you, which made you grin at the way his hips stuttered, at the way his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

“Yeah?” You gripped at the back of his head a little harder, knowing what each other liked now. He frantically pushed under the fallen dress to find your clit again with ease, trying to get the upper hand once more as you asked, “You like me calling you my husband, Steve?”

Your mouth brushed the apple of his cheek, it kissed his temple as he fell forward, thrusting faster and making quick figure eights against your nerves, gasping at your teasing.

“Wanna tell everyone I’m your wife? Tell ‘em I’m a Harrington?” Your stomach clenched at the thought too, at the pace which Steve slammed into you even harder, hips meeting in a filthy grind as your head knocked against the mirror. The thumps mingling with the sound of how you were coating him, all a little louder in the bathroom and only making you both a little more turned on.

His forehead pressed to yours as he nodded, lips of parted mouths catching every time he thrust. He moaned, he begged, “Yeah, yeah. Wanna tell them. Wanna…want…pregnant. Mine.”

Your back arched, hand searching until it found his, lacing your fingers together. His others grew sloppy against your clit, slipping over it as you nodded. Chest aching from his admission, from the way you sort of wanted it too, how it didn’t scare you as much anymore, not when it was him.

“Yeah?”

“Ye-yeah, fuck, honey, I can’t-“ Steve kissed you. Passionate and breath stealing as he held your lips to his like he’d wanted to all day. Your clasped hands hit the counter, the click of your rings together made you whine into his lips when they parted. You let him go, his name loud in the bathroom, echoing against tile and sure to be heard even on the moon as his hips stuttered when you clenched around him. Your stomach burned and your eyes blinked rapidly, sure you weren’t on the planet anymore from the amount of stars you could see as his warmth spilled into you.

It takes a second for you both to come back down to earth, for Steve to laugh, for you to press your hands to your cheeks as you looked down at the mess you’d made of yourselves.

Steve kissed at sweat kissed skin, tenderly cleaning you up as you joked with each other, sleepy eyelids and content smiles. Slow kisses that left you both sighing in between lingering touches that weren’t out of necessity, but just because you wanted to be touching.

Completely in love.

He helped you off of the counter and winced at the way your dress fell down all crinkled and obviously mussed. You shrugged before running a hand though his hair, messing it up even more than you already had, then you untied his tie and let it hang from around his neck saying something about it only being fair.

He grabbed your hand, fingers curled into yours as he kissed your knuckles and led you out of the bathroom.

Robin was the first to slow clap.

Your nose pressed to his shoulder, a groaned god dammit on your lips against his suit jacket.

Then Rocketman was blasted on the speakers, a loud “Annnnnnnd Buckley owes me one hundred dollars!” comes from Eddie at the bar, earning a smack to his chest from his girlfriend, which was nice, until she said “I get fifty of that and you know it.”

And it’s all fine, Steve doesn’t really care, because most of the guests are gone and you’re laughing and heading over to grab pie, flicking Eddie’s ear as you went.

Robin slid up next to Steve, shaking her head. “Wow. I really had faith in you Harrington. A bathroom? On your wedding night? I know you two are animals, but you couldn’t wait to have your wife in, oh, I don’t know, a private bedroom?”

Steve only smiled at the way Nancy handed you a water as you caught peach filling from your lip, while you played with the little ‘S’ dangling between your collarbones with your left hand, the large blue sapphire stone sparkling next to glittering diamonds in the light.

His wife.

For those of you who don't know, Leather and Lace was an Eddie series I started when I first started writing for the fandom. I only posted two chapters, and I just fell out of writing it. It was something I was holding close to me, and I wanted to really tell it right. I've been poking at it a lot lately, and the story has changed so much, and I'd love to share it again soon. But for now, have a little blurb from it tomorrow, and I'd really love to hear what you think. This Eddie is a childhood best friend, an enemy, a stranger, and hopefully, one day, a lover. Okay, anyways, happy voting!

*voting will close at 10am CST tomorrow, 10/3

#superbly subpar's writing #trick or treat freaks 💛#steve harrington #modern!steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #a we'll call it love blurb #we'll call it love

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that1fanficwriter · 8 months ago

Text

Fluffy Thoughts on Mike Faist

AN: I love these photos. I thought I was going to have to scour the internet for the perfect ones but I saw these right away and was like “yup, that’s it. Those ones.”

He’s a morning person. He’ll wake up, give you a kiss, go for a run, and once he gets back he showers which is usually when you wake up.

You always oogle him when he comes out of the shower, just the towel wrapped around his waist. He blushes but secretly likes it. And let’s admit, he does the same thing to you all the time.

One of Mike’s favorite things is when you make breakfast together. You’ve just gotten out of bed; only wearing one of his shirts and a pair of panties and he’s wearing whatever comfortable clothes he put on after his shower. Usually a pair of loose shorts or sweats, occasionally a shirt.

Making breakfast together mostly comprised of each of you trying to distract the other. So it usually took twice the time it should’ve to make eggs and toast.

You loved how Mike danced. If you were both free in the evening, no scripts for Mike to read, no work for you, you would put on music and make him dance with you.

He always pretended to be reluctant for a few seconds but you both know how much he loves dancing, especially with you. You get so lost in each other that sometimes you end up dancing for hours.

When he’s rehearsing in NYC you often drop by on his lunch break with some food for him and you’ll eat together.

I personally headcannon that when he was in Dear Evan Hansen if he was having a particularly hard day that you would go over to the theatre before the show to cheer him up, repaint his nails, whatever he needed that day. You’d stay in his dressing room during the show just to be there for him. The walk home would be quiet and solemn but you didn’t mind, knowing that the constant companionship was what Mike needed in that moment.

Now, if you’re a dancer or a performer you and Mike met each other while in Newsies. I know it’s cliche but you both were in the ensemble and were the understudies for Jack and Katherine.

While in the show you would both often get to the theatre early to rehearse your scenes together or you would mime along to the scenes you weren’t in while the show was going. After a few months in the show and constantly rehearsing with each other you finally got up the courage to ask Mike if he wanted to grab drinks after the show one night.

The night at the bar you both only had a few drinks but you both were so caught up in the other person that you ended up going back to Mike’s apartment. Nothing crazy happened as some of your castmates, his roommates came home, but you both ended up falling asleep whilst sitting on his bed talking about your aspirations in life and whatever else you decided to discuss.

Once you move into an apartment together you both agree to have a weekly date night in. You don’t always do the same thing. If you’re both feeling fancy sometimes you’ll cook a meal together but most times one of you will pick up something, open a bottle of wine, and you’ll both sit on the sofa enjoying your time together, catching up, planning the future, or just watching a movie.

Mike is one of those people who is deceptively strong. It works much to his advantage because he’s also a hopeless romantic. Every time he sees you after being apart for even a day or two, he loves to pick you up on a hug and spin you around.

#asks #mike faist #mike faist x reader #x reader oneshot #x reader #mike faist imagines

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peachsukii · 8 months ago

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₊✩‧₊ ⇢ midoriya never thought he'd have a pop star for a girlfriend.

『 ♡ 』 midoriya x pop star fem!reader (18+ under the cut!) -`✧ izuku midoriya masterlist

✩ out of high school, you were scouted by a local talent agency on a whim. you'd desperately sent your demo tape to thousands of places, both in and outside of japan. you'd almost given up hope until your current agency called you one week after graduation.

✩ izuku was ecstatic for your chance to be a star. you sang every single song for him - he was your best friend and you trusted him with your life. he adored your voice and encouraged you to break out of your shell. you never told him which ones were about him, harboring your secret crush like a sacred treasure.

✩ two years of hard work and you signed your first record deal! going into the studio for hours at a time, constantly surrounded by various musicians, producers and directors. your first album was wrapped and ready for release in no time at all.

✩ izuku was the first one to buy your album and asked you to sign it for him. he bought two - one to save and one to play. he knew you were going to be popular and wanted to get ahead on his upcoming collection. he promised you, way back when, that he’d always be the first person to get your albums or merchandise.

✩ you would drag izuku to the mall and fashion district to shop alongside you, asking his opinion on every outfit you planned for shows you'd be performing. he'd mentally keep note of what he loved seeing you in...maybe it was a little selfish on his part, but you looked stunning regardless. dresses, mini skirts, crop tops, bodysuits - the works.

✩ your first concert was at a small venue booked by your manager - it held no more than 250 people but still sold out! it was a club with neon lighting, usually not your scene, but a gig is a gig. izuku was one of the VIPs, standing front row the entire night. you couldn't help but keep smiling at him as he took countless photos of your show as you danced and sang the night away. during your encore, you kneeled down and sang to him, leaving him with a kiss on the cheek.

✩ high on the adrenaline of your first show's success, you invited izuku to join you backstage in the dressing rooms to wind down...at least, that's what you told him.

✩ izuku heard the lock click on the door after you shut it, secluding the two of you from the world. he was confused until you sauntered over to him, straddling his lap on the obnoxious neon pink couch.

✩ his hands roam your body and settle on your ass as your tongue invaded his mouth, handfuls of his curls in your grasp. "you really think i never noticed, zu?" you mumble between kisses, each one more intense than the last. "the way you look at me?"

✩ the grin that crosses his lips is devilish. the confidence he's exuding in the moment makes your stomach cartwheel. "can’t help it, i’m your number one fan," he moans into your mouth, grabbing your hips and pulling you flush against him.

✩ clothes are discarded as the two of you tornado through the room, moving from the couch to the wall, to the stylist chair and back to the couch. you can’t get enough of each other - lips bruised from the excessive make out session.

✩ the black lace bra and underwear set that adorned your body drove izuku absolutely insane, pinning you underneath him on the couch as he nipped at your collarbone. you couldn’t help but whine when his clothed erection met your soaked panties.

