#in a way he did fall first and at first sight but i was too annoying for him to admit that UIHDREGIHILO

[linoxpudding]

Intern (Pt 5)- Lee Know

summary: as the final month of your internship begins, keeping your emotions separate from your professional role becomes harder than ever, with the collaborative concert drawing near, tensions rise—not only on stage but between you and minho, who’s desperate to salvage what's slipping away

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, humor

word count: 5261 words

a/n: thank you so much for loving this series! I think this might be my most popular one and it honestly means the world, I really hope the wait was worth it! Love you always, my puddings ♡

Intern Series - Part Four

~°~

Your shoes echoed softly against the polished wood floor as you slipped into the staff room. Thankfully, it was empty. The moment the door shut behind you, you exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours. You stood there in the middle of the room, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as if you were trying to physically hold all your emotions in. You didn’t even know how your legs even carried you there. Your heart was still hammering in your chest, your pulse deafening in your ears. 

What just happened?

Your chest burned. Not with sadness but with fury. You were angry. No, scratch that, you were livid.

How dare he say those words—so easily, so suddenly—like he hadn’t spent weeks pushing you away. Like he hadn’t left you in that gray zone, hovering between hope and heartbreak, constantly questioning if you were the problem. You’d convinced yourself to move on. To detach. To protect your own heart. And now, after all of it, he wanted to say I love you? Just like that?

After everything. After making you feel like you were the fool for reading too much into the way his eyes lingered, the way he looked at you like you were everything—and then turned cold the moment you stepped a little too close, dismissed you like you were the problem, the one who “flirted too much.” You’d swallowed that hurt. You moved on. You forced yourself to. And now, suddenly, he loves you?

You let out a bitter laugh, pacing the room.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. Slowly, with trembling hands, you grabbed your bag from the shelf where you’d left it earlier that morning. You needed to leave. Now.

*******************

Minho didn’t even realize how long he’d been standing there, his fingers tangled in his hair, his heart hammering in his chest like it wanted to escape his ribs. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and every moment since you’d walked away played on repeat in his head, like a broken record.

I lost her.

The thought echoed in his mind, louder with each passing second.

He didn’t hear the footsteps at first. It wasn’t until Hyunjin’s voice cut through the thick silence that Minho finally snapped back to reality.

“Hyung?”

Minho didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the ground, his body hunched in on itself, trying to hold himself together when everything inside him was falling apart.

“Hyung, what’s going on?” Hyunjin asked again, softer this time, stepping closer. He bent down beside Minho, concern furrowing his brow.

Minho shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I lost her, Hyunjin... I don’t know what to do.”

Hyunjin’s heart twisted at the sight of his hyung like this, a shell of the confident, playful Minho he’d always known. The way his hyung’s hands gripped his hair tighter as he let out a pained groan, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. It was raw—painful.

“You didn’t lose her yet,” Hyunjin said, his voice firm but gentle as he put a hand on Minho’s shoulder. “I know it feels like you did. But you can still fix this.”

Minho’s face twisted in anguish, his lips trembling as he let out a breathless laugh, but it was hollow, empty. “I don’t know if I can. I... I hurt her, Jinnie. I pushed her away when all I had to do was be honest. And now... now she’s gone. She walked away from me.”

Hyunjin stayed quiet for a moment, taking in Minho’s words. He could see it now—the weight of regret, the desperation in his eyes.

“I don’t think she’s gone,” Hyunjin said carefully. “You’re both stubborn, hyung. You’ve been dancing around each other for so long. You didn’t want to admit it, and neither did she. But I don’t think it’s over. Not yet.”

Minho looked up at Hyunjin then, his eyes searching, hoping, desperate for any kind of reassurance. “But what if it is? What if I ruined it beyond repair? What if she doesn’t want me anymore?”

Hyunjin paused for a moment, then spoke quietly, “You’re not the only one who’s scared, hyung. She’s scared, too. But you’re the one who has to be brave now. Not only for her— but for yourself too. Because if you don’t try, you’ll regret it forever. You know that.”

Minho let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging. Hyunjin’s words hit harder than he expected. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was still a chance, but only if he had the courage to act.

Hyunjin stood up, offering his hand to Minho. “You’re going to fix this, hyung. But you have to start with telling her the truth. About everything. And you’ve got to be ready for whatever comes after. Don’t let her slip away without fighting for her.”

Minho’s hand trembled as he took Hyunjin’s, pulling himself up to his feet. His heart still ached, but the words hit something deep inside of him. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

*******************

You barely remembered how you got home. The keys slipped from your fingers twice before you finally managed to unlock the door. The moment you stepped inside, your knees gave out and you slid down against the wall, feeling the weight of everything crash over you.

Your phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Hyunjin kept calling again and again. You pressed your forehead against your knees, willing yourself not to break down, willing yourself not to hope. And when your phone buzzed for the tenth time, you simply reached over, turned it off, and tossed it into a corner.

You couldn't do this. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

The next morning, your body moved on autopilot. You typed a message to your supervisor with trembling fingers, lying easily.

“I have a bad migraine. Won’t be able to work on fittings today. I’ll continue working on the designs remotely.”

A polite response came back almost immediately—“Take care. Focus on feeling better.”

You needed space—space from him, from the suffocating weight of everything. It was already the final month of your internship. Just a few more weeks, and you wouldn’t have to see him again.

You told yourself that over and over like a mantra as you buried yourself in sketches, swatches, sewing patterns. The living room became your sanctuary. You stayed hunched over your work for hours, sketching until your fingers cramped, trying to come up with excuses to tell your supervisor so that you do not have to step anywhere near their dressing rooms. Anywhere near him for the remaining internship period.

One step at a time—you just had to get through this.

The major stage collaboration was coming up, the biggest project of your internship, the one that could launch your career if you gave it your all.

Let the countdown begin.

*******************

48 Hours Before the Concert

You returned to work with your heart armored in ice. 

The company was in chaos. The stylists were rushing, the managers were running, the boys from both groups were rehearsing endlessly. No one had time to notice that you’d disappeared from their orbit—well except for Minho and Hyunjin.

You avoided their practice room like it was a battlefield. Instead, you locked yourself away in the design room, sketching out costumes, adjusting stitching details—anything to keep your hands busy, anything to keep your mind from wandering.

Minho tried to talk to you. At first, you heard his footsteps. You caught glimpses of him hovering by the door. Once, when you dared to glance up, you saw him standing just outside the window, his face tense, uncertain. But you dropped your head back down before he could gather the courage to step inside. You didn’t give him a chance.

Hyunjin also tried texting, looking for you after rehearsals, even poking his head into the design room but couldn’t find you since every time, you made yourself smaller, quieter, easier to miss.

You weren’t ready to face Minho. You weren’t sure if you ever would be. 

At some point, even Hyunjin gave up trying, swept away into the madness of final rehearsals, concept checks, and the insane pressure of the collaboration stage they were preparing.

You thought you were safe. You thought you could make it to the end.

24 Hours Before the Concert

Minho was unraveling. He didn’t even bother pretending anymore. He was searching for you like a man possessed. Between rehearsals, between fittings, between breaks—his eyes flicked around desperately, always hoping to catch a glimpse.

He sent messages—one after another.

Minho: "Can we please talk?" Minho: "Just for a minute. You don’t even have to say anything. Please." Minho: "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Y/N."

You stared at the notifications, feeling your chest clench painfully.

You left them unanswered.

Because you were afraid. Because you didn’t know if you could survive hearing more empty words. Because some wounds weren’t meant to be picked open again.

That night, Minho sat in the darkened practice room, back against the mirror. The others had gone home. He stayed. The blue glow of his phone lit up his face, your unread messages staring back at him like ghosts.

He typed. Deleted. Typed again.

His thumb hovered over the send button for a long time before he finally pressed it.

Minho: "I miss you."

Short. Honest. Bare. You never replied.

12 Hours Before the Concert

The final rehearsal was a whirlwind of noise and energy.

Seventeen and Stray Kids crisscrossed the stage, voices overlapping, last-minute notes flying as everyone tried to perfect every second. Everyone was running around doing their assigned tasks– sound engineers hovered by the sides of the stage, tweaking mic volumes and running emergency checks, stage managers paced with clipboards, calling out timing cues and adjusting placements, stylists were doing last-minute fittings.

You stayed hidden behind the racks of costumes, keeping yourself busy threading last-minute repairs on stage outfits, sketching alterations for the collaboration stages. Minho saw you once—just a glimpse—and started towards you immediately.

You ducked behind a different aisle and disappeared before he could even call your name.

He slumped against the wall, dragging a hand through his hair. His heart ached. He was trying. God, he was trying. But you wouldn’t even look at him. And he knew he deserved it.

That night, he sat alone again. Hyunjin found him there, in the same spot, legs pulled up, forehead resting on his arms.

"Hyung…" Hyunjin said softly.

Minho didn't look up.

"I don’t think she hates you," Hyunjin added after a while, voice low. "She’s hurt. But she doesn’t hate you."

"I hate myself enough for the both of us," Minho murmured.

*******************

Day of the Concert 

You were up before sunrise and rushed to the company, it was going to be a long day. You began helping the senior stylists prepare everything. You kept your head down, blending into the background.

Minho tried to find you again, between makeup, between fittings.

Once, you walked right past him. You felt his eyes—burning, aching—trailing you, but you didn’t turn around.

He watched your retreating figure with a helpless kind of yearning, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed dry.

He typed one last message.

Minho: "If you don’t want to forgive me... I understand. But I love you. I love you, Y/N."

He didn’t expect a reply. He just wanted you to know.

You read his message, but your fingers stayed frozen above the screen. You couldn't trust yourself to reply. Not yet.

Soon after, it was time to leave for the concert venue.

Everyone from your company piled into multiple vans, buzzing with pre-show nerves and excitement. Seventeen would meet you all there, coming straight from their own company.

You slipped into one of the vans early, picking a seat at the very back. You tucked your bag close, phone clutched tightly in your hands. Minho hurried behind you, heart hammering in his chest.

There was a small opening beside you. He didn't even think—he moved to sit there.

He was about to slide into the seat beside you but at the very last second, you shifted, scooting away from the aisle, pressing yourself impossibly closer to the window. Pretending like you needed more space.

Minho froze mid-motion.

He stood there, awkward, shattered, the empty space where you had been just a second ago feeling colder than anything he'd ever known.

His hand tightened around the back of the seat for a second, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Without a word, he dropped into a seat several rows in front instead, boxed in between Jisung and Seungmin.

The van door slammed shut, the engine rumbled to life—but Minho barely noticed. He barely heard the others laughing, hyping each other up. He barely felt the road vibrating under the tires. All he could feel was you—silent, turned away from him, just a few feet out of reach.

When they finally pulled up behind the venue, staff started piling out. You were the first one to slip off the van, blending into the chaos of bodies and equipment and flashing lights.

Minho lingered for a second in the seat, swallowing thickly as he watched you disappear into the crowd.

He had the urge to call out your name. He almost did. But he bit it back, lowering his head, heart cracking silently in his chest.

*******************

The air backstage crackled with adrenaline—stylists rushing, cords tangling, outfits getting last-minute steamed.

You were helping your supervisor adjust Felix’s jacket, smoothing the sleeves, checking the fit one last time. Your hands worked automatically, your mind floating somewhere far away.

Across the crowded room, Minho kept staring at you longingly. For a second—just a second—he thought maybe you’d let him. Maybe you’d glance at him. But when you shifted away, without even looking at him, it felt like a punch to the gut. Like watching a door slowly, painfully close in his face.

He sat down numbly at the makeup table, the bustling room fading into the background and all he could think was:

"I don’t blame you... but please, just once—look back at me."

Meanwhile, Hyunjin, sitting a few chairs away, was locked in the makeup artist’s grip, a brush sweeping across his cheekbones. But he still tried. He still tried to catch your eyes, frantic and desperate, needing you to see him. You lifted your head, sensing the weight of his stare and all you could offer him was a small, polite smile. Nothing more.

You could tell Hyunjin wanted to call out to you, to jump out of his chair, to explain everything he hadn’t been able to. But the makeup artist was sternly holding his chin still, murmuring warnings about smudging his foundation. He couldn’t move.

And so he watched you quietly, heartbreak pooling in his chest, as you finished adjusting Felix’s jacket...and turned away without another glance.

*******************

1 Hour Before the Concert

You had just grabbed a coffee from the catering area backstage, trying to escape the buzz of frantic preparations. The area was buzzing with energy, crew members darting from one spot to another, but you found a small moment of calm amidst it all. The food table was lined with snacks, coffee, and drinks, where you’d managed to find a brief respite. You were leaning against the counter, sipping your drink slowly, when the door to the room burst open with a loud bang.

Hyunjin stormed inside, his eyes wild and intense, looking like he had been running through the entire venue. His hair was slightly tousled, chest heaving with quick breaths as if he was on a mission.

Before you could even react, he reached for your wrist, gripping it firmly and pulling you out of the room.

“Come with me,” he commanded, urgency lacing his voice.

"Hyunjin—!" you gasped, stumbling after him. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"You’re done hiding!" he snapped, not even slowing down.

He pulled you into an empty band room backstage, and shoved the door shut behind you, trapping you inside. You barely caught your balance, turning to glare at him—but the look on Hyunjin’s face made your heart falter.

He looked furious. And desperate.

"You need to stop running, Y/N," he said, voice sharp, shaking slightly with emotion. "You think you’re protecting yourself? You’re just hurting both of you."

You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying. "It’s not that simple, Hyunjin—"

"YES, it is!" he cut you off, voice cracking, "You’re mad. You’re hurt. I get it. But Minho hyung—"

His voice broke again and he punched the wall lightly with the side of his fist, breathing hard.

"He’s dying," Hyunjin said, lower now, almost broken. "He’s breaking in front of us. He can't sleep. He can't eat. Every time he sees you, it's like someone rips another piece out of him."

You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the tears threatening to spill.

"You think you’re the only one hurting?" Hyunjin asked, stepping closer, so close you could feel the sadness vibrating off him. "He’s been tearing himself apart for days, trying to find a way to fix this, and you won’t even LOOK at him."

You shook your head helplessly, voice cracking, "He’s the one who—"

"He knows," Hyunjin cut you off desperately, "He knows he fucked up. He hates himself for it. You think it’s easy for him to stand there and watch you pretend like he doesn’t exist?"

You stared at him, heart pounding, breath shaking.

Hyunjin whispered, “He loves you, Y/N.”

“No, he doesn’t.” you shot back. “He saw Mingyu and got territorial. That’s not the same thing as love.”

Hyunjin’s voice softened a little, but the intensity stayed, "Listen to me. Minho hyung…he’s dying inside. He’s been trying to talk to you for days. He's not playing games. He’s not saying those things because he's jealous of Mingyu or whatever else you think."

You bit your lip, hard. "Then why, Hyunjin? Why now? After everything?"

"Because he’s an idiot who thought he didn’t deserve you," Hyunjin said, voice raw. "He pushed you away because he was scared he’d ruin you. Because he thought you’d be better off without him."

Your heart stuttered painfully.

"And seeing you laugh with Mingyu made him realize exactly what he was about to lose," Hyunjin continued. "Not because of jealousy. Because he saw you happy and he wasn’t the one making you happy anymore."

The lump in your throat grew unbearable.

"He really loves you, Y/N," Hyunjin said simply. "He’s loved you this whole time. He just didn’t know how to believe he was worthy of it."

Your vision blurred.

Then, Hyunjin went on to explain everything — how Minho had been in love with you all along, how he had been miserable every time you avoided him backstage, how he stayed up at night overthinking every glance you refused to give him. How he regretted what he said at that freaking party every single day, hated himself for it, how the weight of it had been crushing him more and more every time you turned away.

Hearing it laid out like that shattered something inside you. It wasn’t just regret in Minho’s lingering stares. It was love — raw, desperate, aching love. And it had always been there, even when you were too hurt to see it.

You felt suffocated. 

"Don’t do this," Hyunjin whispered, almost pleading now, "don’t walk away without hearing him out. If you ever loved him…even a little, give him the chance to explain."

You felt your walls crumbling under the weight of it all. Without another word, you tore past Hyunjin, sprinting down the hall.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Not until you found him. You tore down the hall, nearly tripping over your own feet, chest heaving, heart racing so hard it hurt.

You didn’t know where you were going—you just knew you had to find him.

*******************

The greenroom was quiet—eerily so. Everyone else was getting hair and makeup in other room, doing last checks, hyping each other up. Minho sat there alone, away from everyone, for a moment. 

Meanwhile, you kept running— the backstage corridors blurred as you rushed past, heart hammering, breath coming in short gasps. Somewhere, you could hear the muffled sounds of last-minute chaos—stylists calling for touch-ups, managers barking out directions, the low hum of excitement—but it all felt far away, like you were underwater.

Finally, after checking room after room, your footsteps faltered in front of a greenroom tucked away from the rest. The door was slightly ajar, and you prayed he was inside. You pushed it open with trembling fingers, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.

There he was. Minho.

Sitting alone on the bench, fully dressed in his final concert outfit, the dark, sleek fabric molding perfectly to his figure. His mic was already clipped to his collar, earpieces in place, as if he were ready to go onstage any second. But he wasn’t moving.

He was hunched forward, elbows resting heavily on his knees, staring blankly at the floor like the world had already ended and he was the only one left to mourn it.

The second he heard the door creak wider, his head snapped up.

He whispered your name, "Y/N..."

So soft. So broken. Like he didn’t believe you were real. It shattered you.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you rushed across the room, and before he could even speak, your hands were cupping his jaw and your lips crashed into his.

Minho stiffened for half a second, completely shocked and then his arms were around you, pulling you flush against him, kissing you back with everything he had. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your lips trembling against his with everything you hadn’t said, hadn’t dared to feel until now. 

When you finally pulled back, panting, you pressed your forehead to his and whispered, “I hate you.”

He laughed, hoarse and teary-eyed. “I know.”

“I hate how long it took you.”

“I hate me too.”

“But I love you.”

Minho stilled.

And then his arms wrapped around you tighter than they ever had. “I love you more,” he murmured. “And I swear I’ll prove it every day from now on.”

You smiled, your eyes full of tears and joy and relief. “You better.”

Minho’s voice was rough, barely a whisper as he spoke. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You blinked, your chest tightening with all the emotions that had built up. "I know, Minho. Just... show me. Show me you're not going to run away again."

His hand gently cupped your face again, his thumb brushing over your lips softly. “I won’t run. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, he leaned in again, this time more carefully, his lips brushing against yours with a softer, more deliberate motion, like he was savoring the moment, as if this was the first time.

The door slammed open.

"AHHHHHH! MY EYES!" Jisung screamed, dramatically throwing himself against the door frame like he was shielding himself from radiation.

You jolted apart, both of you wide-eyed and breathless.

Felix appeared behind Jisung, peeking into the room with wide, curious eyes.

"Hyung," Felix said, "We need to be on stage in like twenty five minutes." Then he glanced between you two and grinned brightly. "Also, um, HOW did this happen?"

Jisung gasped, "Like LIKE… you were literally at war yesterday! HOW are you kissing now? I need DETAILS!"

"Was it a secret make-up plan?? Did someone blackmail someone? TELL ME EVERYTHING—"

"Channie hyung’s gonna kill us if we’re late!" Felix laughed, tugging on Jisung’s sleeve, but he was also bouncing on his toes, eager for gossip.

"And Y/N, you have to explain later, okay? Like every single detail. Every single one."

Somewhere down the hall, you heard Chan’s voice yelling, "WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYONE?"

Minho groaned under his breath, leaning down to quickly kiss your forehead—just one soft second—and then he grabbed his mic pack and jogged toward the door.

But as he passed you, he whispered under his breath, only for you to hear, "Don’t go anywhere. I’m not letting you slip away again."

You stood there, heart pounding, lips still tingling, while Jisung whined the whole way down the hallway, “Yah! I’m serious! I'm coming for answers after the show!”

And you just laughed, happier than you had been in days.

*******************

The final performance was just moments away. Ten minutes give or take. You stood backstage, heart racing—not from nerves, but from everything that had happened.

Minho adjusted his mic, glancing at you with a silent question in his eyes. You stepped closer, pulling him aside for a moment, fingers gently brushing against his as you whispered, “Earlier, when Mingyu and I were talking… he wasn’t flirting.”

Minho blinked, caught off guard.

“He said he could see something going on between you and me. That he’d back off. And… that maybe I hadn’t noticed it myself yet.”

Minho let out a breathy laugh, hand raking through his hair. “God. I really need to control my damn jealousy.”

You smiled softly, Minho flushed slightly before saying, “He wasn’t wrong, though. About the heart eyes.”

You blushed then gently nudged his arm. “Come on, make peace with him. You two are too handsome to be fighting in the middle of rehearsals.”

Minho rolled his eyes but smiled, nodding. He walked over to Mingyu, who was talking with Joshua by the corner while adjusting his blazer, and you watched from afar as Minho gave a sincere apology. Mingyu accepted it with a grin and a clap on Minho’s shoulder, flashing you a wink behind him. Everything just… settled.

And then, the concert. The adrenaline. The stage lights. The roars of the crowd.

Both the collaboration stages and the groups' individual performances were breathtaking— hours of relentless energy, passion, and magic spilling out onto that stage. The entire venue was electric, a sea of waving lightsticks and screaming fans, every second more exhilarating than the last.

You danced and moved like nothing else mattered. But every time your eyes found Minho’s on stage, there was a knowing smile—one only meant for you.

After the final bow, the cheers still ringing in your ears, you were barely backstage for a minute when Minho grabbed your wrist gently and whispered, “Come with me.”

"Minho," you giggled breathlessly, "where are we even going?!"

"Somewhere no one will find us," he muttered determinedly, glancing around until he spotted a half-open door.

Without warning, he pulled you inside.

“I’ve been waiting all night,” he said, breathless.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t careful.

It was urgent, desperate, his hands cupping your face as if he’d been starving for your lips. Your back hit the wall lightly as you gasped against his mouth, hands sliding under his jacket and gripping his shirt.

His lips moved feverishly over yours, like he was trying to pour every emotion he’d buried into this moment. When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, he whispered against your lips, “You have no idea how crazy I’ve been going… not being able to do this.”

You let out a breathless laugh, tugging him back in. “Then don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

That kiss was everything—the apology, the promise, the confession, and the beginning. All in one.

*******************

The concert had ended, the cheers still echoing faintly in the corridors as everyone bustled around, packing up, high-fiving, celebrating.

Mingyu leaned against the wall near the dressing room door, sipping water and scrolling through his phone when a voice interrupted him.

"You were amazing up there," she said, her tone warm and teasing.

He looked up to see one of the stage crew members—someone he’d briefly chatted with before—smiling at him, her hands tucked behind her back, eyes bright.

Mingyu blinked, a little surprised. “Oh thank you. You too, the transitions were super smooth today.”

She giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I did my best. But I was watching you the whole time.”

Mingyu raised a brow, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “Oh yeah?”

She stepped a little closer, playfully nudging his arm. “You always smile so much when you perform. It’s contagious.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess that’s a good thing.”

She tilted her head. “You doing anything after this?”

For a second, Mingyu glanced toward the dressing room, where laughter echoed—where his bandmates were chattering.

Then he looked back at her, his smile softening. “Not yet,” he said. “But I could be.”

