#i can see through the queue inside you

[copias-juicebox]

tobias daddy interview or whatever

[pseudowho]

"Yuuji-- if you don't mind, can I ask you something?"

Yuuji looked up from his phone, feeling so grown up to be in the Jujutsu High staffroom with Kento. He raised his eyebrows, the scar across his lip tugging up.

"Uh...yeah, sure. Go crazy."

"What is scary dog privilege, exactly?"

"Scary dog privilege? Huh, well...let's see, uhm...so it's like..."

Yuuji explained, all peaches and wide eyes and animated hands. Kento nodded occasionally, listening intently. His mind, naturally, strayed to you; you were what this was all about, after all.

As with any thought of you (you being his blossoming latent obsession), Kento's stomach flipped, his grip tightening fractionally around his coffee.

Kento remembered.

He remembered when he dropped you home. You checked over your shoulder, again, and again, and again, before you unlocked your door and hurried inside.

He remembered how he had once walked up behind you without much thought, and you spun with panic in your eyes. Kento recalled how quickly you had relaxed, to see it was him, and how high his hope climbed as a result.

He remembered how you had spilled the contents of your bag. You snatched your pepper spray up in the hope that his keen eyes had missed it.

He remembered how you headed to the subway after a staff night out. Your keys had been curiously gripped between your fingers, a weapon that wasn't a weapon.

He remembered, how just the day before, he and you had walked together through central Tokyo to get lunch. You had sat on a park bench together, and Kento had been so overwhelmed by the need to hold it together, Kento, keep it together, that he barely registered the relief written on your skin.

You had eaten in comfortable silence, then leaned over to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek on the way to the bins.

"Thanks for the scary dog privilege, Kento. It's the first time in a long time that I've relaxed in public."

Kento's eyes had drifted closed for just a few moments too long, with the warmth of your lips on his skin, and he stuttered, fumbling, unlike himself.

"Ah...scary...dog privilege?" He asked, quiet. But you were already gone; throwing your crumbs to the ducks.

Yuuji's voice snapped Kento out of memory, and back to the staffroom.

"Dunno if that makes sense, Nanamin?"

A molten pit of spite and rage ignited in Kento once he put two and two together. Scary dog privilege. He gave you scary dog privilege. Why was walking the streets in safety a privilege? Shit. Kento kept his voice level, patting Yuuji on the shoulder as he left, his steaming coffee abandoned.

"Thank you, Yuuji. Stay safe out there this afternoon, and call me when you're finished, please."

If Kento hadn't already felt dirty enough with the knowledge that he pleasured himself to thoughts of you every night, he felt worse, now. He stalked through the corridors of Jujutsu High, calling Ijichi, calling Shoko, determined to find you.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Once you noticed how one man's gaze lingered on you, you noticed them all. To you, almost all seemed to do it, and to every woman, be they 18 or 80, tall or short or curvy or lithe or gay or straight or anywhere in between. Then, when you began to notice the gazes on 16 year olds, or 12 year olds, or--

You had nauseated by the time you turned the corner to grab lunch. Simultaneously built up and dragged down and accused, you were a madonna and a whore and a bitch. You wondered, vaguely, how deeply, how incurably the disease ran, as you entered the bustling café. You didn't want to think about it. You'd just grab food, and go, and--

"Ah. Good afternoon."

You blinked, to see Kento before you in the queue, and felt a warm burst of joy from your tummy to your toes.

"Kento, I'm...happier than you know, to see you, actually."

A satisfied hum. "I had a feeling you might be. Now...about something you said yesterday...."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami Kento didn't immediately strike one as a scary dog. He was built, yes, but his suits hid it well, and he was only a little taller than average, and really quite mild, but--

-- oh.

The way his glares could frost a soul. The way other men bounced off him, a stone wall, when a shoulder 'accidentally' hit his. The way his eyes found wayward gazes like a sniper, with the dulcet loading of a bullet behind his sneer. The silent commanding respect. The dares that other men would not dare.

It was no wonder, then, how you and Kento, became you and Shoko and Kento, became you and Shoko and Maki and Nobara and Kento. While individually able to fight your own fights, feeling Kento's scary dog privilege melt threats with acid, was a burden blissfully relieved.

With Kento's protective Midas' touch, your daily lunches turned to gold, unsullied and unmolested. Still...he was there for the whole group.

So why, then, in such a large group, did you look up to find his gaze on you, and only you? How could his eyes caress without staring? It was sorcery, surely.

Kento sequestered you one day, throwing his crumbs to the ducks alongside yours, as the others chatted on the benches behind you. You looked up, shooting him a sideways smile, and wondering how you could ever be good enough for him. He spoke quietly.

"I always believed a dog to have just one owner."

You felt your stomach twist with insinuation. You laid the thread.

"...oh?"

"And while I'm happy to offer my privileges to the benefit of a group, I...would like to be in the position to make such a privilege exclusive."

You swallowed hard, looking sideways again with hope against hope against hope against--

"Are you...saying you'd like to be my scary dog?"

"Very, very much so."

[pepperyduck]

this is love ft. kento nanami

a/n: a few sappy slices of life with my main man :3 enjoy as i dig up motivation to finish kinktober. 18+ mdni!

"honey?" kento's voice is muffled through the door as he calls out to you, "everything okay?" the door rattles as he tries to open it, knob jingling.

"uhm, yeah! everything's fine!" you nervously shout, much too loud, and rush to unplug the iron that had melted your husband's favorite shirt. you panic and yelp when the hot iron scorches the side on your hand, throwing the stupid device to the ground in a clatter.

"why is the door locked—are you okay?" he asks, voice becoming more concerned as he hears the movement inside.

"i'm—i'm fine! promise! just give me a minute!" you're rushing into your shared master bathroom to run cold water over your hand, and kento’s using a screwdriver pulled from thin air to break into your bedroom. tears well in your eyes when you catch the sight of kento seeing his favorite shirt burnt and melted to his own ironing board. "i’m so sorry…"

in reality, he doesn’t care about the shirt—he’s already at your side to inspect your burnt hand. after a few seconds, he speaks.

"did you try to iron my shirt for me?" nanami asks, a small smile on his face, "you didn’t have to do that." he turns off the faucet and takes a small towel to dry your hand off.

"i tried to, i’m sorry—i didn’t know it would do that." you apologize, looking down at the cold tile flooring in defeat.

"oh, honey." he coos, "it’s only a shirt."

"have you seen your father?" you ask your son, yū, who’s sat at the dining table, eating breakfast. he shakes his head no, and when you look at your daughter, mayu, she does the same.

"jeez," you grumble to yourself, bedroom slippers pattering down the hallway as you go to search for your husband. saturday mornings were his time to sleep in, but realistically, he never slept past 9am. and currently, it was nearing 10am.

you check everywhere. he isn’t found in the bedroom, living room, his office, the garage, the patio or in the little garden he kept. upstairs, downstairs, everywhere, he isn’t there. and when you check in your bedroom for the last time, you hear a soft buzzing coming from the bathroom. upon entering, you see your husband bent over the counter, leaning close in the mirror as he shaves his stubble with an electric razor.

"there you are—when did you get that?"

kento had always been a clean shaven kind of man, going to a barber shop once every two weeks for his straight razor shave. it hadn’t even crossed your mind he didn’t go after work yesterday.

but when he looks at you—you burst out laughing. he’d shaven most of his beard off, but a few fuzzy patches remained on his cheeks, along with a mustache grazing his upper lip. peach fuzz and a few knicks litter his chin. this was the first time you’d seen him unable to do anything perfectly. and he looks ridiculous.

"is it really that bad?" he groans, pouting when you wrap your arms around yourself in a giggling fit. you shake your head, although your unforgiving laughs are a testament to the opposite.

"no—no, let me help," you say after calming down.

after gathering a new razor and some shaving cream, you sit atop the counter and your husband stands between your legs. kento is surprised how flawlessly you shave his face, without creating any more marks or cuts. you giggle and kiss him, getting some shaving cream on your face.

"ken?" you shout from the kitchen, where you’re sat, working on your dissertation. it’s been a long road of blood, sweat, and many, many tears; but you’re finally getting towards the end. about to earn a doctorate.

"yes, darling?" kento replies, walking into the kitchen on queue, his timing impeccable.

"can you read over this paragraph, please?" you kindly ask of him, pointing to your most recent written paragraph. he leans over you, planting one firm palm on the table, the other on your back; his eyes read along the sentences and his fingers tap along your spine.

"ah," his finger becomes more focused on a certain word, "wrong 'there', honey."

"no it's not..." you instantly retort, squinting your tired eyes to read over your writing. and you're right, it was the correct one the first time. this was his version of teasing you. but kento couldn't keep up the face much longer before he's giving in with a shit-eating grin you didn't see that often. "you're funny." you groan as kento stands back up.

after reading over the paragraph for about the nineteenth time, you notice kento silently slipping you some tea before turning back around to keep himself busy with cleaning. you absentmindedly take a few sips, then some more...and you find yourself becoming more and more sleepy...

and you're out like a light, forehead pressed directly against the table as a puddle of drool forms on the papers below. kento already has a warm blanket straight from the dryer to drape over you, and you stir just enough to get comfy on your arms.

kento knows that his back will hurt in the morning, but he sits around the corner of the table next to you, settling his head into his arms to drift off to sleep alongside you.

music of your taste plays rather quietly in the kitchen. you stir the pot of soup and inhale the flavorful aroma that wafts through the air.

kento sets two bowls next to the stove, then rummages through your silverware drawer to find two spoons. the kids are at their grandparents for the weekend, it's only you and your husband, converted into the duo you were long ago.

you step away from the stove to go fill up two glasses of wine, the brand kento had as his favorite had slowly turned into your favorite over time, too.

kento fills up the two bowls to the brim of the delicious food, grinning on the inside at the simplicity of it all. just you and him. he lids the pot with the matching glass top and makes his way over to the table.

you set out place mats for the both of you, then place the wine glasses in their prospective areas. kento places the bowls on top of the mats as you grab the spoons from the counter.

in the kitchen, your bodies subconsciously dance around each other. carefully, in perfect tune and pace. delicate steps of a routine formed over so much time together.

in the universe, your souls are tied, striding alongside one another in each lifetime repeated.

and this, is love.

[hivemuthur]

Eee sorry about the vague request lol. I'm thinking maybe reader is unknowingly giving someone else a lil too much attention at a house party or something like that and Vik gets jealous and pouty about it and reader makes it up to him 👀👀

Clearly im not great at wording requests lol, I hope this makes sense

<3

Hi! I love you, so after I've written the first part of smut for this, I went to pray to the smut fairy and she gave me more smut :v @rennethen we thank you, we bow to you. And yes, there is no other point to this story than smut, because we had a lot of emotional stuff happening on this blog in the last couple of days :')

Eat Me

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Viktor is jealous, therefore: smut, also dom!Viktor

word count: 3,3K

—

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” you laughed sheepishly at—what was his name again? Mark? Maurice? Never mind, you politely laughed at his joke. Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, you had felt Viktor’s hand slip off the small of your back as he walked away to have a chat with Jayce. You could swear you heard a sigh accompanying the action, but the number of people talking at you simultaneously was too great to stir your mind to focus on one thing.

You looked around the room; the party had visibly dispersed into small groups— a few people splayed on the floor, talking in hushed voices; a smoking gang squished on the small balcony; a not-very-promising-looking queue to the bathroom; very loud voices coming from the kitchen, where some groundbreaking conversations were definitely taking place. Exactly opposite you and Mark—or Maurice—Viktor stood leaning on the doorframe, a glass hanging limply from his hand. He seemed very determined not to glance in your direction, no matter how many smiles you tried to send him.

You remained unalarmed until it was Mark’s—or Maurice’s—hand travelling to the small of your back, his mouth closing in on your ear to whisper, “So… can I get your number?”

At that point, Viktor scoffed and retreated into the corridor, out of your sight. You shifted uncomfortably, sliding yourself away from the intruder’s touch, and squeaked, “Eh, sorry, I don’t think… I don’t think my boyfriend would be happy about it, you know?”