✩ your hands slide to the hem of his boxers, hooking your fingers in the band and yanking them down his thighs, cock springing out and bouncing off your stomach. he reciprocates by sliding your panties down, shuffling your legs over his shoulders. they stay hooked around one of your ankles.

✩ izuku slips a hand between your bodies, relishing in the skin on skin contact. he brushes over your clit and slides a finger directly into your drenched cunt, a gasp falling from his lips as your slick coated his finger instantly.

✩ you’re biting your lip, trying to keep quiet as he fucks you into the couch, panting into the crook of your neck. his name echoes throughout the dressing room, breathless and growing higher in pitch as the thread in your core snaps. your nails are dragging down his back as your release coats his shaft with every thrust. he follows you soon after, pulling out and painting your stomach white.

✩ in the afterglow, izuku kisses you like you’re the only person in the world. once you part, you can’t help but jokingly say, “my number one fan, huh?” he smiles, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “always.”

⋆ ˚ʚɞ — something about midoriya with a pop star girlfriend is so cute to me! he really would be your number one fan, flabbergasted after every show that he gets to go home with you. ✨ i know this may seem a little ooc for izuku, but i honestly think a 20 something version of him wouldn’t be as shy and nervous around someone he’s loved for years. so when you make the first move, he’s all about it!

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x y/n #deku x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya smut #deku smut #my hero academia smut #my hero academia izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya headcanons #mha deku #my hero academia deku #deku x y/n #☆.rei writes

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noroi1000 · 1 year ago

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I win No Nut November. What now? Destroy Dick December!

paring: Gojo x fem.reader

Summary: Your husband has one last day left to win his NNN challenge. But what he doesn't know is that after NNN, he gets the DDD challenge. However, once he found out about it, you especially know it's going to be Destroy Your Pussy December. Because he has already started acting wild.

Warnings: NSFW( DDD and NNN, smut, raw sex, creampie, rough sex)

Words: 3,4k

©Photo from Gojo x female. fancomic, on Pixiv.net©

"Are you still trying?" You asked as you saw your husband look away as you got dressed after the night.

Especially when you were wearing underwear.

"You know I'd love to watch, or forbid you to get dressed... But this year I'll make it!"

"I hate November for this." You giggled as you put on your pants.

"I have two days left... I have to make it this year."

"You last failed two days ago."

"I'll make it this year! I just can't get excited..."

"We'll see if you make it."

You left the room giving him one last kiss on the cheek.

You didn't like NNN.

He has never succeeded.

He knew what NNN meant. But he doesn't know that after NNN he has to accept the DDD challenge.

Even though he might like it at first, you know he won't last. Especially at the end of the month.

You are afraid that he will ask you for help.

Or rather... He won't ask, he'll take you to help him.

Have you read about what to do when you win No Nut November... DDD scares you...

Because your poor pussy will probably suffer the most.

You wanted to give your husband the satisfaction that finally, after several years of trying, he succeeded.

But you were also afraid of what might happen to you later... All day in bed...

Last year he failed because he saw you naked in the shower and couldn't get out.

He spent the evening releasing everything he hadn't released in a month.

And then he tormented your body all night.

But later he was sad that he failed to overcome the challenge.

So this year he definitely wanted to succeed.

And when you heard his motivation, you knew he was going to try.

You didn't like the fact that he turned his back on you so he wouldn't start undressing you, but you understand that he would like to have the satisfaction that he managed to overcome such a difficult challenge.

However, this challenge is so difficult that he often gets nervous.

He was always relaxed and satisfied. But a whole month without sex? He was nervous and often annoyed. Impatient, and he really couldn't find his place. He couldn't sit still in one place.

Because many things annoyed him.

And all that his balls were full of unused sperm he couldn't pour inside or on you.

Something he loved to do...

He couldn't even masturbate. Because even one small orgasm would have ruined his job since the beginning of the month.

So he was oversensitive and sexually frustrated.

His body craved sex. He wanted to strip you down and fuck you raw anywhere.

But he couldn't because he was the strongest. If he could do anything, he could do that too.

He is the strongest. And the strongest can survive No Nut November!

Even if the longer he was at this challenge, the more he disliked it.

But, to show his power, he had to...

His self-control had to show that he could.

That's why your house was banned from doing anything sexy for the whole month of November. Especially for you.

You were not allowed to undress. Wearing his clothes, wearing clothes that reveal too much. Any of your clothes might have turned him on somehow! And if you went without clothes, it would be even more difficult for him!

You bathed separately, changed behind different doors. Him too. You couldn't watch any movies with sex scenes. So you've been watching children's movies...

Even hugging and kissing was a problem sometimes...

Because someone so kinky, with such a huge sex drive, couldn't help but think about how soft your breasts are... How smaller you are than Him...

That you're touching him and your hands could be somewhere else...

That's why he took missions during November. Because fighting a curse he won't get excited... Because curses are disgusting...

But there were times when he had dirty thoughts about you. wet dreams...

It was so good... For his body. To soothe what was going on between his legs..

It was unpleasant, but he wanted to show that he could do it.

Someone who would like to fuck you several times a day...

He wanted to endure these last days without complaining...

But he felt sore and irritable.

He was nervous and screaming.

Once you told him that you were fed up with him behaving like this and you deliberately started to undress in front of him and take off his pants.

He pulled you away and went quickly, pouring ice water all over him.

That was two days ago...

It will be over soon...

Just a little more...

Since you don't like not having sex for a month either...

You're also annoyed that your husband who was always the first to get at you now suddenly didn't want to because he wanted to survive a stupid challenge!

Lucky you had toys to help you function.

What happens to Gojo Satoru who is sexless is scary...

You never knew him when he turned his head as you changed.

You've never seen him without making some sex jokes or talking about how he'd fuck you.

It wasn't your real husband.

That's why you hated November!

You don't know what you'll prefer, November or December when he finally manages to win. Because you can't handle that much sex a day!

How can you endure so much?

He may, but you can't!

You're not sure if No Nut November is very healthy because keeping it all inside is not that healthy. But that's probably worse than the daily sex he'll have to have all December.

You made him coffee while you were in the kitchen.

You saw him come out of your room in just his panties, adjusting the soft bulge behind the material with his hand.

He must be uncomfortable...

He is a walking bomb...

You don't know when he'll suddenly show up.

You gave him a cup of coffee, standing on tiptoe to kiss his jaw. And you went to finish your breakfast.

His eyes were tired. He looked like a zombie. So sleepy and tired.

He sat down in a chair next to the kitchen island and started drinking from a cup so he could function normally from the morning.

You have to give him sugar for breakfast so he has the energy to go to work and back.

You hope he doesn't die of exhaustion and lack of sleep. You don't want to find him dead on the ground with his finger pointing at the "I want sex" carved into the sand.

He didn't sleep long at night, afraid he'd have wet dreams and wake up cumming in his pants.

And even an unconscious orgasm means losing.

So you hoped he wouldn't collapse from exhaustion and lack of sex.

Because you had good news for Him.

But you weren't sure if he'd like it or not.

While you were making him waffles with chocolate, whipped cream, jam and fruit, you looked at him.

Seeing his tired eyes as he drank his coffee like a zombie.

The caffeine should kick in soon.

"Satoru. I have something to tell you." you said with a small smile.

You're in much better shape than he is.

Because you haven't had a challenge for thirty days.

"What is it, baby...?" He asked, closing his eyes with a sigh. "If you're going to chastise me for this challenge again, don't do it... It's also giving me a hard time... I've had enough of this..."

"You can do it." You said with a smile.

"Do you really think so? You always said I should give it a rest." He suddenly woke up and looked at you with his normal eyes.

You gave him energy.

"Do you really think I can last two days?"

"You won't last two days."

"Ouch... It hurt baby..." He faked heartache. "So you don't believe in me after all..."

"That's not the point. It's just November 30 today." You pointed to a calendar on the wall.

He stared at it in disbelief.

"Wait... Today is the 30th not the 29th?" He asked, staring at the calendar for much longer.

"Today is the 30th of November. This is the end. Unless you have something planned to do today."

He stopped you, extending his hand towards you.

"Don't talk about details! I will not lose! Today is the last day!"

"You can do it. At least I think so. Because what comes after No Nut November you might like. Even though it's a little scary to me..."

"Is there anything after that?"

"Second challenge. I was curious about the rules and found this. But you should see for yourself what happens when you win this."

You handed him your phone with a website that said "NNN and then DDD! Only for the persistent! If you pass the NNN challenge, DDD is waiting for you! Destroy Dick December!”

"Destroy Dick December?" he asked, looking at the article.

"Read it. Either you'll want to finish NNN and move on to DDD or you'll give up and we'll have normal sex as always." You stood by the counter, studying his face as he scrolled through your phone.

He started reading about what it was about.

"Sex for 31 days in December?!" he asked almost screaming.

"Yes. Sex for 31 days in December. But during that day you have that number of intercourses depending on the number of the day. December 1 - sex once. December 10 - ten times. December 31 - thirty-one times." You said with a serious face.

"Baby!"

You looked at him.

Sparks in his eyes.

Playful sparkles.

Pervert sparks...

Someone who will only think about sex...

You're regret that you told him...

"Can I fuck you thirty-one times in one day?!" He asked with a smile.

Eyebrows raised.

"Don't get so excited because you'll still lose. Basically that would be better because I don't want to spend the whole of December in bed having sex." You crossed your arms over your chest.

"Did someone just say something about the bed? I'm the one who's supposed to come 31 times on December 31st. And you give me your pussy so I have somewhere to cum and something to help me. Baby~." He stuck out his tongue with a toothy grin.

"You have to cum so many times... and I'm going to cum twice with you!” You screamed blushing.

"I know you like it when I make you squirt."

You widened your eyes with a red face.

How can he say it so calmly?

He avoided the topic of sex for a whole month only to say something like that on his last day?