Her grin widened.

And just like that, maybe Mingyu’s heart started to heal too.

*******************

Minho’s lips trailed kisses along your jaw, his hands framing your face as if he still couldn’t believe this was real. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, breath mingling as you leaned into him, every inch of space between you practically non-existent.

The air was hot, your heart pounding louder than any concert speaker. His forehead rested against yours, breathless as he whispered, “I’m not letting go of you again. Ever.”

You smiled, pulling him back into another kiss — slower this time, but no less intense. The kind that made your knees weak and your brain fuzzy, the kind that left no question about how badly he wanted you — and how badly you wanted him.

Your hands tangled in his hair, his arms locked tightly around your waist, pressing you against the wall.

It was messy and breathless, both of you still slightly shaking from the adrenaline of the concert.

"Missed you," he murmured against your mouth between kisses, voice hoarse.

You were just about to mumble "me too" when a loud knock rattled the door.

Minho froze mid-kiss, groaning against your lips. You stifled a laugh.

“Hyung?” Han’s voice called, too amused for your liking. “Minho hyung, will this continue all night or should we leave snacks outside the door?”

You buried your face in Minho’s chest as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Minho hyung is seriously down bad,” Hyunjin chimed in, voice loud and dramatic.

“Excuse you,” Han called out, raising an eyebrow. “Your bestie Y/N is equally down bad.”

You playfully smacked Minho's chest, laughing into his shirt. “Did your wife just out me like that?”

Minho groaned, forehead dropping against your shoulder in defeat, "Kill me," he muttered. "Right now. Just kill me."

You both heard Han and Hyunjin start bickering again — something about who was more down bad between you and Minho — and you couldn't help but giggle quietly against Minho, your heart feeling so full you thought it might burst.

“YAH!” Minho finally shouted, voice filled with exasperated affection. “You want to die? Leave us alone!”

A pause.

Then shuffling footsteps and exaggerated gagging noises as they walked off. You and Minho looked at each other and were shaking with laughter, tangled in each other and unwilling to part.

You sighed happily, still held close. “We really are that bad, huh?”

Minho leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Maybe. But I’m not sorry.”

Minho tightened his arms around you, swaying you both lazily, “I love you, you know,” he murmured, so gently it melted into your skin.

A big smile broke across your face.

“I love you too, Minho,” you whispered back, like it was the easiest thing in the world — because with him finally, it was.

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[steddieas-shegoes]

black swan

for @steddiesportsau prompt 'dance'

rated t | 3331 words | no cw | tags: ballet dancer steve, ballet dancer eddie, high school, steve has bad parents, not canon compliant, getting together, sort of strangers to lovers

🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰

Steve stops dancing when he’s 12. His dad insists it’s time for him to “grow out of it” and “play a real sport.” It’s fine. It’s not like he’s the best in the class and on a fast track to an invitation to the New York Ballet or anything.

He starts swimming because he has the build for it and it’s easy.

He starts basketball to make his father shut up about being on a team.

The worst part is that he’s good at that too. Not great, not like ballet, but good.

He makes both teams in high school, even makes varsity basketball his sophomore year. He’s captain by junior year.

Sometimes, he stops by the studio he used to dance at, between classes, just to check in with the director and make sure everything’s going well. She always asks if he wants to come back. He always wants to say yes.

****

On his 18th birthday, his parents are gone, and he’s lonely. Nancy’s busy, and even if she weren’t, they aren’t anything except friends. Barely that.

Tommy and Carol have written him off now that they’re going away to college in the fall, and he wouldn’t want to have them over anyway. They’re on a different path than Steve, always have been. He’s just been so desperate for connection, he’s let everything slide.

Just before dinner, he drives to the dance studio. There’s not many classes happening on Tuesdays, but maybe someone will be there to let him in. He doesn’t see any cars in the parking lot, but there’s a light on inside.

The door is unlocked, and music is playing from the back room. It’s a much smaller room, designed for solos and duets only, not group routines. The music is not ballet music, but it could be a jazz or tap routine.

The man dancing is beautiful, in loose sweats and curly hair up in a bun that seems like it’s barely hanging on. He moves gracefully, but there’s an edge to it, something Steve always wished he had, even though he didn’t technically need it. His pointe shoes are torn, much more worn in than what’s recommended for anyone, especially men on pointe.

Steve’s amazed, the way he moves to a song that’s mostly heavy drums and guitar, makes it look like a classical piece as his arms and legs do everything the way Steve used to. He resists saying anything.

Then he catches sight of the man’s face.

It’s Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson dances?

“What the fuck.”

Eddie freezes, turns to him, falling to the flats of his feet. He looks caught out, as if he’s doing something wrong. He must be allowed to be here if the place is unlocked for him. Eddie might be a terrible student and definitely deals weed out of a lunchbox, but he’d never break into a dance studio just to use it.

He looks like he’s gonna run.

“Wait,” Steve says to stop him before he can. He steps closer. “How long have you danced?”

“Uh, five years?”

So they never took a class together. Steve was worried he’d somehow forgotten.

“Did you always take classes here?”

“I’ve never taken classes here.”

Now, Steve’s confused even more. He’s lived in Hawkins for at least 10 years. He remembers when he started living with his uncle. His first day at Hawkins Elementary set the tone for the rest of his time in school; Tommy and a few of his friends making his life miserable because of his much too large flannel shirt and greasy hair.

Steve had stayed quiet then, just as he did for most of middle and high school.

“How are you in here then?” He asks.

“I’ve had a key for two years. Ms. Laseaux made sure I had one when she had to cut her evening hours during the week,” Eddie explains. “I swear I’m allowed to be here. Don’t call the cops, please.”

“Dude, I’m not gonna call the cops. If you say you have permission, then you’re good,” Steve hates that Eddie still looks like he might run. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Is it okay if I watch?”

“Uh.”

Eddie’s music stops and the silence is almost as loud as the heavy music.

“It’s okay if not. You’re just beautiful,” Steve says honestly.

Eddie’s face flushes red and Steve has an immediate and overwhelming urge to see how far the blush goes. He shakes the thought from his head.

“Um. I guess I can start from the beginning?” Eddie offers.

“I’d love to see the whole routine,” Steve smiles.

Eddie rewinds the tape and starts it again, gets into position, and changes Steve’s life.

It’s even more beautiful from the start, a whole story unfolding before Steve’s eyes. Instead of the music being a distraction, it builds the emotion. Steve hasn’t seen anyone dance quite like Eddie.

Eddie seems a little nervous, but he never falters. He knows this routine well, front to back, probably back to front, too. It’s stage-ready and Steve wonders if he’s ever performed it outside of this room. He doesn’t think anyone else could possibly know he dances, at least not this well. He belongs on a stage.

He feels water on his cheek and he reaches up to wipe it away. He’s crying.

He remembers the time his mom cried at his first solo during a recital, how proud she was of him, and how proud he was of himself. He wonders if anyone has ever been that proud of Eddie.

“Steve?” Eddie asks.

The music’s stopped and Eddie’s breathing hard from fifth position. Steve’s tears are still falling.

Eddie’s hands cover his face, wiping away tears that just won’t stop.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s amazing; You’re amazing. Please tell me you perform somewhere,” Steve sniffs, smiles at him. “Did you get a senior solo last year?”

“No,” Eddie says quietly. “I can’t afford the fees for actual studio time and it’s required to perform at the recital. But I get to come here once a week and get it out of my system.”

Steve is about to offer to use all of his savings to pay for whatever Eddie needs. He has to get out of here, dance on bigger stages, be seen by people who can get him where he should be.

“The timing of the arabesque, Eddie, it’s beautiful. The leaps are textbook. The way you timed that kick with a cymbal crash. I mean, everything. You’re so technical, but emotional, and it’s like it takes no effort for you. You could easily get into a ballet school or a company,” Steve is talking and Eddie is still holding his face. He’s probably still crying.

“Thank you, but this is kinda it for me. I just love dancing,” Eddie takes his hands away and Steve instantly misses them. He knows he’s feeling a bit lonely– it’s his birthday, after all– but he liked how warm they were, how the blisters across his palm seemed to rub just right against Steve’s cheekbones. “You seem to know a lot.”

“I danced when I was a kid. Here.”

“Really?” Eddie seems genuinely shocked. “I thought you were, like, a stereotypical jock guy. No one’s ever mentioned you.”

Steve laughs, but he feels a pang in his chest. He knows why no one talks about him here. Most of the history of him being here was erased at his dad’s demand.

“Pretty much from the time I was potty trained to when I was 12. I had to quit,” he doesn’t feel like going into a deep dive of why he had to quit while he’s standing in the room he had to do it in. “I still come by to see Ms. Laseaux when I won’t interrupt classes. She was my instructor for six years of my life. She put so much into my lessons.”

“Were you good?” Eddie asks.

Steve laughs again. He’s not as confident as he pretends to be most of the time, but he’s sure of one thing: he was a phenomenal dancer.

“I was her best student.”

Eddie nods like he was expecting that answer.

“She mentioned wishing she could’ve had me earlier. Said she would’ve done anything to pair me with her star.”

Steve wishes more than anything he could’ve danced with Eddie. They would have been unstoppable. His dad would’ve never allowed him to dance with another boy, but the thought still makes him warm.

“I’m sure she would’ve had us in New York or Boston or Europe the second she could,” Steve smiles fondly. “She tried to bribe my mom into going behind my dad’s back for nearly a year.”

“I’m guessing he’s not okay with his son dancing like a fairy?” Eddie’s lip curls up in disgust.

“Bingo.”

“Well, join the club. That’s why I didn’t start until I lived with my uncle, but he couldn’t afford to put me in real classes,” Eddie explains. He’s rolling his ankles one by one while he stands there, something that Steve knows is a nervous habit, one he had backstage before shows. “Ms. Laseaux was a bit sweet on my uncle when I first lived with him. He didn’t have much time for dating, but I think they would’ve fallen in love if it weren’t for me. She wanted to do what she could to help, even when it was obvious they weren’t gonna work out.”

Steve does remember one visit only a couple years after he quit where she talked about a nice man who fell into some unfortunate circumstances, and how she wished she could do more than help his nephew out.

“She’s always been amazing. I wish I brought my slippers, I could’ve at least stretched and tried to learn some of that,” Steve gestures towards Eddie. “Not that I’d do it any justice with how long I’ve been out of it.”

“If you were as good as she says, I think you’d catch on quick enough,” Eddie smirks. “I have an extra pair if you think you can fit?”

It’s a huge no usually. Wearing someone else’s broken in pointe shoes is just asking for bad luck and injury, especially if you don’t know the dancer well. As nice an offer as it is, Steve should say no.

“I could try,” he says instead.

Eddie’s beaming smile silences any doubt he had in his head that this would be a mistake. He rushes to his bag in the corner and pulls out a practically brand new set of shoes.

Steve is hesitant to take them when he offers.

“These look…shouldn’t you be trying to break these in for your own feet?” Steve doesn’t know why he’s wearing torn up shoes when he has these. They look nice, and he recognizes the brand when he turns them over in his head. They are nice. Some of the nicest shoes you can buy without getting into the thousands of dollars range.

Eddie shrugs. “I like these.”

“But these cost a fortune. How did you even get these?”

“I saved up for them. I’ll break them in when I can’t wear these at all anymore,” Eddie smiles, nudges his shoulder to make him put them on. “C’mon, you need to stretch.”

Steve listens, walks over to the corner to put the shoes on, stretch out his legs and back, groaning when he pops his shoulder. He’s been a little tense all week, worried that his parents would come home for his birthday and expect him to do some kind of business dinner.

This is a much better way to spend his birthday.

Eddie is…frolicking might actually be the best word for it. He’s not exactly dancing, but he’s not really walking either. Steve almost gets too caught up watching his movements to finish what he’s doing.

“Do you want me to show you this one or do you wanna show me something first?” Eddie asks. He sounds excited, maybe even more than Steve is.

It’s not like quitting dance meant Steve actually stopped dancing. He just only did it at home, and had to make sure he was alone, which has been increasingly more difficult over the high school years. His friends practically lived at his house, even when he didn’t want them to.

But he’s still out of practice, and probably not nearly as nimble as this dance would require. He’s not sure what he would even show Eddie. His last dance recital was six years ago, and he doubts the tape with his music is even here anymore.

“Um, you can show me some of yours. Maybe the drum part?” Steve’s voice shakes with sudden nerves. He hasn’t had eyes on him while he danced in a long time. He wasn’t built like this the last time he properly danced, either.

Eddie smirks. “The whole song is the drum part, but I know what you mean.”

Steve blushes. Eddie takes position in the center of the room, leaving enough space for Steve to stand next to him.

They look at each other in the mirror. Steve nods.

Eddie moves so fluidly, even when he’s going slower to show Steve. It’s like he’s a waterfall and Steve’s the river below, waiting to take what he’s giving to move it along in a beautiful and seamless way.

It hits Steve when he’s watching Eddie turn that if Eddie’s never taken a proper class, he must’ve choreographed this dance himself.

“Steve?” Eddie’s hand on his arm startles him from his thoughts. “Need me to do it again?”

“Sorry. Yes, please,” he doesn’t know why he can’t focus, but Eddie continues to show him three more times and he still doesn’t quite get the timing right. “Sorry, I think I’m just distracted.”

“Why don’t you show me a routine you’re familiar with?” Eddie asks.

“I’m not sure I remember any enough,” Steve tries to say, but Eddie shakes his head.

“You’re a dancer. You remember.”

He’s right. He may miss a few steps here and there, or get the timing just a bit off, but he can remember most of every routine he ever did on a stage. He does it without music, something that Ms. Laseaux always made him do before recitals to ensure he knew the timing in his head.

He doesn’t pay attention to Eddie’s reactions until he’s done.

He’s breathless, and not just from the dance. Eddie’s eyes are shining, and his lips are parted in a way that makes Steve want to slip his tongue between them and taste him. He’s a bit thrown by the thought, but only because he hasn’t had those kinds of thoughts in a long time. Not since Nancy broke up with him.

Eddie stands from the floor and walks over to him, still seemingly in shock over his dancing.

Steve’s ankles are sore, and he’s a bit mad he chose the hardest dance he ever did. His heart is trying to beat out of his chest. His legs are shaking.

Eddie cups his face, eyes searching his.

“You should have let her bribe your mom,” he says quietly. “You belong on the stage, too.”

Steve feels tears prick his eyes and it’s ridiculous to be crying for the second time in front of Eddie, but he’s a little overwhelmed.

“I miss it,” he chokes out. Eddie nods because he knows. Maybe not the same way Steve does, but he knows his own yearning, his own pain at being unable to perform the way his body is capable of. He might be the only other person in Hawkins who understands him. “I shouldn’t have let him stop me.”

“You were a kid, Steve,” Eddie’s voice breaks. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I do now,” Steve sounds more sure than he thought he could with tears streaming down his face. “What can he do now that I’m 18 other than cut me off? He won’t. My mom wouldn’t let him and his business partners would think less of him.”

Eddie’s brows furrow. He looks away for a moment, his lips moving around words Steve can’t hear. When he looks back at Steve, he looks heartbroken.

“Is today your birthday?”

Steve nods. He’s not sure why Eddie looks so upset. This is turning into one of the best birthdays he’s ever had and he’s starting to feel relief that he finally feels brave enough to stand up to his dad.

“And you came here?” Somehow, he sounds even more upset.

“I didn’t really want to go anywhere else,” Steve tilts his head as he answers. “This is always where I’ve felt the least lonely.”

“Dance with me.”

They danced already. A little. But Steve thinks he means something different now.

“What do you know?” Steve asks, a flutter in his chest at the thought of touching Eddie, lifting Eddie, feeling Eddie against him.

“Swan Lake?” Eddie asks.

“You know Swan Lake? How?” Steve doesn’t mean to sound rude, but he’s a little shocked someone who’s never even taken a ballet class would know the most famous pas de deux.

“I have eyes and an uncle who buys me tapes of famous ballets from some guy in Chicago. They’re shit quality, but I watch them so often, I’ve taught myself.”

“You’re amazing.”

Eddie laughs. “Let’s see if I can pull it off first.”

Eddie rushes over to the corner, searching through the tapes on the shelf. Most of the popular ballets are there, and Steve knows every piece from Swan Lake is probably on the top. All the seniors tend to use those for their solos.

He finds what he’s looking for and slots the tape in the stereo. Steve knows there’s a slow start to the music, and it allows plenty of time for them to get into position.

It’s easy falling into this with Eddie. They don’t even discuss who will take which part, they just fall into what’s natural. Steve hasn’t spent as much time en pointe as Eddie clearly has, so he takes the male lead, happy just to have his hands gently guiding through the dance. He’s not meant to be the star of the show, and he wouldn’t wanna be as long as Eddie’s the one front and center.

When they finish, it’s easy to close the distance between them, lips brushing together in the gentlest kiss Steve’s ever experienced. He immediately wants more, but he waits.

He may have been leading the dance, but he doesn’t want to lead with this.

Eddie cups his cheek, still catching his breath.

“Happy birthday, Steve.”

It throws Steve off. He almost forgot it was his birthday. He got so caught up in just being around Eddie, dancing, feeling this freedom he only ever felt at the studio.

He doesn’t remember the last time he actually celebrated his birthday. It had to be before high school, even though he remembers Tommy insisting on throwing him a party at his own house with his own food and beer for his 16th. That was less for his birthday and more for Tommy to show off that he knew Steve Harrington.

“You’re okay,” Eddie says.

Not asking. Telling.

Steve believes him.

The next time they kiss is in Eddie’s van, not even ten minutes later, after Eddie asks Steve where he wants to go for a birthday dinner, his treat.

“Benny’s?” Steve asks.

“You sure? Just the diner?”

Steve nods. “My parents are gonna drag me to some five star restaurant next week where the only decent food will be the dessert they don’t bring enough of. I want greasy shitty food and a milkshake.”

Eddie kisses him a third time and puts the van in reverse.

They’re both sweaty from dancing, and neither of them should technically be out this late on a school night, but Steve’s not alone.

It’s his birthday, he got to dance, and he’s not alone.

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 817: Takadajou's strategy

Pag 1

1: I see them, Jou-san!!

2: Ahead!!

3: Kyofushi is 200m ahead of us!!

And Naruko is 100m ahead of them

4: Let's switch, Naruko

Now it's my turn!!

6: Hakogaku is switching the lead

Now the one running in front is

Pag 2

1: number 12, Hakone Acadey's control tower, the third year Takadajou Rei!!

Pag 3

1: Woah, they changed the lead so quicky!!

Oh....

2: Is this how you change lead?

So efficient

Just now, that Takadajou guy

3: passed number 11 on the left, so close it looked like they were going to collide

4: He matched the deceleration of his partner and moved ahead smoothly, as if slipping

Pag 4

1: Like the pocket of your clothes you're used to have store your phone in

2: Unlike MTB, road racing involves a lot of wind resistance for a long period of time

3: Since 60% of the wind resistance is met by the person in the lead, the ones riding behind don't lose much energy

4: In a long match of road racing the loss of energy accumulates, so even small actions like taking turns should be done without wasting energy

5: Moreover, just now they didn't simply “switch”

6: He moved ahead while accelerating and intentionally leaved a gap behind for a moment

7: To close it....

Pag 5

1: We behind had to step on!!

3: Basically, he's making us consume our energy

So while switching, he's also attacking

4: This guy is the type to use his head well while running, yon!!

Pag 6

1: Now, what should I do?

2: The distance is 200m, and ahead of that it's 100m

3: Should I wait until Kyofushi catches Naruko and then swallow them?

4: Or should I decelerate on purpose and let Gunma get ahead?

5: Or, like Kyofushi, should I tear off the ones behind us and join those ahead?

Pag 7

1: Alright, here's a quiz, Yuuto

Which one of the following is the correct way to catch those ahead of us?

2: Wait a sec, Jou-san

3: There are three options!!

4: You should stop grinning and asking quizzes when the race is reaching its climax

I told you before, didn't I?

5: You told me?

6: That if you have an answer then just do it

We really are at the climax – there are....

Pag 8

1: 2km until the finish line!!

2km left until the finish line of the Inter High's first day!!

Pag 9

1: They're chasing the three people ahead!!

The distance is around 100m!! Kanagawaa!!

They're so fast!

2: They're coming into view!!

3: Indeed

Right?!?

4: It's a shame to see your perplexed expression, Yuuto

The quiz's answer....

5: Me? Perplexed?

.. was none of the three

Ah!?

It's the fourth one...

Pag 12

1: “Only catch....”

Pag 13

1: “Kyofushi”

Pag 14

2: Hakogaku accelerated in a moment...!! And they.... they caught Kyofushi!!

3: Who's that four-eyes with the square glasses

He's terribly fast!!

4: Ehi!! The quiz is alright, but if you plan on accelerating please tell me!!

I really am perplexed!!

5: …. mi

6: …. mi

7: Oi, look, Kyofushi's assist moved back a little

Pag 15

1: I couldn't... catch up..... with the red guy.... mi

2: Hacchobori-kuun....

3: And then.... they caught up from behind...

…. mi

4: This guy.... that face....!!

So...rry

5: Puku, but there's still work to do?

This is bad!!

Recover!!

Hacchobori-kuun, if

6: we fall behind in a moment like this..

Recover!!

This guy....

Pag 16

1: is losing sight of the goal!!

2: Tch

3: Kyofushi's number 46 is falling behind!!

What's going on!?

4: Losing sight of the goal....!!

5: When running in road races both stamina and emotional strength are pushed to the utmost limits!!

Especially before the finish line!!

Pag 17

1: For cyclists, their “goal” supports their minds

If they don't have that....!! That's the reason he fell behind

3: So the ones who you should be the most wary of are the ones who have their goals!!

Pag 18

2: Are you kidding me, Kyofushi really was swallowed? The Kyofushi who was supposed to be chasing me!?

3: That was Hakogaku's four-eyes Jou!! The guy Kabu talked about!!

4: Oruaaaaaa!!

Pag 19

1: Kyofushi's aim was to “absorb the lead”.... if they did that, it would have been too late

Completing an event creates the next goal

2: So I absorbed Kyofushi first!!

3: Now if we go a few hundred of meters further we'll be able to naturally absorb Naruko, too

Ugh!! This guy thinks so much it pisses me off!!

4: Even so, isn't it cruel that among the three options the right one was the fourth one?

5: I prepared the fourth one on purpose

Pag 20

1: Because in road races things always go beyond expectations

2: I don't really get what he's saying, but

As expected, when his bangs fall down, Jou-san snaps

3: By the way, your acceleration earlier was amazing, do you have a name for it?

4: Yeah

5: “The euclidean speed of sound”

The origin is always euclidean!!

[pankowcrumbs]

Mine X Will Poulter

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

When I signed on for this rom-com, I knew what I was getting into.

Playing the lead meant plenty of long filming days, cringey meet-cutes, cheesy speeches, and of course kissing scenes. It was all part of the job. Nothing new.

Luke Newton, my co-star and on-screen love interest, was exactly what you'd expect in a rom-com hero handsome, charming, annoyingly good at being effortlessly sweet on camera.

We’d spent weeks filming together, slipping easily into character. Laughing, flirting, stealing kisses under twinkling fairy lights or in the rain.

All for the cameras, I kept reminding myself.

Off-camera, it stayed professional. Mostly.