Mark—or Maurice—raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, saying, “Forgive me, I didn’t know. Enjoy the party.” He patted you on the shoulder, his touch immediately shifting from seductive to friendly, his eyes moving from your cleavage to your face, and began snaking deeper into the room, leaving you alone and a little stunned by the windowsill. Huh, that obvious.

You downed your drink and left the glass behind, ready to find the lost boyfriend. You searched Jayce’s cramped apartment room by room, people trying to pull you in for a drink occasionally slowing your progress. Jayce, already moderately drunk and flushed from all the hands invading his personal space, pointed you toward his study. The door was ajar, and a faint glimmer of light was coming from inside.

“Hello?” You peeked your head through the door, only to see Viktor slumped behind Jayce’s desk, engrossed in a book. He didn’t look up at you and only threw you a dry, “Hello,” in return.

“Tired of the crowd, hmm?” you hummed after slipping inside and leaning over the desk opposite him. Your fingers tapped on the wood, awaiting a reply, only to be given the cold shoulder in the form of a quiet, dismissive hum. “Well, do you want to go home?” you tried again, inching your fingers to sneak under his sleeves, and Viktor shuddered.

“Home? No, I am quite content where I am. Also—” he paused as his eyes landed on your hands before retreating further into the chair to avoid your touch. “You seemed quite content with where you were as well,” he retorted, flipping to the next page.

“I’m not sure I quite follow?” You gave him a puzzled look, hoping he saw at least a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye. “Viktor?” you asked, splaying yourself all the way across the desk to pluck the book from his hands. “Why are you not looking at me?”

He sighed, his hands frozen in the air exactly where the book had been a second ago, and finally did look at you, at which point you started to wish he hadn’t.

“You were in quite stimulating company, no? Has Gregory abandoned you that you decided to pay me a visit?” Ah, yes, Gregory, not Mark or Maurice. He gave you a cold stare and an unforgiving smirk, and you choked on a snort.

“Excuse me? Viktor, are you being jealous?” You were now both leaning over the desk, playing a game of stares. Viktor blinked first but made it look like he had won.

“From where I was standing—and I will add that it was many different angles I got to observe—he was quite ready to eat you all right up,” he cocked his head to the side and left you to deal with the statement.

“Eat me? We were just talking,” you said, pointing your finger between the two of you to accentuate that, up until some point, Viktor had also been a part of the conversation. Realising the new round of the staring game had just begun, you relented, “Still—that’s completely irrelevant, as the only person I would wish to eat me is you.”

“That’s very unfortunate then, given that I seem to have lost my appetite.” Viktor took the opening and squeezed it dry. He picked up the book, opened it to a random page, and pretended to sink back into reading.

You straightened, taken aback by this... ridiculous display of mistrust. A smile played under your nose as you circled around the desk, turned the chair to make Viktor face you, and leaned in to touch his mouth with yours. “Are you sure I can’t even interest you in a snack?” you murmured against his lips, placing a lingering kiss there.

Viktor didn’t move, and soon you felt the handle of his cane poking at your stomach, beckoning you away. You shot him a questioning look and moved the cane aside with your hand, only for it to return to where it was, his eyes still fixed on the book. “I said, I am not hungry,” he said, his tone feigning exhaustion.

“Really? Are you telling me you would rather read—” you paused to take the book away and glance at the cover, “Jayce’s journal, rather than quit this pointless display of sulk and spend some time with me?” You held it expectantly in your hand, bemused.

“Yes. And give it back now.” He leaned forward, his hand reaching for the tome, only for you to swing it behind your back and move your body so your face met his.

“What will I get in return?” you asked sweetly, your breath ghosting his cheek. But Viktor wouldn’t give in. He shifted away, gluing his spine to the chair’s backrest.

“How about freedom to roam the party as you please, with whomever you please? Ah, right, apologies—it seems you already took that opportunity,” he mused, his tone almost annoyed as he kept his hand extended, expecting the stolen good to be returned.

“Viktor—” you scolded, growing more and more impatient. The book dropped to the desk with a thump, and before Viktor could reach for it, you straddled his lap, ignoring all the huffs of protest and palms trying to push you away. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your face to his, whispering into his ear, your voice needy and keen, “What I want is my man to stop sulking. I can apologize, if you let me.”

Viktor hesitated until his hands rested on your hips, the rest of him still frozen in place. “I’m listening,” he muttered, causing a satisfied smirk to bloom on your lips.

You took the cue and slid your palms flat onto his chest, tugging at his collar. “Well, how would you like your apology to be served, mister?” You licked at the seam of his mouth and sucked on the crown of his upper lip. Viktor allowed it but still wouldn’t engage much, keeping his façade of a man who was hurt. Your tongue travelled down to his jaw, then up to the pulse point below his ear. Finally, you were rewarded with a shudder and a sigh. “Hmm, that seems to be working, no?”

“I’d say your little stunt requires some more remorse to be shown for me to forgive you entirely, my girl,” he murmured, his hands squeezing your hips in tandem with a grunt coming out of his mouth.

“Remorse, huh? I might know one universal way to repent,” you said, sliding off him to the floor, your knees resting on the carpet between his feet, your fingers already tugging at the buckle of his belt. “I’ve heard begging on one’s knees can work wonders.”

He uttered a quiet fuck along with your name, eyes fixed on yours, as you beckoned him to lift his hips, allowing you to slide his pants down his legs. His thumb brushed on your lower lip as he gave you a thoughtful look. “Show me. How sorry you are.”

You smiled and propped your hands on his hips, as you leaned in to tease him. His cock was still soft, twitching slightly under your breath. You began to place lingering kisses across his length, all the way from his balls to the tip, not moving it from the crease of his hip where it rested. Then, you flipped it to the other side with your nose and proceeded to do the same, from the top to bottom, watching it harden after each peck.

Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers curling into your hair, as he pressed his hips into your face and rasped, “I will have to see some more initiative if you want me to believe you.”

You immediately responded with opening your mouth and letting him drag his half-hard length on it, his cock now splayed between your mouth, side of your nose, the tip resting somewhere around your eyebrow, smearing your own spit all over your face. Viktor’s brows pinched together, his lips parted into a toothy smile as he sat back down. “Good,” was the only praise you got so far, and you felt yourself aching for an addition of girl next to it.

Your kisses deepened, more passionate and lingering on the base, your tongue reaching down to his perineum, releasing a startled chuckle somewhere from the depth of his chest. You cocked your head, taking the side of his cock between your lips and started dragging it leisurely up and down, pausing to tease a sensitive spot below the head with the tip of your tongue.

Viktor remained still, his hand resting tangled into your hair, the other gripping the arm rest tightly as his eyes followed your every movement. You glanced up to meet his gaze—blown pupils, cheeks already flushed, lips shining from constant licking. Pleased with the view, you took him in your hand and patted the head of his cock on your flattened tongue, baring your teeth in a smile when his eyes rolled back, and he gave you a quiet ah sound as a reward.

“I feel like you are enjoying it far too much for a proper atonement,” he smirked. Before you could respond, he gripped your hair tighter, motioning your head to rest on his lap, as he slid himself inside your mouth. You groaned against him, grabbing his forearm and he only tsk-ed at you. “Bad girl. Tongue out, breathe through your nose,” he commanded, and you immediately obliged.

He fucked your throat steadily, retreating right before you were about to gag, soft praises falling from his lips. He watched himself appearing and disappearing between your lips and the hand that was previously whitening at the armrest travelled to cup your face and caress your cheek. You closed your eyes at the touch and let the drool roll out of your mouth onto his thigh, your breath heavy through your nose as you tried to even out its rhythm with the one of his thrusts.

He retreated to rub himself all over your face, smearing your makeup in the process. “So pretty like this,” he cooed, stroking your hair. “Are you sorry?”

You nodded, looking at him from under glued eyelashes. And Viktor looked so in love you couldn’t help a smile forcing itself onto your lips.

“Let’s apologize some more, are you ready?” he asked hoarsely, already lining himself against your mouth. Wordlessly, you opened, splaying your tongue out, coating your teeth with your lips to avoid any accidental scratches. He pushed himself deeper, tickling your uvula, while plugging your nose with his fingers and holding you in position.

“Are you sorry?” He leaned in to whisper into your ear, and you nodded, as much as you could. Obediently, you stayed for as long as your breath allowed you to, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, before patting his thigh three times, and Viktor released you with a loud groan, spit glistening on his length.

“Good girl,” he breathed, and you felt something perking up inside you as you reached back out for him to suck on his head. He leaned in the chair, granting a few languid rolls of his hips into your mouth, whispering quiet praises when you gagged yourself on his cock. Undying affection seeping from his eyes, from his touch, pumped air into your lungs, when your nose couldn’t.

“Will you be a good girl and eat me up?” he asked, feeling the lance of lust twisting his guts, his movements speeding up, his breath hitching and you mumbled something sounding like a yes against his thrusts.

His body curled in, hands cupping your face, thumbs digging into your cheeks, wiping your tears away. You felt him hitting the back of your throat a couple of times, drool leaking out with each movement in and out, before his stomach tensed up and he coated the inside of your mouth with his cum, distantly whispering “Yes, yes, good girl.”

You swallowed the salt of him, not letting him out, making sure to lick down every last drop. Viktor shuddered, suddenly overstimulated, and gently pulled you up to sit back on his lap. The thin layer of your knickers so wet it almost disappeared as your cunt pressed on his softening cock. He licked his thumb to clean the smears of mascara cascading down your cheeks and murmured, “You did very well. I forgive you,” before kissing you on the mouth lovingly.

A giggle forced itself out of you, as you wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his neck. “Were you really so upset?” You asked quietly, tracing your fingers up and down his chest.

“Of course not,” he chuckled, massaging the nape of your neck. “I wanted to see how willing you would be to apologize though.”

“You are such a bastard,” you smacked his chest and bit his neck, making him wiggle and wince underneath you. “Now you have to apologize to me.”

“If you accept apologies delivered while laying on my stomach, I am willing,” he stated with a shit-eating grin. His expression softened, when he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Well, tricked!” you exclaimed, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m alright. Pleasantly full, I might add,” you added with a smirk and placed a peck on his lips. “You?”

“Eh, quite alright myself. Pleasantly devoured, though slightly hungry,” he mused, nipping at your lip, before deepening the kiss. You felt breathless again, his hands sneaking under your shirt, when you mustered some strength to pull away and breathe into his mouth, “I might have something to eat for you when we get home.”

“Or—” Viktor cocked his head, eyeing your knees with a knowing smile.

“Or… what?” You arched your brow, knowing exactly where this was going. Viktor licked his lips.

“What if I am too hungry to wait? Would you accept my apology now?” He asked and his smirk deepened as he tapped your hip three times signalling you to stand up. “And maybe lock the door? For a good measure. Unless, of course, it was a part of your little plan.” His eyes feigned innocence as he played idly with the hem of your skirt, and you could feel your face flush red. Of course, the door was still ajar.

“R-right,” you stuttered sheepishly and went to lock it, your legs wonky. You almost skipped coming back to where Viktor’s finger was pointing on the desk. He let you in between him on a chair and the edge of the wood and pushed his palms flat underneath your skirt to yank your knickers down to your ankles. You shuddered at the sensation of the material ungluing itself from you.

“Up,” he commanded and once you were seated, he leaned down to pick up your underwear, sniff it obscenely to finally put it in his pocket. Your eyes were so transfixed on the action, that the touch of his hands under your knees startled you, as he scooted the chair closer to the desk and hooked them over his shoulders.

And then he paused, eyes staring at your weeping cunt, his breaths deep and steady as he inhaled your scent. “To think you would let this waste and make me wait until we get home deserves a punishment in itself, I might say,” he murmured and the hot air coming from his mouth fanned your skin. His flat palm travelled up from your navel to your stomach, pressing you to lay down.