His brain has become corrupted by the excess semen his body has produced!

"I'm not having a pant party, baby. I'll wait until midnight." He gave you a very dark, sex-only smile. "I can last several more hours. So that I can fuck my sweet wife a total of 496 times throughout December."

You could see your spirit fly out of your head as you die inside.

Have sex with him nearly 500 times?

He must have a calculator in his brain!

Ah... Oh yeah... When it comes to sex, he can count anything...

Same with sweets...

Sweetness Calculator and Sex Calculator...

Maybe instead of your ghost, the ghost of your poor pussy that will be abused by it so many times would be flying here...

You can now place the tombstone.

R.I.P - your poor pussy

Cause of death: Taking a big dick 496 times in one month.

"Aww~ are you ashamed?"

You looked at his smile.

Now he won't let go.

You unconsciously clenched your thighs at the sight of his smile.

Is it fear or excitement...?

"Don't be shy yet. Wait till midnight where I'll make use of that tight pussy that hasn't had my cock in it for a month. You don't know how happy I am to be able to go there again ~."

"M-Midnight?"

"You know honey... After midnight it will be December 1st. And I can start my second challenge right away!"

His face scared you a bit...

A creepy smile that only showed that he was going to destroy you all December.

You turned your back to him to hide your red face and wide eyes.

Your hands are shaking.

Is it excitement or fear?

You started to finish making breakfast, and as you handed it to him on the counter in front of him, you quickly ran to the bathroom to get rid of the sexual pressure he was causing.

"Honey, how about a kiss for me?!" He shouted after you.

As you closed the door, you heard his dark chuckle.

You signed your death certificate...

____

"baby~. Do you know what time it is?~"

You hid under the covers in your bed.

You were filled with this dangerous excitement... He was so dark...

Satoru without sex for a month is someone to be feared...

You can't believe how calm he was at work.

You heard the sex-hungry monster walking the halls to the rooms looking for you.

His footsteps echoed in your ears as the bedroom door was half open. And you were in your pajamas under the covers.

You did it for fun. But also because you had a little fear.

You keep imagining him walking around the house in the dark, his eyes lit up as he's just looking for your pussy to fuck you.

This is how you'll spend your time...

Imagining your husband walking around the house like in a horror movie...

Why is his giggle so dark even though you know he wants to have fun?!

But his trademark laugh was so dark today!

At least that's what you thought...

"Honey~."

A shiver ran down your spine as you heard him closer.

You were a little afraid of the moment when he would come here.

But you wanted to call him here as well.

You could even imagine a scene from a horror movie where he levitates outside the door, grinning darkly in your direction as he flies over to the side.

That would be older and funny.

But let's be honest... The NNN Challenge changed his behavior.

So all you can do to get that same husband back is let him fuck you mercilessly...

His footsteps and calls ceased. And you wonder what now. It was still fun...

Having fun with him...

And that made your pussy die...

He said an hour ago that he wants to penetrate your little tight pussy so much and stretch you so much that you can hold all of him.

So he can squeeze every inch into you. That there was no room for more. So that your pussy is filled to the brim.

It got you so excited...

Lying here in bed you started to get wet as you imagined what he would do to your body.

You gently pulled the covers off your face and saw that he wasn't next to you.

You also don't feel the weight next to you or above you.

You pulled the quilt back.

You were afraid of one thing...

There was nothing near or at the entrance.

The lights in the hallway were off.

And that made you feel so excited...

So much time without sex with him worked on you too.

You pushed the covers away from your face, and you shivered as you saw the blue glowing eyes above yours.

He levitated over your body with the same smile.

"Hello baby~!" He groaned smiling.

He tore the covers off your body, placing his feet between your knees to spread your legs apart.

"Time for my Destroy Dick December!"

He grabbed your pajamas, tearing the material.

"How about we start an IFMWP?"

You thought about what he said for a moment.

This is supposed to be his next wild idea?!

"I Fuck My Wife's Pussy!"

___

Your body was bent in half as he kissed your calf.

Your bodies were drenched in your sweat.

His hips were hitting yours so hard as he refused to slow down.

You've been spending the new month like this.

When your husband shoved his dick into your pussy after a month off.

He was firm in his rhythm and also made a little louder sounds.

You know it was because of his break in sex.

You dug your nails into his arms as you felt him press his body against yours, digging hard into your insides. Before he started moving again, watching your body rebound as he slammed into you.

Just the sight of your pussy expanding around him could make him come.

You weren't sure if it was Destroy dick December or Destroy pussy December. Because honestly, he's going to abuse your pussy.

The way your body is always forced to take it is scary. Because he's big and your walls greet him with crampedness.

He likes to see he can put it inside you and watch his heavy shaft go deeper and deeper into you. Until at the end, your tight pussy swallows him whole, letting him feel your stretched walls that surround him.

He was more sensitive after this month.

Therefore, there was only one possibility that would happen.

He'll come faster than ever.

But what happens after that will be something else.

Then comes the next day of December... And you'll be lying impaled on his cock as he smiles. His cock will make you moan in a mess with every move.

All because he wanted to take one challenge followed by another.

His fingers found your clit so suddenly that your back arched.

His hips pressed against yours as he kept the tip pressed against the center of the deepest part of you.

And he started fingering your clit.

Your whole pussy will cry after this month with him...

"Such a tight pussy... Fuck... I want to cum..." he moaned, closing one eye.

He grabbed your pink lump between two fingers and started moving his hips again. The other hand reached for your nipple, pinching the sensitive skin.

His moaning lips pressed against yours. And your moans poured into each other's mouths.

Yours were louder. Because its tip smacks your walls as if it's only aiming at those points. And you feel how sloppy his thrusts are.

He has not lost experience in tormenting your body. However, after such a break, it is more difficult for him to maintain his composure. Because his hips push themselves into you so his cock can be wrapped in your warmth.

He kissed your lips, catching your lip with his teeth as he growled as your pussy tightened on him, drenching his skin with your orgasm.

Sparks ran through his belly, making him shiver.

And without a moment's pause he exploded, letting his balls empty inside you.

Been waiting for this for so long...

He rocked his hips slightly back and forth until he suddenly slipped out.

And hitting your clitoris, he released smaller waves of cum on your skin, dousing you with thick liquid. The aftershocks continued in his body, and he kept pouring out onto your stomach.

As he reached for his shaft, he stroked himself to finish. But then it gushed onto your breasts.

You looked at the amount that was poured on you.

You had a similar amount.

"I've been waiting for this for so long... You don't know how hard I tried to stop myself from filling you with my cum earlier." He laughed breathlessly, and lay down on top of you.

His belly pressed against yours.

You felt his warm fluids move between your bodies.

You winced at the realization that you were both covered with his sperm now.

"If you're worried about not having sex like this, you don't have to. We still have plenty of time to do all of this." He whispered in your ear.

He started DDD...

Tomorrow twice...

On his birthday seven times...

On the last day of December, thirty-one times...

You'll fuck until your orgasms are dry.

And you'll both cry out of vulnerability. Mostly you when he wants to beat his challenge.

And you have to help him with that. Because he accepted that you would help him with his challenge not to fuck his hand.

"Ahh... I'm so looking forward to the next day when I can fuck that pussy twice. I love having sex with my lovely wife. Especially when I can destroy that tight pussy during Destroy Dick December."

Taglist: @weebotaku21 ; @yihona-san06 @mikkies ; @raysheil ; @dreeamiea ; @safaia-47; @porridgesblog; @kawaiivillainess98; @chilichopsticks; @allofffmypeaches; @emmaiooo; @shoutobrainrot; @skyl3rxo; @weebnk-popper

©@noroi1000

#gojo x y/n #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo #jjk x you #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #no nut november #Destroy dick December

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ambermeh · 4 months ago

Text

It's casual

Part 2 hehehheh part 1

No real warnings except maybe a bit of mature content and an argument

You sat in the car after you had driven back to yours. The steering wheel now coated in tears and a harsh and burning sensation was travelling through the back of your throat and into the rest of your body. You lay with your head between your arms, which rested on the steering wheels, while your body shook with your silent screams. The pain too hard to voice.

You stumbled out, cursing yourself and thinking about the happier moments of laughter and fun in the relationship. You laid on the sofa, a tub of ice cream in hand and a film on the tv. Anything to drown out Matt in your head, even in the slightest. You had to end it, otherwise the next time the two of you met up you would start screaming at him and crying. That wasn't fair on either of you. How could you feel heartbreak over someone you hadn't dated?

But the thoughts were cut short when a text noise rang through your ears.

A text. From Chris.

Your heart was thumping, he wouldn't have told him would he? You trusted Chris, he was always so kind, so sweet and funny. Always there to lift you up.

'so I know this isn't a great time but do you want to come with me to a party?'

The question in your head. A party? I mean it was Chris' usual scene. But did you really want to go? The best thing would be to just rest and cry and laugh over shitty films and men. Then again, did you really want to be looking at photos of you and Matt and crying or try and distract yourself with Chris?

You agreed, you had some time so didn't even bother looking at the clothes yet, it was too much at the moment. You saved that job for future you to worry about. You just needed time to process and form a plan.

Why had you let this affect you so much? Especially now, it had been going on months. You needed someone fun and loving.

But wasn't that what you had with Matt? He made you laugh so much that you were wheezing and your stomach was in stitches, and when you baked with him, he would wrap his arms around you and kiss you. Like you were in a relationship.

But that's the difference. He did that with everyone.

Your friends knew that he would destroy you, since you had known him for years, you knew how hard it was for a girl to impress him. He was so relaxed. he never needed love from one person. He could have it from loads of people. And did.

But when he said it. It was like he was giving you a way in. To his heart.

You felt special.

You thought you were. But that was wrong.

To assume. To believe. To want.

You were just another girl.

After a while, of you just thinking and half heartedly watching the films, there was a knock.