Luke could be... friendly. His hands lingered a bit longer than necessary after takes. His eyes, still soft and melting when the director called cut.

I brushed it off. Luke was a flirt, plain and simple.

Besides I had Will.

Will Poulter my boyfriend, my best friend, the man who grounded me when everything else felt insane. He was calm. Thoughtful. Always made me feel like the most important person in any room.

He trusted me, and I trusted him.

Or at least... I thought we did.

It was a Friday when Will came to visit the set.

I hadn’t seen him in nearly a week he’d been filming up north and my heart practically burst with excitement when I spotted him lingering by the monitors, wearing that stupidly gorgeous smile of his.

I darted over, grinning.

"Hey, stranger," I said, wrapping my arms round his neck.

He hugged me tight, his nose brushing my temple. "Missed you, gorgeous."

God, I missed him too.

I barely had a second to breathe him in before the assistant director shouted for places.

Luke was already waiting on set a dreamy little park bench set-up under a string of fairy lights grinning when he saw me approach.

"You ready to fall madly in love with me?" he teased.

I laughed, rolling my eyes. "Always, darling."

Luke chuckled, taking my hand, guiding me into position.

I caught Will's gaze across the room warm, easy and gave him a tiny wink.

It’s just acting.

The scene was... intimate.

A slow build Luke’s character confessing his feelings, me getting overwhelmed, and him finally cupping my face and kissing me.

Soft. Tender. Passionate.

We'd rehearsed it a dozen times.

I thought nothing of it as Luke’s hand found my waist, tugging me a little closer, his thumb brushing lazy circles over my hipbone. Thought nothing of it as his lips found mine, slow and careful at first, then deeper as the scene demanded.

Thought nothing of the way his fingers slid up my spine, holding me there, even after the director called cut.

It wasn’t until I pulled back slightly breathless, cheeks flushed and glanced towards the monitors that I noticed it.

Will’s expression.

Gone was the easy, relaxed look he always wore.

Instead, his jaw was tight. His arms crossed over his chest. His foot tapping a furious rhythm on the floor.

Something in my stomach twisted.

I barely had a moment to process it before we were resetting for another take.

More kisses. More lingering touches.

And each time, I felt Will’s eyes burning into me.

The car ride home was... silent.

Uncomfortably so.

Will’s hands gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles white. His jaw was clenched. His mouth a grim, thin line.

I fiddled nervously with the hem of my jacket, biting my lip.

"Will?" I said softly, after about ten minutes of heavy silence. "What's wrong?"

His fingers tightened on the wheel.

He didn’t answer straight away.

Then, low and raw, he muttered:

"I can’t stand the sight of him touching you. It drives me mad."

I blinked, startled.

"Will, it’s just acting," I said quickly. "You know that."

He shook his head, laughing bitterly. "It’s not just acting. Not with him."

"What are you talking about?"

He finally glanced at me and the look in his eyes knocked the air out of my lungs.

Anger, yes. But also hurt. Jealousy. Desperation.

"I’m an actor too, Y/N," he said, voice low and rough. "I know what acting looks like. And that" He gestured back towards the set. "that wasn’t just acting."

I stared at him, heart pounding.

"Will, Luke’s just... he’s flirty. That’s just how he is."

"It’s not just flirting," Will snapped, sharper than I’d ever heard him. "The way he looks at you when the cameras aren’t rolling. The way he touches you when he doesn’t have to."

He shook his head, exhaling hard.

"No one should touch you like that but me."

The car filled with silence again.

Heavy. Tangled. Electric.

I didn’t know what to say.

Will was always so calm. So steady.

Seeing him like this furious, possessive was... shocking. But also, god help me, a little thrilling.

He cared. He cared so much he was burning with it.

I reached across the console, laying my hand gently over his.

His fingers flexed, then turned over, gripping mine tight.

"I’m yours," I said quietly. "Only yours."

Will finally exhaled, like he'd been holding his breath for hours.

His thumb brushed over my knuckles, slow and reverent.

"I know," he said hoarsely. "I know. I just... when I see someone else touching you like that, looking at you like that"

He broke off, shaking his head.

"It makes me lose my mind."

We pulled up outside my rental flat, the engine idling.

He turned towards me, eyes searching mine, pleading.

"I’m not proud of it," he said. "But I can’t help it. You’re mine."

His voice cracked a little on the last word.

My heart clenched so tightly it hurt.

I leaned across the seats, cupping his jaw in my hands.

His skin was warm under my fingers. His stubble scratching my palms.

"I am yours," I whispered. "Always."

And then I kissed him.

Hard and desperate and grounding.

His hands found my waist, dragging me closer, until I was practically sprawled over the console, his mouth hot and urgent against mine.

When we finally broke apart, gasping, his forehead pressed to mine.

"I hate him," Will muttered, breathless.

I laughed, still dazed. "I think that’s clear."

He grinned a little wild, a little wicked.

"You're not allowed to kiss anyone but me when I'm around. That's the new rule."

"Is that so?" I teased, fingers tangling in his hair.

"Mmhm," he hummed, nipping at my bottom lip. "Only me."

"Bit possessive, aren’t you?"

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, something fierce and tender burning there.

"Only when it comes to you."

Later, curled up in bed, Will’s arms wrapped tight around me like he was scared I'd disappear, I traced lazy patterns over his chest.

"You know I love you, right?" I murmured into the dark.

His arms tightened around me.

"I know," he whispered back.

And I knew, deep down, that it wasn't really about Luke at all.

It was about fear. About how much Will loved me. About how terrifying that kind of love could be.

I pressed a soft kiss over his heart.

"Only you," I whispered.

And I felt him smile against my hair.

"Only me," he echoed.

The next morning, I felt like I'd barely slept.

Will had stayed the night, wrapped around me like a human furnace, protective even in his dreams. Not that I was complaining.

If anything, I liked feeling wanted. Needed.

Still, a part of me was anxious as I pulled into set.

Will was coming back today said he wanted to hang about while I filmed. Which I normally loved... Except today’s scenes were particularly, erm... touchy.

It was a montage sequence. Lots of hand-holding, giggling, stolen kisses under blankets. The kind of stuff that could so easily blur the line between acting and something more if you weren’t careful.

And Luke... well, Luke didn’t exactly do careful.

Sure enough, from the moment I walked onto set, Luke was on.

"Morning, gorgeous," he said, throwing an arm casually over my shoulders, steering me towards the make-up trailer. "You ready to fall hopelessly in love with me again today?"

I laughed lightly, wriggling out of his grasp. "Always, darling," I said but there was a forced cheeriness in my voice that even I could hear.

Will had jogged inside already a bit ahead of me, talking to the director, but his eyes snapped to us immediately.

And the look he gave Luke?

If looks could kill, Luke would’ve spontaneously combusted on the spot.

The scenes were... difficult, to say the least.

Luke was doing the most.

Every take, he found a new excuse to touch me brushing hair off my face, squeezing my knee under the table, grazing my knuckles with his thumb. Even when the cameras weren’t rolling, he was there leaning into my space, joking, nudging my shoulder, looking at me like I hung the stars.

At first, I played it off. Stayed professional. Smiled politely.

But I could feel Will’s mood shifting with every passing minute.

He was stood just off-set, arms folded across his chest, his jaw so tight it could’ve cracked.

And when Luke utterly unnecessary, I might add tucked a stray curl behind my ear during a break, Will moved.

He was across the room in three strides, sliding an arm round my waist, pulling me back against his chest.

"Everything alright over here?" he asked, voice deceptively light.

Luke’s hand dropped instantly.

"Yeah, mate," Luke said, flashing that lazy grin of his. "Just keeping the chemistry alive."

Will’s arm tightened around me slightly.

"Good," he said, smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Wouldn’t want anyone forgetting it’s all just acting."

Luke coughed, shifting awkwardly.

I leaned back into Will a little, grounding him and maybe myself too.

The message was loud and clear:

Mine.

After we wrapped for the day, someone suggested hitting the pub for a few drinks.

Normally, I would've begged off I was exhausted but Will looked like he needed a release valve before he combusted.

So off to the pub we went.

The whole cast and crew piled into this cosy little place round the corner battered wooden tables, fairy lights strung up across the ceiling, the smell of fried chips and beer in the air.

We crammed into a couple of long tables, pints in hand, laughter buzzing around us.

I perched on a bench seat, squeezed between Luke and Will.

Awkward.

Luke, undeterred by the presence of my very tall, very brooding boyfriend, kept up the charm offensive.

He leaned in too close when he talked, brushing his knee against mine, laughing too loud at my jokes. At one point, he slung an arm casually along the back of the bench close enough that his fingers brushed my shoulders.

Will’s whole body tensed beside me.

I could feel it building in him a storm ready to break.

And then Luke bloody idiot made his fatal mistake.

He leaned even closer, voice low and teasing in my ear:

"Careful, Y/N, people might start thinking we’re actually together."

That was it.

In one swift move, Will set his pint down, turned fully towards me, and without hesitation cupped my jaw in both hands and kissed me.

Properly.

Not a soft, sweet peck.

No this was a claim.

Hot and slow and deep, leaving absolutely no room for misinterpretation.

The pub erupted.

Wolf whistles. Cheers. Someone actually shouted, "MEOW!"

When Will finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine for a second, breathing hard.

"You’re mine," he muttered, voice low enough for only me to hear.

"Yours," I whispered back, dizzy with it.

Then Will turned very deliberately and fixed Luke with a look that could've frozen fire.

Luke cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing away.

"Message received," he mumbled into his pint.

The table burst into laughter, ribbing Luke mercilessly, while Will just smirked and pulled me tighter against him.

I couldn't stop grinning, cheeks flushed, heart pounding.

I felt owned in the best possible way.

Later, when we finally stumbled home, Will slid his arms round my waist, burying his face in my neck.

"Sorry if I was... intense today," he murmured.

I smiled, threading my fingers through his hair.

"I liked it," I whispered. "I like when you’re a little possessive."

He pulled back to look at me eyes dark and heated.

"Good," he said roughly. "Because you’re bloody mine."

And then he kissed me again slow and claiming and completely undoing me.

Maybe Will wasn’t always the cool, calm, collected man he presented to the world. Maybe, when it came to me, something primal stirred in him.

And maybe... I liked it that way.

Because God knows, I was just as hopelessly his.

The next time Will visited set, the energy was different.

Calmer. Surer.

He wasn’t hovering at the edge of the stage like a man ready to fight; he was sat comfortably in a battered director’s chair, a coffee in hand, chatting easily with some of the crew between takes.

It made my chest ache, how effortlessly he fit in now. How completely he trusted me.

And trust was sexy, in its own way.

Whenever our eyes met, he’d give me this soft, secret little smile that made my knees weak.

God, I loved him.

The scenes today were fluffy cuddling on a sofa, laughing under blankets. No kissing, no lingering touches.

Luke had backed off, well and truly. Probably still reeling from Will’s last very public reminder.

Honestly, Luke was barely making eye contact with me, and the director joked about how he needed to act like he actually liked me again.

I couldn’t even be mad the tension was gone. I could just do my job and enjoy it.

Between takes, Will wandered over to me, slipping his hand into mine as we stood off-camera.

"You’re amazing, y’know that?" he murmured, dropping a kiss onto my hair.

I squeezed his hand, smiling up at him.

"And you’re biased."

"Yeah. So?" he said, grinning that cheeky grin that made my heart stutter.

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling something out and my breath caught.

It was a little velvet box.

Tiny. Heavy.

No. No, surely not.

He opened it, very casually.

Inside was a ring.

Simple. Elegant. Perfect.

A gold band with a delicate little diamond, gleaming under the stage lights.

I blinked at him, heart hammering so loudly I could barely hear anything else.

Will smiled, soft and sure.

"I’ve been carrying this around for days," he said. "Waiting for the right moment."

He shrugged a little, shy and utterly devastating.

"But there’s no perfect moment, is there? Every moment with you already is."

Tears pricked at my eyes, blurring the ring into a shimmering starburst.

"Will..."

He lifted my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

"I love you," he said simply. "I don’t care about stages or cameras or scripts. I just want you. Forever. Be my wife?"

I laughed, half-sobbing, half-giddy, covering my mouth with my free hand.

"Of course I will," I choked out, throwing my arms round his neck.

He kissed me properly then the kind of kiss that made time stop while somewhere behind us, someone whistled and someone else whooped, and the director shouted, "CUT, THAT’S A WRAP ON TRUE LOVE, FOLKS!"

We broke apart, laughing breathlessly.

Will slipped the ring onto my finger, his hands slightly trembling.

It fit perfectly.

Just like us.

Later, after everyone had cheered and clapped and demanded to see the ring a hundred times, Will tucked me against his side, murmuring in my ear:

"Now no one ever has to wonder if you’re taken."

I smiled, pressing my forehead to his chest.

"I was yours long before the ring, Will."

He kissed the top of my head, holding me tighter.

"And you always will be."

[fireside-fanfics]

Hold Me Closer

There were two constants in Cameron Fitzgerald’s life:

Trouble had a magnetic pull.

Trouble almost always had a name—Joaquin Torres.

They had met in Mrs. Brenner’s kindergarten class, both five years old, both scrappy and too curious for their own good. Cameron was the one who dared to climb the jungle gym when the teacher said not to. Joaquin was the one who boosted her up—and then tried to convince her to jump off the top.

Since then, they’d been inseparable. Through every scraped knee, every bad haircut, every heartbreak and every late-night call for help, they had been each other's person. Cameron, the responsible one, the planner, the fixer. Joaquin, the reckless dreamer, the one who somehow made every disaster seem like an adventure. They fit together like gears, one spinning wild, the other keeping time.

Somewhere along the way, without either of them meaning to, home had stopped being a place. It had become a person. It had become him. Home was always each other. Now, sitting on the floor of their tiny living room, Cameron could see just how heavy that sun had become.

Joaquin looked wrecked. His flight jacket was tossed carelessly over the arm of the chair, his boots still on, dirt and dried blood on his hands like a badge he hadn’t cared enough to wipe away. His usual boyish grin, the one he used to charm her out of being mad at him, was nowhere in sight.

He didn’t even glance up when she walked in. Just stared blankly at the wall, the weight of a terrible week pressing down so hard that even breathing looked like it might break him. Cameron dropped her bag by the door and padded over in socked feet. Without asking, she slid down beside him, knees pulled to her chest.

They sat in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It never had been. Some people had to work for years to get that kind of quiet, that kind of knowing. With Joaquin, it had been there since they were kids trading fruit snacks at lunch. Finally, she nudged his shoulder gently.

"Hey, Flyboy," she said softly. "You gonna let me in?"

He huffed a breath that sounded more like a shudder before quietly answering, "You don’t want to see what’s in my head right now, Cameron."

"Try me," she pushed gently, giving him a sideways look.

Another long pause. Then, so low she almost missed it, he said, "I keep thinking if I was just faster, smarter, stronger ... maybe they’d still be here."

Cameron’s heart broke quietly inside her chest. Joaquin had always carried things too close to the skin, laughing, joking, deflecting. It was easy to forget sometimes that underneath all that sunshine was a heart that bruised deep and dark. She reached for his hand without thinking and wove her fingers through his, grounding him.

"You did everything you could," she said, voice steady even though her throat was tight. "You always do."

His grip tightened around hers. His jaw clenched so hard she could see the muscle jump.

"Joaquin..." Cameron shifted, facing him fully. "Look at me, baby."

Reluctantly, he did; his brown eyes were raw, like open wounds.

"I want you to know something, J... It's okay to cry. It's okay to fall apart."

Her voice gentle but fierce. His breath hitched. Once. Then again.

Cameron squeezed his hand and continued, "Not everything has to be on your shoulders. You don’t have to carry it alone. Not with me."

For one suspended second, she thought maybe he’d pull away, brush it off, or make a joke about her getting soft on him. But then Joaquin’s whole body shuddered, and he ducked his head against her shoulder, and the dam broke. He didn’t sob loudly; he wasn’t built that way.

Nevertheless, she felt it—the way his chest heaved with silent cries, the way he clung to her like a man trying not to drown. Cameron wrapped both arms around him, holding him so tight that she was afraid he’d float away.

"You’re safe," she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair. "I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him broken. Not really. There had been the night he called her from his first deployment, his voice shaking as he sat alone in a barracks on the other side of the world. The night she held him after his father died, when he’d punched a hole in her drywall and then cried in her arms like a boy lost.

And now this. Another scar to add to their collection. Another night where the only thing they had was each other. After a long time, Joaquin’s breathing evened out. He pulled back, rubbing at his face with the heel of his hand, embarrassed.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Cameron arched an eyebrow and muttered, "You’re sorry for being human? Quit being a dumbass."

A snort of laughter escaped him, cracked and broken but real.

"Besides, I already told you," she grinned, bumping his shoulder, "you cry pretty."

"You’re a menace ... but you’re my menace," he said, but there was a flicker of the old Joaquin in his voice now. The one who had dragged her into every water balloon fight, every late-night taco run, every too-stupid-to-survive prank war.

Cameron hesitated for half a heartbeat. Then, because if not now, then when? Staring at him now, seeing the complete adoration in his eyes she contemplated what to say but then—

"I love you, J."

The confession came out before she even realized what she was saying. The words weren’t new between them. They’d been saying I love you for years—after bad days, after late-night phone calls, before deployments, in texts that didn’t need overthinking. It had always been part of them. Easy. Natural.

But this? This was the first time she said it as his girlfriend. The first time since the lines between them had shifted from friendship into something even deeper, even scarier, even more permanent.

For a moment, she worried—nervous if the three words would land differently. If somehow, after all the years of saying it, this time would make everything more complicated. But then Joaquin’s fingers threaded through hers tighter, grounding her like he always did, and he gave her a look so full of warmth it almost knocked the breath out of her.

"I love you too, Cameron," he whispered, voice rough around the edges. "I always have—that’s never gonna change."

Joaquin cupped her face in his hands, as gentle as if she were something precious, and kissed her. Slow. Sure. Like a man memorizing the shape of something he already knew by heart.

When they pulled apart, Joaquin pressed his forehead to hers. His eyes were still stained with tears, but a faint smile tugged at his lips.

"God, I love you so much it hurts sometimes," he confessed.

"You’re so dramatic," Cameron laughed, half-sob, half-joy.

"Only for you, sweet girl," he whispered.

They sat there until the stars came out, tangled together on the living room floor, the weight of grief still heavy—but no longer something they had to carry alone.

[ladsrants]

“Friend” is an umbrella term

Caleb x Non MC reader, slight smut, yearnyearnyearn, annoyingly cute Caleb, a little angsty.

🍎* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *✈️

𝔰𝔥𝔢’𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡

𝔰𝔥𝔢’𝔰 𝔰𝔬 𝔲𝔫𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢.

A hot, sticky, summer day. The kind with cherry popsicle juice dripping down your chin, music playing softly; a persistent beat that relays joy. The sidewalk burning the pads of your feet, the smell of sweat and sunscreen painting the air. The lingering ache on your warm cheeks from grinning too much. It feels like a guitar riff that makes your stomach churn, painfully beautiful. Your hair blowing in the wind as you lean your head out of the car window in a desperate attempt at some coolness.

Thats what Caleb felt like. That scent of sandalwood and vanilla haunted your dreams. Whether he was in Skyhaven, or visiting in Linkon. His smile burned behind my retinas, replaying the exact moment I told a shitty joke and he laughed like I were the first person to ever make a joke. His head dipping down as he doubled over, clutching his stomach while his shoulders shook.

It was never that funny. But he still lifted his head, warring that devastatingly infectious smile, catching his breath and swiping a tear away from the corner of his eye. Your own smile reflecting back at you in the aster glow of his gaze. Like you were the only thing that existed. Tunnel visioned on you. Your heart beat a little quicker.

Childhood friends. Friends.

But not once in your life would you find another friend who looked at you like that. Who made you feel so individualized under their touch. Not once did you feel so seen.

They were dull, like a dreary day in late fall. The leaves are dead. Color gone. Your joints ache from the cold, and your nose burns. Jackets that are never thick enough, toes throbbing from the poor circulation. The wind biting, mean, brutal. The sky dimmed of that bright, warm beauty. Not a plane in sight. Clouds. Thick. Brooding.

They couldn’t compare to a warm summer day. To the taste of a fresh, golden crisp apple. The juice drowning out everything in its wake as it splashed on your tastebuds. The perfect bite.

Then.

A snap of my screen, and my laptop closed. Journaling done for the day. Or at least for now.

Eyes drifting to the opened window of my bedroom, curtains flowing effortlessly in the light breeze that poured through. Goosebumps birthed onto my arms and legs despite the suffocatingly hot air.

The soft buzz of music pouring out of his headphones. Caleb. Sat across from me, a book in hand. His eyes flickering up to me as a small smile crept onto his lips.

Fuck.

His hair was flattened down to his head in an endearing way, the summer heat gluing some sweat slackened strands to his forehead. His cheeks flushed a warm pink, his freckles enhanced from the sun that continued to beat down on everyone who dared to step outdoors. And all that ran through my mind?

Why is he so stupid fucking hot. Why do I feel like this. Fuck. Fuck. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-

“You okay pips? Wanna go out? It’s kinda stuffy in here.”

His voice smooth and tinted with hints of concern at my spaciness snapped me out of my own head. I blinked. Before nodding my head, my posture straightening as a quiet crack could be heard from my back.

“Actually yeah. You have to pick where though since I did yesterday. It’s your vacation ya know.”

He had been visiting home from the academy. I was on a summer break from college, and he had some time as well. So naturally, he came home. This was the first time we weren’t at Grans, with me now being stable enough to have my own apartment.

“Gotcha, gotcha. Meet me outside in 20?”

🍎* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *✈️

“Okay but hypothetically, if you really think about it, the apple juice would add a tang to the chocolate, and thin out the shake!”

He had decided on getting lunch at one of our favorite mom and pop diners, which then resulted in a walk to the lake nearby. He was sporting a white tank top that hugged too tightly to his chest, accentuating his muscular frame in a borderline illegal manner. I mean shit, the shirt looked painted. And there was no chance he didn’t realize it as he put it on.

I held the remainder of our shared milkshake, the cup gathering condensation on the exterior, sweating into my palm. My hand cold as a result as I sipped from the red straw that sat too high up from the rim. I had grabbed the straw for the large rather than the small, mindlessly gaping at Caleb instead of paying attention as we rushed out.

“Caleb. You’re disgusting. That idea alone deserves actual federal prison time.”

The air around the both of us was filled with a soft laughter. That summer day I talked about in my journal? We were walking in it. He reached out and took the nearly empty cup from my grasp, effortlessly tossing it into a passing garbage can.

I could feel the sun beginning to leave a burn on my shoulders, a tan line forming where my tank top and bathing suit met.

The sound of his footsteps pausing quickly caught my attention, my own ceasing on the pavement as I turned to look at him.

Without a moment to think, the world was upside down. My hair falling in my line of sight, firm hands resting on the backs of my bare thighs, the skin sticky with sweat. All I could do was kick my legs and yell, pounding my fists onto his solid back. The sound of his laughter filling the air as the ground I stared at moved beneath me. The pebbled “beach” that led to the lake following soon after.

“Caleb! I will murder you if you throw me in! I still have my clothes on!”

Louder laughter. And then water at his feet. Then the world spun again as he pulled my body over his back and effortlessly adjusted me to bridal style.