He didn’t wait for your spine to meet the desk fully, so when he dived in, the back of your head hit the wood with a quiet thump. His tongue stroke a rapid lick along your seam before coming to your clit with a chuckled hum of approval. A very vocal moan pushed itself past your mouth and you were grateful to your past self for closing that door. Soon your voice pitched higher as you breathed an incomprehensive, “Ah, Viktor,” while trying to bring your hips closer to his face, but his grip on you rendered it utterly impossible. His licks, fast and precise, caused your thighs to shake on his shoulders.

His hand slid from pressing on your stomach down to your navel, his thumb brushing your clit, when he asked hoarsely, “And what do we say to a Gregory, next time we meet him, hm?”

Completely confused and frustrated at the sudden change you managed to rasp, “Who?” and Viktor chuckled warmly, straight into you. “Good girl.”

His tongue slid down to your entrance, giving you shallow thrusts, while his thumb rubbed even circles on your clit, keeping the previous pace. Another thump of your head, fingers whitening at the edge of the desk as you tried desperately to move underneath him.

He began to deepen his movements, pressing his face hungrily into your cunt. Feeling your walls closing down on his tongue and mouth, his thumb picked up the pace. And you felt it so strongly, the orgasm wrenched out of you, built up by the last hour of apologizing on your knees. You felt it down to your toes, your heels digging into Viktor’s ribs as he hummed into you, drinking you all up, and keeping your thighs hooked with his arms. Only when you patted his shoulders blindly, he released you, placing one last kiss on your pubic bone.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, exhaling shakily, your chest heaving. You heard him getting up, allowing your legs to hang limply from the edge of the desk, as he circled around it, and took your jaw in his hand. He leaned in to give you a sweet kiss on the mouth and asked, “Am I forgiven?”

“Yes. Am I?” you murmured against his lips, and he smiled again.

“Not sure. You might want to check again at home.”

[sun-kissy]

chocolate-coated hearts | r.l.

୨ৎ series masterlist

barista!remus x shy!reader

summary: you go to a new cafe to order donuts for your friend, immediately enamoured with the barista

tw: nothing? reader takes literature as a major, also kind of has social anxiety

a/n: might make this a series! i’ve got a few ideas <3

An anxious sigh escapes you as you stand idly outside the cafe, peering inside through the mosaicked windows. It was jam-packed, people pushing past each other and snake-like queues forming throughout the space. You wriggle your phone out of your coat pocket and glance at the message that your friend, Madison, had sent in a half hour ago.

hey gorgeous!! mind picking up a few donuts for me at Beanie’s before you come over? a few of the pbj ones, and some chocolate ones too. thanks xx

She was expecting, and you went by whenever you could to help her out after her asshole of a boyfriend left.

Normally, you wouldn’t bother. You hated crowded places, and Beanie’s was the definition of crowded – an old-style cafe which had blown up overnight because of its scrumptious donuts and vintage aesthetic. But who were you to deny the cravings of the woman bearing your goddaughter?

You take a deep breath and push the creaky wooden door open, cringing at how the bell rang and signalled the whole cafe to your presence. But no one so much as looked up, busy trying to buy or sell food, or find a table.

You push your way through the sea of people, joining the queue in front of the counter. It was long, you noted, and would probably take another fifteen minutes or so until it was your turn to place an order. You fish out your crumpled book from your bag and turn it to the page you had stopped on yesterday. It was the second classic of the term – Pride and Prejudice. Taking literature as a major meant you spent more time reading than anything else, but you weren’t complaining.

As you read, you scribbled down plot points to take note of and quotes which meant something worth writing about. Your eyes stayed glued to the page, trying to work out hidden meanings and flowery language. Once you were back home, you’d have to compile all your analysis onto that worksheet Professor Ragnarsson had given out, write the 10-page long review, and then –

“Hey! Shut the damn book and order, will you?”

Your heart jumps in your chest at the sudden harsh tone. You close your book and whip your head around to see a middle-aged man glaring at you before peering down at his watch. “There’s a long queue, and we don’t have all day.”

The heat rushes to your cheeks as you open your mouth to apologise – but before you can say anything, you hear an oddly soothing voice from behind you. “Hey, don’t be a jerk. She didn’t know the counter was open.”

You glance back towards the counter, and you swear your heart stopped beating for a second. Angelic was an understatement to describe the man standing in front of you, tall and lanky and absolutely fucking beautiful.

His chestnut brown hair perfectly framed his pale face, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he glanced at the rude customer behind you. There were pinkish scars tracing from above his eyebrows to right below his lips, but they looked golden under the orange light – he looked like some kind of heavenly being.

When his eyes dart back to you, his expression instantly softened, lips tilting upwards in a smile. You thought you would melt into a puddle right there and then just by gazing into his warm, honeyed eyes. “Hi, gorgeous. What can I get you?”

You blink, your mouth involuntarily falling open slightly. Gorgeous? Was he talking to you? Maybe he was referring to the man behind you.

His smile widens, and that does absolutely nothing to calm the feeling of your heart bouncing around in your stomach. “It’s okay if you can’t choose just yet, I know the number of options can be…” he chuckles, “overwhelming. Take all the time you need to decide.”

Oh my god, you thought. His laugh sounded musical, like the tender feeling of being enveloped in a warm embrace. You’d put it on a record player and play it on loop for hours if you could.

“Hurry the fuck up –”

“One more word from you and you won’t be getting your coffee today, buddy,” the godly-looking barista snapped in a slightly louder tone at the man behind you, face contorted in irritation.

You hear silent cursing behind you, a twinge of embarrassment turning you red. You quickly glance back up. “Sorry, hi, hello. I’ll um… I…” the words were on the tip of your tongue, but seemed to dissolve when he glanced at you with those agonisingly pretty eyes and kind smile.

Snap out of it, you internally curse as you open your mouth again. “I’ll get three peanut butter-jelly donuts, and four chocolate donuts.”

“Okay. Which chocolate ones?” he asks, tapping his tongs against the display dome with stacks of donuts. There really were a lot of options – chocolate sprinkles, belgian chocolate, chocolate glazed, double chocolate – your mind seemed to freeze up for a second. Which one would Madison want?

You quickly look behind you, seeing the man’s face twisted up in what looked like rage. It seemed to be taking him all his willpower not to lash out at you, and the customers behind him didn’t look much far off.

You turn back to the counter, eyes wide with panic as you feel the blood rush to your head. You had never been good at this; thinking and choosing on the spot. That’s why Subway was always a no-go for you, that’s why Madison had specifically told you what to get her – just that she hadn’t been specific enough. “I… I’m not sure. I think, um…”

“Hey, take it easy,” you look back up to see Remus giving you a reassuring smile, a slight hint of concern on his face. Your despair must have been embarrassingly evident, then. “It’s alright if you can’t choose. Do you want me to pick for you?”

You ought to have been humiliated, the way you immediately nodded and gave in to his offer. But he just gave you an easy smile and nodded, picking up one of each type and placing them in the box.

“Thank you,” you mumble sheepishly as you move to the payment counter, fishing in your bag for a wad of notes.

“Of course,” he grins, and it was so bright you thought it could probably light up the whole cafe. “That’ll be $15.90.”

As he waits for you to pay, he takes a quick look down and begins to brush crumbs off his apron. You look up at the wrong moment, eyes immediately fixing on the curves of his biceps visible through his T-shirt, and his slender fingers.

He glances back up at you, catching a glimpse of your flustered look and instantly smirking. You look away abashedly, counting the money and handing it to him.

The brush of your fingers against his calloused palm sent a jolting shock through you as you quickly pull back, not missing the way his smile widened as he cashed the money into the register.

“Thanks for visiting, sweetheart. Hope to see you again soon.”

You don’t reply, afraid you’d crumble into a blushing, gooey mess. Flashing him a brief, nervous smile, you pick up the box of donuts before turning around and heading straight for the exit. Sweetheart.

You huff as you open the door and step outside, pulling out your phone to complain to Madison all about the stupidly handsome barista at her favourite cafe. God, he really knew what he was doing.

[eccentricwritingbaby]

funny wife, happy life

carlos sainz x wife!reader

summary - the grids beloved couple have begun a prank war, subjecting the drivers and fans to their hilarious antics

masterlist

request by anonnie :) thank you love! - hey you could write about carlos that he and Y/N his wife that they are the funniest couple in the paddock that Y/N has the same personality as carlos that they often play pranks on each other on tiktok

-

your knees were cramping, on the verge of giving out, as you held your hidden position in your husband’s drivers room. charles had told you he’d be back in a few minutes. a few minutes. ha! you’ve been sitting here for ages and you’re about to collapse. until finally you hear the sweet, sweet sounds of your husband's laugh approaching you quickly. you give a quick scramble to collect yourself and pull up your tik tok account in order to record the heart attack soon to be inflicted upon carlos. the door handle jiggles and opens, alerting you of his presence. his footsteps become closer to your hidden position behind a few large items and abruptly stop. you take it as your queue to jump but before you can-

“BOO!” your husband screeches at you with his phone in your face as you let out a mirroring yell and fall backwards on your ass. 

“AYE DIOS MIO!” you hold your hand over your racing heart and carlos crumples to the floor in a fit of hysterics. you can’t help but join in soon, but not without playfully swatting at him in a joking matter of pretending to be angry. 

“mi-mi amor,” carlos tries his hardest to get out in between laughs as he begins to sit up, “you’re too easy!” he falls again, most likely due him replaying the scenario again in his head.

“aye! easy? i believe i remember you begging for a date with me, señor,” you continue to chuckle at his phrasing, teasing him relentlessly felt like a duty to you. 

“whatever,” he brushes off the playful comment and turns his attention to the video he recorded of you on his phone, “y/n, this is too funny,” 

“si, bueno. i wish i got that video of you instead, though” you act out a solemn expression and carlos sees right through your jokes.

“well you didn’t, loser. i’m posting this,”

-

you and carlos had opted for a night in after the race due to his fatigue and your absolute need for a shower. after lando had pleaded with you both for a minute to rethink your decision as you were walking back to the hotel, he ultimately gave up trying and muttered a slight ‘old married couple’ at you and carlos while the both of you just laughed at his mini tantrum. 

once inside your hotel room, carlos headed for the shower, but stopped and turned when he noticed you weren’t following.

“i thought you wanted to shower, amor?” he asked in your direction.

“i do, but i kind of want to shower alone tonight, lo siento,” you respond while biting your lower lip to not give away your amusement. see - you had a plan. while carlos was in the shower you were going to get to the vanity and paint on a fake hickey. set up your phone. and get him back for ruining your prank earlier. 

carlos stands looking at you with a bit of skepticism. you rarely shower separately, only when upset with each other and he was beginning to worry, “aye, are you mad about earlier? me scaring you?”

“love, the only thing that is scaring me right now is how stinky you are. i’m not mad i just don’t need a smelly shower with you,” you shrug off his accusation with a laugh in order to lighten the mood and your husband catches on, chuckling with you.

“okay, you don’t need to tell me twice,” he begins to make his way over to you with his arms out wide, “you do want a stinky hug before i hop in, no?” calling your bluff he tries to latch his arms around you as you scream and try to run away.

“sto-stop!” you giggle as he grabs you in his arms, “eww! carlos!” the whine slips from your lips as he starts planting kisses all over your neck and face, tickling you causing you to let out more laughter. his grip loosens and he backs away towards the bathroom, grabbing his change of clothes off the dresser as he does so. one arm raised and a finger pointed at you he lets go of a very loose warning, “this isn’t over, cariño,”

“oh no!” you gasp in dramatics, “the tickle monster! what am i five?” carlos just laughs and releases a ‘loca’ under his breath as he shuts the bathroom door and turns on the shower. you then quickly get to work with your makeup, planting the perfect looking hickey in a place he hasn’t seen all day, but will very soon. once it was done, you discreetly hide your phone and patiently wait on the bed for carlos to leave the bathroom. 

fresh out of the shower, your husband steps into your room with just a pair of sweatpants on as he continues to run the towel over his damp hair. you take that as your sign to begin your prank and tie your hair up into a bun - giving carlos the perfect view of your neck. walking over to him, you plant a kiss on his lips and step back from him as he turns his attention towards his wife. looking you up and down for a second, making eye contact with the hickey, you feign confusion and innocence by proceeding to ask, “que, mi amor? is there something on my face?” you attempt to turn and ‘check’ yourself in the mirror, but carlos pulls on your arm, spinning you around to face back at him. he quickly discards the towel in his hand, throwing it to the floor, as he looks closer at your neck. 