Your head peering up to look at the time. It was already nine.

Chris was here, and yet you were just sitting here eating, now liquid, ice cream.

You opened the door. Almost looking down to not have to apologise for not being ready, but he just went in and got something from your room.

A dress.

Matt's favourite.

Did he know?

'I can't wear that one'

'Why? I always liked it on you and it's more summery for the party'

He was right, Matt couldn't control you anymore, and it's your favourite one, it was comfy and happy and wasn't too fancy. You just wanted to be invisible.

Another idea that worked perfectly in your head was to use the party as a way of getting over Matt, find someone, get drunk and not think about him any more than you had to.

Time for the shy you to be replaced by the bold and confident you.

You took the dress and put it on.

Chris eyed you up and down, before expressing that it was nice to see you smiling again.

You did actually feel much more clean and less sad now that you had gotten ready.

Why did this just make you want to stay at home? You knew that if you did you would become so upset you would end up crawling back to Matt. To his touch. This wasn't the first time you had wanted to end it but his words and touches would melt all doubts and allow you to believe you had a chance.

An uber was parked in the drive, you stepped in and made small talk with Chris. Almost preparing yourself for the party. It made you nervous to think that you only had Chris that you knew, but at the same time people wouldn't know you and you could create a new version of you. One that people would love. Respect.

The house emerged, sticking out from all the others. The lights were bright and otherworldly. Streaming out from the windows and the door, creating a bunch of silhouettes that were dancing, making out and talking. Blaring from the house was a noise of sounds, not really words, but loud enough to be heard from within the car.

Chris looked over and gave you a small smile as he reached over and grabbed your hand.

'you'll be fine, you've got me'

You nodded and got out. The eyes of everyone suddenly feeling suffocating as they looked at the two of you and then got back to what they were doing.

Oh God

That's all that was repeating in your head. You felt too hot. Too dressed up. Too sweaty. You could feel the weight of your make up. Everything felt wrong.

But you just grabbed a drink and downed it. You needed to stop the thoughts, the anxiety.

Grabbing a chair, you looked round at all the people in the crowded house. One of them being one of the other girls Matt sees. You turned back round not wanting the awkward eye contact.

That's how people see me. A weird moment of realisation hit you. You were just like her.

'have you no self respect?' is what all your friends had exclaimed when you had told them about what Matt had proposed. They just didn't get it you had said to them, and thought at the time. They knew how Matt treated girls. But you thought you knew him. They didn't get him like you did. Matt had always been very well liked, his innocent and sweet personality shining through and impressing girls but he used them like sweets. A taste and they were gone. He got bored, he had said it to you many times when you asked about one of the girls you had seen with him a few days ago. It never amounted to anything.

You never thought you would be one. You thought you would get a way in to his heart. To his love. But all you felt was more distant and a coldness. You had been too hopeful, too stupid. Watching too many movies, and reading too much romance. Your story was going to end with Matt now. It was a tragic ending if what if's.

What if he had loved you. Had wanted you. Had given you time. Given you hope.

But the drink had started to make your thoughts looser, almost, not as harsh and big. They were now at the back, coated with the promise of a new and better relationship.

The guy who was a seat away from you looked at you and smiled.

He had a sweet smile, brown hair and was taller than you.

'So you here with anyone? Not to sound too forward or anything' He said with a nervous laugh. You dismissed his concern and talked for a bit. His name was Harry. The two of you had got up and started dancing. Surrounded by people grinding on each other, while the two of you were just swaying and trying to talk. Talk over the loud music.

'i'm just gonna get a drink'

He smiled and nodded.

You weaved through people, trying not to bump into anyone. Taking a smaller sip of the drink, you had realised that it wasn't a great idea to get drunk this early.

Someone was talking to Harry now. Someone with tattoos.

That looked a lot like Matts.

Shit

As you were going to turn Harry had waved at you.

'Matt this is y/n'

'What are you doing here y/n?'

You tried to form something. Anything. You were stunned by him. Not expecting him. You had too much to say to him. Why did he always look so good? No stop that. You wanted to end it, needed to, for your sake.

'Why are you talking to my friends with my favourite dress on, it's like you're asking me to bend you over?' He whispered in your ear, as you relaxed into his touch. The all too familiar loving and warm feeling swirling in your stomach. But you stopped yourself.

Then he was excusing the two of you and grabbed your hand and lead you outside.

You bathed in the cold air, a new feeling of clarity washed through you. His car was a few steps in front of you.

You felt his body cage you to the car, as he took your chin in his hand. You averted your eyes, not wanting to match his.

'I asked you a question sweetheart' His thumbs gently brushed your waist, as he took the material in his hands.

'Matt it's over' You blurted out, and instantly feeling the cold tone. That was too harsh on him, you tried to back it up with something a bit softer, but he had pulled back a bit and was now crossing his arms and looking at you with confusion. This was not how you wanted to tell him.

He cut you off when you had tried speaking.

'what did you mean over? You were moaning around my dick a few hours ago, what's changed? Was it Harry, because I can assure you he's not-'

'Matt, no it's not Harry, you just seem busy with other girls, that's all, don't want to take you away from them and all that and I just can't do it anymore'

You stepped away from him, looking at the car as the memories of him making out with you, him asking you if you wanted to be friends with benefits in his car, him eating you out, having karaoke all came back to you. Fitting, you thought, a cyclical structure, almost too perfect. A story.

'so that's what it is, you're playing a game because you're jealous. That's why you spoke to Harry and wore this. Stop being so immature y/n. You agreed to not having attachments and having other people'

Your mouth widened with frustration and you scoffed at him.

'Actually Chris chose the dress and Harry spoke to me. I don't want this anymore. Whatever it is, I know I agreed to it but I was already attached. You use me and then speak to carelessly about other girls. I loved you matt, for these last few years. You must have known that. I haven't been able to think about anyone else. All I wanted was you to see me.'

You sobbed the last few words out. the tears that you had been fighting for so long had finally been let free. You sat there. There goes the composed conversation you wanted.

'Why would you go with Chris?' Matt muttered. That's all he cared about. Not how you have literally poured out your heart.

'You can go find your girls again Matt' You smiled sarcastically and started to walk.

'I haven't seen anyone for a while because you mean so much to me. You really think I've been using you? I couldn't do that to you sweetheart, you are so beautiful and kind and I do like you it's just-'

Matt was interrupted by the girl from earlier.

'Matt! You disappeared'

Her body closing in on his and hugging him.

Your eyes closed, you left Matt to his girl. You weren't his.

You never were. How could you believe for a second that he wasn't just using you. You were another toy to fuel his ego and keep him busy. The shame and hurt felt more real. You couldn't go back, not now. Not ever. Your heart and stomach felt empty. You felt sick. You needed to sleep.

You called for chris and found him talking to Harry.

They knew each other?

Well it made sense, if Matt knew him.

You just needed to be out of there. The dress now causing annoyance because it just reminded you of matt. His smell now invading your thoughts as it lingered around you. Not willing to let go.

Chris came over.

'You've seen matt, haven't you?'

He hugged you as you nodded still trying to wipe the tears.

'I'm sorry it's over'

You pulled back, how did he know? You guessed that it was from the tears.

'No more Matt and Y/N now and thanks Chris I don't know what I would do without you' You tried to make a joke, but it came out a lot sadder than you wanted it to.

He made you get in the uber and refused to let you pay. Your heart body still mourning Matt and his touch, you regretted drinking. You wanted to be sober. You would never hear him say you're name without dread or annoyance. No more 'sweetheart'. No more Matt.

The two of you went back to his, you not wanting to go all the way back to yours.

You slept in Chris' bed that night. Wearing his t shirt.

He watched you, sleeping and breathing softly.

As he got ready to sleep in another room.

His plan had finally worked.

You would love him now, you needed him.

Part 3

(thanks @enchanthings for the divider!!)

Soooo... plot twist, hope this lives up to expectations and I truly mean thank you for the support guys :)

@mariasturniolo @seluky10 @xaristhings @jcrabtree11 @mellovanello

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x reader

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michaelsfavgirl · 2 months ago

Text

freaky friday

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!actress!reader

Synopsis: One ordinary night, you and Michael unexpectedly switch bodies, forcing him to navigate life as you. With no choice, he has to go on set and do his best to act like you.

Tags: switching bodies, established relationship, bit of fluff, jealousy.

Word Count: 9.1k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: hey...*crickets*

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

The clock on the wall ticks loudly, but it’s barely audible over Quentin Tarantino’s voice as he rambles on about some minute detail in the script, his words now a constant, steady stream of sound that filters through your ears but doesn't quite register. You've been in this room for hours, long enough for the sunlight streaming through the blinds to fade into the amber hue of early evening. You sit in a chair at the head of a large wooden table, posture more relaxed now, legs crossed, fingers lazily spinning a pen between them. Across from you, Quentin is pacing back and forth, script in hand, gesturing wildly as he talks. His energy seems endless, as if he could do this for days, while you feel the weight of exhaustion creeping in after such a long day.

“…and in this scene, I really want the tension to build, you know? Like, build, build, build, until it just explodes!” Quentin exclaims, throwing his hands up dramatically, making you wonder how his arms don't tire from all the gesturing. His face lights up with an excitement that borders on obsessive, eyes wide, pacing faster now. His energy is contagious in some moments, but tonight, it’s hard to keep up.

You nod absently, eyes drifting from him to the shelf behind his head. It’s cluttered, filled with mementos from over the years: awards, photographs, and odd little trinkets from his film sets. Your gaze lands on a photo, one you’ve seen many times before but somehow always pulls you in. It’s a candid shot taken at the Oscars last year. You and Quentin are at the center, surrounded by other actors, all of you dressed to the nines. You’d won your second Best Actress Oscar that night, a moment forever immortalized in that photo.