It felt like the breath had been stolen from my lungs the second I saw his grin. That shit eating, idiotic, beautifully warm grin. His eyes sparkling as he started to wade into the water, seemingly unbothered by his shorts getting wet.

“You looked like you needed to cool off pipsqueak. I’m simply…being helpful.”

“Evil, you’re being a mena-“

Splash, water, blinding my vision, and then the sun doing the same. Of course he would dunk me and bring me back up. My hair stuck to my face as I tried my hardest to glare up at him. Biting back the painful grin on my lips. It was a loosing battle though when he flew backwards, water cascading around both of us as he brought me down with him.

The resounding noise of laughter leaving the water as we both resurfaced again. My hands thinking before my mind as I splashed him, only to be met by his hands around my waist, playfully tossing me further into the water.

Even so, in the moment I couldn’t help but think about that white tank top being anywhere but on him.

🍎* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *✈️

The evening sun slowly turned the sky above us pink and purple. The clouds rolling in and creating a shelter from the miserable UV rays above us both. Water dripped at our feet. His eyes straight ahead as I held mine down.

Right, left, right, left, right-

fuck.

Left, right, left, right, left, right-

“Are you matching my footsteps Caleb?”

Gaze flickering up, I examined his smile that crept onto his lips. He still never looked at me as he removed his hands from his pockets and let them loosely swing at his hips.

“I couldn’t match your footsteps if I tried pipsqueak. Your feet never grew past mini.”

A harmless smack to the shoulder, paired with an eye-roll as the comfortable silence resumed around us both. Cicadas crying in the greenery bordering the path home. The sound of children laughing a distant music to our personal movie scene.

My gaze flickered back down, eerily aware of how each time his hand brushed past own, they never actually touched.

I wanted that. God I wanted that so badly. But not from the point of view of a childhood best friend. Not in the tender, ‘platonic’ way it always had been.

It must be the heat making me act like this. Feral. He just happens to be here for it.

But right as the thought for an explanation passes, my mind is filled with static when he effortlessly reaches for my hand. Intertwining our fingers and squeezing not once, not twice, but three times. He sighs a little bit from above. My heart fucking stutters.

What. The fuck.

My throats dry, and not from the weather. My fingers twitching slightly as I suddenly become painfully aware of how tightly I’m holding his own. I can feel every crease, the sweat building between our palms. My legs are barely carrying me at this point. My limbs numb.

It wasn’t the heat. I wanted this.

🍎* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *✈️

𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔞𝔶 𝔪𝔶 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢,

𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔪𝔶 𝔰𝔨𝔦𝔫,

𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔦𝔱’𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡

𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔦 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫

Cocktails were probably the worst idea to end our night together given my. Problem.

But I agreed. Of course I did. How could I not when he smiled at me and shot me a look that said ‘Please let me take care of you.’

So now, after three Apple Crisp’s, a borderline overwhelming tickle fight on the couch (he won), and some teasing over my flushed cheeks, the soft buzz of the shower running filled my ears while I stared at the ceiling.

Out of my head, get OUT of my head.

He was in my shower, using my soap. Singing one of my favorite songs.

Friend. My friend. My childhood friend.

“What the fuuuuck..” I groaned softly as I pressed my face into my hands. My face was hot, the alcohol making my mind even hazier than it had been as a result of the summer heat. The hot air now replaced by a comfortable night breezed that pushed in through my balcony doors. My stomach swirled with what I could call unease as a cop out, but what was definitely an insatiable craving to be in that shower with him. Running my hands down his abs with the water droplets, pushing shampoo through his dark locks, drinking in that expression on his face when my hand moves a little too far down-

Silence. No water running. No humming. I looked up, only to met with his b o d y. My face turned beet red on impact. Water dripping down his stomach, disappearing into the light grey fabric of his loosely fitting sweatpants. His eyebrow quirked up as a shitty smirk blew over his lips. His tone condescending, smug, borderline predatory.

“You look like you’re gonna eat me, or like you’re gonna explode.”

No words, lips sealed shut, teeth gritted together like that cocktail was infused with fucking cement.

Speak. Say anything. Defend your honor. Oh god he’s getting closer. His abs..No. Focus. Words.

“I…You…You’re naked.”

Oh my god.

A dry chuckled, deep, almost dark. Apparently being drunk turned me into a blubbering idiot, and him into a terrifyingly hot brick wall.

The couch dips, his eyes never once leaving my face, flickering towards my lips, blatantly at that.

“Hm. I’m pretty sure I’m wearing sweatpants. You got X-ray vision or somethin’?”

My eyes went wide, instinct kicking in as I reached over and smacked him. Or at least tried to. I moved too quickly, landing with a thud on his bare chest, my cheek now damp with the water than fell from his hair. And before I could scramble away, I was imprisoned by his vice like embrace. One that was familiar, but suddenly felt different. My eyes flying up to his as he seemingly examined me. Like a plane engine in need of fixing. Interest. Want. Need. All melded into one glance.

I could barely breath when his fingers brushed over the apple of my cheek, pushing some hair back behind my ear.

So close. He’s so close.

Then. 6 little words. Spoken low, slow, and smooth. Cool like steel, but detrimental in delivery like a pipe smacking my skull.

“Friends can be an umbrella term…”

🍎* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *✈️

Heavy breathing, apple and vodka mixed with toothpaste painting my tastebuds. Cologne, shampoo, sweat.

Skin. Skin on skin on what felt like fucking miles of skin. His calloused fingers tenderly snapping my bra strap against the faint sunburn that kissed my shoulders. I gasp.

“Caleb…” His name slips past my lips like a prayer, breathless, trembling. And mine slips past his like a promise, an oath to some sort of pledge. Breathless, yet steady.

Sloppy alcohol infused kisses, ones that meant more than just a drunken moment. Kisses that spoke for years of unspoken emotions. His hips grind against my own.

He’s rock hard.

My stomach backflips. My shorts feeling as if they were suffocating me once his hand confidently slides under the fabric. Eliciting a groan from him as he starts to examine my underwear blindly. Like he’s committing the fabric to memory or studying for a test. Then a huff of air against my cheek.

“God you’re perfect…Like…Like a great song…Better than that…I could touch you for the rest of my life…Please just…Fuck..Let me make you feel good pips…please let me do this for you…”

His intention while spoke selflessly, is completely selfish as his fingers start to roll circles across my clit. A breathless, broken moan of his name leaves my lips instantaneously. My back arching up into him. His next words sending a flood into my already soaked panties.

“Just…Friends helping each other out…Just a fa-hah…favor…”

Maybe friends is an umbrella term.

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: haunted-the band CAMINO

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ▁ ▂ ▃ ▄ ▅ ▆ █ 100 %

A/N : So sorry if that felt a little rushed at the end, I’m not a smut writer, so. Yeah. I do hope you enjoyed tho. :P thanks for reading.

[magic-f3tus]

(I'm gonna be one of the first ever requests here>:33(just found u,dunno yo first acc lmao-))

So, u write for Crk? Fantastic, cus I'm currently have a obsession season with emo Vanilla- I mean Truthless Recluse:3

He's emo, so I just got a small idea: reader being Shadow milk's little sibling, so they got some of the silly from their brother; jester brother? We got a magician sibling>:). Like, love doing little card tricks for Truthless to watch (he just peak. A bit.), following him like a clingy little kitty, floating around poking him, trying to get some reaction out of this emo face, stealing his hat; but does he mind? Yes... (Nah, he doesn't, just doesn't show that he enjoys it, being your bodyguard to stop your risky tricks). But at April fools this year, they decided to annoy him in another way; chatting with Black Sapphire, have tea parties with Candy Apple, goofing around with her brother, COMPLETELY ignoring our little healer, so, what will he do? Let your imagination with the fic explore, I'll wait>:33

(sorry if it's long, and take care too, wish you the best luck)

(I wonder what Arcana game did you mentioned? I just know Arcana Twilight-)

-🫐☕

Ngl this is a fun idea.

Also the Arcana game I'm referring to is called The Arcana : A Mystic Romance and it's made by Nix Hydra.

It's so worth it to check out and my fav character is Asra

Is Arcana Twilight good btw? I heard of it but haven't checked it out yet.

The Sibling of Deceit

And their companion with the big hat !

Shadow Milk Cookie has a younger sibling and they oh so love to trail behind the newest addition to the Spire! How fun! Always poking and prodding, showing him their newest tricks and treats and all that jazz. Though they are feeling extra mischievous today and who other to target than their favourite companion !

And they know just what to do...

Truthless Recluse felt that something was amiss when his eyes opened from his slumber. The Spire was too silent for his comfort.

The usual feel of mischief nowhere to be seen. He stood up from the bed that he rested on, picking up his staff as he searched for his hat.

His hat was missing? Hah he knew that they would do something like this! Ignoring the happiness that he felt.

So what do they want him to chase for his hat?

Absolutely not!

He'll leave this room without it the- his hat had fallen by his bedside. The externally stoic cookie was now looking slightly flustered.

Maybe he was wrong...

Nevertheless, his peace was still disturbed. No attempts to steal his hat, poke and prod his attire, convince him to partake in nonsensical stunts.

It was completely silent. He wandered the Spire in complete solidarity, the lack of interaction was getting to him and he was tense, hoping that something might occur or a prank be pulled.

Cause he was very convinced that this was an elaborate plan. How else would you explain that the cookie would trail him upon sight cease to do so. Just like that??

As he continued his steps through the place, a familiar voice was heard chattering away.

Like the uninterested cookie he is, he follows that voice.

"Oh! Candy Apple darling, this sweet tea is simply splendid!"

There you were sitting on a comically small chair made for Candy Apple Cookie. Giggling and laughing with her. For a brief moment your eyes met before you got up and excused yourself.

With that he concluded that this was a deliberately meant for him and he wouldn't fall for such blatant trickery. He turned around walking away though where he doesn't know but maybe hoping that he would hear your voice again.

After a while he encounters Black Sapphire, the cookie giving him cordial greetings and in the distance he sees you again. This time you were conversing with Shadow Milk Cookie. The Beast laughed at something you said, he wasn't able to hear from where he was.

Though mildly frustrated his steps moved unconsciously towards you and you along with Shadow Milk seemed to take notice as the latter patted you on the shoulder and disappeared.

This time you didn't disappear and even if you wanted to he grabbed you before you could.

You shot him a clueless look. "Is something the matter Truthless?"

The face he made at your question was utterly priceless. The furrow of his eyebrows, eyes widening, mouth aghast and head in this judgemental turn.

Until he regained composure much to your dismay. "Nothing seems to be the matter. Why do you inquire?"

It took your whole baked body to resist laughing and he looked exasperated.

"Oh no you look quite flummoxed"

Truthless Recluse felt that something was amiss, and something was definitely amiss.

"Oh really, I wasn't aware."

That broke the camels back for you, erupting in continuous laughter while he only looked more exasperated.

"Just so you are aware, this whole thing wasn't humorous one bit."

"Oh it definitely was you just aren't funny enough."

You shot him a grin while he turned around and walked away not wanting to deal with you. Floating alongside him you plucked his hat from his head and placed it on your own.

"Soooo you missed me?"

"Why would I?"

"OH COME ONNNN. You so missed me."

And this time he shot you a grin.

"Nothing you can prove."

>> As I was writing this I realised that I write so much angst that I forgot how to funny.

[sakinabrain]

guys, i saw this post, and i had to write it down.

sorry for the tears.

"After the storm" - Tommy Miller

warnings: absolute angst, kinda lemon, sfw, oc!reader, fem!reader, heartbreaking, tragedy, violence

The snow was finally settling, like dust after a storm, quiet and pale and heartless. The air in Jackson still carried the bitter sting of gunpowder and blood, a cruel reminder of the infected horde that had nearly breached their gates. People moved about like shadows, eyes wide, some still shaking, but it was over—for now. Tommy stood just outside the main watch gate, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his hand trembling just enough that he kept it tucked into his pocket.

He was breathing again. For the first time in hours, he let himself believe they had made it through. We’re alive. We’re okay.

Then he saw them.

A group approached across the snow-laden field, walking slow. Too slow. Among them was Jesse, face pale beneath streaks of blood and soot, pulling a body wrapped in thick canvas. Dina walked with them too, stumbling, leaning on Jesse, her eyes dazed. And Ellie—

Tommy’s heart dropped at the sight of her. Her face was raw, red, soaked with tears, her mouth slack like she’d been screaming so hard her voice gave out.

Just imagine how relieved Tommy must be that the attack is finally over, only to watch in horror as the patrol returns with Joel's lifeless body.

He did not have to imagine it. He was living it.

Tommy's breath caught in his throat. His legs, which had carried him through fire, blood, and chaos minutes before, suddenly felt like they belonged to someone else. Like they weren’t strong enough to hold him anymore.

“No…” It was barely a whisper, his voice hollow. “No. No, no…”

Naomi was nearby, brushing snow from her coat, her dark wavy hair sticking slightly to the side of her cheek. She looked up at him, saw the shift in his face, and followed his gaze to the approaching figures.

And then she saw the body.

She almost gasped, her eyes tearing up lightly and her expression changing whole.

Tommy was already moving, staggering forward, heart clenching in his chest like it was being crushed in a vice. Naomi was at his side in seconds, her hand on his arm. He didn’t even feel it.

“Tommy— Tommy wait, what—”

But he was already breaking.

Jesse met him halfway, and when their eyes locked, Jesse didn’t have to say a word. His mouth trembled like he wanted to. But there was nothing to be said.

“Please,” Tommy rasped. “Tell me it ain’t him, tell me is not my brother...”

He looked down. The canvas was soaked through in one spot. Dark. Crimson. Heavy. Jesse knelt slowly, as though offering the weight of a planet, and unwrapped just enough.

Tommy’s knees hit the ground before he even understood he was falling.

He barely recognized the face beneath the blood and bruises, the way the jaw sat slightly ajar, the eye swollen shut, a deep wound in his neck so vicious, so personal, it screamed of hatred. A golf club had done this. He didn’t even know yet how he knew—but he knew.

It was Joel.

His brother.

His damn brother.

The same man he’d fought with, grown with, bled with, argued with—and forgiven, always forgiven—because Joel was his anchor. His constant. His stupid, stubborn, reckless, loving big brother.

“No…” Tommy’s voice cracked, as if the wind itself was trying to choke him. “God, no, please—Joel, my brother—come on, no, don’t…”

His fingers gripped the canvas as if he could pull him back from the brink just by holding on. His forehead rested against the edge of Joel’s shoulder. His breath was shallow, shivering. His chest heaved, but no sob came. He wouldn’t let it. He couldn’t.

“Tommy,” Naomi murmured, kneeling beside him, her hand finding his back, steady, warm, grounding. Her eyes were already brimming. “Dear…”

“He’s gone.” Tommy’s voice was numb. “They killed him like he was nothin’. Like he was no one. They just… Left him like this.”

He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached, his body rocking slightly as he tried to keep it all in. The pain wasn’t just emotional—it was physical. His ribs hurt. His spine felt like it was splintering. He couldn't breathe without tasting blood in the air. Joel had been part of him, and now—now that part was dead. Hollowed out.

Naomi reached for his face, turned him gently toward her. “Look at me, Tommy.”

He did. And as soon as his eyes met hers—hazel green, tearing up—his face crumbled. He didn't sob, not yet. But something inside him broke loud enough that she could feel it.

She pulled him into her arms, his body heavy, almost limp, like he was collapsing in on himself. Her fingers held the back of his head, rocking him softly, and he buried his face in her shoulder.

“I should’ve gone with him,” he choked out. “I should’ve been there—why didn’t I go?”

“Don’t do that,” Naomi whispered. “Don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known.”

“But it’s Joel,” he whispered back, as if the name alone could explain the weight of the loss. “It’s Joel, Naomi… what the hell am I supposed to do without him? I.. I can't live without my brother.”

Naomi didn’t have an answer. She just held him tighter.

Behind them, in the soft echo of grief, Ellie dropped to her knees again near Joel’s body. She was shaking, silent, lips moving in prayer or plea or promise—no one knew. Jesse stood close by, his hand on her shoulder, too shell-shocked to offer anything else.

Andy would ask where Joel was later. Tommy would have to find words to explain to a four-year-old what happened to the uncle who always brought him little wood-carved animals.

But for now, Tommy stayed there on the ground, cradled in Naomi’s arms, eyes burning, throat raw, as the snow kept falling over Joel’s broken body—like a veil trying to cover the unspeakable.

And the world, for Tommy, had never felt colder.

.........

A Few Hours Later

The fire in the hearth cracked quietly, but its warmth felt distant—pointless, like a flame trying to comfort a storm. Tommy sat on the edge of the couch, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes were empty, fixed on the woodgrain beneath his boots, jaw twitching with barely-contained fury.

Naomi stood across from him in the kitchen, her arms crossed tight over her chest, but it wasn’t in anger. It was in fear. In ache. In love she didn’t know how to protect anymore.

"You can't go," she said softly, but firmly.

His eyes finally lifted to meet hers, and they were different now—dark, burning. “I have to.”

“No, Tommy,” she stepped forward, voice still calm but rising, trembling. “You want to. You want revenge. But you don’t have to go chasing death to get it.”

Tommy stood abruptly, the chair scraping behind him. “They killed him, Naomi. You didn’t see what they did to him. You didn’t see his face—” his voice cracked, like something ripping in half. “He wasn’t even Joel anymore. They tore him apart like he was nothing. And I can’t—I won’t just sit here and let them breathe while he’s in the goddamn ground.” Naomi flinched at the rawness in his voice, the grief masked in rage.

“And what about me?” she asked, tears pricking her eyes. “What about Andy? Are we just… supposed to keep going without you too?”

He froze.

“I know you’re hurting. I am too.” Her voice wavered. “But I won’t lose you, Tommy. Not to them. Not to this. You walk out that door with nothing but a gun and your pain, you’re not coming back. You know it.”

He turned his back to her, his breath ragged. “They need to pay, Naomi,” he muttered. “I need to make them pay.”

Naomi stepped closer, her hand gently pressing against his back. “I know, baby. I know. But you’ve already paid enough. Joel’s death is eating you alive. Don’t let it take everything else too.”

Silence settled heavy between them. The room dimmed, the fire fading to embers.

Then, a small voice broke through the quiet.

“Mommy?”

They both turned.

Andy stood at the archway, his curls tousled from a nap, pajamas wrinkled. He clutched a carved wooden dog—one of Joel’s last gifts—in his tiny hand. His eyes, hazel green like Naomi’s, were round and questioning.

“Where’s Uncle Joel?” he asked. “Why didn’t he come back?”

Naomi’s breath caught. Her hands trembled at her sides as she slowly knelt to meet her son’s gaze. Tommy stayed rooted, afraid he’d shatter completely if he moved.

Naomi tried to speak, but the words lodged in her throat like glass. She swallowed hard.

“Uncle Joel…” her voice cracked, just a whisper. “He’s not coming back, sweetheart.”

Andy blinked. “Why not?”

She reached out, pulling him into a soft embrace, his small arms wrapping around her neck.

“Because… because something very bad happened. Some people hurt him,” she said, tears slipping down her cheeks as she pressed her face to his hair. “And he went to heaven.”

Andy was quiet for a moment. “Is he with the stars now?” Naomi nodded, trembling. “Yes, baby. With the stars.”

Tommy turned his face away, jaw tight, biting back the scream that built in his chest. The sight of his wife holding their child, trying not to break, trying to make sense of the senseless—that was the cost. That was what Abby and her people had destroyed.

Not just Joel.

Not just the man.

Everything he was to everyone.

Andy pulled back just enough to look at his mom’s face, saw her tears, and wiped them clumsily with his sleeve. “Don’t cry, Mommy,” he whispered. “Uncle Joel wouldn’t want you to cry.” That was it.

Naomi broke then, curling into her son, a muffled sob escaping her lips.

And Tommy stood there, watching them—the two people he loved more than life, the two people who needed him to stay.

But inside, vengeance was still clawing at him like a wild animal, whispering promises of justice, of blood. Of peace that would only come with a bullet.

He didn’t know yet which voice he would listen to.

But for now, he walked over slowly, dropped to his knees, and wrapped his arms around them both.

And in that fragile silence, Tommy felt what it meant to be torn clean in half.

......

The moon hung heavy over Jackson, veiled in soft mist, casting long shadows through the frost-glazed windows. Inside their quiet home, the fire had burned down to embers, the soft hum of the wind the only sound left in the silence.

Tommy couldn’t sleep.

He hadn’t even tried.

His body lay beside Naomi, still and stiff, but his mind had never left that clearing—never left Joel. Over and over again, he saw it. The canvas. The wound. Ellie’s broken voice. The blood. The hatred.

He turned slowly, careful not to wake her. Naomi’s face, half-lit by the moonlight seeping through the curtains, was peaceful. Tired, but peaceful. Her lips slightly parted, her arm loosely draped over his chest, her fingers twitching every so often like she was dreaming.

God, he loved her.

He didn’t deserve her.

And he couldn’t stay.

With the quietest breath, Tommy slipped out from under the blanket. His heart thudded like a war drum as he moved. He gathered the bag he’d packed hours before—ration bars, spare ammo, a medkit, map, compass, canteen. His pistol tucked into the back of his jeans. The rifle strapped over his shoulder.

He glanced back toward the bed.

Just before he turned, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Naomi’s forehead—then her lips, soft, lingering. She stirred faintly, brow furrowing, lips parting in a barely audible murmur.

“Tommy…?”

He froze for half a second. His breath caught.

“Shh,” he whispered, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

He pulled away before she could fully open her eyes, before she could realize the weight of what that kiss meant.

He crept down the hallway to the room at the end. The door creaked slightly as he opened it, and for a moment, he just stood there—frozen.

Andy was tucked into a mountain of blankets, one arm thrown over his stuffed bear, the carved wooden dog Joel had given him lying beside his cheek. His chest rose and fell in soft little hiccups of breath, the sound of dreams and safety.

Tommy stepped inside, slowly, like if he walked too loudly he’d shatter the moment. He knelt beside the bed and just… looked.

His boy had Naomi’s eyes. Her freckles. But there was no mistaking who that little face came from.

He reached out and brushed one of Andy’s curls off his forehead. His hand lingered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, buddy…”

He wanted to say I love you. He wanted to say I’ll come back. But both of those promises felt like lies. And he wouldn’t leave this world with another lie on his tongue.

Instead, he bent forward and kissed the top of Andy’s head. A long, silent goodbye.

Then he stood.

And he left.

Downstairs, in the weak flicker of the kitchen lantern, Tommy sat at the table with a scrap of paper and a pen. The fire was dead now. Everything was quiet.

His handwriting was rough, uneven, almost angry. But the words were clear:

My love,

I’m sorry.

I can’t sit here and do nothing while the people who did that to Joel are still out there breathing. I know you’ll hate me for this. I don’t blame you.

I tried. I really did. But it’s eating me alive. And I don’t want to turn into something bitter and ugly in front of you and Andy. I love you too much for that.

I don’t know if I’ll come back. I won’t make promises I might not keep. Just know I love you. I love Andy. More than anything.

Tell him his Uncle Joel was brave. And that he loved him so, so much.

Please, take care of each other.