“did you hurt yourself, cariño?” he asks softly, “maybe with one of your hair tools or something,” he finishes as if he’s almost assuring himself. 

“no? what is this carlos?” you question, trying your damnedest not to let out a smile.

“tienes algo en el cuello,” you have something on your neck uh oh. carlos only spoke direct spanish with you when he was deep in a feeling - lust, happiness, anger. “parece un…” it looks like a… 

“que?” you ask softly.

“a hickey, y/n. it looks like a hickey. y sé muy bien que no fui yo quien te dio esto,” and i know very well it was not me that gave you this

“oh, oh that? ya, um, actually that might be from my curling iron, you were right!” responding lightly only made carlos narrow his eyes at you further. 

“y/n, qué hice mal,” what did i do wrong?

“oh no, carlos, baby, nothing- you did nothing wrong,” you panic at his sadness and hold his face in your hands, “it’s just a prank, los, te lo prometo,” i promise you

he looks down at you, widening his eyes in hope before he says anything, then you hear - so quietly you almost miss it, ‘take it off’. 

“i will, i will baby. come here, come with me,” you lead him into the bathroom, grabbing your makeup wipes in haste and rubbing the fake hickey right off your neck. you hear your husband let out a long and deep exhale before he gives your sides a squeeze. 

“you just took ten years off my life with that stress, amor,”

“lo siento, carlos. i’ll even show you the video where i put it on if that makes you feel better,” you turn around in his hold and give him not one, not two, but three quick pecks to the lips as you drag him back into the room to retrieve your phone. as of that moment, carlos begins plotting his revenge. 

-

the next week, your husband and you arrive early at the paddock for race day due to his necessary media duties. with your hands intertwined, you begin making your way to the ferrari garage - passing a few reporters and fans on the way. while making your way, a few fans had called out to the both of you. carlos always joked that his fans loved you more than him, but every joke has a bit of truth to it. 

“y/n! carlos! over here! can we get a picture?”

your husband - ever the gentleman - turns his attention to the young group of girls at the barricade and leads you both over to them. once carlos had signed a few things and taken a few pictures, you both turn to leave but are prevented by the girls. 

“y/n! can we get a picture with you too!” carlos checks you over, asking you non-verbally if you’re okay with it and you slightly nod in his direction to signify the answer. bending down and over slightly, the girls grab a few selfies with you and speak to you about their love for your tik toks, tweets, and overall personality. with your light ego boost, you turn and chuckle to your husband. 

“isn’t it great that your fans love me more?” you give him a sly smile and a poke to his stomach as he laughs along with you.

“aye, they’re just saying that to make you feel better, amor,” he shoots back quickly.

“nuh-uh,” you scoff back, “they love me so much more, i think i better be the one to race today,” at this point the girls are recording your interaction while giggling at the banter your husband and you have provided. 

“in your dreams, cariño,” he bites back with a smile.

with that comment, you whip around to face the group, “do you hear how he speaks to me? my own husband! he hates me!” you sigh dramatically as carlos pulls you into his arms. the crowd before you erupts in laughter at your antics and your husband bids polite goodbyes, leading you away. you’re both leaving in cackles as you continue to jab each other back and forth.

as you round the corner to the ferrari garage, you both run into fernando walking towards aston martin. 

“hola, nando!” you call out with a wave. he stops curtly and leans in your direction, arms parting for a hug. you receive it kindly, swaying lightly back and forth all while exchanging pleasantries. 

“aye, he oído felicitaciones están en orden,” i hear congratulations are in order fernando presses with a smile.

“porque felicitaciones?” why congratulations? you ask back to him. 

“oh! lo siento, ¿se supone que nadie debe saberlo?” i’m sorry, is no one supposed to know?

your confusion ends when you turn to your now - dying laughing - husband at your left, “¿le dijiste a todo el mundo que estaba embarazada?” did you tell everyone i was pregnant?

carlos can’t even shake out words at this point due to laughter as he just begins to vigorously nod his head yes. fernando takes this as his sign to head back in his previous direction, chuckling under his breath something about ‘these damn kids again’. 

“you’re dead, carlos sainz,” you state matter-of-factly at him. 

“i’m sorry, me or my fathe-”

“YOU KNOW WHO!” you yell back, cutting off his smart ass comment, “does the whole grid really think im fucking pregnant, you ass?” this time carlos’ laughter is cut short and he just slowly shakes his head yes, nervousness now overwhelming his features instead of amusement. 

“do you now realize how stupid that was?” you ask him again. again he slowly nods his head yes, his eyes only meeting his shoes. out of your peripheral, you can see lando approaching the both of you and he holds out his arms in glee.

“there are my favorite soon-to-be parent-”

“SHUT IT!” you snap in his direction, “the only child i will be raising for the foreseeable future is the one in front of me,” you nod your head towards carlos, and his eyes - again - never leave his shoes. lando begins to laugh even louder than your husband did before at his friend being scolded like a child.

“oh i am so tweeting about this,” he lets out between laughs. 

you take a glance over at your husband and whisper a light ‘karma’ into his ear before you kiss his cheek and head off to find his family in the garage. 

-

after the race, carlos is doing interviews and you are searching to find him. not being in the media pen, but instead just along the gates talking to reporters, you easily walk up to your husband and wait over to the side for him to finish. the reporter speaking to him notices your presence and begins to wave you over. you shake it off quickly, wanting your husband to have his shining moment, but instead he also joins in waving you over - causing you to reluctantly head in their direction. 

“hi!” you squeak out to the reporter, carlos pulling you into his side and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

“hi, y/n! thank you for joining us for the interview!” the young woman starts. 

“thank you for letting me crash!” you reply back with a giggle. 

“not crashing, you’re here by invitation,” your husband speaks up, kissing your forehead after doing so.

“i’m sorry if we were too forward to invite you,” the reporter chimes in fast.

“no, no!” you assure back, “i just didn’t want to outshine ‘ole carlos over here, you know how it is,” you joke, giving the reporter and your husband a laugh. 

“for sure,” the young woman gives you, “we love you two as a couple, you both have been informally deemed the grids funniest couple with all your banter and tik tok pranks, how do you both feel about that title?”

“it’s a heavy weight to carry,” you dramatically sigh, “i have to keep the people on their toes and give them what they want,” the reporter laughs once again at your comments as you shrug before your husband chimes in, “funny wife, happy life - right?” you all share one more laugh before the reporter lets you two depart. 

as you’re walking out of the paddock, hand in hand, you reach up on your toes to plant a kiss to carlos’ lips. he hums back in approval, stopping you, with his hold moving to your waist and pressing deeper. you smile into the kiss and can feel him doing the same. once pulling apart, your husband stares into your eyes, the contact moving from eye to eye to lips. you almost crumble watching him shamelessly adore you. 

“what are you thinking about, amor?” you gently ask, attempting not to ruin the soft moment with loud diction.

“just how much i love you, cariño,” his reply is simple, yet means so much. even though you both are playful with your antics and pranks, your love is something that never falters with seriousness. and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[girasollake]

Hi! Can I request a smut imagine with prompt 48 and trope 8 with Theodore Nott.

She’s a slytherin too and a badass bitch who everybody wants to be or date

Thank youuu!

✧ theodore nott x fem!reader x jealousy x "you. are. mine."✧

(this request is a part of my writing event, here is the link to the masterlist of the fics i'll be publishing from said event:) )

this took longer than i expected, thank you for your request anon! x

told u guys i’d post smth… surprise!!!!

warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, p in v sex, some swear words, some slight cedric x reader, theo being bitchy ig, fingering, general sex stuff, orgasm denial, ummmmmm yeah i think that’s it

i’ll reread it later to fix mistakes cuz rn it’s 2 am where i live and i’m going to bed bye

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

Your relationship with Theo was complicated. At least in your mind that was the most suitable word for this dynamic, you could never find anything else that would quite describe it. You were friends, that’s for sure, this was the only thing you were certain of. Some days you had found yourself tangled in his bedsheets, his soft fingers caressing your back as you lingered in his scent. But, there were also days when you didn’t speak to him at all, strolling through the halls and seeing him tug a piece of hair behind the ear of some Ravenclaw girl while simultaneously giving her his infamous smile. Even though you also flirted and went on dates with others, something inside your guts sunk down each time you saw him with a girl who was not you. And you could barely handle it. Every time you promised yourself you’ll never sleep with him again or give him your attention, you’d always end up doing the opposite. There was something about him that lured you in, it was toxic, but so divine. So, whenever his lips connected to yours in a hungry kiss, you’d forget about all of the other women he probably does this with. It was just you and him and your only thought during these moments was to stay with him like that forever.

‚-it’s not like it’s that important.’

‚Huh?’ You lifted your head and met Pansy’s annoyed face. ‚Sorry, what were you saying?’

¨What is going on with you lately?´She shook her head and sighed. ´I asked if you have a date for the ball.’ She then added.

‘Oh, well, not really.’ You shrugged.

‘Seriously? Is this about Theo again? I’ve told you multiple times that there is a fucking queue of guys just waiting for you and all you do is always go back to him.’ She huffed. ‘What about Mason? Louise? Henry? They were all head over heels for you, I don’t believe they didn’t ask you at least once.’

‘They did. I just said no.’ You mumbled and avoided her angry gaze.

SShe groaned and took a sip of her butterbeer. ‘I was not going to tell you this, but I see there is no other option.’ Pansy took a deep breath. ‘I heard the boys talking about the ball and Nott wants to take Arisa.’

You swallowed a big gulp in your throat and looked down into your drink. You expected that something like this would happen, you just didn’t think you wouldn’t be prepared to hear it.

‘’M sorry.’ She looked at your numb expression with caring eyes.

‘It’s okay Pans.’ You gave her a soft smile. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to move on.’

Even though you tried to not think about him for the next few days, it was unusually hard. He was on your mind non stop, like a song playing on repeat. On top of that, everyone was talking about the upcoming event. While walking through the halls you overheard people gossiping about the pairs, discussing what they are gonna wear and you were also a witness to roughly 7 performances of the boys creatively asking their crushes to go with them.

You walked into the courtyard and took a seat on the nearest free bench. You pulled out your sketchbook in hopes to finally draw something. Truth is, you didn’t remember the last time you practiced your beloved activity, not that you didn’t have time, you just didn’t have any ideas. This time wasn’t different, you looked around and then your gaze rested on the empty page before you. You made a soft line with your pencil and stopped, it was like your hand didn’t want to listen to your mind. You groaned and closed the sketchbook to put it in your bag again. While doing this, you felt a presence in front of you. Looking up, you saw Cedric Diggory, a charming smile plastered on his face.

‘Hi, do you have a moment?’ He asked and you stood up to face him.

‘Of course.’ You smiled.

‘I have a question.’

‘If you want my help with something, then no. I can barely finish my own essays and-‘

‘No, that’s..’ He chuckled. ‘I was wondering if you’d want to go to the ball with me?’

‘Oh..’ You bit your lip softly from the inside. ‘I.. I’ll think about it. Is that okay with you?’

‘Surely, just don’t take too long, darling.’ He sent you a wink and walked out of the courtyard.

Later that night you were studying in your dorm, soft music was playing in your headphones as you scribbled some sigils for one of the classes. Your back was turned to the door, so you didn’t hear that someone came in. It was the feeling of being observed that made you move your head to inspect the room and there he was. Theodore Nott stood next to your door, his arms were crossed and you couldn’t quite read his expression. You grabbed your headphones and took them off.

‘Knocking exists.’ You told him.