But what you remember more than the cheers or the weight of the golden statue in your hand is the way Michael, your husband, had looked at you from the audience. You can still picture his face, glowing with pride, those deep brown eyes locked on you with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. He had been your plus one, and even in the crowd of Hollywood’s finest, no one else had mattered in that moment. The applause, the cameras, the stage, it had all blurred into the background as you looked down at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude.

“…and then we cut to the next shot. It’s gotta be quick, right? We don’t wanna linger too long. Keep the pace moving. Keep the audience on their toes.”

Quentin’s voice cuts through the haze of your memories, pulling you back into the present. You blink, refocusing on him. He’s still pacing, still talking a mile a minute, but you can’t help but feel the fatigue in your bones. The weariness of running through this script for what feels like the hundredth time today.

You shift in your seat, fighting the urge to yawn, and give him a small nod as if you’ve been following every word. He’s grumbling now, something about the studio and time limits, and you watch as his expression darkens, his tone becoming more irritated.

"Those bastards are putting a time limit on this film," he growls, finally stopping his pacing to look at you directly, expecting some kind of outrage or agreement.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Quentin and his disdain for anything that constrains his creative process is almost comical at this point. The man would make a ten-hour film if he could, and still call it concise.

“Oh, how cruel,” you tease lightly, your voice dripping with faux concern. “Three hours is basically a short film.”

His eyes narrow into a glare, though you know it’s all in good fun. He pauses for a moment, mouth twitching as if he’s holding back a retort, but the glare softens just slightly. You’ve spent enough time with him over the years to know how to push his buttons in just the right way, and he enjoys the back-and-forth.

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his lips as you stretch your arms over your head, standing up slowly, letting out a sigh. You glance at the clock—half past seven—and wonder how the hell you’re still here. The set’s calling your name, and tomorrow you’ll be there, in the thick of it, channeling everything into the role that’s consumed your life for the last few months. But tonight? Tonight you need to rest, to recharge, to find your center again.

You look back at Quentin, who’s still watching you, waiting, expecting something more. He’s always pushing, always wanting to squeeze out every last drop of energy you have for his vision. But not tonight.

“I think we should wrap this up, tin tin,” you say, voice firm but gentle. You meet his gaze, your expression softening just enough to let him know you appreciate his drive, but you’re done for the night. “We’ve been through this a hundred times. I need to get home.”

He bristles, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “But what about-”

You cut him off, taking a step toward the door, grabbing your coat from the back of the chair as you do. “Do you want me to give a perfect performance tomorrow?” you ask, your voice filled with a knowing tone. The words linger in the air, the challenge in your voice unmistakable.

He hesitates, blinking at you, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He knows where this is going. Of course he wants a perfect performance—he demands nothing less. But he’s also not one to let go easily, not when he’s on a roll. You give him a small, raised eyebrow, waiting for him to catch up.

“Obviously,” he mutters, crossing his arms, a faint pout forming on his lips like a petulant child who didn’t get his way.

“Then I need to rest in order to do that,” you say, pulling your coat around your shoulders and moving toward the door. There’s a finality to your tone, one that brooks no argument, and Quentin, despite his tenacity, knows when to concede.

He opens his mouth, but you’re already one step ahead. You flash him a playful smile as your hand grips the door handle.

“Arrivederci,” you say with a dramatic flair, throwing the goodbye over your shoulder like it’s the end of one of his own films. And before he can utter a single word in response, you pull the door open and step through, closing it firmly behind you.

With a soft chuckle, you adjust your coat and make your way toward the exit. Your thoughts drift back to Michael, to the way his eyes had sparkled that night at the Oscars, and you find yourself eager to get home. To slip into the warmth of his embrace, to hear his voice, to recharge in the comfort of your shared life before the madness of filming begins again tomorrow.

The gravel crunches softly under your feet as you walk along the familiar path that winds through Neverland Ranch. The late afternoon sun bathes everything in a golden glow, casting long shadows across the sprawling landscape. It’s peaceful here, a serene retreat away from the chaos of your everyday life. You smile at the sight of the gardeners, working diligently as always, their hands tending to the earth with precision and pride. You wave hello, receiving a warm smile in return, and for a moment, everything feels right with the world.

Without hesitation, you reach the front door and let yourself in. You’ve long since stopped ringing the bell; this is your home too, after all. The door clicks shut behind you, and as soon as you step inside, you’re greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of dinner. The rich smell of herbs and spices fills the air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation. You know immediately that Michael has been in the kitchen, cooking up something special for the two of you.

You follow the scent like a trail of breadcrumbs. The light in the house is soft and warm, casting everything in a cozy glow. It feels like home—safe, welcoming, and full of love.

In the kitchen, you see the spread he’s prepared—a feast for the senses. Without thinking, you grab a fork and take a bite of the nearest plate, the mouth watering taste hitting your tongue in a perfect combination. You close your eyes for a second, savoring the flavor.

But before you can take a second bite, you feel his presence behind you. His arms snake around your waist, his chest pressing gently into your back. You stiffen slightly in surprise, not having heard him approach. Startled, you almost drop the fork, and in your jolt, you nearly knock him off balance. His chuckle, low and soft, vibrates against you as his grip tightens, steadying you both.

“Easy, easy there, sweet girl,” he coos in your ear, his voice a soothing whisper, filled with amusement and affection. His breath is warm against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but laugh at your reaction.

You turn in his arms, your body relaxing as you face him. Michael’s eyes sparkle with mischief, that familiar boyish grin tugging at his lips, and before you can say anything, he bends his head down, placing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along your neck. The sensation is electric, and you feel your muscles go lax as his lips trail up and down your skin, his kisses gentle, unhurried, as if he’s savoring every inch of you. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt for support as you melt into his embrace.

“Hmm,” you hum softly, leaning into him, your body pressing closer to his lean frame, completely at ease in his arms. His touch has always had that effect on you—grounding you, making the world disappear until it’s just the two of you.

“Tired, baby?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a quiet, tender note of concern. His lips brush the curve of your jaw, and you hum again, the sound barely more than a sleepy sigh. You don’t have the energy to answer in full sentences, the weight of the day’s exhaustion catching up with you now that you’re in his arms.

Noticing how you’re practically sagging against him, he chuckles softly and shifts his hold on you. One arm slides around your back while the other scoops under your knees, and before you know it, he’s lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

“Let’s get you into something more comfortable,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You don’t protest, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling you into a peaceful haze.

He carries you through the wide hallways to your shared bedroom. Michael sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at your waist as he kneels in front of you, looking up with those dark, expressive eyes that always seem to see straight into your soul. He starts to help you out of your clothes, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your blouse, moving with slow, deliberate care.

“You were amazing today,” he says softly as he slides the fabric off your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your skin in the process. “I know it.” His praise is sincere, his voice filled with admiration. Even though he wasn’t there with you at the meeting, he always knows how to make you feel like you’ve conquered the world.

His hands move down to your shoes next, gently removing them one by one as he continues his soft praise. “You’ve been working so hard. You deserve to rest. Let me take care of you, okay?”

You smile down at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for this man who knows you so well, who always seems to know exactly what you need, even when you don’t say it out loud. He’s careful, meticulous as he helps you into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, all the while whispering sweet words of encouragement, each touch and each word meant to soothe you into complete relaxation.

Once you’re dressed, he stands and pulls you back into his arms for a moment, his hand running up and down your back in long, gentle strokes. “There,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now you’re ready to eat.”

Back in the dining room, you settle at the table, the delicious meal spread out before you like a banquet. Michael sits across from you, and the two of you dig in, the quiet comfort of home surrounding you as you enjoy the meal together.

“So,” he begins after a few bites, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you with a soft smile. “How was the meeting with Quentin?”

You roll your eyes playfully as you swallow your food, already anticipating the subtle interrogation that’s about to follow. “It was long,” you say with a sigh. “We went over the script again for what felt like the hundredth time. But it went well. We’re ready to start shooting tomorrow.”

Michael nods thoughtfully, taking another bite of his food. There’s a pause, just a beat too long, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s never been great at hiding his feelings, and you can sense the question coming before he even asks it.

“And… How's André?” he asks casually, too casually, as if he’s just making conversation. But the slight raise of his eyebrow, the way his eyes flicker with something more than curiosity, gives him away.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and teasing as you set your fork down and meet his gaze with an amused look. “Michael,” you say, your tone playful but firm. “Are you really asking about him?”

He shrugs, trying to maintain his nonchalant air, but there’s a spark of jealousy in his eyes that he can’t quite hide. “Just… curious. You know, he’s your co-star. You two have some pretty… close scenes together.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms as you study him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re never good at hiding your jealousy.”

He chuckles, looking down at his plate for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I’m not jealous,” he says, but there’s a playful lilt in his voice, and you know he’s not being entirely truthful. “I just… want to make sure everything’s professional. That’s all.”

You reach across the table, placing your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to worry about André. He’s a professional, and so am I. It’s just acting, Michael.”

He nods, but you can still see the way his jaw tenses slightly, the protective edge that always seems to come out when he talks about your work, especially when it involves other men. It’s endearing, in a way—his fierce devotion to you, the way he always wants to make sure you’re safe, loved, and protected.

“Besides,” you add, your voice softening as you meet his gaze. “There’s only one person I’m coming home to at the end of the day.”

The tension in his face melts away at that, and his smile returns, warm and genuine. He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I know,” he says quietly, his eyes filled with love. “I just can’t help it sometimes.”

You smile back at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I know. And I love you for it.” The rest of dinner passes in comfortable conversation, the two of you talking about everything and nothing all at once.

The ticking of the clock grows softer, fading into the background as the night deepens. It’s close to midnight, and the exhaustion of the day is catching up to you both. After a long, relaxing dinner and some quiet moments together, there’s only one thing left to do before you can finally collapse into bed: shower.