Love always, Tommy

He folded the note carefully and left it on the kitchen table under Naomi’s favorite mug—the one Joel had given them as a housewarming gift. The one with the faded bear on it.

Then, without another sound, Tommy slipped into the cold.

The door closed softly behind him.

And the wind carried him away

[voidcat]

hello, hi, i want to ask you and caleb a question because i'm a curious little fly on the wall: was it love at first sight, or did it take awhile for you to warm up to each other? and how does a love between two (competitive) gemini work? :>

omgomgomg hiiiiiii winter<333 always a delight to see u:3

hmmm this one's a little complicated (i say to every selfship question ever)

the fic i'm writing has more details regarding childhood years too so i'll spare the details or we will never get out of this one ahhaha

basically we meet as kids! it's less of a first sight and more of who attracts whose attention. i've always been more aloof and head in clouds so it took me longer to fully perceive caleb's presence as a constant in my life that i'd come across often. he took notice first and quicker- albeit his opinions of me weren't all positive at the beginning, it changed over the day (again, kids- i guess i messed up some of his status as king of the playground and he found me annoying for my sudden switches in behavior and game leads)

while i was warmer, it was less selective and for his case it was the opposite. you could say in a way we both offered an olive branch around at the same time in our own ways but i wasn't really aware of that either at the time. the build up of trust and our dependency i think strenghtened with some of my actions- meanwhile i didn't like physical contact, the times he'd hug me on a whim and realize i hadn't pushed him away are burnt into his memory. the time i complained about this school event dance having the boys pinching the girls' cheeks then leaving a peck- and how i always dodged at the last time is another memory... at the supposed part of the coreography he is horrified but very pleased for "some reason" when he hears how i always react (to show what the dance was like later, i tried teaching him his parts as well and did allow him to touch my cheek and everything...)

so i suppose it falls into the category of "warming up to one another" but also because we are kids who have just met so it's a little mixed too.

both of us being geminis is a blessing and a curse- you can always outdo people as a gemini but on top of already knowing me well, his behavior patterns are like mine too so the wild dog more often than not draws a reaction from the cranky cat... it's not fun... i'm Suffering. anything i'll do, i receive a payback and it's become this endless cycle where you cannot differentiate between pain and satisfaction (not literally but u get the point lmaoo)

[jacksintention]

I really can't stand Gil

[tonycries]

CHERRY-POP!

Synopsis. He’s losing more than his v!rginíty - he’s losing his mind.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, vírgínity loss (JJK men), PÚSSYDRÚNK MEN, first times, p talking, proposals, cervíx kíssing, matíng presses, GOJO’S POWERS, manhandIing (Nanami), overstím, rough, true form Sukuna, dp, making them whímper, spítting, chokíng, p sIapping, mentions of heirs, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Y’all asked and aIpha provided hehehe, also Ino girlies y’all are FED today <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Was a 10/10

“I-I’m really…damn. Damn.” Just about all that he can gasp. Toji’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs at the sheer tremors lacing his baritone voice, on the edge of shattering into a million pieces. He’s dragging a fat thumb where your teary slit was bulging. In awe. “Damn.”

And your honeyed giggles are enough to make him buck his rummaging length with a shuddering groan. Pumping you full of more solid, mindless inches. “S’that all you can hah- say, Toji?” 

Hell, if Toji Fushiguro could coherently speak - if he could even think - then he’d already be waxing poetic about how your that sweltering hot heaven between your legs was driving him mad. Was having his life flashing before his very eyes-

How had he lived for so long without this?

You’re letting out a tiny gasp - only too-late does Toji’s melty mind realize that he’d pathetically babbled all that out loud. 

Taking the lewd opportunity to punish your parted lips with a slow wad of his syrupy saliva, “D-doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two…”

God, if Toji hadn’t confessed to you just prior that he was a raging virgin then you would have laughed in his face right this very second. 

Because he was acting like anything but.

His rock-hard cock was vicious, bullying right between your pretty pursed folds with inch after throbbing inch that scratches your sweet spots just right. Fuck- he couldn’t take his eyes off the sight. Slamming a hand down onto the rickety headboard to stop from jackhammering his fat cock over and over into you already.

“Y-you’re seriously…” he’s letting his voice peter out. Toji’s curling a few thick fingers around his hefty hilt, feeding your drooling hole more. More. “-seriously sucking th-the life outta me.”

He’s moving at such a sleazy pace, tracing one calloused thumb down your driveling lips, all soaked and sopping with your saturated juices. “Heh, not bad for a f-fucking virgin, huh?” Before popping it into your mouth for you to suck on like your favorite lolly. “C’mon- say somethin’, ma.”

“S-so slow, Toji-” you’re huffing and puffing in a way that makes him grunt, trembly legs falling further and further open by the second at the stretch. The way his large, bulbous tip was brushing against your very inner walls had you dizzy. “-give me more.”

“Wh-when I told ya to talk it wasn’t to talk with your hah- damn pussy, woman.”

And fuck.

Fuuuuck- Toji was more affected than he would like to admit. 

Much, much more. 

Because just the incoherent mess of jumbles falling from those pretty lips of yours had him throwing his head back with a moan. Big, beefy biceps flexing when he’s battering his rock-hard tip into your gooey depths. And shit-

He didn’t read about this online. 

Never ever thought that the Toji Fushiguro would find his mean scar dropping with his jaw in raw, carnal shock when your pussy lips dribble a generous load of his own cum. Eyes veering to the very back of his head with he just barely manages to disguise as a regular one of his eyerolls. 

Fuck- fuck did he cum already?

“D-did you-”

“Shut up. Holy shit-” A set of rugged fingers clasp bruisingly around your waist, another skating about midway up your tummy and pressing. Down hard. Now until your slobbering cunt was painting numerous creamy rings upon rings around Toji’s hefty hilt. “Damn, what a pussy you got on ya. Is yer cunt jus’ extra filthy, ma?”

You’re smacking his cushiony pecs at his words, whining, “Y-you’re so nasty–”

“Me?” His greedy green eyes widen, “Callin’ me nasty w-when your pussy is the one spillin’ all over me? Hngh- jus’ look at her, doll.”

There’s nothing else that you could look at - because Toji’s flexing arms were caging you into your cozy little cove. Dark brows marrying together in pure bliss when he’s dragging his cock out of your slippery cunt with a wet plop! Letting your puckered hole slide a drizzling coating of cum. 

And then plugging you back in - and then again. In and out. In and out in and-

“And whose f-fault is that?”

“Hers.”

Even through your stupidly fucked mind you could catch the way that Toji’s voice was dipped in pure loving. A hypnotized grin leering all over his face - you could ask him to bring you the moon right now and he would.

Hunching his entire heaving body over to move back inside your snug walls mercilessly, he nips down your tender earlobe. Grunting, “Heh, I read ya nasty pussy would ngh- like this.”

And he’s seeping in a few fingers to swirl around the ounces of white that stained your bulging cunt, around and around until it was thoroughly coating his dripping wet fingers. Tracing just enough over your pulsing clit. And you thought he would bring it up for you to suck - you thought. 

Before he’s placing them swiftly into his mouth and whining - yes, whining. The clingy grip of your softened walls had him so gone. 

“P-pretend ya never fuckin’ heard that-” Toji’s snapping right before you can open your teasing mouth, and his high cheekbones color in the most innocent shade of rosy pink. Snarling, “-s’not m-my fault- it’s hers.”

Yeah, because your dripping cunt was way too much for a virgin to handle - it had him going mad. 

It had him rummaging even deeper into your pliant cunt, tenderizing your poor g-spots into the perfect bullseyes that he just couldn’t miss. All the way to the base. Toji’s making the bed creak with each one of his ruts, sweat slicking down the middle of his curved spine at his staggering pace. 

And he wasn’t even tired - not a single ounce. You think he’d be tired while buried in a blissful cunt like this?

Monstrous stamina pushing and pushing his weepy tip down in streaming slides across your sweet spots. Without a singular warning, his mountainous palms snatch your trembly legs up to throw them over his broad shoulders. 

“Sh-shit, the stretch–” you’re mewling when he’s easily folding you in half like a lawnchair. Merciless. Snickering.

Absolutely no shred of regret or apology when he grins, “Y’know…I also read online about th-this thing called a…mating press.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - SWEETENER!

“Like this?”

And you’ve never heard your stoic boyfriend ever sound like this before - with his chest heaving in gasps, gluttonous eyes locked down on your arched back, lips wobbling like the very fate of the world depended entirely on the next few words to fall from your cockdrunken mouth. 

Fuck- Nanami was so staggeringly massive that you couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even jolt back to your senses until he’s peppering a drool-worthy trail of kisses down your spine. Echoing, strained. “Never done this before- I-is this okay, my love?”

“Yes! Hngh-” you’re managing to blink back the pearly tears welling up in your eyes. “Y-you can start to move, Kento.”

He’s placing a few more innocent pecks by the corner of your mouth before doing so, and just one singular movement - a singular inch inside your pretty cunt - had Nanami Kento hypnotized.

Breath hitching. 

You’re almost concerned when the first smooching thrust right into your awaiting g-spot had his muscled thighs shivering. Honeypool eyes wide, cheeks flushed, ruined. Frantically scrambling to clasp his thick fingers around your tender throat, Nanami heaves out a groan and pulls.

Feeding you the uncharacteristically ruthless inches of his furious cock, you’re being hauled about halfway down the velvety bed as if you’re some kind of doll. Pumped stupidly full of his fat girth, you’re not sure if that thunderous throb! throb! throb! was from his angry cock or from you. 

Head so light, “Ken–”

“Wh-what- oh…” Immediately, Nanami’s letting his hand drop from your neck as if it burned, sorrowfully kissing near those faint bruises. “I’m so sorry, my love- I didn’t realize. I won’t-”

“No no, baby–” Craning your head around to stop his stern mouth from ranting any further, you give him a smug smirk that you can feel the effects of. Feeling his sopping wet twitch into your bruised spots in a gloopy wave of scorching precum. “-I like it.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

You shouldn’t have said that - fuck, you shouldn’t have said a word. Because that’s all it takes for Nanami to smack his sharp hip bones into you like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. 

And if the first tentative thrust into your cunt was magic - then this. Fuck, this was a miracle in real life. 

Your cunt is so talkative with him - slurring out a few saturated sploshes every time he’s pumping your gummy depths full of himself. 

Pummelling with very pound, and if you didn’t know any better then you would have thought that Nanami was fucking you like he hated you. Sloppy. Addicted. You’re feeling the slosh of his sticky pre inside you with every shuddering rut.

Languidly licking up the overwhelmed tears in your eyes, “M-m’sorry, darling I…” Interrupted by a syrupy hug of your walls like clingfilm, he was spearing open your insides so good. Molding himself into every nook and cranny inside you. Virginity be damned, he was having his fill for years. “-I can’t seem to stop. I-I just need-”

Words couldn’t even explain the sheer fucking heaven that Nanami was in right now. This was what you felt like? This? 

And you’re not even sure if he’s in control when he’s pushing down on your shaky body with one of his thick palms, right until you’re splayed out like some slut on the king-sized mattress. Hiking up one thick thigh to pressurize his thwacking pushes even harder, and the other to press down on your head with his foot. 

“Sh-shit you’re so deep, Ken–” your fingers thrash against the silken sheets at the even meaner angle. “I can feel you all the way-”

Right before you can finish your drawling sentence - almost as if Nanami didn’t want you to, couldn’t even handle the thought - his massive palm rummages from down under to glide down the thickened inflation where he was ruining you. Where he would feel the wet swipes of steaming hot precum being poured right into your womb. Where he could feel himself. 

And he’s trying to reign back some control - to remember all the tips that he’d read in those books. But god was it difficult when Nanami’s rubbing his fat thumb against your clit and making you whine. 

Over and over and-

“D-don’t run away–” Nanami’s voice cracks towards the very end - snapping you out of your lustful haze to realize that oh shit, you had been inching away. The stimulation so much. “M’yours- m’all yours. And I need you, my love, I need more-”

And right before you can correct your posture, knocking your  hips in sodden glides down his swollen length; Nanami’s snatching his speckled yellow tie right off somewhere across the bed and wringing it around your wrists tightly. Pinning them together over your back before leveraging it with one curl of his fingers to drag you back into his erection.

Nanami’s breath hitches, head finding itself thrown backwards in an instant. He’s leaning further backwards to drink in the heavenly sight of your ass quavering against his hips, of the way his skin was reddening now. 

“Th-theree we go, y-yer gonna take my fuckin’ cock. Aren’t you, my wife?”

You’re not sure what you’re gasping more at - the roughened lack of sanity in his words, or at the way he was calling you his wife. Again and again like a little mantra into the crook of your neck - all that he could say right now. 

“Such a p-pretty cunt- n’ a pretty wife…” Hushed out beside your ears at a feverish pace. “Y-you have me addicted so, soo…” Addicted enough to not be able to finish his sentence.  Nanami leaves a wet peck at your lips, and an even wetter smack! on your clit. 

And when you cum, you’re seeing white. 

Unsure of what’s even happening before Nanami’s fucking you through each peaking wave of your high, edging it deeper and deeper. You’re gasping at the feeling of his cock twitching vigorously inside. Harshly. Dangerously. 

“K-keep those legs open, darling.” He’s crushing you to his brawny body so tight. “M’gonna haaah- make this sweet cunt overspill.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Good girl never cry.

Geto Suguru never saw himself like this - feeling so blissfully good. 

He never saw himself with fucking tears beading at the very corners of his glassy eyes, his maw sagging animalistically open when his prespiration-slicked body glissades against yours. Yours. Shit- all he could think about was that clingy pussy of yours and you, you, you-

“Oh, what’s this?” Rumbling voice smooth against your ear, but all you can manage out is a pathetic few hahs! when Geto’s body never stops. His grueling hips don’t even slow down to let you catch your breath. “Heh, am I th-the one losing my virginity or are ngh- you, gorgeous?”

You’re huffing and puffing in a way that he can’t help but find so cute, feeling his lips curl up into a heady smile. “N-no need to be so mean, Sugu–”

“Tch.”

Without a split-second of hesitation - or so much as even a warning - he’s wrangling your legs over two broad shoulders. Biceps flexing when looping your two ankles around his flushed neck, pinning them together with a gruff, “Lock them.”

And it’s all you can manage to do when he’s folding down, down, down in half. Making your calves burn with sheer fatigue, your sloppy entrance stretches around the curve of Geto’s swollen cock. It was such a sight to behold - your succulent pussy lips drooling all down to his too-tight balls, talking back to him in the most slurping squelches with every jittery ram. 

Geto can feel himself trailing a translucent line of drool already - embarrassing. 

“Mhm—” Your entire body vibrates with his severe groans, nodding along with his sleazy eyes pointed downwards. And the angle helps him spit out in your slack mouth, snickering. “Th-think I like her better.”  

Your jaw drops - and he’s taking this perfect chance to smush your mouth into an embarrassing pout with two fingers squishing your cheeks together. Lolling his head downwards to pry open your mouth and suck on your tongue. 

“Hmpf! Then you can ngh- kiss ‘her’ instead-” Slow. Drooling. Such a filthy French kiss that Geto breaks with a wet smooch!

Pecking up your stubborn tears. How cute.

“Oh, I will…” Comes his answer, along with a few more thunking collisions into your rawly bruised g-spot as if he was reminding you just who you were dealing with - virgin or not. “You think j-jus’ because m’a hah- virgin, I don’t know how to handle such a s-sweet pussy?”

Maybe you nod, maybe you shake your head - you’re not even sure before Geto’s spitting out a wet wad of saliva that hits his ready digits with a wet thwack! Smearing right along your overly stuffed pussy, where he was funneling you so full of him. 

Gruffing out, “First m’gonna f-fuck her until she’s ngh- overspilling. Gonna ruin her for a-anyone else-” Twirling his rude thumb in a wet grind on the hood of your plump kiss, he’s leaving a few wet swats. “Then m’gonna taste her- treat her a lil’ while she’s already ah dripping with me. And then…” Breath hitching while he’s crashing a kiss into you once more. “-m’gonna do it all over again.”

“How do you even-”

He’s babbling nonsense now - or maybe truths. “Y’have no idea how much I’ve ah- imagined this, gorgeous– kept thinkin’ of it every night.” 

“R-really?” you gasp.

“Mhm– s-since the day I met ya. I’d imagine doin’ a little bit of hah-” Giving your mouth an innocent peck, “-this. Then some of-” Then a bite. “This.” And then the most slow drag of his hips down your walls, “And mostly this.”

God, he had half the mind to know that maybe you shouldn’t be hearing these. But Geto didn’t care. He couldn’t. Not when every drilling pound had him giddy, “Always wan’ed you to be all mine y’know- my lil’ cum dump, aren’t ya?”

You’re somehow muffling out - seeping through each labored breath. “Yes- yes yes yes- fuck- m’so close, Sugu- M’gonna-”

“Of course ya are.” He’s rolling his eyes, acting for all the world like his painfully swollen balls weren’t just aching to cum already. Hips getting sloppier and sloppier, as do his words. “She told me- h-hurry up already. Cum on my fuckin’ cock.”

And Geto thinks he tried to hold back how pathetically pussydrunken he was on your gorgeous cunt, he thinks he tried to do a good job of it. 

Tried.

But as soon as your orgasm hits you at full force - oh, that’s when he’s allowing his eyes to mask over with a bleary veil of tears. Drip, drip, dripping down in hot splatters onto your skin- it feels so good.

And Geto bites down hard into the crook of your neck, muffling those rasping whimpers curdling at the back of his throat when he cums. When he feels his ears pop! lids flashing his vision with pure white. 

“S-so much–” you’re mewling when he’s dumping out such voluminous ropes of seed. Thick, sticky, sloshing down in neverending rivulets. He’s fucking you through each and every one, mashing into your very g-spot- “There’s ah! S’overspilling, Suguru-”

Overspilling.

Oh, Geto would never admit it but he couldn’t even bear to turn his head downwards at the exact sight that you were talking about. No. 

It was already embarrassing enough to tumble into his second orgasm just from your sentence. Pearly white canines digging into the mound of your flesh so hard that you think he might just draw blood. The muscles in Geto’s jaw ticks when his bawling divot pushes out another few sputtering smacks! of cum against your sweetest spots. 

“Y-you…” he’s gasping out, barely even audible. And as soon as Geto’s raising his dampened face from the haven at your neck, you’re practically gasping at the fucked-out expression on his face. Eyes unfocused, skin a blotchy red, hair curtaining his face and making it almost impossible to tell where he was looking. “I really came…inside- hah- inside your pretty pussy.”

In awe.

Geto’s moving lazily - like he’s in a pool of molasses - when he dances a hand down to your beading cunt. Probing a few fingers back in to feed your parched pussy the remnants of excess cum. “C-can I- can I do it again?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “I-is this heaven?”

Choso didn’t mean to say that out loud - in fact, he’d probably rather die than actually babble it out to you. 

But how could he not when you were smearing your syrupy sweet folds all open for him that way? Two of your fingers sliding between your legs with a purring, “Why dontcha find out, Cho–?”

It should’ve been embarrassing the way he’s tripping and stumbling over the expanse of the plush king-sized bed to loom dangerously closer to you. To softly guide your hand away with a nudge of his reddened, aching cock. Choso’s practically begging on his own two knees when he gasps- heaves, “I-I can put it inside?” Still in wonderment. He must be dreaming. Slurring up a sopping wet drag of his fat, ruby tip just to confirm. “C-can I really?”

“Mhm–” you’re nodding. “Careful not to hurt your-”

But you’re not given the privilege to finish your sentence. Hell, you’re not given the privilege to even finish taking in a deep inhale before all of it comes rushing back out in the most feverish gasp.

Hurtling out of your suddenly bowing body when you’re suddenly being so split-apart. Choso’s ambushing tip bullying your pussy lips wide agape, he’s fucking you so full with just the tiniest, mindless little gyrations of his flexible hips just to fit inside. 

Because Choso might be a virgin - but with his staggering size, he didn’t even have to try to hit your earliest sweet spots. 

“Move your hand, baby, I-I…”

That’s when you’re glimpsing at your poor boyfriend, who’s already so utterly wrecked. The very moment he’s slid into your snug cunt, it had him seeing stars. Bursts of pleasure exploding at his sensitive cock, dark eyes rolling to the back of his head, Choso’s grasping a hand around a few of his sweat-dampened locks and pulling to jolt himself back to reality.

When he blinks his teary eyes back open, you swear his pupils had turned into hearts. Whispering, “M’in love with you oh-”

Both of you are snapping downwards your heads in unison when something swelteringly hot floods your insides. Creamy and sloshing like treacle down your walls - all it took was once look up at Choso’s prettily burning blush to realize that he’d cum as soon as he put it in. 

“Ch-Choso-”

“Shit- shit- m’sorry, baby–” he’s grunting out, hips moving by themselves in filthy little collisions that jerk you on the bed. He’s so surprisingly hands-on, fingers gliding up and down your arched back to massage all your tender spots. “I didn’t mean to c-cum so early- shit- m’sorry–”

It’s barely even possible to form a coherent though with the way he was fucking into you so sloppily. He can’t stop. He won’t. No rhythm or reason - just pure, primal need dripping from every plummet of his thickened cock into your gooey depths. 

You’re prattling out softly, “It’s okay, baby.” Running your hands through the wet strands of his bangs sticking to his prespired forehead, Choso’s face lights up into an intoxicated smile at your candied cooing. “K-keep going-”

As if to illustrate your point, you’re bucking your hips off the bed to meet his - to strike your abdomen down in a stinging slam! The sticky smack of skin-on-skin makes you both hiss, and Choso’s bludgeoning tip drives even deeper in a bashful kiss against your velvety cervix. 

“O-oh…” His jaw drops slack, a slight trickle of drool running its way down at this point. Without another words, two strong arms wrap themselves around your body, and he’s angling his hips urgently - desperately - to replicate that gummy recoil. Again. And again. And again and again. “H-how can it feel so hngh- good? How- why, baby?”

Shit, Choso’s babbling nonsense and he knows he’s babbling nonsense.

Which is why once you’re pressing gentle pecks all over his face - from his forehead, to his blushing cheekbones, all down to his wobbly lips - he’s now sure he’s in heaven. And you’re his own personal angel. 

Panting out hot puffs against your mouth, you could savor his sugary sweet taste already. “Th-think m’gonna cum again, baby- oh, I- can I cum inside? Please? Please, baby?”

“I-inside, please-” Your words tremble out in nothing but mere mewls, curling one of your arms around his neck to haul your dear boyfriend over even closer. He lets you - lets himself be so used. “-d-don’t miss, okay?”

How could he ever when you’re asking him so sweetly like this?

Making him wrack out a heavy shudder all the way from his dizzy head to his twitchy tip, spurting out a few buttery dredges of pre. So close. Choso slips and slides his palms down onto your thighs to spread them wide open for him. Murmuring out a throaty, “Won’t miss- won’t miss. D-don’t you worry, baby, m’not gonna miss.” like a mantra. Hypnotized.

Splattering out thick helpings of cum that flood your gaping entrance, you can feel your snug walls inflating with each ram of his cock. Swirling down, down, down to knock at your womb- Choso is so messy.

Supposedly helping clean you up by dragging a hand to your tummy, bearing down hard right on top of the very spot he knew would make you spill out a syrupy puddle of his seed. Painting a creamy white ring all over his twitching base. 