‘Not for me.’ He replied sternly.

‘What are you doing here, Theodore?’ You fixed your position on the bed so that you were fully facing him. ‘Don’t you have any other hoes to tend to?’

‘Are you going to the ball with Diggory?’ He avoided your question.

‘Why do you care?’ You stood up.

‘Answer me.’ He took a step closer to you.

‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.’

‘For fucks sake, stop being a brat and answer the question.’ He said through gritted teeth.

‘It’s none of your business.’ You replied while stepping closer to him and poking your finger into his chest.

His scent filled up your nose and you felt this forbidden feeling again. Your body was lustful, for him, but you couldn’t let him win again.

He chuckled, ‘See, that’s where you’re wrong.’

You scoffed, ‘Fine. Yes.’ You spat at him. ‘I’m going with Cedric. Is that what you wanted to hear?’

His eyes darkened at the confession, which wasn’t even true. You just wanted to get on his nerves and see what he would do. You didn’t even have time to react before he pinned you to the wall and hovered over you. Your breath hitched and you tried your best to avoid his eyes, because if you looked into them, you’d lose.

‘No, you’re not.’ He stated. ‘You are not going with anyone.’

‘Why? Why the fuck do you care so much?!’ Your eyes were glued to the ceiling.

He gripped your face with one of his hands and forced you to look at him. You closed your eyes.

‘You.’ He whispered and brought his lips closer to yours before breathily adding the rest. ‘Are. Mine.’

The sound of his voice was angelic and it sent a certain feeling down to your core. You tried your best to resist but your eyes fluttered open and met his. You lost.

He grabbed your face and connected your lips in a hungry kiss. You whimpered into his mouth and cursed yourself in your mind. Why was he so addictive? Why couldn’t you quit? He just felt too good to be true. Kissing you in all the right places, his fingers touching where you needed him most, every time you felt him inside of you, it felt like heaven.

He took a few steps back and tried to not break the kiss. He pushed you onto the mattress and with one of his hands he pushed all the books off the bed. He left wet kisses along your jawline and you moaned at the feeling. He discarded both of your shirts and attached his lips to your chest, leaving a couple love bites along the way.

‘I want you to say it.’ He mumbled into your ear.

‘Hm?’ You were brought out of your trance.

‘I want you to admit you’re mine.’

‘But am I?’ He stopped kissing your neck and gripped your throat.

‘Are you?’ He raised his brow and smirked challengingly, knowing you’d fold under him.

You stared deep into his eyes and swallowed harshly because of his grip, before replying, ‘I’m yours.’

‘Good girl.’ He let go of your neck and connected your lips once again.

Soon enough both of you were a sweaty mess, clothes laying somewhere on the wooden floor, soft sounds escaping your lips as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. His breath on your neck and occasional kisses made you feel dizzy, his fingers making you squirm from the pleasure, but it wasn’t enough.

‘I need to feel you.’ You breathed out and Theo didn’t waste a second.

He positioned himself on top of you and slowly entered your aching pussy. You threw your head back and he used that to immediately attach his lips to your neck once again.

‘’S okay, darling. You’re doing so good f’me.’ He whispered to help you relax.

His voice made you let go of the tension in your lower body, finally allowing him to move at a pace so perfect for both of you. He lifted you up and spinned both of you, so that you were on top of him. His thrusts became quicker and stronger, one of his hands was caressing your breasts, while the other rubbed your clit so deliciously. You cried out his name a few times when you were close, but he always stopped just then. He just smirked every time and continued his actions, it turned him on, watching you whine on top of him. He felt he was getting closer to his release, so he sped up again, and this time his hand stayed on your sweet spot. You reached your high with a loud moan and threw your head back, your hand grabbing Theo’s arm. He released inside of you with a loud groan and you used that to push away his hand which was still rubbing circles on your bud, too sensitive for more. You collapsed on top of him and gave him a peck on his collarbone. Theo reached for the blanket and covered the two of you.

‘I lied.’ You mumbled.

‘What?’

‘I’m not going with Cedric.’ You replied softly. ‘I told him I’d think about it and..’

‘Good.’ He interrupted. ‘You’re going with me then.’

‘Am I?’ You looked up at him playfully. ‘I thought you were taking Arisa.’

‘Who?’ He replied and you giggled. ‘She asked me to go. But I refused.’

‘Why? She’s a nice girl.’

‘Maybe. But she isn’t you.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘And I belong solely to you.’

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

@ girasollake 2024

[elysianightsss]

Oh my gosh I love love LOVE your ND reader as an autistic person myself when I find a fic or fics with a neurodivergent reader I cherish them and these my darling are a treasure. Please can you write when she realises that she likes Kyle? Thankyou Thankyou!

Soulmate 141 x ND Reader

You realise you like Kyle too

After a stressful day all you wanted was a slice of that chocolate chip banana bread, you could say it was a craving at this point. Something that was very rare for you.

Heading to your regular coffee shop after work, it was quiet at this time. The inside was all lit up with a golden orange glow from the lights hanging from the ceiling and the sweet vintage lamps littering the tables. It was getting dark outside, you figured you’d probably have to call a taxi soon.

“Oh hi, you’re not here at your normal time.” You looked up from where you had been getting your phone out of the black leather bag hanging on your shoulder.

“Hi Kyle.” You smiled at the man in front of you. Deep soulful brown eyes you could drown yourself in, beautiful chocolate skin that looked so silky and smooth under the orange glow. Holding a broom in his hand you only just noticed how most of the chairs were stacked on the tables. “Oh I’m so sorry it’s probably closing time soon. I’ll just go.”

“No it’s okay,” Kyle rushes out, the tips of his ears burning when he reached out and grabbed your wrist. Quickly he let go as if your skin had burnt him. He cleared his throat with a mumbled apology, “It’s alright, stay. I’ll make your regular.” He gave you a simple smile that had your insides warning up like seeing lights on the tree on Christmas morning.

A small nod, a little hesitant to ask for what you really wanted. Kyle noticed and managed to peel the information from you. “One slice of chocolate chip banana bread coming right up.” He grinned gesturing you towards one of the two empty tables that didn’t have chairs on them.

A few minutes pass of you just watching the outside world through the huge glass windows and Kyle is placing your regular and your craving in front of you on the table. You take a sip, eat a bite and sigh.

“Good?” Kyle asks sounding genuinely interested to know.

“So good.” You say, voice all muffled from the food stuffed in your cheeks. The answer, along with the cutest food pout he’s ever seen, makes Kyle grin. His heart skips a beat, his stomach flutters and his hands become sweaty. Such a reaction you pull from him and you don’t even know. He’s fought and killed men twice his size and yet here you are making him nervous.

Kyle doesn’t sit down, he gives you your space like you like but he can’t stop himself from glancing at you out the corner of his eye. Can’t fight the need to have you in his sights even if it’s a struggle to say no to the voice in his head urging him to take you in his arms.

He’s a strong man, mentally and physically. He can do this, if not for his sake, if not for his team’s sake, then for yours.

The next thirty minutes get away from you both, Kyle is just amazing at making you giggle. He jokes and says silly things that you’re almost certain he doesn’t mean but it’s funny either way.

Plate empty, drink finished and yet you find yourself wanting to stay. Wanting to converse with this lovely man that you spend twenty minutes with every morning. The way his eyes light up when you banter with him, how he grins to himself at your unrelatable awkward jokes.

If you could pick up on social queues maybe you’d actually see how much he likes you but you’re stuck on the realisation he might be number four on your list.

Kyle clears your table and once he’s done he offers you a ride home. It’s dark outside and unsafe are your reasonings for saying yes, definitely not that the gorgeous man in front of you looks like heaven to you.

The drive home is quiet, but a peaceful type of serene you love. The type you daydream about at your desk when things are too loud and overstimulating at work. Kyle can’t wipe the smirk off his face imagining Johnny and Simon’s reactions when he pulls up with you in the passenger seat.

He’s the complete gentleman when he does, opening the car door for you, a warm hand just hovering over the small of your back as he walks you up to the door of your flat building. It’s so sweet and endearing. It’s more than you’ve ever had before, it’s makes you a little light headed or is that just the cologne he’s wearing?

Either way it makes you go stupid, leaning forward with no control and lightly pressing your lips against his cheek. The action makes you jolt back to reality, you jump away from him a hand over your mouth eyes wide in shock. Kyle seems just as shocked, and when he goes to speak you basically shout ‘bye’ in his face before bursting into the building and sprinting up the stairs.

You completely ignore Johnny stood in the doorway of his flat with worried eyes, he asks if you’re okay as you’re unlocking your door but you don’t answer him. Your only goal is getting inside and slamming the door shut, you do it quickly before Johnny can ask more questions.

Johnny, one of the guys you like.

Johnny. Simon. John. And now Kyle. Maybe you should go to therapy? No, probably not best to go down that rabbit hole. Maybe just a week away from them all should set your mind right.

Yes, that should do it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Roads Untraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is. 

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away  The blues walked in and met me  Oh, yeah if he stays away  Old rocking chair’s gonna get me  All I do is pray...’ 

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you. 

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones. 

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent. 

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue. 

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight. 

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line. 

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.  

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized. 

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides. 

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive. 

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang. 

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness. 

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here. 

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward. 

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?” 

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again. 

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily. 

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top. 

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America. 

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses. 

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly. 

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm. 

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.” 

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place. 

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right? 

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs. 

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?” 

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.” 

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow. 

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?” 

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.” 

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint. 

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?” 

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek. 

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl. 

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.” 

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?” 

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction. 

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.” 

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him. 

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.” 

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers. 

“Sure, it’s three.” 

“Number?” 

“310.” 

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign. 

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him. 

“It’s unlocked,” you say. 

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table. 

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly. 

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through. 

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” 

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.” 

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you. 

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.  

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath. 

“You okay?” He turns the question on you. 

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile. 

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance. 

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...” 

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.” 

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.” 

“Right,” you work more diligently. 

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?” 

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are. 

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial. 

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?” 

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach. 

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut. 

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.” 

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand. 

“You must be pretty far along,” he says. 

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.” 

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?” 

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.” 

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack. 

“So, you want some?” You ask. 

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.” 

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.” 

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--” 

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say. 

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.” 

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.” 

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...” 

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods. 

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.” 

[myjayisarockstar]

devoured p.js

Brat Tamer!Jay x Brat!reader

warnings: pure smut barely any plot mdni, reader is a brat, Jay is a brat tamer, oral (f. rec), fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, I think that’s it but if I missed anything lmk

synapsis: you tease Jay in front of your friends to see what happens, little do you know what you’re in store for

wc: 853

You were being a complete fucking tease at dinner. Hand on Jay’s thigh ALL NIGHT slowly bringing it higher just enough to barely be touching his crotch before pulling away like nothing happened.

The tipping point for him though– when you decided to inform him that you weren’t wearing anything under your dress. The moment you whisper that into his ear he has your hand in his wrist, pulling you up and out of your seat and announcing to your friends that you need to leave NOW. no explanation, he’s literally just pulling you to the car as fast as he can.

Once you get to the car he opens the passenger door for you and practically shoves you into the seat. He gets into the car and once he starts driving it’s dead silent. Jay is FUMING you pulled that in front of your friends but hey, you’re about to get the fucking of a lifetime so who cares? Not you!

As soon as you get home and are inside your shared apartment you’re a goner. You barely get one foot in the door before he has his hands on you, pushed against the entry door.

“You’re a fucking brat you know that? Pulling that shit while we’re trying to have a nice night with our friends? And I know you’re going to fucking enjoy anything I give you because you did it on purpose but oh baby, you’re not ready for what I’m about to do to you,” he practically writhes into your ear, anger very clear in his tone.

All you can do in response is moan and that is all it takes for Jay to pick you up and take you to your bedroom. He puts you down on the ground and just stares at you for a second.