You two move in sync, heading to the spacious, marbled bathroom that’s become a familiar haven. The cool air in the room brushes against your skin, but the anticipation of the warm water about to cascade over you is enough to chase away the chill. Michael moves ahead of you, twisting the faucet, adjusting the temperature until steam starts to rise, filling the room with warmth. He steps inside first, and as the water begins to rain down over his lean frame, you can’t help but stare.

Droplets of water cling to his skin, gliding down his body, tracing the contours of his muscles. His curls loosen under the stream, sticking to his forehead. You stand frozen for a moment, captivated by the sight of him. There’s something about seeing him like this, vulnerable and intimate, that makes your breath hitch.

He looks at you, a teasing grin on his face. “You planning to stand there all night or are you getting in?”

You blink, snapping out of your daze, and laugh softly. “Just admiring the view.”

His grin widens, and he steps aside to make room for you. You join him under the shower’s warm spray, feeling the water wash away the day’s tension, soothing your sore muscles. The heat envelopes you both, the glass walls fogging up quickly.

He smiles softly, knowing exactly what you need without you having to say a word. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and you let out a contented sigh as you rest your head against his chest. The feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of his embrace, it all feels so right. You stay like that for a while, just letting the water wash over you, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment.

After a while, you both step out, toweling off and heading to bed. The sheets are cool against your skin as you settle into the plush pillows, and the comforting hum of the TV in the background lulls you into a sense of peace. Michael curls up beside you, the two of you cuddling close as the “The Nanny” plays softly in the background. You’re not really paying attention to the show anymore, too focused on the steady rhythm of Michael’s hand rubbing your back.

His touch is gentle, soothing in its familiarity, but when he stops, you immediately feel the absence. You whine softly, the sound barely a murmur, but enough to get his attention.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Alright. alright” he teases, his voice low and affectionate.

You pout in response, pressing closer to him. “Don’t stop…”

With a soft laugh, he resumes, his warm palm sliding across your back, fingers moving in slow, gentle strokes. His touch is everything—comforting, grounding, a constant reminder of his presence beside you. You shift slightly, settling deeper into the sheets.

“A little to the left,” you mumble sleepily, eyes closed as you surrender to the growing drowsiness.

Obligingly, he scratches your back to the left, his fingers grazing the spot that has been bothering you all day. His touch feels heavenly, chasing away any lingering tension in your body.

“And a little lower…” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as sleep begins to pull you under.

He complies, his smile audible in his voice as he says, “Anything else, your majesty?”

You hum softly, too tired to respond, already halfway asleep. His hand moves in slow, soothing circles, the warmth of his body against yours lulling you further into unconsciousness. With a contented sigh, you let yourself drift, the comfort of the moment enveloping you completely. This has been such an ordinary day, right? Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary—just another day in your life with Michael. Right?

Little do you know, something extraordinary is about to happen.

Morning comes too soon, and the first thing you hear is the blaring sound of your alarm. Groggily, you reach over to your nightstand to turn it off, but your hand meets… nothing. Your brow furrows in confusion, and you fumble around blindly, your eyes still half-closed, trying to find the alarm. When your fingers finally close around the clock, it’s on Michael’s side of the bed.

Why is it over there?

The thought is slow to form in your sleepy brain, but something feels off. You groan softly, not yet opening your eyes as you roll onto your back, rubbing your face to try to shake off the remnants of sleep. But the moment your hands touch your face, you freeze.

Your eyes snap open, and what you see makes your heart skip a beat. The hands in front of you… they’re not yours. They’re larger, rougher, with long fingers and a noticeable strength to them. Panic rises in your chest as you stare at them, and in a desperate move, you sit up and look down at your body.

Oh. Shit.

The body you’re looking at—it’s not yours. It’s Michael’s. Your breath catches in your throat, and your mind races, trying to process what the hell is going on.

No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

You whip your head to the side, your heart pounding in your chest, and that’s when you see yourself—your actual body—sleeping peacefully beside you. Your chest tightens as you take in the sight of your own face, eyes closed, looking as serene as ever. But it’s not you. It’s not your consciousness inside that body.

You’re in Michael’s body.

Your hand instinctively goes to your chest, and the moment your palm flattens against the unfamiliar, muscular plane of your torso, a wave of shock hits you. “What the fuck,” you whisper under your breath, your voice sounding completely foreign to your ears. Deep. Michael’s voice.

Your eyes widen, and you glance down, your hands trembling slightly as they hover over the sheets. Curiosity, mixed with utter disbelief, gets the better of you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand slips under the covers, and you feel…it.

You jerk your hand back immediately, your cheeks flushing with heat. “Oh my God,” you mutter, suddenly feeling like you’ve invaded his privacy in the most intimate way possible. Your mind is spinning, unable to wrap itself around what’s happening. You’re in his body. This can’t be real.

You leap out of bed, your heart racing as you start pacing back and forth, your hands running through Michael’s hair as you try to make sense of this bizarre situation. “I have to be dreaming,” you mutter to yourself. “This isn’t possible.”

But it feels real. Too real. The floor under your feet is solid, the cool air hitting your skin feels normal, and every move you make is controlled by Michael’s body. You glance back at the bed, at your body, still sleeping peacefully. How did this happen? How is this even possible?

Your alarm blares again, and you freeze. Set. The set! You have to be on set today.

“Oh god,” you groan, rubbing your face. You have to be on set in a few hours, and you’re stuck in Michael’s body. How are you supposed to shoot your scenes when you’re like this?

Michael’s voice comes out in a groggy mumble as he snuggles his face into the pillow. “What’s all the fuss about?” he grumbles, clearly still half-asleep, his voice soft and pitched higher than usual. He shifts slightly, his hand lazily reaching out for the blanket, but then he freezes. The sound of his own voice – or rather, the sound of your voice – pulls him out of the last remnants of sleep. His eyes snap open in confusion.

He lifts his head slowly, blinking against the morning light, and when he finally looks over at you, his jaw drops. He stares at your(his) body, standing there looking every bit as stunned as he feels. His eyes widen in disbelief, and for a few seconds, it’s like his brain can’t catch up to the reality of what’s happening. He looks down at himself, or rather, at your body, and back up at you, back and forth in stunned silence.

“The hell…” he whispers, his voice coming out higher, more pitched. It sounds completely foreign to him, like someone else is speaking through his mouth.

You’re already pacing, hands running through his hair. Your body language is full of anxious energy, and he can tell right away you’re freaking out. Michael takes a deep breath and forces himself to move. Slowly, as calmly as possible, he slides out of the bed, every movement cautious like he’s trying not to break something.

Once on his feet, he takes a few shaky steps toward you. It feels weird and when he looks up at you he has to tilt his head to meet your eyes. The shift in perspective is jarring. He’s never realized how much taller he is than you until now. Is this what it’s like for you every day, looking up at him like this?

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath, still trying to keep calm. “Is this what I look like to you?”

You glance at him, still pacing in his body, and for a split second, your stress breaks. You can’t help but giggle. “How does it feel to be the short one now?”

He shoots you a look, your own sharp stare coming right back at you. “Not the time,” he says, his tone clipped.

The giggle dies on your lips, and you nod, understanding this is serious. Michael begins pacing now, mirroring the frantic energy you had just moments before. Watching your own body pace back and forth is surreal. You’ve never seen yourself like this, and there’s something bizarre about seeing your body from an outsider’s perspective, especially when you’re inside someone else.

He rubs his hands over his face, feeling your softer skin, the shape of your cheeks, and the delicate jawline he knows so well, just not from this angle. He takes a deep breath, then another, as if trying to ground himself.

“It’s fine,” he says, more to himself than to you. “It’s all fine. We can figure this out.” He’s pacing faster now, his arms moving in that exaggerated way that always happens when he’s nervous. “We’ll just… call Deepak.” His voice is quiet, more like he’s thinking out loud. “He knows about this kind of stuff, right? Spirituality, body…switching?” His voice falters at the end, and you can tell he’s grasping for something, anything to make sense of this.

“Mike,” you say, stepping forward in his body, trying to stop his pacing. But he keeps going, muttering under his breath about having all day to figure this out, that everything will be okay by tonight. You watch him, knowing he’s doing that thing where he tries to rationalize everything, even when things are wildly out of control.

You step forward and place your—no, his—strong hands on his shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. The contrast between your hand’s size and the feel of your own body beneath them is striking, and it gives you a moment of pause, but you quickly focus on the situation at hand.

“Michael,” you say again, a little more firmly this time. “We don’t have all day.”

He frowns, still confused. “What do you mean?”

“I have to be on set in two hours.”

That’s when the realization hits. His eyes widen, which is weird to see on your own face. “Oh shit,” he mutters, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands drop into his lap, and he stares blankly ahead, his mind obviously racing as he processes what you just said.

You sit down next to him, the bed dipping under your combined weight. For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The silence stretches, heavy with the weight of what this means. You have to be on set today. He has to be on set today. In your body. And as that thought fully settles in, you can see the dawning horror on his face.

He’s going to have to act.

Trying to break the tension, you give him a small, teasing smile. “Maybe now’s your time to finally become an actor.”

“Not funny sweetheart.” He groans, flopping back onto the bed in exasperation, your arm flinging dramatically over his face. “This isn’t happening,” he mutters, his voice muffled. “I can’t do this.”

You chuckle softly and nudge him with your elbow. “Come on, there’s no way around it. You already know the words from helping me rehearse. You’ve practically memorized the whole script.”

He peeks at you from under his arm, his expression somewhere between resigned and panicked. “Memorizing the lines is one thing. Actually being you on set in front of Quentin and the whole crew is… insane.”

You sigh, knowing he’s right. This is insane. But there’s no other option. “Look, we don’t have a choice. And you know how I behave. Just… do what I do.”