“L-look, baby- I didn’t miss.” He chuckles - chuckles. So in bliss that he doesn’t even realize the way his entire body was shivering with the convulsions still. “Ah, y-you took my virginity and I didn’t even hngh- miss.”

Barely even lucid when he uses that superhuman strength of his to flip the two of you over, lounging on his back against the now-damp sheets. But Choso doesn’t feel disgusted - not even close - he’s staring up at you through heavy, droopy eyes. Pussydrunk. 

And he can only manage out two words. 

“Ride me?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - S-s-stutter?!

“Tch, don’t think this is going to get the hah- king to bow down to ya, lil’ human.” Sukuna seethes at the sight of you on all slutty fours - and it would be a whole lot more threatening had it not been for the way his graveling voice cracks. The way all he can let out is a string of slurring swears when your preslicked pussy lips glide across his angrily hard cocks. 

“Mhm– whatever you say, Kuna-” your voice was sweetly agitating him, making his flushed heads perk up in feral little jolts. Desperate to bully himself inside your sopping entrance. “Just give me- both-”

With a sudden clasp of his vice-like fingers around your waist, you’re being shoved against the plush mattress of the royal bed. Bouncing up softly against those marshmallowy pillows and caged against Sukuna’s hulking body.

You’re breathing out a little, “It would be easier for you if-”

“I know.” He’s cutting you off, devilishly red eyes straying off into the distance and away from anywhere near your gaze. Regal cheekbones a beet red when he’s finally looking at you,  “This-” One of his clawed palms cup your face, “-this is better.”

And of course the king of curses isn’t going to fucking admit it when he wants to see every one of your fucked-out expressions. 

Of course he’s not going to let you ponder on his uncharacteristic actions for too long before swiping a wet skim down your slit. Pooling up your slick juices down his pulsing cocks, one of his massive palms jostle and smear that translucent gloss down his lengths. The other prodding at your winking entrance - “Heh, take a deep breath- doesn’t matter that m’a fucking virgin, you’re the one that needs ta brace yerself, brat.”

Fuck- it doesn’t matter how much you might’ve readied yourself because Sukuna’s matchingly thick lengths we always going to split you apart until you felt like you should sob.

It was such a delicious stretch - probing at every one of your sugary spots, his intrusion was working your tight channel open in a way you’d never even thought possible before. Spreading your tight rim of muscle gapingly open as you milk every copious inch of his double shafts. 

“Would ya look at that–” Sukuna’s drawling out, and his eyes widen with a tinge of genuine surprise. Long tongue darting outwards to lick up that embarrassing slick of dribble escaping his awe-struck lips. “Sucking me up so well ahhh- s’like your cute pussy’s made f’me. Aren’t ya?”

It’s maddening.

It’s filthy the way that Sukuna’s leaning his sleazy head even closer to drink up every sodden noise that emanates from your cunt when he’s filling himself inside your cunt deeper. And deeper. Like his length was never-ending. 

Every squelch, every slurp that makes him chuckle. Wafting one of his dark, overgrown nails across the bumpy outline of his drilling tips on your tummy. “Oh, damn t-talkative, too-”

Your veins thunder rapidly with the sheer lewd embarrassment of having Sukuna listening and conversing with your sloppy cunt. And the feeling makes you let out a whiny huff and clench-

Oh. 

He’d never felt like this. 

“Sh-shit- marry me.”

Someone’s gasping - and it takes you only a few lazy seconds after Sukuna’s bludgeoning the entirety of his two dicks into your cunt to realize that it wasn’t you. Blinking back your already overwhelmed tears, you open your mouth- 

“You didn’t hear th-”

“Wh-what was that?” 

“Nothing- oh-” Another clench. Another gushing spurt of his steamy precum dripping down your cervix. “-fuck you evil, evil little…” Sukuna’s baring his sharpened canines in a snarl - but that doesn’t do much to deter your grin when he’s practically shivering with stimulation above you. Stuttering. “I said- m-marry me.”

It’s a command more than a question, and it’s spewing out from Sukuna’s lips with every spearhead into your poor, bruised cunt. Pressing wet peck after peck on your cervix, your g-spot - anywhere and everywhere his thorough cocks could reach - as if he was trying to convince you to say yes. 

“It ah! feels so good, Kuna-” you’re dragging out from your shot throat, mouth clamping to a close around a hard bite on his muscular, tattooed shoulders. 

“Easy there on the ngh- merchandise.” He rolls his eyes, faintly going cross-eyed when your hips start bouncing back and forth back and forth back and forth in an attempt to match his pressurized cadence. “Though-” Sukuna’s gulping, your cunt had his mind in a frenzy, has this all-powerful sorcerer held hostage. “I guess I should cut some ngh- slack for the future queen.”

Ah, yes.

Sukuna could see it already - the only vision in his hazy mind getting clearer and clearer with each punishing thrust into your gummy depths, with each powerful drag of your hips to slam and bounce against his. The vision of you adorned in his robes and sitting on his throne, with a few little pink-haired heirs too…

And he’s getting ahead of himself - he’s completely, irrevocably pussydrunk at this point.

Out of control when he’s gliding one calloused hand across your tummy, where you’d be round and glowing for him should you wish. The second of his hands dipping cozily down for him to kiss your plump clit with his second mouth. Grinning, “F-for the future queen and…the mother of my kids.”

And when Sukuna’s cumming it’s with that exact image in mind - what a beautiful momma you’d be. What a beautiful cunt you have when you’re all slathered in a thick coating of his seed. 

All creamy and glomping out from between your puffed-up slit, you’re cumming at the sheer wave of it filling you up all inside. Until you were so stuffed you felt like you could burst. Seeing stars explode behind your eyes, and your ears thunder with the ricochet of Sukuna’s slowly softening cocks. “B-better not tell anyone about…that, my wife.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - LOVE love

“Please-” Ino’s staring up deeply into your drunken eyes like he never wanted to look away. Never could when you were straddled all prettily on top of him, riding the fucking soul out of his poor, inexperienced cock. “-j-jus’ the tip- nhgh-”

One taste of your pretty pussy and he was gone. 

Your hands are sliding greedily down his toned body, making themselves at home right over his pretty pectorals. Swirling over his rosy nipples, “Baby– we’re way past jus’ the ngh- tip.”

You were?

Shit, Ino’s practically grappling with that mushy part of himself to tear his glassy gaze down to where you’re swallowing him up into your gummy heaven. Breath hitching in a grovelling rasp at the way your puffy pussy lips were mounting wide open on his fat girth. Streaming down a waterfall of your glossy slick that covers him in a glistening coating. 

Fuck, he suddenly couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

“O-oh.” Ino’s mouth sags open with a shuddering gasp, and he can’t help but grin. He can’t help but chuckle in a deep, wet way that makes his furious divot bawl out copious torrents of thick pre. “You are. G-guess you officially took my hah- virginity, huh, pretty?”

Guiding a few slender fingers to give the jiggling fat of your ass a sharp smack! You can only keen when Ino bucks his hips up further and further - harder. Every second sending him into a frenzy.

“T-Taku…” you’re whining out. Fingers glissading across his warm, sweat-sheened collarbones and curling around his tender throat. “I th-thought I told you to let me do all the ah- work…”

Oh, he’s leaning upwards in a sudden surge to kiss up against your lips in a wet glide. Humming confidently like he wasn’t fucking ruined every time your hips came crashing down. “But I can’t help it- can’t- ah- wan’ you to fuckin’ use me.”

Ino didn’t know what he was doing - didn’t even know what he was thinking when he’s curving his powerful back to send a riotous few crashes against your bruising g-spot. To fuck up into you so harsh that it leaves the bed frame protesting in creaks.

Dancing his own digits to intertwine with yours on his neck - Ino makes you squeeze. “Tighter. Harder. C’mon now- f-fuck me, pretty.”

You have no choice but to obey - to slide back and forth on his uprightly curved cock, the angle was dizzying with its collisions against the bullseye of that spot. His heavy balls smack into your ass until you were sure it bruised. And still- still it wasn’t enough.

Stil, Ino finds himself veering a trembly hand up to your plump clit. Leaving a sodden, stinging smack! 

“W-woah…” His voice just cracks, brown strands of hair falling onto his sweat-glazed forehead when he’s jolting. “You just got- s-so soaked- tell me tell me how I hngh- do that again-”

So desperate. So eager to please. 

The adoration was just bursting from his half-lidded eyes and right through every sparring jut of his cock. Clashing. Kissing. Sopping French kisses into your treacly walls that make you squeal. “J-jus’ right there- hngh-”

“There? There, r-right?” He’s so pretty when he’s batting his long lashes up at you, dewy eyes practically fluttering shut at the way your cunt was clinging onto him. Needy. “A-and what about this? What about ngh- here?” 

How tentative…so cute. 

“Don’t be shy, baby–” Your voice was honey, so sweetened that it makes him bite back a few pathetic whimpers. A furiously innocent blush sunrising its way into his cheeks, “-you can hah- do whatever you want.”

Whatever.

Fuck, the words are barely out of your mouth before Ino’s clapping his massively splayed out hands onto the curve of your ass. He’s copping a generous grope while seeping his full length in staggering thrusts, and he’s so flexible. So smooth with his movements. 

Gifting another palm print that raises against your tender flesh, Ino has the audacity to bear you with a sleazy grin as soon as you strengthen your chokehold on him. Cutting off his airway, yet, he gives you a look that told you he was so in love. Making him choke out a little, “Yeah- yeah jus’ like that. N-need you to fucking ruin my life.”

You’re pecking his lips with such a pout, “Careful, or I might jus’ ngh- tie you up next time.”

And Ino doesn’t know if it’s the idea of a next time or the idea of, well, that but he’s letting his eyes veer crossed and head loll pathetically backwards. A languid drizzle of drool escaping his lips when he wrenches open his mouth and whines, “M��cumming- sh-shit I’m-”

It’s such a melty heaven between your legs. 

And Ino’s oozing out pearly gumdrops of cum into your womb, cumming and cumming so hard that he can’t stop it spilling out. And he doesn’t even want to because- shit, he’s never going to cum into his hand ever again. 

Doesn’t have to. 

Because when you’re finally reaching your high, your sloshing walls clamping around him was addictive. Those moans of yours so pretty that he’s almost wishing he’d brought out his phone to record them as his favorite song. 

“I love you-” He’s feeling every velvety throb of your pulse, every clench that his solidly pussydrunken mind would love to think is specifically to suck up every beading sob from his cock. “I love you I love you I- god, I fuckin’ love you, ma.” Feeling every splatter dripping down your cushiony walls. And that makes him cum again- again and again. Orgasms crashing into one another. Until his shaft can only upstart with a few beads of nothing. Cumming dry-

“W-wait are you on the pill, pretty?”

“...”

♡ GOJO SATORU - POCKETPUSSY3000

“Th-this is nothing like my PocketPussy3000…” The great Gojo Satoru can only gape at the way your sultry cunt was swallowing up his red, swollen cock. Can only grip you into a full nelson so bruising. So addicted. Every disappearing inch having his skin burst in a wave of tiny blue bolts of lightning. “Th-this is so much better.”

Better indeed, because the strongest was a virgin.

You’re pushing away the strands of white that cling onto his sweaty forehead, “I-I should ngh- stop you right now for comparing me to that thing.”

And it was just a little joke, really. 

But you didn’t anticipate the way that your poor boyfriend would shatter like the world just ended. 

His pretty pink lips parting in a slurring gasp, dewy blue eyes practically bulging out of his head. Babbling out something drawling and raw into the crook of your neck, “No- no no no–”

Two of his slender digits dip down to smear your swollen pussy lips wide open, scissoring your sloppy hole elastically open to shovel himself all the way until he was poking into your springy cervix.

“Y-you don’t mean that right?” He’s breathing. Hissing when your snug walls suck his fingerpads up with every lazy - urging pump. The double penetration making you keen. “P-please don’t don’t take this pretty pussy away from me- I jus- got- her-” He’s pressing a flurry of innocent kisses down your cheek. Over and over until you’re cracking a smile. “-I’ll throw it out- th-throw that stupid thing out. Don’t need it anymore when I have hngh you.”

Gojo’s absolutely melting at the sheer sex. 

So hot and cozy inside you that he’s fucking hypnotized. Drool driveling down the corner of his mouth when your plushy walls are molding all around his throbbing girth.

God, he truly was the strongest - such a massive cock that he didn’t even have to try to press wet little brandings of precum right near that spot.

“S-squeeze around me, sweetheart–” Gojo’s dragging his thumb sloppily all over your clit, and you get the distinct feeling that he’s making such a mess on purpose. “-please- I r-read about this once- can you…”

Ah, Gojo’s head slumps  backwards into the silken pillows with a soft thud! Just one gripping cling of your velvety walls around his cock had him seeing stars.

Had him seeing his future with you. Had him thinking that he might just be content to die right between your pretty thighs. Or worse - cum early.

Now, the strongest couldn’t cum before his girl - not even if it was his first time. No, no, no. The strongest had to bite down on one of his wobbly rose lips before any more embarrassing whines could let slip, planting his feet firmly steadfast onto the mattress to gift a punishing thrust into you. 

Jostling into your body until you felt weightless, he’s streaming up translucent glosses of precum with every one of his bounces. Every shuddering thwack! of his tight, cum-filled balls, every bruising smack of his sharp hips onto your ass. 

“Where is it-” he’s muttering darkly into your ear. More, more, more. Massive hands coveting all down where he could feel the obscenely thick cylindrical outline of his own length rummaging inside you. Leaving a mess. Making a mess. “C’mon c’mon- c’mon…where is it.”

“Wh-what are you even- ah!” you squeal when he gives your puffy clit a ruthless pinch. “-what are you even looking for, Toru–”

This only leaves you with a few more circular bruises on your cervix, and you catch the way that Gojo’s ruts grow sloppier. The way his pants become more condensed. And he’s dragging his sweat-slicked cheek down your own with a strained call of your name - practically purring. 

“Don’t- ohh shit- don’t say my name like that-” Gojo whines - whines. “Please. You don’t know h-how heavenly this gorgeous cunt is, hah- have mercy the first time, sweetness.”

But of course you don’t.

“Toru–”

“Fuck!” Gojo’s dazed eyes snap open in an instant, it was almost as if on autopilot the way his fingers spark subconsciously with a few sparks of cursed energy - he couldn’t hold it in. He didn’t want to. 

With a few swift movements, he’s using years and years of practice in battle to wrangle two strong arms around your waist and shove you face-first onto the king-sized mattress. 

One sculpted thigh kneeing open your trembly legs further onto all fours, the other hiking up, up, up to angle his reddish tip right into your neglected g-spot. So harsh. So thorough. 

“No- no no no- lemme see that p-pretty face.” He’s hauling your pliant body into what you think is a headlock, feeling your neck surrounded by Gojo’s pale, bulging bicep. So tight. it makes you whirl your glassy eyes around and-

Oh.

Oh.

Gojo Satoru was ruined.

Was letting his six eyes work overtime to locate your cushiony sweet spots, directing his slender hips to plummet right into each and every one. Greedy gaze practically glowing every time your knees weaken when his rotund, weepy head crashes into your battered sensitive spots. Buttering up your insides in a thick, creamy gloss of pre. Close. He was so close. 

“Th-that’s cheating–” 

“N-nooo not cheating.” he’s leaving the tiniest bites and hickeys all over your exposed neck, back muscles flexing when he bows easily into your own body. You could feel every massage and glide of his washboard abs down your arched spine. He was so hot. Burning up, practically. “I did my r-research…” And it’s the way his powerfully buzzing digits roll messily over your clit that has you wondering whether he even realized he was using his powers.

Whether he was too pussydrunk to.

Too cocky about the way all it takes is a few lazy seconds of his rude toying with your sensitive nub for you to cum. Hell yeah - before him, he’s noting with a heady laugh. 

A laugh. 

Wide and humorless - directed at you when just a singular gush of your drooling lips makes his eyes slide all the way to the back of his head. And he couldn’t help the way his head drops backwards, all it takes for Gojo to stumble right over the edge. 

“Shit shit shit shit-” he’s scrunching his eyes open - just barely registering the way the bedroom lights have shattered. Letting out a low hiss before painting your gummy insides in a milky coat of his thick seed. 

Leaving the wettest traces all over your cervix, he can feel its sloshing dredges all around him when Gojo’s ragging down your walls to glide his twitch cock out. To gasp at the way your teary slit was drizzling him in a glistening lamination of his own cum. 

Drip! Drip! Dripping all down onto the expensive navy sheet - and he’s finding himself grinning. Shuffling down to his knees until his mouth pressed a pretty peck onto your slobbering pussy, “A-after this m’gonna sh-show you how the strongest really fucks his PocketPussy3000…imaginin’ you.”

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely lovely weekkk!!

Plagiarism not authorized.

[jinwoosungs]

04/21/25; 07:30pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ they catch you while you’re ovulating ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

notes: don’t mind me, i just got a short burst of inspiration with all these ovulation memes 🙂‍↕️

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

sylus was the first to awaken when he felt you straddling at his waist. he doesn’t open his eyes, but chooses instead to lay in wait for you. his breathing was slow and even, further accentuating his act of remaining asleep.

the silky material of your nightgown was felt sliding down his chest, his breathing hitching in response to such a seductive sensation. it takes a herculean effort for his eyes to remain closed when he feels your hot breath against his skin.

yet his façade quickly vanishes the moment your lips latch on to his chest, feeling the way your tongue curls around his nipple while letting out a low hiss in response. when he fully wakes up did you move away from him, onyx eyes meeting with your innocent gaze as your fingertips trace at his hard wall of muscle.

“what’s gotten you so riled up, kitten?” sylus asks you, delving his fingers into your hair. you don’t answer him for a few beats, licking at your bottom lip as the onychinus leader follows each movement of your tongue. “i’m not sure, sy, i just woke up feeling so needy for you.”

you end up laying back against him, placing your panties stained with the evidence of your arousal on his hard abdomen. all too eager to see what you had to offer, sylus places an arm behind his head while watching your every move. you place one more kiss against his chest before planting your hands against it, steadying yourself while moving your aching sex back and forth on his abdomen.

your breathing quickly turns into whiny moans of his name, “ngh, sy, this feels so good…!” your movements become more rapid then, your hips losing its steady pace as it became sloppier with each second that passes. sylus could sense that your release was quickly approaching when his hands go up to grip at your waist, moving you toward his muscled thigh while clenching his muscles to help.

the friction was enough to make you climax, with you completely ruining your panties as your juices soaked through the flimsy fabric. your scent permeating at the air forces a low growl out of sylus as he removes you from his thigh.

settling you back against the bed, sylus rips apart your sheer nightgown, admiring the sight of your naked breasts and soaked panties for a brief moment before cupping at his erection. “you’re driving me crazy, sweetie. so i hope you’re prepared for what’s to come.”

it was often a rare occurrence for zayne to have a day off and actually enjoy it. and despite how you wanted to keep your distance to give him some space-

something about him had set you in a bit of a frenzy.

from his tousled hair to the faint scent of his aftershave-

you couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

each time he would look up from his novel and meet your gaze, his smile would be potent enough to make your heart lurch within your chest and the ache between your legs feel even more prominent. as if running on autopilot, you step closer to his side of the bed, putting down his novel before settling yourself on top of him.

he meets your gaze with furrowed eyebrows, “what is it?”

you shake your head, remaining silent as you trail your hands down his chest. his breathing hitches in response to your sudden touch, and you slowly began to unbutton his shirt before sliding it off of him. the fabric falls to the ground, leaving his upper body bare for you. he attempts to cover his hands, but you stop him, seeing the faint scars that decorate his skin while kissing at them.

“don’t hide yourself away from me. not when you’re the one i love the most.”

basking in his warmth, you press a few kisses down his abdomen, seeing the faint trail of hair that leads further down his sweatpants. “sorry zayne, something about you has become so captivating to me.”

you slowly slide down his pants and boxers, revealing his half-erect cock to you. sliding out of your own shorts and panties, you slowly began stroking him with the underside of your cunt, effectively causing the doctor to toss his head back.

“ngh… honey, are you ovulating right now?”

you bite down on your bottom lip, “i don’t give a fuck what it’s called, all i know is that i need you right now.”

when zayne’s cock was hard enough for your liking did you finally impaled yourself on him, making him cry out your name as you began setting a rapid pace. as you bounced up and down his cock, zayne was felt gripping at the sheets below him, falling even more in love with you each time you sank down on him.

xavier needed no further urging when you begged him to let you ride his face. in fact, the philos prince was already laid back on the bed (naked and ready for you) when you re-entered your shared bedroom.

your knees were clashing together, trying to provide some much needed friction as you became desperate for his mouth on you. he meets your gaze, seeing the sheer neediness in your eyes when he demands that you take a seat.

“you already know that i’m willing to do everything to make you happy.”

“but what if i suffocate you?” you take a step closer to the bed, letting out a gasp when xavier wraps an arm around your naked body. using one hand, he places you on his chest, true blue eyes now hidden by an endless void, “you won’t. go on and sit on it.”

the hoarse quality of his voice sends shivers down your spine, and you had to mentally prepare yourself for what was to come. when the ache between your legs became too much to bear did you finally make a move.

moving closer to him, you lift yourself above his face, feeling your arousal dripping from its center. before you could even change your mind, it was xavier who brings you down on him using his strength alone. the pleasure was immediate, with you feeling his tongue traveling deep within your slick walls. he began greedily devouring you, soaking up all you had to offer as his tongue kept pounding itself in and out of you.

and when he gently sucks on your swollen bundle of nerves was when you felt your climax quickly approaching. a broken cry of his name was all you could manage when you allowed your release to rush out of you and into his awaiting mouth.

you were in a daze at the end of your release, allowing the pinpricks of pleasure to course through you when xavier lifts your body off of him-

only to sit up before pressing your body down on his cock. with a startling accuracy, xavier manages to pierce through you, eyes going wild as he fucks himself into your heat. your soft moans echo throughout the room as you brace yourself onto xavier’s shoulder, losing count of the times he made you cum.

there was a strange heat felt coursing through your veins, filling you to the brim with red hot desire. you had woken up from what you assumed was a nap that lasted far too long for your liking-

leaving you itching with a need to be filled.

getting out of bed, you slowly began peeling off your clothes, your bare feet padding against the flooring of your beloved’s home. you had barely stepped foot into his studio when he opens the door, nostrils flared while raking his eyes down your form.

“you need me, don’t you?”

so caught off guard by his bold question, you were given little time to react when he pulls you into his studio, setting your naked body on the couch as he settles himself between your thighs.

“i swear i could smell you before you even came to see me.”

heat blossoms across your veins, making you feel shy all of a sudden, since the lemurian just confirmed that he knew when you were the most needy for him. spreading your legs a little wider for him, rafayel introduces a finger within your soaked walls, pumping them in and out of you all while exploring your center with a hedonistic curiosity.

“you feel so soft around my fingertips, princess, yet i just know you’ll feel that much better around my cock.” he continues to play your body like an instrument, drawing out your moans as they echo throughout the studio like a sinful lullaby. your arousal drips down from your center and into his fingertips, earning a groan from the young artist.