“Strip. Now.” That is all he says and it doesn’t take you anytime at all before you're taking your dress off for him. As you promised, you weren’t wearing any panties nor were you wearing a bra under your dress. He audibly groans, a look of nothing but hunger in his eyes as he looks you up and down.

“Look at you, not so tough now are you?” Jay spits at you. He moves to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, leaving a smack on your ass as he carries you over to the bed. As quick as he picked you up, Jay threw you on the bed, immediately climbing on top of you. He grabs the handcuffs left on your headboard and snaps them around your wrists, leaving you open for anything he is about to give you.

“Only good girls get to use their hands, so you’re going to sit back and take everything I give you until I think I’ve fucked the brat out of you,” all you can do it stare at him and whine, anticipating his next move. Before you can think any further, Jay grabs your hips and positions himself in front of your bare core. You let out a whine of anticipation, only getting a smirk in response before he licks a long stripe up your folds.

“So fucking wet for me huh, you better be ready for what you’re about to endure,” he dives back into your core, switching between sucking on your clit and tonguing your entrance. His actions have you mewling, head thrown back and your back arching off the mattress. You attempt to bring your hands to his hair, only to remember he has them restrained.

“Mmh Jay please,” is all you can get out, wanting to run your hands through his hair as he eats you out.

“What did I say? Only good girls get to touch me,” he bites back in his response, continuing his actions. His pace is relentless, pulling you closer to your release. As if on queue, he pushes two fingers into you, curling them up without warning. His fingers find that perfect spot inside you, and when then do you let out a loud moan in response, “right there Jay— oh my GOD.”

Jay keeps up his pace, ripping an orgasm out of you almost instantly. But he doesn’t stop here. He continues to suck on your clit while his fingers curl inside you at a delicious pace. It’s almost getting to be too much, attempting to push him away with your legs but he has a firm grip on you.

“Can’t take anymore? Too bad, you’re going to take as much as I give you for as long as I do. If you try to push me away again there will be more consequences.” That’s all Jay says before he dives back in. It’s not long before he’s ripping another orgasm out of you. You’re on the verge of tears, not out of pain, but out of the sheer overwhelming pleasure you’re receiving. Jay does not relent, only stopping after you come on his fingers three more times.

Once he finally pulls away, your body goes limp out of sheer exhaustion. However, your night was far from being over.

a/n : I had to stop myself there or else I would’ve actually gone insane writing the rest 😭

[copias-juicebox]

x

[kaiyunsim]

spin me around —

pairing : bf!taesan x m!reader

summary : taesan invites you to go shopping with him and you guys get matching outfits :]

warnings : established relationship, fluff, crack, banter, featuring jaehyun + woonhak as roommates.

a/n : god... taesan has got me in a chokehold now :o also as of making this taesan is no longer roommates with woonhak and jaehyun and that makes me sad.

queueing : spin me around - the marias, still into you - paramore,

[requested]

— wc : 1.7— not proof read —

you don’t think too much of it when taesan texts you, asking if you want to go shopping with him today. it’s not the first time you’ve gone out together, though it is the first time he’s the one offering. usually, you’re the one convincing him to go out, pulling him away from his guitar or whatever new band he’s fixated on that week.

but today, he asks first.

which means you say yes, obviously.

you stand outside his dorm, shifting on your feet as you wait. when the door finally opens, it’s not taesan... it’s jaehyun. he leans against the doorway, a smirk already in place like he was expecting this.

"well, look who it is," he drawls, arms crossed. "taesan’s boyfriend."

you roll your eyes, used to his antics. "is he ready?"

"oh, he’s ready, alright," jaehyun says, stepping aside so you can see inside.

taesan is sitting on the couch, pretending he doesn’t hear anything, but the tips of his ears are red. woonhak, who’s sitting beside him, nudges him not-so-subtly.

"you sure you’re going out?" woonhak teases. "you never take anyone shopping. not even us."

"shut up," taesan mutters, standing up and brushing invisible dust off his jeans. he looks effortlessly cool, as always. baggy black ripped jeans, a vintage band tee, silver jewelry catching the light. "we’re leaving."

jaehyun grins. "aww, look at him. he’s flustered."

"i’m not flustered," taesan says, clearly flustered.

woonhak elbows him. "make sure to buy your boyfriend something nice."

taesan glares at him before grabbing your wrist and dragging you out, his grip warm but firm. you hear jaehyun and woonhak laughing as the door shuts behind you.

"ignore them," he mutters, still not meeting your eyes.

"i don’t mind," you say, smiling. "they’re not wrong, though. you never ask me to go shopping with you."

taesan exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "yeah, well… i thought it’d be nice. that’s all."

you don’t push him on it, even though your heart flutters a little. instead, you just squeeze his hand and let him lead the way.

the mall is buzzing with life, neon lights reflecting off polished floors, the air filled with the scent of food from the nearby food court. taesan walks beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking as effortlessly cool as ever.

"so what are we looking for?" you ask, peeking at him.

he shrugs. "clothes. maybe some accessories."

"you planning on getting anything specific?"

he hesitates for a moment before glancing at you. "i was thinking… maybe you could get something too."

"me?"

"yeah." he looks away, pretending to be interested in a store display. "something that matches me."

you blink, processing his words.

taesan, who has always been particular about his aesthetic, wants you to match him?

you try to hold back a grin. "so you want us to match?"

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. "don’t make it weird."

"it’s not weird. it’s cute."

"oh my god..."

you laugh, bumping your shoulder against his. "alright, let’s find something."

the first store you step into is one of those alternative fashion boutiques, dim lighting and rock music playing overhead. taesan immediately seems more at home here, flipping through racks of clothing with ease.

you, on the other hand, are a little less familiar with his style. you like how he dresses, obviously, he looks good in everything... but pulling off the same look yourself is a different story.

taesan seems to notice because he pulls out a black graphic tee and holds it up to your chest. "this would look good on you."

"you think so?"

"yeah. here, try this too." he grabs a silver chain necklace, placing it over your palm. "and maybe these rings."

you watch as he gathers more items, fully invested in styling you. it’s endearing, really, seeing him this focused. eventually, he shoves a pile of clothes into your arms and nods towards the fitting rooms.

"try them on."

"yes, sir." you salute playfully before slipping into the fitting room.

as you change, you realize how much this actually means to him. taesan isn’t the type to do things half-heartedly. if he wants you to match his style, it’s because he wants you to be part of his world in some way.

when you step out, taesan is leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. he looks up, and for a moment, he just… stares.

"…well?" you prompt.

he blinks, clears his throat, and looks away. "it’s good."

"just good?"

"great. it’s great." he rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. "you should get it..."

you grin. "you’re so bad at hiding your feelings, you know that?"

"shut up."

but when you catch his reflection in the mirror, you see the small smile playing on his lips.

after picking out a few more pieces (including a matching leather jacket that taesan insists isn’t couple wear, even though it totally is), you both head to the register.

as the cashier rings up your items, taesan pulls out his wallet.

"i got it," he says before you can protest.

"taesan—"

"just let me." he doesn’t look at you, focused on tapping his card against the machine. "i want to."

your heart does that stupid fluttering thing again. you don’t argue. instead, you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers.

"thanks," you say softly.

he squeezes your hand in response.

after taesan pays for your clothes, you don’t let go of his hand. instead, you tug him toward another store, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"where are we going?" he asks, though he doesn’t resist.

"you got to dress me up in your style," you say, stopping in front of a streetwear boutique, the kind with oversized hoodies, cargo pants, and chunky sneakers displayed in the windows. "now it’s my turn."

taesan looks at the store, then at you, eyes narrowing slightly. "no."

"yes."

"absolutely not."

"taesan," you say, giving him your best pleading look. "come on, it’s only fair."

he exhales through his nose, like he’s already regretting every decision leading up to this moment. "i don’t wear streetwear."

"it’s not that different from your usual style," you argue. "it’s just… a little less emo, a little more cool boyfriend energy."

"i already have cool boyfriend energy."

"let me prove you could have more."

he glares at you, but there’s no real heat behind it. after a long pause, he mutters, "fine. one outfit."

you grin, dragging him inside before he can change his mind.

picking out clothes for taesan is fun—mostly because he’s so reluctant about it.

"try this," you say, handing him a beige oversized hoodie.

he stares at it like it personally offended him. "why is it this color?"

"neutral tones are in."

"i wear black."

"expand your horizons."

taesan groans but takes it anyway. you pile on more, cargo pants, a crossbody bag, sneakers that aren’t his usual beat-up converse. by the time you’re done, he’s looking at the fitting room like it’s a death sentence.

"i hate you," he says before stepping inside.

"you love me," you call back.

when he finally steps out, you can’t help but stare.

the oversized hoodie drapes over him perfectly, the cargo pants fitting just right. the streetwear aesthetic somehow works on him, making him look effortlessly stylish but in a different way than usual.

"see?" you say, grinning. "you look good."

taesan folds his arms. "i feel weird."

"you look hot." you say, holding back the urge to fully make out with him right then and there.

his ears turn pink. "shut up."

"no, seriously, you could wear this all the time and no one would question it." you approach him, admiring your work. "just imagine, us walking around in our matching outfits. everyone would be jealous."

"you’re insufferable," he mumbles, but you can see the way his lips twitch, like he’s trying not to smile.

"so… are you gonna get it?"

he hesitates, looking at himself in the mirror.

and then, to your surprise, he sighs. "yeah, whatever."

your jaw drops. "wait, really?"

he shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "you like it, right?"

you smirk playfully. "no..."

taesan stands there, stunned, "what? then why-"

"i absolutely love it"

before you can say anything else, he grabs the clothes and heads toward the register, leaving you standing there, absolutely smitten.

the sun is starting to set by the time you leave the mall, the sky painted in shades of orange and pink. taesan carries the shopping bag in one hand, his other still holding yours.

"so," you say, swinging your intertwined hands slightly, "was this a date?"

he scoffs. "obviously."

"oh? so you’re saying you planned this because you wanted to spend time with me?"

"i mean, yeah?" he glances at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "why else?"

you grin. "just making sure."

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of your hand.

when you get back to his dorm, jaehyun and woonhak are waiting.

"back already?" jaehyun muses.

woonhak eyes your bags. "did you guys get matching clothes?"

taesan doesn’t answer, but his grip on the shopping bag tightens.

jaehyun smirks. "oh my god, you did."

woonhak gasps dramatically. "that’s so cute."

"shut up." taesan pushes past them, dragging you with him into his room. before he closes the door, you hear jaehyun laughing.

"taesan, you’re so whipped!"

taesan groans, pressing his forehead against the door. "i hate them."

"you don’t."

"i do."

you laugh, wrapping your arms around his waist. "well, i like them. they make you flustered, which is adorable."

he sighs, leaning into your touch. "you’re lucky i like you."

"i know," you tease, resting your chin on his shoulder.

he turns his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

"but don’t push it."

you just smile, holding him a little tighter.

just as you’re basking in the warmth of taesan’s arms, the door suddenly swings open.

"alright, lovebirds, break it up—"

jaehyun’s voice cuts off as he takes in the scene: you wrapped around taesan, his head resting lightly against yours. taesan barely has time to react before woonhak appears behind jaehyun, eyes widening.

"oh my god," woonhak breathes, pointing accusingly. "you guys are so gross."

taesan tenses immediately. "get out."

"no way," jaehyun grins, crossing his arms. "not before we see you in those matching outfits."

taesan scowls. "not happening."

woonhak gasps dramatically. "but taesan, you spent all that money. what a waste."

jaehyun nods sagely. "yeah, what a shame. if only there were some way to make sure the outfits were worth it. like, i don’t know… wearing them right now?"

taesan looks like he’s considering murder. you, on the other hand, are having the time of your life.

"you know what?" you say, squeezing taesan’s waist. "they’re right."

"don’t encourage them," taesan groans.

"too late!" woonhak cheers, already pushing the door open wider. "put it on, hyung. let us bask in the couple aesthetic."

"i will actually throw you both out," taesan warns.