He groans again but sits up, running a hand through your hair, which looks bizarre from this perspective. He finally seems to accept that there’s no way out of this. With a deep breath, he stands up and squares his—your—shoulders.

“Okay,” he says, exhaling slowly. “I got this. I just have to act like you.”

You smile, relieved that he’s getting on board with the plan. “Yeah. Easy.”

He nods, his expression determined as he heads toward the bathroom. But then, as you watch him go, you notice the way he’s walking—his usual confident, masculine stride. It looks completely out of place in your body, and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing. Watching your body walk like that, like a man, is almost too much.

Shaking your head, you flop back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe not so easy,” you mutter to yourself, a wry smile playing on your lips.

Michael disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the water running as he splashes his face, probably trying to snap himself out of the weirdness of the situation. Meanwhile, you lay there, your mind spinning with everything that’s about to happen.

You can’t help but wonder how this day is going to play out. You’re stuck in Michael’s body, and he’s stuck in yours, and somehow you’re both going to have to survive the day without anyone figuring out what’s happened.

—

Michael steps out of the walk-in closet, fidgeting slightly as he tugs on the sleeves of the outfit he’s just put together. It’s a far cry from what you’d usually wear, but he’s trying his best to look like you, or at the very least, like a version of you that could exist on a casual day. He looks down at himself, feeling awkward as the clothes hang a little differently on your body than he imagined.

As soon as he steps into the bedroom, you take one look at him and blurt out, “What is that outfit?”

His brow furrows, clearly a little offended. He glances down at the clothes he’s chosen and frowns. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks, arms spreading out as if to showcase the full look.

You fold your arms across your chest, tilting your head with an exasperated sigh. “Michael, you can’t go on set looking like that. No way. Come on, I’ll get you dressed.”

He huffs in protest, standing his ground. “I think it looks fine. It’s your stuff. What’s wrong with it?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you move forward and start rifling through the closet, your movements confident and sure, despite being in his body. “Trust me, now’s not the time to argue about this. You’ve got less than an hour before you’re supposed to be on set, and you can’t be out there looking like…” You trail off, gesturing at his body. “…like that. Just—come on, let me fix it.”

Reluctantly, Michael steps back as you start throwing together an outfit—something that actually looks like you. As he watches you, he mutters under his breath, “So, what? Were you lying every time you complimented my outfits?” he grumbles as you sift through the hangers, picking out clothes that feel more like you.

Rolling your eyes, you toss a shirt at him. “I wasn’t lying. I like your outfits… on you. But right now, you’re supposed to look like me, remember?”

Michael grumbles but complies, changing into the outfit you’ve picked out with a few more muttered complaints. Once he’s dressed, he gives you a reluctant nod, clearly not thrilled but knowing better than to argue further. The clothes fit better, at least, and when he checks his reflection in the mirror, he has to admit that he looks more like you now than he did before.

With a deep breath, he finally heads out, ready, or as ready as he’ll ever be, to tackle the day ahead.

—

At your shared home, you're reclining on a deck chair, trying to relax despite the nagging feeling of unease that’s settled in your stomach. The ranch is gorgeous as always, the sun filtering through the trees and casting a warm glow over the rolling hills. But even with the idyllic setting, you can’t fully relax. Michael’s on set, in your body, about to spend the day pretending to be you.

You trust him, of course. But still… it’s your job, your reputation on the line. What if something goes wrong? What if he messes up? What if-

You shake your head, trying to push the worries aside. There’s nothing you can do about it now. All you can do is wait.

—

Michael arrives on set, and the moment he steps out of the car, he can feel his heart rate spike. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it’s hard when everything around him feels so foreign. He’s been to set with you a million times before, but never like this, never as you.

You make this look so effortless—walking onto set, greeting everyone with that natural charm, slipping into character like it’s second nature. But for him, it’s like stepping into a battlefield without any armor.

As he heads toward the dressing rooms, he mentally rehearses what little he knows. Smile. Be friendly. Act like nothing’s wrong. He can do that. Right?

Walking into the building, he forces a bright smile and greets the crew, trying to channel your energy. “Morning everyone.” The words feel awkward, but no one seems to notice.

He’s ushered into the makeup chair almost immediately, and the team starts fussing over him, brushing his hair, applying your makeup. Michael watches himself in the mirror, seeing your face reflected back at him. It’s a bizarre feeling, being on the other side of this.

The real test comes when he steps out of makeup and catches sight of Quentin across the set. His heart lurches. Oh no. Quentin’s eyes lock onto him, and Michael turns on his heel, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But before he can make his escape, Quentin’s voice booms across the room.

“Hey! There she is!” Quentin’s excitement is palpable, and Michael has no choice but to turn back, plastering a smile on his face.

“Hi, Quentin!” he calls, trying to mimic your usual enthusiasm. Inside, he’s screaming.

Quentin strides over, grinning widely. “We’re starting with the scene we worked on yesterday. Got everything prepped?”

Michael’s mind races. The scene we worked on yesterday? You hadn’t mentioned anything specific about yesterday’s rehearsals. He nods, playing along, though he has no clue what Quentin is talking about. “Yeah, of course. All good.”

Quentin gives him a thumbs-up and turns to the crew, calling for everyone to quiet down. “All right, everyone! Let’s get ready for the first shot!”

As the set falls into hushed activity, Michael makes his way toward the stage, scanning the room for any sign of what’s coming next. And then he spots Andre. Great. Michael narrows his eyes. If there’s any silver lining to this ridiculous situation, it’s that he finally gets to see firsthand if Andre has a thing for you.

Andre is already in position, lounging casually in a chair, his charming smile aimed right at you. As Michael approaches, Andre stands and strides over with a relaxed confidence. “Hey, you,” Andre says, flashing that charming smile. He goes in for a hug, pulling Michael in close. Does he always hug you like this?

Michael stiffens, his mind spinning. He’s so lost in the flood of jealousy that he doesn’t even notice Andre’s hand reach up to adjust the collar of your shirt. It’s only when he feels fingers brush his neck that he snaps out of it, stepping back abruptly.

“What are you doing?” Michael blurts out, his tone more accusatory than he intended.

Andre chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Forgot what scene we’re shooting today?”

Michael’s stomach drops. “No, I- of course I remember. We’re shooting the… uh…” He trails off, hoping for some miraculous divine intervention. None comes.

Andre gives him a knowing look, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “The confession scene.”

Michael’s throat tightens. Oh, that scene. How wonderful.

“Right. That one,” he mutters, trying to keep his composure.

Andre mumbles under his breath, just enough to be heard but not enough to draw attention. “The kiss scene.”

Michael’s mind reels. The kiss?! He didn’t know about this. But before he can respond, Quentin’s voice shouts, “Action!”

The scene begins, and Michael’s instincts kick in. He’s watched you act a thousand times; he’s even helped you rehearse your lines. But now, actually performing? It’s a whole different ballgame. He tries to remember how you carry yourself, how you deliver lines with that natural charisma.

Andre begins, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I can’t keep this inside anymore. Every time I see you, it’s like… like I’m drowning in everything I feel for you.” His eyes are locked on Michael, stepping closer with every word. “It’s not just want. It’s need. You have me enchanted.”

Michael tries to respond, his voice trembling slightly. “I… I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Don’t lie. You always knew,” Andre says, his tone softening. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment we met. And now, I can’t wait anymore. I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this.”

Andre leans in, his hand brushing against Michael’s arm, and Michael feels his body tense. Oh God. The kiss.

Panicking, Michael stumbles back a step, and in the process, his elbow knocks into a vase on a nearby table. It tips and crashes to the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

“Cut!” Quentin’s voice roars across the set, filled with frustration. The entire crew freezes, staring at the broken vase, then at Michael.

Michael’s heart is pounding in his chest as he tries to breathe. He feels a surge of embarrassment flood through him, but before he can explain, Quentin marches over, rubbing his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Quentin asks, exasperated but not yet furious. “You were doing fine, and then…” He gestures to the broken vase. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Michael stammers, “I just… got distracted for a second.”

Andre smirks, clearly enjoying this far more than he should be. “You good, babe? You’re not usually this jumpy.”

Babe?! Who the hell is this bitch calling babe?

Michael clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. He forces a smile, trying to keep it together. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… got a little too into it, I guess.”

Quentin waves it off, already moving back to his director’s chair. “All right, let’s reset and go again.”

As the crew rushes to clean up the broken vase and reset the scene, Michael takes a deep breath, feeling the pressure mounting. He glances at Andre, who’s watching him with an unreadable expression. The kiss. It’s coming, and there’s no way around it.

Michael glances around, trying to steady his breathing as he walks back to his mark. He’s dreading this moment. Out of all the scenes in the script, why did they have to start with this one? It’s the first time André’s character confesses his feelings for yours, and of course, it culminates in a passionate kiss. Michael grits his teeth. He’s already feeling defensive just thinking about it.

André, ever the professional, strolls over, adjusting his shirt as he gets into position. He gives Michael a quick smile, one that seems way too charming for Michael’s liking.

“Ready?” André asks, flashing that same disarming grin that Michael now finds infuriating. He’s been watching this man flirt with you for days, and now he’s got to endure him up close—way too close.

Michael forces a nod, doing his best to look calm. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

Quentin’s voice cuts through the air. “And… action!”

The scene begins, and Michael tries to focus on the lines he’s practiced, mentally repeating them as he watches André deliver his dialogue with intense emotion. André’s character is pouring his heart out, stepping closer and closer with each sentence. Michael can feel the weight of the scene, but it’s hard to concentrate when he knows what’s coming.

And then it happens. André leans in, his face just inches away from Michael’s. Their lips touch, and Michael fights the urge to pull back. He tries to stay in character, tries to be professional. He can feel André’s hands sliding over your body, gently caressing your arms and then moving lower, fingertips grazing your waist. This definitely wasn’t in the script.