“you are going to be the absolute death of me, princess.”

removing his hand from your aching sex, rafayel meets your hazy eyes while licking away the evidence of your arousal. letting out a hum of approval, he spreads your legs once more, inhaling your scent before placing his mouth on you. your center was now completely engulfed by his hot mouth, with your hands delving themselves into his hair as you immersed yourself in the pleasure he had given you.

when you admit to caleb about having a wet dream about him, he was relentless with his questioning, wanting to know every last detail of your dream. through embarrassing stutters, you manage to tell caleb as much as you could remember-

which was how you found yourself in this current position, your cunt aching for him with your front pressed against the bed as caleb remains settled behind you. you couldn’t see him, yet you could feel the way he lifts you up by the hips, forcing your bottom half into an upright position with your heated face pressed against the pillows.

feeling the colonel’s hands tracing at your ass, you gasp when he gives it a hard smack!, chuckling darkly before spreading your legs even wider for him, “why so embarrassed, pips? isn’t this just me makin’ your dreams come true?”

he angles your hips slightly, revealing your center to him as he brushes the tip of his cock against your outer lips. trembling at the sensation, you let out a moan the moment he slides into you, making you feel every inch of his pulsating cock.

completely behind you now, caleb braces himself on the bed before pistoning his hips in and out of you, the sound of his cock rapidly moving echoing throughout the room. the sensation of it all was enough to leave you a drooling mess, with your back arched as you take in his cock over and over again in this new position.

“heh, you’re so cute…” caleb leans down to playfully whisper within your ear while thrusting into you, “now tell me, isn’t the real deal more satisfying than a mere dream?”

end notes: unedited, but i kept seeing these ovulation memes with all the women getting needy for their men on my page and had to write something as inspiration 🤤 maybe ill change my status to semi-hiatus thanks to these short bursts of inspiration ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[bluebeary-jay]

Crawlin' back to you

Joel Miller x f!sunshine!Reader

Summary: you ask Joel for help while preparing for your upcoming date with another man. (or so it seems)

Tags: grumpy x sunshine, idiots in love, sweet sweet fluff, age gap, a drop of angst, peepaw is insecure abt his age :(, Jackson era, Joel is kind of slow but it's okay we still love him (pookie doesn't realize how hot he is), me dancing around the smut like i'm a fucking circus acrobat

Word count: 4K

A/N: sooo very long time no see 🙈 ever since the start of 2025 i'm telling myself to get back into writing but it still felt like a chore lol. but i REALLY wanted to finish this fic before tlou s2 drops so here it is!!! i'm really proud of how it turned out and i hope to write more in the near future. love you all so so much and as always, happy reading!! 💕

dividers by @saradika 🩷

Joel Miller didn't have friends.

He had a couple of buddies before the outbreak with whom he used to watch the game sometimes, but nothing more than that. Tommy didn't count, of course, because he was his brother and therefore had to be nice to him. The only other person who could put up with him was Ellie, but the kid was… a kid. As for the other people in Jackson, they were wise to keep their distance from Joel, not wanting to hang around a shadow of a man such as him.

He didn't mind. He liked the peace and quiet, and it didn't bother him one bit that everyone seemed to give him a wide berth, whispering about the danger that he was.

Well, almost everyone avoided him. You, the exact person that should stay far away from a man like Joel Miller, gravitated to him with an almost effortless ease. Even amongst all the hopeful people that created Jackson, you were the purest, brightest ray of sunshine, always helpful and compassionate towards anyone who came your way. And even though Joel wasn't exactly welcoming to you in the beginning, you never gave up and persisted – and eventually, befriended him.

And ever since the first time you spoke to him, he didn't stand a chance. You were young and pretty, and so charming with your innocent optimism… Before Joel realized, he was fantasizing about you during the lonely evenings, dreaming of your voice late in the night, and looking for you in the crowd when he was out of the house.

He was way too old to feel this kind of way, and every now and then it felt like he was balancing on a tightrope between being stupid and borderline creepy. Such a sweet girl like you wouldn't look twice at an old man like him if she knew the things that sometimes ran through his mind when he was seeing other men flirting with you, seeking the same warm light that Joel grew addicted to.

That was the poison mixed with your sweetness – even though it was irrational, with you everything seemed easier than it was.

…even falling in love.

And fall Joel Miller did. It was an embarrassing, tainted experience, especially when he remembered how much older than you he was. But he couldn't help it, and once this burning want became clear to him, he didn't really want to fight it, either.

You were everything he should stay far away from – young, pretty and so bright with your smiles, your hope, your innocence. A sinner like Joel Miller had no place in your life, and yet he couldn't muster the courage to let you go. It was selfish of him, he knew, but spending time in your company was one of the few brightsides of his life… and he didn't have many of those, lately. He genuinely enjoyed being near you – a lot more than he probably should.

That's why, when he noticed you skipping his way with a bright smile splattered across your cheeks, he felt his heart instantly lighten. It was a hard day of work at the construction site and he was relieved to finally be heading home, but just the sight of you made the weariness disappear from within his bones.

“Joel! Hi!” Something must have stirred you quite strongly, for you were practically bouncing with excitement. The words were spilling out of your mouth before he even had a chance to say hello. “I need your help, right now. Please.”

“Slow down, darlin’,” he chuckled, letting you drag him by the arm to a wall of the nearest building and away from the crowd. “You alrigh’?”

“Yeah, yes, of course.” You waved to someone passing by, totally unfazed – or maybe just ignorant – that you were being seen with him in public. “I just need your help.”

“Well, what is it?” he repeated the question and finally, you turned to face him. Joel couldn't help but match the pretty smile on your face, but it quickly faded when you blurted out your next words.

“I like someone.”

That short, simple sentence wrecked Joel’s world by the foundations. For a couple of seconds he just stared at you with his mouth slightly agape while you fidgeted with your hands nervously, but still overjoyed.

“Wh– uhh, sorry?”

“I like someone,” you repeated excitedly, as if your words weren't piercing right through Joel's heart. “And I need your help.”

All of the sudden, the world lost all its colors, as if all the meaning was sucked out of the universe just by your words.

Why it was such a surprise to him, Joel didn't know. Of course you'd sooner or later get together with someone. He should have expected it. You were young, pretty and such a joy to be around, people were gravitating towards you instinctively. Like moths to a flame.

Just like him – yet he was always destined to only get burned.

“Joel?”

You leaned closer and Joel's eyes instinctively focused on your lower lip worried between your teeth.  You were obviously oblivious to his feelings, as well as the effect you had on him – otherwise he doubted you'd tempt him like that, unknowingly making his mind fixate on how perfect your lips would have felt under his touch.

But no, it wasn't his caresses you wanted. There was someone else, someone far more deserving of you, and you were asking Joel only for his help. And though it hurt him – it killed him to lose this small sliver of affection you had been giving him so far – he nodded supportingly.

“Wha… what do you need help with, sweet girl?” he asked softly, trying not to show how devastated he felt inside. Joel had no desire to hear about whoever was fortunate enough to gain your favor, but again, luck wasn't on his side.

“I made a plan to meet him,” you explained enthusiastically, grabbing his forearm. Joel looked at where your fingers touched his skin, barely listening to your words. “Tonight. And I need you to come with me.”

That woke him up from his reverie. Joel huffed and shook his head sharply, looking at you like you were out of your mind.

“No.” His tone was almost biting, but through his firm refusal, a trace of panic was slipping through. You pouted, squeezing his forearm lightly.

“Oh, come on, please? I just want to make sure everything’s perfect.”

“No,” Joel repeated, much weaker this time. “Hell no. Why would I–” Then, a dark thought bloomed in his mind and his face turned concerned. “You're worried he'd do somethin’ to you?”

“Oh, no, no!” It was your turn to shake your head, and you actually cracked a smile at Joel's worried tone. “No, he'd never hurt me.”

Your voice got softer; your smile turned serene. Joel wanted nothing more than to turn away when your eyes started to wander across his features, but again that proved to be too herculean of a task compared to the hold you had over him.

“He's kind,” you continued absentmindedly, and on the edge of consciousness Joel remembered your hand was still on his arm, tracing small lines with your thumb. “Respectful and thoughtful… A real gentleman.”

“A-and who’s he?” Joel found the courage to ask, breaking you out of your daydreams. You smiled happily again – that damned, sweet smile of yours – and removed your hand. He immediately started missing the feeling of your touch.

“You'll see.” You looked over your shoulder when someone shouted your name a street away, and waved from the distance. You gave Joel one last pleading look, clasping your hands together. “Come to the Tipsy Bison at 9. Please? You can just sit in the corner but I'll feel so much better and safer with you there.”

Once Joel looked into your beautiful, pleading eyes, he was a goner. He never could deny you anything either way.

Even when he would kill for a chance to go on a real date with you.

“Okay,” he finally caved in. “Alrigh’. I'll be there.”

The overjoyed smile you gave him was almost enough to soothe the hollow pain in his chest.

Almost.

Great. Fucking great.

Joel made another turn around the street, trying to build up the courage to approach Tipsy Bison. The flannel shirt he wore was itching uncomfortably, but he was already half an hour late and there was no time to go back home and change.

He regretted ever setting foot in Jackson. It was a nightmare situation for him, having to spend the evening in a room full of loud, drunk people and watch as you go about your date with another man. Joel thought a dozen times about making up some excuse as to why he can't chaperone your date after all. He even went as far as to beg Tommy to accompany him, just that he wouldn’t have to suffer alone, but his younger brother just gave him a pitying look, saying something about spending time with Maria tonight. Joel could always cancel, lie that he can’t make it after all… but then he remembered how hopeful and thankful you looked, and all his resolve was wavering again. He couldn't ever say no to you, even though he desperately wanted to.

He looked at his broken watch, sighing at the hour. He delayed the inevitable long enough, so with heavy steps he approached the bar at last. You asked him to go through the back door, for whatever reason, and he was too tired at the time to point out there’s nothing back there except for the kitchen and storage rooms. Whatever. You probably were already in the main hall, with your date, and either you were angry at Joel for being late, or not thinking about him at all. He wasn’t sure which one would be worse.

Once he stepped over the threshold, he carefully closed the door behind him. The racket from the bar was muffled here, but from the nearest room he could hear someone muttering. Joel swallowed heavily and cleared his throat to alert whoever was on the other side of the wall.

“Joel?” he heard your voice before you appeared in the doorway. At the sight of him your shoulders dropped and with confusion he noted that you didn’t look angry or disappointed – you seemed relieved. “Goddammit, finally you’re here. You took your sweet time, huh?”

Before he could answer, you walked forward and took his sleeve, half-dragging him behind you. Words of protest bubbled on his tongue, but they all died quickly when Joel saw the room you emerged from.

The storage shelves were decorated with fairy lights and in the middle of the room stood a small table with two chairs opposite each other. The only other source of light were a couple of candles on the table and around the room. There was food on the table – probably cold by now – and a bottle of wine. But most importantly – there was no one else in the room except for Joel and you.

While he was looking around like an absolute fool, searching for an explanation for this situation, you cautiously closed the door and walked around the man, coming to a stop by the set table with your hands clasped in front of you.

“...Well?” you asked after an uncomfortably long silence, letting out a nervous laugh. “What do you think?”

Joel blinked, not sure if you were talking to him.

“Where's the guy?”

You threw him a confused look, but truly, it was the only thing Joel could think of. He glanced around the room again, as if his mysterious competition was going to jump up from behind one of the shelves, but there was no trace of anyone else here.

“Your… your date,” he clarified after a moment and cleared his throat once more. A spark of understanding flashed in your eyes and you pressed your lips together. “It's late. Is he… He didn't set you up, did he?”

“That depends,” you finally answered softly, keeping your wary but hopeful eyes on him. “Are you finally gonna sit down?”

A cog clicked into its place in Joel's mind and he turned his head, not sure if he had heard you right. You smiled nervously and motioned to the table.

“The food’s probably cold by now, but I can heat it up. It’s your own fault, though, since I asked you to be here forty minutes ago–”

“I don’t…”

He didn’t understand. Nothing made sense, but he had to make sure, “So there’s no… there’s no date?”

You were clearly nervous, judging by the way you were fidgeting with your hands, but you sent him a shy smile nonetheless. “I mean, you’re here…”

Joel didn’t answer – frankly, he didn’t know what to say. So many conflicted emotions were swirling in his chest, blocking his throat from squeezing out even a sound. It created almost a physical pain between his ribs, especially when your eyes were still on him, so hopeful and patient.

After another pregnant pause, you let out a quiet breath and took a step forward, throwing him a lifeline since he clearly must’ve looked like an idiot. “There’s no one else coming, if that’s what you’re asking. I made all of this for you – for… us, maybe. I just…” You half-shrugged, and only now Joel realized how nice you looked, wearing a dress he never before saw you in, “didn’t know how to tell you.”

Joel swept his gaze over the room once more – the dinner, the lights, your pretty dress… and you. And it was all for him, apparently.

“Why?” he breathed, the weight of his age almost making him collapse to his knees. He desperately wanted to say something more profound than one word at the time, but his voice was failing him. Thankfully, you were always kind enough to fill in the silence.

“Why did I lie to you or why did I drag you here of all places?” You rounded the table, eyeing the decorations with a proud smile. “Well–”

“No, darlin’, why…” He shook his head. Everything felt too unreal, too sudden. And he felt so tired. “Why me?”

That made you pause and you turned to him with a surprised look, like what he just said was the last thing you expected to hear.

“What do you mean, why you?” you huffed incredulously, leaning forward against the back of the chair, and though you tried to look casual, the nervousness in the tension of your body was apparent. “You’re just… I mean, it must be pretty clear that I really like you… And I thought you might have felt the same. You know, with all the ‘darling’s’ and looking at me, and stuff…”

Was it a dream? You always looked like you were out of a dream, but something about this moment… the fairy lights, your shy demeanor, the words he never thought he’d hear from you… Joel didn't know if he was still alive or maybe that's what the afterlife looked like.

“...You could say something,” you half-joked with a trace of worry in your voice, obviously growing uncomfortable at his lack of reaction. “You know, Tommy only let me have this place ‘til midnight before they come by to restock the bar. We can at least eat and talk a little, right?”

“Did Tommy put you up to this?” Joel asked bitterly, unable to stop himself at the mention of his brother’s name. He recalled the look Tommy gave him earlier today, his excuses as to why he can’t come with him... What other explanation could there be for such a gorgeous, young woman to be interested in Joel of all people, if it wasn’t just a product of his kin’s poor humor? However, he instantly regretted asking you this when your soft smile disappeared altogether, and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“You can just say if you don’t feel the same way,” you said dryly with an angry and hurt furrow on your brow. “No need to be a dick about it.”

You walked by him, apparently done with Joel’s accusations and grumpiness, but he quickly caught your arm before he could think better of it. You spun around, probably ready to tear into him, but he wouldn't hear a word either way – no while a vortex of doubts and questions raged in his mind. Joel didn’t know how or why you’d ever take interest in an old man like him, but he was now certain of two things.

One, you were telling the truth. For whatever reason, you really liked him – enough to plan and prepare a whole dinner date just for him.

And two, if Joel let you walk out now, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

You must’ve noticed the change on his face when his eyes flickered to your lips because you froze, the words of hurt and disappointment drying out on your tongue. Joel swallowed and wet his lips, looking for any sign of hesitation or regret on your face, but there was nothing in your eyes but pure, fragile anticipation. He delicately put his hand on the side of your face, the rough pad of his thumb brushing your cheek slowly. Your eyelashes fluttered closed and you let out a shaky breath, and that was all it took for Joel to lean down and press his lips to yours.

The kiss started delicate, but almost immediately turned into a fervent, hungry thing, which you ardently reciprocated. Joel wanted to take his time, to test the waters and build up the anticipation until you were ready to beg for him, but he didn’t expect just how fucking good kissing you would feel – and how eager you were for his touch. The smell of you, the feel of your hands on his chest and arms… it was driving him crazy with want, and without thinking twice, he spun you around and pinned your back against the edge of the table, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Goddammit, baby…” The term of endearment slipped out before he realized it, but judging by your reaction you didn’t mind at all. Your breath hitched, making him smirk to himself as he started to realize just how much power he held over you. It certainly shouldn’t excite him as much as it did. “Are you absolutely sure that’s what you want?”

“Joel, if you don’t stop questioning me…” you started, and although your words were firm, your voice leaned into a deliciously needy pitch, the kind of which he yearned to hear for far too long. Joel groaned into your mouth, moving down to press hot kisses against the line of your jaw and down your neck, greedily drinking in the noises you were making.

“Tell me, darlin’,” he asked in a low voice, experimentally running his palm up your thigh under the pretty dress you wore. The effect was immediate, and you pressed your body closer to him, seeking his touch the moment it left your skin. “I need to know if you really mean all this.”

“For fuck’s sake, Joel–” You made a surprised noise as he hoisted you up and onto the table, but it turned into another needy whimper when he knocked your knees apart and slotted himself between them with ease. You glanced behind you, worried that you'll push the silverware off the table, and Joel took this moment to resume the onslaught on your neck, kissing and sucking every inch of skin he could reach. You choke back a moan as his touch made a shiver run up your spine. “Joel, please…”

“I need to hear it, sweetheart,” he murmured lowly against your skin, slowing down to tease you when he felt your heartbeat quicken up beneath his lips. “Need to make sure you know what you're gettin’ into.”

“I do, I promise,” you assured him fervently while your hands went to the back of his head, fingers tangling into his gray locks. “You have no idea how many times I thought about this. I wanted you for so long, Joel, please…”

“Wanted you, too, darlin’.” He put one of his hands on the small of your back, pulling your lower half closer to the edge of the table so you could feel what you were doing to him. “God, every time you smiled at me it was all I could think about… So kind and beautiful, never thought you'd look twice my way.”

You didn't bother to answer this time, instead angling his head up to kiss him deeply again. The doubt and fear were still present in Joel's mind, but he honestly couldn't focus on them with you in front of him. You were so warm under his palms, so pliant and eager, a literal putty in his steady hands. He could never imagine how incredible it felt to be wanted by someone so much, but at the same time he knew he had to take his time. As much as he wanted to keep going, to make you see stars and sing his name, it was more than just lust with you.

So when you reached for the buttons of his shirt, he gently grabbed your wrists and moved them away, finally regaining his self-control. You whined disapprovingly, but the crease between your brows quickly disappeared when Joel kissed your fingers softly, not taking his eyes off you.

“Shh, sweetheart, don’t rush,” he cood, earning a small disappointed pout. He had to close his eyes, lest he caved in. Fuck, the sight of you before him – your pupils blown wide, lips swollen from his ministrations, your heavy breath and the dress bunched around your hips… Joel was sure you’d let him do anything to you right now. And God, he couldn’t wait. “Let me do this properly, yeah? Have a nice date with you, then maybe take you home if you don’t change your mind…”

“We can skip the dinner,” you quietly offered, your breath still uneven and cheeks flushed. He huffed a laugh with fondness and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead, his own breathing also slightly erratic.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured against your skin before taking your face in his hands. “Someone did say I’m a gentleman, no?”

You seemed to regret your previous choice of words, accentuating it with a disappointed whimper and a buck of your hips. Joel groaned and kissed you deeply again, almost able to taste all the impatience and desire on your tongue. Surprisingly, you didn’t fight him further and instead obediently slid off the table, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to be as close to him as possible.

Joel was grateful for this moment of calm before even more excitement – and he didn’t mind spending it by watching you, standing so close and smiling up at him as brightly as the sun itself.

“You believe me now?” you asked teasingly, stifling your giggles when Joel rolled his eyes playfully. “Good. You will have to make it up to me, then.”

Worry crept back onto Joel’s face, but you were quick to calm him down with a tender kiss to his jaw, and then another one lower, on his pulse point. “You were late. If you got here on time, we could’ve been doing this at least half an hour longer.”

Joel chuckled and lifted your chin with his finger, before kissing you briefly one last time.

“Baby, let’s enjoy the dinner you prepared, first. After that, I swear I’ll make it up to you in however many ways you want.”

Judging by your smile, you didn’t seem to mind at all.

[chuluoyi]

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

- sylus x reader

you and your lover are hailed and feared, but who would have guessed that behind closed doors, both of you are just that — lovers?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, making out, fluff, comfort, period cramps, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), loosely based on sylus' secret times: midnight warmth & exclusive care!

note: very self-indulgent bye pls don't look at me :') this fic is a companion to assassin!reader series (strictly (un)professional and jealousy incarnate)

“Who’s ther— lord! Missus! What happened to you!?”

On a rainy night, you staggered into the base, drenched and covered with dirt. Your steps were unsteady as you made your way through the front door, and the first person to see you, Luke, was so shocked by the sight that he rushed to your side.

“Kieran! Call Boss!” he shouted to his twin, who immediately sprinted off to find him, steadying you. “Are you injured?”

“No,” you hissed, wincing as you clutched your abdomen. “Let go, I’m fine—” But before you could finish, you missed a step and—

—fell into Luke's arms.

In that very instant, Luke genuinely feared for his life. He squeaked and stammered, incoherent sounds escaping him, because oh lord— if Boss sees me ever touching his woman—

“What are you doing?”

And there came his nightmare. Sylus’ deep voice cut through like a blade, marking the arrival of doomsday itself.

“B-Boss! It isn’t what it looks like!” Luke quivered, desperately trying to explain himself.

However, Sylus paid him no mind and exhaled sharply, immediately moving over to pull you out of Luke’s grasp. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you insisted, pulling away from him while staggering. “I’m not wounded or anything. Just... I just need a bath, please.”

Sylus eyed you from top to bottom. You had just been out for a reconnaissance, and yet you looked as though you had been through a tornado and back. Disheveled, your dress was smeared with mud and dirt, and even grime clung to your hair.

“Did you fall into a sewer or something?” he questioned, and he knew he had hit a nerve when you shot him a glare.

But you spared him no answer, walking away with labored breaths and a hand pressed against your lower belly. It was clear you were in pain, and the sight tugged at him as he followed you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his concern growing. “What hurts?”

“You don’t have to fuss over me—” your breath hitched, feeling exhausted, and ashamed all at once. “Just my period, nothing much,” you murmured in a quieter voice so the twins wouldn’t hear.

As you reached the stairs to the second floor, you felt like collapsing. Did you really have to climb these stairs, too?

As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a sigh, but you nearly squealed when he lifted you into his arms.

“You’ll get dirty!” you rebuked, even as he took large strides up the stairs. “Sylus!”

“Just hold onto me.” He shot you a pointed look. “You can’t even walk without gasping for air, and you still want to climb the stairs? You’ll end up rolling and breaking your back.”

Despite your protests, your lover immediately brought you to his bathroom and sat you down on the sink. He turned the hot water on and then faced you.

“So? What did you get yourself into?” he asked, his red eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction. “You were fine, and you didn’t face anyone.”

You pressed your eyes shut, leaning against the wall, resigned to explain. “Fell into mud. Totally idiotic, I know, but my cramps started right before, so…”

“I don’t recall you experiencing this before. What brought this on?”

You met his gaze indignantly, retorting, “Well, a certain someone banged me so hard last night, and I got my period right after.”

It was quite unexpected, but still answered his concern. So, to that, Sylus snorted and tousled your hair, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, sorry, I guess?”

You pursed your lips, aware of how unapologetic he was. He smirked and added, “Now that I’m dirty too... I suppose we’ll have to take a bath together.”