"so violent," jaehyun sighs. "is this what love does to a man?"

woonhak shakes his head, looking at you sympathetically. "you deserve better."

you snort. "nah, i think i’ll keep him."

taesan groans even louder, but at this point, he knows he’s lost.

"fine," he mutters. "but if i do this, you two are never speaking of it again."

jaehyun and woonhak exchange looks.

"no promises," they say in unison.

[always-just-red]

HIIIIII congrats on 200 followers!! Can I have a Zayne smut fic pleasee?? Like the reader sees him wearing scrubs for the first time and she finds him hot or (reverse) him seeing the reader in uniform for the first time? Thank you!!

Sorry it's taken me so long to get around to this! '200 followers' is like a punch in the face reminding me how long this has been in the queue haha, but thank you so much! ❤ I don't write smut I'm afraid but this is a quick lil build-up to a cliff-hanger, so if any of the talented smut writers out there wanna write a part 2? Go for it! And tag me so I can read it link it here for everyone to enjoy!! Smut writers, I summon you!!! ✨🔥✨🔥✨✨

Professionalism

Zayne x Reader ❄

Summary: You love a man in uniform! Or... well, scrubs or whatever.

Genre: Suggestive (not smut sorryyy)

Warnings/Additional tags: still PG i guess since it cuts off before anything happens? gn!reader, established relationship, inappropriate workplace behaviour (shame on you Dr Zayne!!)

| Word count: 1.7k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You’re not quite sure when this game started, but you’re going to win.

It was unassuming at first— harmless, even innocent little acts that slipped into something else altogether, as they so often do. Almost like falling in love: it snuck up on you. Coincidences— a chance meeting in the park, an accidental brush of two hands— become suddenly calculated. You take the reins from fate; you walk in the park where he takes his lunch, and he takes his lunch in the park where you walk. How fortunate it is, that you’re always running into one another.

Yes, this has been like falling in love. And neither one of you is naïve.

It’s dark outside the hospital. The stars are contesting the scattered, infinite lights of Linkon and you watch them through a window, finding meanings and shapes. They’ve a warmer glow than the cold, white, clinical lights in here.

“Could I get you something while you wait?” Yvonne asks, peeking over the top of the reception desk. She sounds anxious, and you can make a pretty good guess as to why.

“I’m fine. Thank you, though, really,” you smile cheerfully back.

She humours you with one in return. “I’m sure Dr Zayne will be along shortly,” she titters nervously, trying to fill the quiet. “He was with his last patient of the round when I spoke to him. It shouldn’t have been too much trouble, he must be— ah! Dr Greyson!”

The man was just passing through, face buried in a clipboard, but he stops at Yvonne’s greeting.

You lift a hand. “Hey, Greyson.”

“Hey!” He squints at something he’s read. “What a coincidence! I was just saying to Zayne it’s been a while since you paid us a—” he looks up and loses his train of thought. 

“Visit?” you finish.

“Umm… yes,” he chuckles, with the kind of reluctance that tells you he can’t decide if he’s falling victim to some prank. It’s the same anxiousness you’ve inflicted on poor Yvonne. He tests the waters with a: “Rough day at work?”

You beam at him. You’re sat with your usually pristine uniform marred by swathes of half-dried blood, too dark to be human. Not one bit of it is yours. By some miracle, you managed to perfectly dodge every swipe of that Wanderer’s claws today. Rolled out the way of every flying piece of rubble. “You should see the other guy,” you say, then double back, “well, the other thing.”

Greyson gives a stiff grin, still sceptical, but you’ve almost won him over. Nonchalantly, you reach for one of two brown paper bags at your side, then hold it out to him. “Here, for you!”

He tucks his clipboard under his arm, then comes over and takes it. There’s a soft crinkle as he unfurls the top. Sneaks a glance inside. His face lights up. “Thank you,” he enthuses, his hand diving in to retrieve a large chocolate-chip cookie— one of many. “Yvonne, would you like—”

She holds up her own paper bag. Greyson chuckles again, tucking into the treat. Like Zayne, he’s prone to working through his breaks, and you know he’s so often starving. Midway through a bite, he looks up at you, frowning. “Is this a bribe?” he mumbles, cheeks so full you almost can’t make out the question.

You smile at him pleasantly.

He chews slowly— connecting the dots. “No questions asked?” he guesses with a raised eyebrow.

“No questions asked,” you nod.

It’s a fair trade. The cardiac surgeon thinks it over, his eyes narrowed at you behind his glasses. He takes another suspenseful bite of the cookie. Chews. Swallows. Then there’s the broadest grin you’ve seen yet. “Works for me! I don’t want to know.”

With a nod to Yvonne, he carries on down the corridor, shooting you a knowing wink as he passes. You adore that man. Hell, half the hospital staff feel like family. You’d lay down your life for them, but you also delight in having them wrapped around your finger, albeit, with the help of a cookie or two.

You’re so busy watching Greyson leave that you don’t notice his absence has already been filled. Not at first, anyway, but then you feel it: hazel eyes on you.

You turn to meet them. Zayne stands, one hand curled around a small stack of paperwork, the other retrieving his glasses from his face. He tucks them into his breast pocket. “What a pleasant surprise,” he says, and the enthusiasm has been carved out of his words and replaced with suspicion.

“Hey, doctor,” you tease, lifting the last of your care packages from the coffee table. “Thought I’d join you for your break before I head home. Do you mind?”

His gaze flits over you, and it isn’t the honourable inspection he’d claim it to be if you dared call him out on it. He’s trying not to look again. “Of course not.”

This would usually earn you a sheepish smile, or a kiss on the cheek, but you’re angling for something else today. Victory. Look at him: he knows.

Like you said, neither one of you is naïve.

…

All right— knife to your throat?— you have an inkling as to how this started.

It was a more honest version of this: you’d stopped by the hospital, a few months ago, to boost the morale of a certain doctor and his hard-working team with some coffee from down the road. The machine in the staff room was broken, and by multiple accounts: made shitty coffee, anyway. So you often found yourself, hot drinks in hand, trying to catch Zayne on one of his few breaks.

(You miss that old coffee machine. They’ve replaced it, now.)

One morning, you were a little too late. Zayne had been called on to assist with a surgery, and you almost clashed in the corridor— you hadn’t recognised him at first. He was out of his usual attire: dressed head to toe in his medical scrubs. Despite the rush he was in, he made time to flash you a gentle smile. Said you could wait in his office; he wouldn’t be long.

You never did give a coherent answer. There was something about seeing him like that— so professional, so in his element. Off to save someone’s life, probably. Gods, he was amazing, and he just looked so, so good. 

Zayne knew from the start, of course; he’s so perceptive when it comes to you.

You used to feel guilty— positively sinful— until you caught that look in his eye, one day after work. You’d gotten to his place, kicked your boots off while he watched from the couch, enamoured, but you hadn’t noticed. You’d been complaining about a Wanderer. You were a mess: your hair, your uniform.

You remember looking up, and there it was. A flicker of something dark in his gaze.

He was quick to disguise it. Always quick to disguise it, because he’s a gentleman.

It’s been an unspoken war of attrition since then, and you’re both determined to outlast the other. You pick and choose your battles; there are times Xavier tries to drag you to the Association’s medics for surface scrapes and bruises, but you turn him down: you have a doctor at home, thank you very much.

Zayne tends to every wound with tight lips and steady hands. You’d feel bad, but…

He sometimes turns up to your dates still wearing his lab coat. (He left his regular coat at home again, and it’s cold outside, isn’t it? A lab coat is better than nothing.)

Last week, he really pushed his luck. He was demonstrating a new experimental technique in the operating theatre, and Greyson insisted you come along to watch. It was so innovative, he said. Zayne was working something of a miracle, he said.

So here you are, fighting back.

“Well?” Zayne asks. He’s sitting back in his chair while you ‘straighten’ his tie.

You’re perched on his desk, not listening. “Hmm?”

He catches your hand gently, using it to pull you closer, so you’re forced to meet his eyes. His tone is low. “What did I just say?”

You glance down again. Chuckle: “Something about responsibility?” 

A finger lifts your chin, tilting your gaze back up. “It’s inappropriate,” Zayne says.

“What’s inappropriate?”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“No,” you mutter, and the finger on your chin can’t keep you from staring at his lips. You speak a whisper of enticement: “Tell me what I’m doing.”

Will he do it— say it— after all this time? Put it to words so that it might finally be acted upon? Break, you will him, looking into his eyes, because the last stunt he pulled pushed you over the edge, and you can’t hold on much longer. It’s starting to hurt.

All in. You are going to fall, so you’ve got nothing to lose by trying to bring him down with you.

“It’s just a uniform, Zayne,” you smile innocently. “But if it bothers you that much… I could always take it off.”

Your doctor stares at you, his expression refusing to melt. Then he lets out a sigh. In the beat of a heart he’s up out of his chair, striding away from his desk, away from you.

“Zayne?”

Now he’s not listening. He’s by the door, taking his lab coat down from a hook and threading his arms through the sleeves. He fixes the cuffs, straightens it, but that’s where the motions of habit end. His fingers don’t make it to the buttons, and of course you notice; you’re not naïve.

Zayne turns to you, and there’s no disguising that look in his eyes and its common counterpart: a rare, inevitable smile. Complete surrender. He locks the door with a click.

Ha.

You were always going to win, weren’t you?

[endereies]

YOU'RE MY PRIZE - MS

No Nut November - Day 17

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ Matt brings you to the carnival and wins just for you

When Matt said he had a surprise for you, you weren’t expecting to get out the vehicle at the main entrance of a famous carnival. 

It was only set up a few times a year, and with the queues, it wasn’t always an ideal situation. Ever since moving in with Matt, you’ve blabbed every time it sets up a new spot. After all, it was famous. The rides they hosted weren’t your average roller coasters and took several days to set up. Of course it had the classic helter-skelter and teacups. It was only when you looked deeper you saw the abundance of attractions. Set up haunted houses that genuinely left people horrified, stalls that seemed from creative aspect, and of course the Ferris wheel that was littered in light.  

“You’re kidding?!” The child like part of you rushed out as you jumped up and down, grabbing Matt’s tatted arm like a vice. 

“Figured it seemed like a perfect time” He wasn’t wrong about that, your anniversary had just past and he grabbed tickets off the website. You knew something was planned when you read through his card but he didn’t let up. His lips were sealed over the past week or so as you begged him for answers. Now that you had them and it was beaming in front of you, how could you ever complain. 

Once the roads were all clear, his hand was dragged by yours to the grand entrance. After all this time of you dreaming, it was stood before you. 

Matt handed over his phone to the manager and she handed it back, along with two tickets. You’d scanned everyone else’s ticket before yours and they seemed to be a lime scale sort of green. Yet yours were a deep purple. Your boyfriend thanked the manager before laughing at your confused face. “Read it, baby...”  

So, you did. The bold letters ‘VIP’ covered the back of the ticket in a gold colour. “What!” 

“If I am treating m’girl tonight, I’m doing it right. After all you deserve it”  

You both stopped walking as you practically tackled his side. Both of your hands gripped his body tightly, shoving your head into his shoulder “Thank you!” 

“You can thank me after, how about we enjoy ourselves.” 

Most of the evening was a collective of rides a day stalls. With the upgraded tickets that Matt got, most of the queues were cut short. But after a long while of the intense rides, the pair of you decided to sit down on a bench and eat some food. You both got burgers which you could see the steam come from as your order was handed to you. The homemade milkshake relaxed the bouts of energy inside. It was a comfortable silence you were in, one that left the sounds of the crowd, chewing and slurping in its wake. Your eyes started to scan the many stalls you had yet to venture down.  

Those games always seemed a scam and yet the child like spirit inside invited you so willingly. Matt giggled when he saw you eye up a certain stall. It was a line up of wooden clown slabs which had a bunch of cricket balls a few metres away. They seemed heavy in the way they shook but your eyes traced all the designs of them. 

“Want to go over?” Your shock from his voice made him giggle before repeating himself so you heard. “baby, do you want to do that one?”  