What the fuck? Michael thinks, his mind racing. He swears you told him this kiss was just supposed to be a brief peck, but here he is, locked in what feels like a full-on makeout session. André’s lips press harder against yours, the kiss deepening as if the two characters are consumed by the moment. Michael is struggling to keep it together. He stiffens, resisting the instinct to shove André away.

From the corner of his eye, Michael sees Quentin nodding approvingly, almost entranced by the scene. He’s probably thinking it’s going better than planned. But Michael is ready to crawl out of his own skin.

“Cut!” Quentin finally calls, his voice filled with satisfaction. “That was great! Really great!”

The moment Quentin’s voice echoes across the set, Michael pulls away, nearly stumbling as he breaks free from André’s hold. He wipes at his mouth instinctively, a grimace twisting his features as he meets André’s eyes.

André, seemingly unfazed, just smirks. “Nice job,” he says, his voice dripping with allure.

Michael shoots him a look that would’ve melted steel, but before he can say anything, Quentin announces, “Alright, five-minute break, everyone.”

Michael turns on his heel without a word, heading straight for your dressing room. He’s barely able to keep it together, anger simmering beneath the surface. His phone is in his hand before he even realizes it, and he’s dialing your number. The moment you pick up, he doesn’t wait for you to speak.

“You didn’t tell me I’d have to do the kissing scene today!” he says sharply, his voice laced with sass.

On the other end, you try to suppress a laugh, but Michael can hear the amusement in your tone when you respond, “Well, I didn’t want to stress you out more than you already were.”

He rolls his eyes, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “That’s real considerate of you,” he mutters sarcastically. “But can we talk about that mo-... him? Why is he so touchy-feely with you?”

You sigh, and Michael can picture you rolling your eyes in return. “Michael, that’s just the way he is. He’s an actor, he’s in the moment. No need to worry about it.”

“No need to worry?” Michael huffs. “He’s clearly into you. The way he was all over me—well, you—just now? That wasn’t acting.”

You groan on the other end of the line, clearly over this conversation. “Michael, please. We’ll talk about this nonsense when you get home, okay?”

“Nonsense?” He starts to protest, but you cut him off with a quick, “Love you,” and then the line goes dead.

Michael stares at the phone, groaning as he leans back against the wall of your dressing room. He lets out a long breath, staring into the mirror. There’s your face looking back at him, but it doesn’t feel like you. It feels alien, like he’s wearing a mask that’s too tight. He tries to calm down, closing his eyes for a second before pulling himself back together. He can’t afford to lose it now, not when he’s still got a full day of shooting ahead.

With another deep breath, he heads back to the set.

—

The shooting continues, and Michael does his best to stay in character, though it’s hard. He makes a few minor mistakes—forgetting to tilt his head just right, not delivering lines with the same nuance you do—but nothing too disastrous. Quentin doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he’s not calling Michael out on it. Still, every time Michael stumbles over a line or misses a cue, his stomach clenches. He feels like he’s walking a tightrope, balancing between passing as you and being found out.

But what bothers him more than the minor acting slip-ups is André. The guy is infuriating. Every time they reset the scene, André finds some excuse to get close to you, whether it’s fixing your wardrobe, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, or even offering casual compliments about how well you’re doing. To anyone else, it might look like André is just being friendly, but Michael knows better.

There’s an intensity in his eyes when he looks at you—an intensity that Michael’s certain he’s aimed at you a hundred times before. It makes his blood boil.

At one point, when they’re setting up for another scene, André sidles up to Michael, standing just a little too close for comfort. “You’re doing so well today,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “I knew you were talented, but this… this is something else.”

Michael grits his teeth, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Thanks,” he mutters, not wanting to engage more than necessary.

André leans in slightly, lowering his voice even more. “You know, I’ve always admired your dedication. It’s… inspiring.” His face is so close to yours that Michael feels his warm breath against his neck.

Michael glances at him out of the corner of his eye, his jaw tightening. He wants to say something, wants to tell André to back off, to stop being so damn flirty, but he knows he can’t afford to blow up here. Not in front of the crew. So instead, he forces a tight smile and steps away, pretending to check something on his phone.

André watches him for a moment, that same charming smile still on his face, before finally walking off to talk to one of the crew members.

Michael exhales, his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. If André pulls something like that again, he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold back.

As the day drags on, Michael somehow manages to get through the rest of the scenes without any major disasters. He stumbles a few more times, forgetting small details you’d usually nail without thinking, but overall, he manages to hold his own. The crew seems satisfied, and even Quentin gives him a few nods of approval.

But throughout it all, Michael’s focus is split. Half of his mind is on the task at hand—delivering lines, hitting marks, staying in character—but the other half is constantly tuned in to André. Every time the other actor gets too close, every time he touches Michael or says something with that smooth, flirtatious tone, Michael feels his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

By the time Quentin finally calls a wrap on the day’s shoot, Michael is more than ready to get the hell out of there. As soon as he hears those magical words, “That’s a wrap!” He practically bolts for your dressing room, eager to escape André’s lingering presence.

He pulls out his phone, sending you a quick text: Coming home.

He doesn’t wait for a reply before grabbing his things and heading for the car. Today has been exhausting in more ways than one, and all he wants to do is get back to the ranch, collapse into bed, and forget this whole bizarre day ever happened.

—

As you lounge on the plush couch in the living room you stretch your legs, sinking deeper into the luxurious cushions, savoring the calmness that comes with being home. Thank god he had a day off today.

The door swings open gently, and Michael walks in. His steps are a little heavier than usual, his shoulders slightly hunched in that familiar way he gets when he’s both tired and annoyed.

You raise your eyebrow, sensing his mood before he even says a word. “How did it go?” you ask, your voice laced with curiosity and a bit of playful teasing.

Michael doesn’t respond immediately, just sighs deeply, making his way over to the couch. He collapses next to you, laying his head against your chest, burying his face in what is now his own body. You chuckle softly at the sight—it’s still bizarre seeing him in your body, his movements awkward and slightly off, but endearing all the same.

“I think I didn’t do too bad,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin. His arm drapes lazily over your waist, and you stroke his hair gently.

You nod, encouraging him to continue, but something tells you there’s more. His expression gives it away, the way his brows are furrowed and his jaw is tight. He’s holding something back.

And then, as expected, he brings up André.

You let out a soft breath, your lips twitching into a smirk. You knew this was coming. “What about him?” you ask casually, trying to hide your amusement as Michael continues his jealous rant.

“He just—ugh, he’s so obvious! He keeps finding reasons to get close to you. Like, during the scene, he had his hands all over me, and I’m pretty damn sure it wasn’t in the script!” Michael grumbles, his head still resting on your chest. “It’s like he doesn’t even care that you’re married. He’s got no respect.”

You can’t help it, you breathe out a chuckle, the corner of your mouth lifting as you watch him get more worked up. His jealousy is kind of adorable, and you’ve always known he’s been protective of you, but seeing him like this—seeing him experience it firsthand—is on another level.

Interrupting his tangent, you sigh, your voice soft but knowing. “I know,” you say.

Michael’s head jerks up suddenly, his eyes wide as he looks at you in shock. “Wait, what? You know?”

You nod, giving him a shrug. “Yeah, I’m not blind, Michael. I know he likes me. It’s pretty obvious.”

He stares at you, looking like he’s just had the rug pulled out from under him. “You knew? And you didn’t say anything?”

You smile, brushing your hand through his hair. “What was I supposed to say? It’s not like I pay him any mind.”

He sits up now, fully engaged in the conversation, eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t?” he asks, and you can hear the underlying tension in his voice.

You tilt your head, smirking a little. “Of course not. Yeah, he’s cute—” you can see the slight shock flash across Michael’s face at that admission, “—but he doesn’t compare to you.”

Michael’s expression softens slightly at that, his shoulders relaxing a little as the words sink in. For a second, his jealousy seems to ease, and you can see the corners of his lips twitch, though he tries to hide it.

“So, he’s cute now, huh?” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to his words anymore, just a little playful teasing.

You laugh softly, giving his arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry, doo doo head. He’s not the one I’m married to,” you say with a wink. And that seems to settle him down, his head leaning back against the couch as he sighs, though his eyes still flicker with traces of that protective spark.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you break it with a new topic. “By the way, I called Deepak.”

Michael glances at you, now intrigued. “Yeah? What did he say?”

“He’ll be here in an hour or two,” you explain, your tone casual. “Says he can help us figure this out and hopefully get us back into our own bodies.”

Michael nods, seeming relieved. “Good. This whole thing is starting to really mess with my head.”

You let out a small sigh, leaning back into the cushions, and the silence stretches for a moment. Then, feeling a sudden mischievous urge, you turn to him with a grin and ask, “So… you gonna let me fuck you?”

Michael’s eyes widen in pure shock, his mouth dropping open as he stares at you, clearly taken aback. “What? No!” he blurts out, his voice shooting up an octave.

You pout playfully, leaning closer to him. “Come on,” you tease, your voice lilting with amusement. “I wanna know how I looks when you fuck me.”

His face heats up, and he shakes his head vigorously, his body tensing at the mere suggestion. “No. Absolutely not.”

You let out a groan of disappointment, falling back against the couch dramatically. “You’re no fun,” you grumble, casting him a playful glance out of the corner of your eye.

Michael finally lets out a chuckle, the tension easing as he watches you with that familiar smile of his. “I can’t believe you even suggested that,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief, though his laughter betrays his amusement.

“What? It was just an idea!” you defend, giggling as you nudge him with your shoulder.

He rolls his eyes, but his smile remains, and the tension from the day seems to melt away, replaced by the familiar comfort of being with you, his wife, even if you’re in his body for now.

The clock ticks softly in the background as the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, waiting for Deepak to arrive, but for now, content to just be here, together, even if things are a little upside down.

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