You knew he saw you gawk at it so there was no point in hiding your excitement. “Absolutely!” 

The burgers were quickly finished and discarded before you walked straight towards the  red stall, the stripes on the outside calling you. 

“Hey you two, think you can handle this?” The host gestured animatedly towards the rows of clowns. A smirk crossed your face as you instantly grabbed a note from your wallet and handed it to him. Matt finally met your side after you rushed ahead, watching a group of balls land just by your stomach. It was a lot more than the number of clowns and as soon as a timer started you knew why. 

After picking up the first ball, you swung your arm to throw at the centre of a clown’s face. The wood wobbled before clattering backwards. With spawned courage another ball quickly followed a larger clown and yet it barely moved.  

Sure you weren’t strong but even kids played this game, you couldn’t be that bad, right? By the time the buzzer for the timer rang, only four got pushed over. You hadn’t meant to sulk but your expression was clear. It was towards an obvious plushie you must’ve noticed, it was a cute otter stuffed animal that was curled up around its tail. 

“Let me have a go.” Matt’s voice was stern as he slammed a note on the wood next to the abandoned ball bucket. Your body turns back and the bag of balls gets replaced while the machine holds up the four clowns you knocked over previously. 

While they do so, you remain quiet so Matt can focus. His hand rises as he tosses the ball up and down in his palm, gathering its weight. Once the signal was given he leant back and pelted the ball, hammering down the clown you first attempted. It fell with such ease. 

Years of lacrosse and hockey built his strength and precision, he wasn’t going to disappoint. Ball after ball, each clown was clattering as they fell, rebounding slightly on the floor. He only stumbled on a few as when that buzzer rang, the last one bounced and sounded on the concrete. He tossed a spare ball into the bucket and handed it back to the host who was a little shocked at the intense strong skill he had. 

“Well..sir, which shall be your prize.” He smirked at you before he spoke. “That bottom otter please.” 

The host jumped slightly to grab the large otter off its hook and handed it to Matt. “Here. Congratulations!” They smiled at each other before setting up a game for another child. 

“Here baby, think this belongs to you.” Your face lit up as he pushed it towards you. “I saw you eyeing it up after you played. 

“Matt...you didn’t have to, this is so sweet” As much as you tried to hide it, you were so giddy to finally hold its softness against your chest. It was the perfect material and softness, it only made you thank Matt harder. 

“I love you Matt, thank you...” His hand came up to your chin, tilting your head towards him. 

“I love you more baby, besides, you’re my prize.” 

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @jassturn @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @ribread03 @slutf4rmatt @spaghetti835928383 @flouvela

© ENDEREIES 2024

[glitterjay]

hi! do you write threesomes? can you write about y/n with hee and won?

⭒ threesome, exhibitionism(?, dom!heeseung, virgin!jungwon, switch!reader, pet names, smut under cut minors dni

⭒ c's note: i do write threesomes but i cant promise im good at them, hehe. im also doing my permanent taglist all over again, so if you'd like to be in it shoot me an ask or leave a comment :] also, this is all over the place so im sorry if it sucks

⭒ taglist (open): @hollyoongs

having one of your boyfriend's dearest friends watching as you got your pussy eaten out was definitely something new.

heeseung had been talking about how one of his friends, jungwon, had been getting more and more curious about the active sex lives of those in his friend circle, and to his luck, heeseung was one of his closest friends.

he had been talking with you about inviting him over some day to watch you guys do your thing, and you agreed because why not? but you didn't think it would be such a turn on like this.

you could see him through your peripheral vision as he tried to look everywhere but the bed in front of him. how his hands tried to frantically cover the very noticeable bulge under his sweats, and how he threw his head back every time you moaned heeseung's name into the air.

your boyfriend had been talking about inviting jungwon over to see the both of you do the deed. something about jungwon starting to look for hookups thanks to the influence of other friends (jake). and since heeseung was the closest one to him, why not teach him a few lessons?

your body jolted and shook as you started nearing your first high. your right hand landed perfectly on heeseung's hair to pull it, as your body arched hard and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. gasps were leaving your mouth as you came in your boyfriend's face, thanking the heavens for giving you a man with a skilled tongue like his.

"and that, won, is how you eat a girl out." he said, cleaning his chin with the back of his hand as he smacked your sensitive bud with the other, the gesture made your body shake again, a loud moan echoing the room.

the boy that was painfully sitting in a chair next to yours and heeseung's bed seemed to have his hand deep inside his sweatpants, probably trying to release some of the tension his poor cock was feeling.

"now, darling, why don't you help our special guest? hmm?"

you could see the way jungwon's face reddened even more, but his hand didnt seem to leave his dick at all. you nodded and with heeseung's help, you made it over to where the other boy was sitting. you knelt between his open legs, and asked if it was okay to touch him. the cat like boy in front of you looked over at your boyfriend for approval, who nodded in response, and mocked the same gesture.

you grabbed the hem of his sweats and boxers together, and pulled them down as fast as you could. the sudden cold air of the room made jungwon moan as it hit his sensitive member. it seemed like he was suffering a lot from the amount of precum leaking from his tip, and how hard and red it looked.

"she will help you, jungwon. trust me, her head is just as good as mine is."

you took that as your queue to go. your hand wrapped around jungwon's rock hard cock and started moving up and down. his eyes rolled to the back of his face as he threw it back in the chair, staring at the ceiling with teary eyes. it was definitely a different sensation than his own hand, and it was filling his head with clouds.

you spat on his tip, your saliva mixing with his precum before taking him in with your mouth. the sensation felt so ridiculously delicious to him that you had felt his cock twitch already. heeseung was seeing everything from the bed, his own clothes now gone and his cock in hand.

he got up from where he was sitting, pushing your head further into jungwon's dick. this made the other's body shake in response, his head shot up, wide eyes looking down at heeseung's hand on the top of your head, keeping you in place. "breathe through your nose, darling. take it in like a good girl."

the scene seemed to be taken out of the porn videos jungwon had watched on his own, and fuck was it hot. it was enough for him to cum in your mouth. heeseung was able to tell his friend was done by the change in pitch of his voice, letting go of your head to let you breathe. your own head shot up, mixtures of saliva and cum running from the corners of it as you gasped for air.

"i will let you stuff her whole, won. but no funny business. either you cum outside or you dont get to cum at all, understood?"

-

and thats how your body was being used by your boyfriend and one of his closest friends. jungwon was taking instructions from a very calm heeseung who had his cock fucking your face. your head was running to the verge of insanity. the third party was definitely hitting the right spots for it to be his first time. but yet again, he was being led by heeseung. there was no one that knew your body better than him.

"taking two cocks at a time, nobody's having it like you are, baby" heeseung cooed, ramming his hips harder and faster, the way he moved your entire body with his force was enough to have you fucking back into jungwon, who was having the time of his life. you hummed when you felt your boyfriend's dick twitch, the vibrations helping him cum.

the taste was sweeter than jungwon's, probably because you were used to it already. heeseung pulled out, quickly kissing your forehead. it was a pleasant view seeing his friend taking your pussy from behind, but he knew nobody could make you feel the way he did, so there wasnt much to worry.

"fuck jungwon... try to hit that same spot again." you said, your hand intertwined with heeseung's for moral support. the way his own name rolled of your sweet tongue made jungwon twitch yet again. he was fast to find that spot that had you seeing starts and cussing out loud, body coming to it's second orgasm of the day.

your walls felt empty when jungwon pulled his dick out, ropes of white cum landing on the bedsheets. he didnt want heeseung coming for him, although he would've loved to cum inside.

you were exhausted to say the least, and heeseung was more than welcome to take care of you for doing such a good job. not without praising jungwon as well, telling him he was ready to go make girls cum on his own. but if he felt like needed more practice, the both of you were available any time. and to be honest, you hoped he came back again.

© glitterjay | tumblr

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `thrifting, sam winchester

Summary: You take Sam thrifting. Word Count: 831 Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader I absolutely love thrifting, so I thought Sam would be the one that’s the most willing out of the brothers to join! <3 Plus it's a sense of normalcy for once lol

Initially, Sam insisted that you didn’t need to go thrifting. In fact, he tried to hold you back, just in case you were to get hurt without either of the brothers there.

You had practically begged Sam to join you, ‘just this one time,’ you’d plead. ‘Please, Sammy, come with me. You’ll love it.’

After a lot of consistent talk, he gave in. You even insisted on driving there yourself, just so he could relax before you talk his ear off about how good thrifting actually is.

You arrive there early, knowing that sometimes the queue can feel like it’s miles long. Sam rubs his eyes, the redness and bed head indicate he’s still tired. He yawns. “How much longer will this take? I’m bored already,” he groans, and you shove him playfully. “Quit moaning, Winchester. The fun hasn’t even begun yet.” You say, and he huffs like a little kid.

As you walk inside, people clamour to the baskets and carts, darting through the store to ensure they get the best deals. Whilst you, you take your time as you know that rushing means you won’t find the hidden treasures. Sam follows close behind you. Acknowledging Sam’s moodiness, you B-Line straight to the men’s section, instantly searching through sweaters and jackets. You flick through multiple unique items of clothing. “What about this one?” You ask him, picking a muted light blue Nike hoodie, the logo embroidered in the middle with ‘NIKE’ written above it. Sam’s head turns quickly, gently taking the hoodie from you. “Wow, this is nice, actually…” He examines it, holding it up to his torso. “It looks exactly like the one I had back in college.”

“See? This is exciting! Now you can relive your college years. Which was many, many years ago.”

“Hey,” Sam whines playfully, folding the hoodie and placing it in the cart. You slide through more items, finding another Nike hoodie, this time in black. Sam didn’t look it over this time before putting it into the cart.

After finding a few unique pieces for Sam’s wardrobe, you move upward toward the jackets and coats. It feels like there are thousands of Carhartt-style jackets, all similar shades of brown. You watch him as he searches through himself, and you take a quick gander before he lands on something quite rare. The tag reads ‘Carhartt’. The label itself is hand-sewn into the back of the jacket, stamped with 1980 underneath the brand name. Your eyes widen and you hold it up to Sam, who’s still searching through the garments. His head turns to you, pulling a ‘wow, that’s-a-really-nice-jacket’ face. He gently takes the coat from you, taking it off the hanger and puts it on. He can’t hide his smile as it fits his frame almost perfectly. The right amount of bagginess on the underarm, the length just reaching his hips. Sam usually has trouble finding the right clothes that are long enough for him, so this is an amazing find.

After just over an hour of searching for Sam, it’s your turn. The pair of you head over to the women’s section, the bright colours instantly catching your eye. You sift through the pinks, blues and whites - before settling on the darker, earthier colours. As nice as it would be to be able to wear lighter colours, you feel as if you wouldn’t actually get a chance to wear the prettier clothes. You know it’s best to wear darker colours for hunts, so you blend in easier.

You pick up a lovely maroon, deep wine slim fit v-neck vest. You look it over, and it’s in nearly perfect condition. Without thinking more of it, you put it in your cart. “Y/N,” Sam calls, and you turn around. He’s further down the aisle, holding up a pair of vintage jeans. They’re flared at the bottom, the pockets at the back display a beautiful array of embellished sequins, creating a cross that covers the whole pockets. The front pockets have inner pockets with buttons on them, a swirl pattern embroidered with lighter and darker denim. You swear you can feel your eyes fall out of your head. “Sam, what the hell,” you exclaim, walking toward him with an excited grin on your face. He laughs at you. “They’re gorgeous.” You say, aligning the jeans with your hips, measuring whether they can fit. Either way, you throw them in your cart. They’re too good to pass up. Sam clearly has a keen eye for unique items of clothing.

You both enter the Impala, a couple of enormous bags taking up the back seat. “You happy to be done?” You ask Sam, and he pauses. “Honestly? That was fun. I take back my grumpiness from this morning.”

“Yeah, you better, ‘cause you’re coming with me all the time now. You’re my good luck charm.” You nudge him, and he rolls his eyes blithely, with a smirk on his face. Your lonely shopping days are finally over.