“Are you mad? Do you want to get covered in my blood?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why not—”

“No,” you retorted firmly, clearly irked. “You take the bath after me, and that’s final.”

. . .

“Put your arm around my neck,” Sylus commanded when you both emerged from the bath and already dressed in silk bathrobes. You complied, and he swiftly lifted you into a princess carry, bringing you to the bed.

Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at his action. He set you down gently, and the moment your back met the soft surface, you relished it and let out an involuntary moan. “Ahh...”

Your voice was soft and sultry, though tinged with a hint of pain. Sylus placed his hand gently on your face. “Your cheeks are warm,” he noted. “And you still look pale.”

"Mmm," you mumbled, suddenly the total fatigue catching up to you as you leaned into his touch. Seeing you so pliant like this seemed to flip a switch inside him, and he immediately settled next to you and placed his huge hand on your lower belly, pressing down on it.

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“I’m giving you a massage,” he replied. “Stop squirming. I’m trying to pamper you here.”

“You don’t have to…”

“My woman is in enough pain that she doesn’t talk back to me. It’s feels off.”

“...actually, you suck. You’re too rough.”

Taking your whine into account, he adjusted his touch, softening his pressure. "How is it? Better?"

You didn’t immediately reply, indulging in the warm sensation, letting out a sigh as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Mm... Yeah, it feels good now. Don’t stop…”

There was something quietly erotic about watching you, usually so defiant, surrender to his touch like this. Sylus felt a deep, protective satisfaction as he continued his gentle ministrations—

But after a while...

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pulling you closer as he buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of the bath foam you had just shared. “Mmm…”

You were caught off-guard and shivered at his breath tickling your skin, eyes fluttering open. “Sylus…” you murmured, a mix of protest and surprise in your voice.

But he didn’t pull away, his lips lingering against your skin, his gaze fixed on your bare neck, whispering, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Then, when he suddenly nibbled on your neck, you jolted awake. The gentle bite on your sensitive skin sent another shiver down your spine, stirring a mix of warmth that made your pulse race.

But he didn't stop there, as Sylus trailed your neck with a series of kisses and wet sucks, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, the only sounds filling the room were his quiet sighs and the soft noises of his lips as he continued to bite and pepper kisses on your skin, over and over.

“Ngh…” Each touch left you almost breathless, and the heat between you growing with every passing moment, making your toes curl and you moan softly by his ear.

“Hold me,” he gruffly whispered, and as if bewitched, you clung to his shoulders. He let out a husky chuckle. “Not too hard, or you won't be able to sleep later.”

“And whose fault would that be?” you quipped, entangling your legs with his, savoring the warmth of his body against yours.

“I’ve spoiled you rotten, haven’t I... sweetie?” he murmured amidst kisses, his tone laced with intrigue and his burgundy eyes flashing with a glint. “Just let me have my fill for a while.”

If you had a mirror, you’d see the hickeys forming on your neck, but instead of fighting him, you pulled him closer, letting out breathy moans freely and massaging his scalp as if urging him to go further.

“Naughty vixen—you are,” Sylus rasped deliciously in your ear, thick with desire and restraint as his grip on you tightened. “Tempting me, knowing full well I can’t do anything to you…”

A low giggle slipped from your lips. “Unfortunately… I learn from the best.”

Hard to get, snarky, taunting... You were the bane of his existence, and yet Sylus wouldn't have it another way. Your defiance and teasing only deepened his affection, making every challenge you presented feel like an irresistible part of what drew him to you.

He knew when his patience was on the verge of snapping, so to end it, he sucked hard on your shoulder one last time, making sure to leave another mark there. The squelching sound reverberated through both of you, before he pulled away and planted a firm kiss on your forehead, a gesture of both dominance and fondness for you.

“Now sleep,” he grounded out. “Your body has been through enough.”

“Mngh...” you whined, curling into him in contentment, your head nestled against his toned chest where you could feel his strong, steady heartbeat. “Really unfair...”

“You're going to feel better soon...” he sighed, one hand soothing your back and the other resting on your waist. “And as soon as you do...”

A wicked grin curved his lips.

“I'll pick up where I left off.”

[444venicebitch444]

a/n: ty guys so much for all the love on my last post, i absolutely wasn’t expecting it. probably gonna write something about joel miller in the next few days. if you have requests, send away, ly!

simon riley who gets a new neighbour that won’t keep her fucking blinds closed. 

he'd seen the moving truck, a pretty bird thanking the movers and hadn’t thought much of it; he wasn’t one to make conversation with his neighbors, so he minded his own business. 

or at least he tried, but it was real fucking difficult when he could see through your windows at any god given moment.

at the beginning it wasn’t even intentional, he actually found himself getting annoyed at how exposed you were. did you have no fucking self preservation sense, letting anyone and everyone look into your house? christ, people these days.

but then the fascination creeped in and he couldn’t help but let his eyes travel to you. watching as you sat on the couch on your phone, watching tv, reading, whatever. 

he observed as you came home from work, talking on your phone way too loudly for his liking, or laughing like the girls he always found insufferable in school when your friends came over. 

after only a few weeks he put a name, and every other thing there was to know, to the pretty face. not like it was hard: you had your name on your mailbox, public social media profiles, and readily available professional and academic information on the first page of his google search.

simon knew it was weird, that he should stop watching, maybe mention your lack of blinds to you, but he couldn’t. not when he saw you undressing in a way that felt like you knew he was watching, like you were doing this on purpose, teasing him. 

he tried telling himself that this was a bloody mid-life crisis, that he was too bored after retiring and needed to pull his shit together, but it did little to quell his growing enchantment. 

so when he saw you struggling with your ground floor window, a rusted old thing he’d noticed quite a while ago, he exited his home withe the excuse of collecting his mail despite his mailbox being empty and shot a casual, gruff “everything all right?”

you were polite, sweet, assured him it was nothing, just the old house acting up, but he insisted. 

he pulled at the old wooden frame with big, calloused hands, your gaze inevitably slipping to his strong, ink covered bicep, the muscle flexing as the window finally budged.

he noticed your look, of course he did, and couldn’t suppress a tiny smirk as he stepped back, “there you go, love”.

you thanked him profusely, then introduced yourself, obtaining his name right back, and offered him a cup of tea, but simon wanted to take his time. he had to think with his head, not his cock, and make sure you were the right one before getting himself too invested.

so, despite every bone in his body wanting to do the opposite, he refused “maybe some other time”

“I’m holding you to that, simon” you smiled and the sound of his name dripping from your lips like the sweetest of honies almost made his knees buckle. 

after your interaction simon got more diligent, looking for anything wrong with you, anything to turn him away, to put a stop to this; but he couldn’t.

every bit of information he attained made him fall deeper, fed his growing love for you, validated the idea he had created in his head. you were bloody perfect for him.

so he did take you up on your offer of tea and biscuits, and showed up at your doorstep.  

the sight of you greeting him with a soft smile and wearing a pretty sundress almost had him throwing his self control out the window and just telling you how you were made to be his. but he resisted.

he was a little awkward, but in a strangely endearing way. he made you laugh (god, he would die a happy man if your laughter was the last thing he heard), and was respectful, polite. 

and obviously you found him attractive, you weren’t being exactly subtle: simon knew he wasn’t that funny and that there was absolutely no need for you to grab his arm as you giggled. 

simon held onto every touch, every laugh, every time his name left your mouth like a man starved, his chest warming at the realization that he might have a chance, that you might love him back if he made an effort.

and sure, he might’ve placed a tiny listening device under your coffee table while you made a second kettle of tea, but that was just because he wanted to understand you better. to know how to please you, how to make you happy.

the ego boost he go from it a few days later as he listened in on your phone call was just a bonus. he couldn’t help the smile that decorated his face as you ranted to you friend, “he’s, like, unbelievably hot, build like a fucking tank. and sweet too! i know fucking your neighbour isn’t a good idea but christ”.

so you could imagine his surprise when he saw you come out of a car that wasn’t yours, an arm that wasn’t his around your waist. when the wanker kissed you at your doorstep, practically eating your face off, his fists clenched, blunt nails leaving bloody crescent moons on his palm.

who the fuck was that bloke? what the fuck were you doing? didn’t you like him? hadn’t you said that-

simon took a deep breath. he needed to calm down. 

this wasn’t your fault, of course it wasn’t. you didn’t know how he felt, he hadn’t told you yet, how were you supposed to know?

you were his sweet, little bird, you’d never do anything to purposely hurt him. you weren’t like that.

so any ounce of anger towards you disappeared as soon as it appeared. that man, though?

the entire night, simon seethed. he’d closed his curtains but the image of him around you was burned on the front of his brain and he fantasised. fantasised about being the one driving you home, kissing you, pulling you upstairs, tasting you, burying himself into you as you screamed out his name. fantasised about crushing that man’s skull, cutting him up limb by limb, making him eat his own tongue, teaching him to keep it in his mouth instead of letting it slip into yours.

but simon wasn’t one to just steep in his fury, he did something about it. 

so in the morning, as soon as he saw you and the asshole go downstairs, he turned the volume up on the laptop hooked to the listening device as he got dressed.

the guy offered to make you breakfast, and simon’s eyes damn near fell from his skull at how fast they rolled.

“that’s…nice, but I have to go to work, micheal” your voice came out static-y from the old computer, but the annoyance in it was unmistakable. simon knew you didn’t work on saturdays and it made him grin: you didn’t even like the bloke, you just needed a shag. and while simon didn’t exactly approve the way about which you went about it (i mean, he was literally across the street, love), he could understand that.

had you thought of him while he fucked you? had you imagined his strong arms around you? his cleft lip against your plush ones?

simon realised something good had come out of your little hook up: it had given him a courage of sorts. you were his, not this man’s who he was sure hadn’t fucked you right, who certainly didn’t love you as much as he did, and who wasn’t even enjoyable enough to keep around for breakfast.

so that same afternoon, he knocked on your door, had another cuppa and finally asked you on a date, being met with the brightest smile you’d given him as of yet, and making you promptly forget about micheal.

which was good because simon really didn’t want you knowing about how micheal hadn’t shown up to work the next day and the police had found his car abandoned, specs of blood on the seat.

[cosmictheo]

𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 | hwang in-ho

( gif credits to @lalaray )

—summary: for some reason, player 001 seems to like you a little too much, way more than you think. amongst the chaos after the mingle game, he gets closer to you. —pairing: hwang in-ho/young-il/player 001 x female!reader —word count: 4.5k —warnings: bro has a lot of names, +18, smut !!! (minors dni), most definitely ooc!in-ho, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, some porn with some plot, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, slight voyeurism? (a guard outside the bathroom listening all the tea💀), sub in-ho!!!, obsessive, possessive behavior, mentions of stalking, slight manipulation, in-ho being a slut for the reader, they want each others bodies so bad, panic attack, blood, killing, yk usual squid game stuff.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ✶ part one ── part two

The first thing you saw were Young-il's eyes, and then you sensed his hands resting on your shoulders, a subtle touch but one that struck your entire core, sending shivers up and down your spine, snapping you out of the trance of shock, drawing you back to reality and back to him.

“Hey, hey, shhh...” he spoke softly, leaning close to you, making all you focused on was him, his voice, his eyes, the way his lips uttered your name. Him, him, him...

“Young-il?” you breathed out, matching your respiration to his ever-calm one.

He nodded his head slightly, his fingers stroking your shoulders soothingly. “You're okay. You did so good. It's over now” his soft whispers felt like an anchor back to earth, anchors you were clinging to with all your might.

“I got you” he assured you, helping you to your feet again. It was only then that you noticed that you were still in the room set of the third game, there was only you and him left in the arena, and the multitude of bodies sprawled around the bloodstained floor, of course. Noticing your gaze drift to the dead people, his hand lifted to your chin, standing right in front of you to block your field of vision and reduce it to just him, his serene face and piercing eyes, “Just look at me, angel. Keep those pretty eyes on me, yeah?”

He delicately pleaded you, his thumb tracing patterns of grazing caresses on the skin of your chin, treating you as carefully as possible. 

And you complied, of course, succumbing to the gentle darkness contained within his eyes. Like a little lamb falling into the wolf's trap.

“There you are,” a little, honest smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

A couple of guards were standing near you, watching you in silence and strangely, allowing Young-il to comfort and help you during your panic attack. The first one you had since you had arrived in the horrifying place, you hadn't cracked once, holding a tough and fearless armor.

“You are safe with me. Nothing will happen to you,” his other hand moved down from your shoulder through your arm, igniting a warm flush on your skin under the passage of his palm, all the way down to encounter yours, his fingers intertwining between yours. “I'll make sure of that, okay?”

You merely manage a trembling nod, holding his gaze. His reassuring, gentle demeanor was all you needed at that moment, in that strange place, full of strangers, he seemed to be the only familiar sight to you, the light among all the ruthless darkness. And his face, exuding concern, completely captured your heart.

Young-il offered you that one protector figure you always needed, that someone to rely on and trust even in your darkest moments.

“Come with me, please” one of the guards, the one with a square outlined on his mask, interrupted your moment, stepping up beside you, his gun pointed at the ground and not at either of you, thank goodness. His voice held a diplomatic, yet polite tone, glancing at the two of you. Young-il glanced at him with a scowl on his face, not too happy that the guard had popped onto the scene, apparently, his gaze went ice cold in the span of a millisecond, “Sir, miss, you need to go back to the main room with the other players.”

“The lady needs to freshen up a bit, could I accompany her to the bathrooms?” Young-il asked— no, rather, he actually demanded of the armed guard, his demeanor shifting to an authoritative one, straightening up and looking at the masked man with imposing eyes.

The guard looked from Young-il to you and back to him, finally nodding his head just once after a few seconds of contemplation, looking at him too long, nearly as if he was considering Young-il's expression, “Of course. Come with me, please.”

You did not decide to comment on the strange behavior of the guard, even they had been acting like human beings, empathetic and considerate. You really couldn't think of anything much at all, all you could focus on was Young-il's hand placed on your lower back as you walked together through the winding, ridiculously colorful corridors and staircases inside the seemingly infinite building.

His touch had your mind a fuzzy blur and the panic and self-doubt in your veins had already been well forgotten, replaced by a state of constant flushing, feeling so small next to him. The feeling was a good one, though. Definitely.

Ever since you had met him he had seemed to have a special liking for you, always making sure you were safe and secure, putting you above the others, making you feel protected and seen. Before every game he made sure he stayed by your side, willing to take whatever risks were necessary for both of you to come out of it alive. Gi-hun had told you a couple of times that he liked you, much more than a friend, but you refused, huffing that it wasn't the place to think about that, much less regarding a man who was married, supposedly. The two of you had really bonded so well, as if you had somehow known each other for a very long time before this.

Once you were in the bathrooms, Young-il closed the door behind both of you, leaving the square guard just outside, and then guided you towards the sinks, opening one so you could take a sip of water.

“Let me...” he quietly whispered, rolling up the sleeves of his turquoise tracksuit and soaking his hands for a few seconds before raising them to your face, running his fingers gently across your cheekbones, removing traces of blood droplets that had been lucky enough to land on your skin, he thought to himself. For some reason, everything felt more intimate than it should have.

You stood in silence, watching him with big, attentive eyes as he wiped your face delicately, as if your skin were the finest porcelain. All that could be heard for a few moments was the water running from the sink and the thundering beat of your heart, desperate to flee out of your chest and leap into his.

“Young-il?”

“Hm?” he hummed, very much focused on cleaning your face, his countenance encouraged you to ask him anything you wanted, it was peaceful and gentle.

“Why do you care so much about me?” you dared to ask him, in a low tone, brave enough to hold his gaze, which softened at your question.

He held back his hands, pulling them away from your face very slowly, analyzing your flushed face for a few moments, contemplating an answer.

“You're special. Very different from the others.”

Young-il sympathized with you, with your history, your person. Usually when he looked at you, he saw his old self, from before all this. He saw in you the good side of things, your good heart, your innocence and kindness, you were much more than a pretty face. He could see past your usual gloomy and pouty face, past your sharp and too cunning eyes, you were too much for that place. And that's why he intended to take you out of there and keep you with him, to have you by his side to care for you and provide for you.

He was excited about the idea of getting to know you further, like a new game in which he had to crack his way through. And In-ho, he was good at games.

You blushed slightly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, “Special?”

Young-il spun around, allowing you to see his side profile as he washed his hands in the sink, concealing the impulse to smirk as he noticed the immediate effect his words had on you. He had you right where he wanted you. 

Now he wasn't wearing his usual dark mask, capable of covering his each and every emotion, no, now his expressions and gestures were for everyone to see, so he had to try a little harder than usual to be cautious. As you too were very careful and cautious, always attentive to your surroundings, you had figured out the objective of the last games as soon as you arrived at the arenas. It had been a record, no other player had been as interesting and quick-witted as you. You only needed a couple of minutes, a scan through the walls, the equipment brought by the guards, and you already had the answer. You were a prodigy. Not even he knew what you were doing in there to begin with, when you should have been in the best university.

You would definitely be a favorite of the filthy V.I.P.'s and that, for some reason, made him uneasy.

“Mhm...” he hummed once again, wetting his face now, refreshing himself as well, thoughtfully, “That makes you dangerous.”

His eyes held a slight playfulness as they met yours now, and his pupils expanded as he watched you step closer to him, unwrapping your sweatshirt from around your waist and lifting it up to his face, gently wiping and drying his skin with it, running the cloth carefully over his cheekbones, forehead and chin, drying every drop of water, sweat and blood that rolled across his skin.

“Why?” you tilted your head, big, interested eyes watching him intently as you carefully wiped his cheeks.

Young-il gazed at you for a few seconds, feeling himself swooning at the careful way you were treating him. He cleared his voice subtly before replying to you, in all honesty, “You're the only one I care about in here.”

Usually In-ho encountered with people who looked at him with fear, with trembling hands, hesitant voice and submissive manners. Most guards were like that with him, he was the Front Man after all. Just a movement of his fingers, a word emitted by his voice, was enough for the whole building to move at his command, for anyone to race to do what he ordered.

But you... you simply reached out to him, touched him, treated him with care, with gentleness and softness, looking at him with warm and sympathetic eyes.

“No other person makes me feel both weak and strong” he rasped out, quietly, his warm breath brushing against your lips, which gaped at his words, his choice of words, “That's dangerous for a man like me”

You motioned to pull your hand away from his face, but he was quick to grab your wrist, stopping the movement.

“Young-il, you're married, I can't—” you hurriedly opted to go the right way, trying to talk some sense into him, shaking your head softly, blinking several times within a single minute. Your heart was already starting to beat faster and he could feel it through his thumb placed on your pulse.

He shook his head, seeking your gaze, his fingers gently squeezing your wrist, not wanting you to move too far away from him.

“I'm not married. I lied” he revealed to you, almost desperately. There was no reason for him to lie to you on that, because he knew that you were someone he could trust, and that everything that was going to happen there, would remain within those walls. A little complicity. A minor crack in the script, in the whole scheme that he had been working on for weeks.

You let him grab your wrist and the jacket of the tracksuit you had previously held in your hand fell to the floor, making a muffled noise that echoed off the quiet walls of the bathrooms. Your brow furrowed slightly, not understanding what he was talking about now.

“You lied? Why?” you asked in a low tone, as if anyone could hear you. It seemed, at least it felt like too private and all too intimate a conversation for anyone to overhear.

“I didn't want to push you away and scare you with my... life resolutions” Young-il lowered your hand now joined with his, looking at you with brighter eyes than usual, “It was the wiser thing to do.”

“Resolutions?” all you appeared to be doing was asking and asking, and In-ho, right there and then, was willing to answer all you wanted to know. Your tone of voice drifted into playfulness, void of judgment or disgust, on the contrary, you reassured him, “All of us here have made bad choices in our lives, that's why we're here. We're all the villains of society”

“Villains...” he repeated, savoring the word and approving it with a gentle nod of his head. Then he tugged on your hand, lifting it to his face, placing an affectionate kiss on your knuckles, doing all of that while keeping eye contact, “But you're not bad, not like them, not like me. You're just so good, angel.” There was the petname again, and it held the exact same effect as when he first called you that, making you blush softly, your legs trembling just barely, your core reacting instantly, your body succumbing to his, longing for him.

His fingers caressed the palm of your hand tenderly, “You have no blood on your pretty hands, no perversity in your little head, no, you're a good girl. You always have been, right?”

He read you like an open book, even though you had been cautious and reserved since the games had begun, you had not let anyone in, much less pass over the walls you had built around yourself. Yet in the span of a few minutes, Young-il had ripped them apart, tearing his way through them, into you.

You caught a glimpse of pity in his eyes.

“You don't have a debt, you just don't have anyone out there waiting for you, to take care of you, provide for you” At his words, you gulped, watching him kiss your knuckles once again, making your heart race, then his lips kissed your pulse on your wrist, and after that, he tugged you closer, placing your palm against his chest, making you feel the beat of his heart as well, “I could be the one. I could take care of you, protect you, give you everything you want. There wouldn't be anything I wouldn't do for you and those eyes. You'd just have to stick by my side, look pretty for me, hm?”

In-ho had been watching you, of course, ever since you had met Gon Ji-cheol in the subway, ever since you had encountered Gi-hun. He knew your life completely, he had grown obsessed with you. You were everything he needed, everything he wanted, the missing piece in his new life. The anchor he desperately needed, yearned to hold on to.

And to your flesh he clung, his lips making a path of light, but tentative kisses on the back of your hand, across your skin, up your arm.

“Young-il...” you breathed out his name a bit stunned by the whole sudden confession. At the sound, he felt his limbs tremble, his lips had reached your bicep and it wasn't until he kissed your shoulder that he opened his eyes so he could look at you with raw adoration, his breath joining yours at the closeness.

“I'll get you out of here, safe and sound. I won't let them touch a hair on your head” he promised, reassuring you, pulling you in, inviting you to slip into his orbit, “I just need you to trust me”

Your eyelashes grazed your cheeks as you blinked slowly, your hand rising to his shoulder, thumb brushing his neck, “How will you do that?”

“Trust me” he pleaded, staring at you for a few seconds before leaning down into you, both of his hands landing on your waist, holding you against him, his face nestled into your neck, he began to press his lips into your skin, kissing it. You close your eyes in utter pleasure, feeling yourself getting all aroused, suffocated by all the attention, the sweet words, his desire for you. 

“Would you do that for me?” he rasped out against your skin before kissing it, sucking lightly, “...hm?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, his lips rapidly kissing your throat, and suddenly, everything was him, his mouth, his breath, his hands squeezing your waist. Him... 

You lifted your chin, allowing him more access to the soft flesh of your neck, seductive lips exploring every inch of your skin.

“Yes”

“That's my girl” he cooed with tenderness, kissing your neck one last time before pulling away from it so he could look at you, not even letting you breathe the air that had slipped out of your lungs for the entirety of his doing, before he was kissing your lips like a starving man.

He breathed against your lips in between frantic open-mouth kisses. He almost felt himself melt as his ears were blessed by the delightful little noises leaking out of your mouth, panting and low moans escalating up your throat.

“Young-il…” you whispered his name, your voice sheepishly lowering as you noticed the look in his eyes, your hands clasped around his neck, fingers trembling from the thrill and sudden shame that shook you.

“Jump” he said, his tone of voice heavy with command, his hands reaching around your waist and down onto your ass to lift you up effortlessly onto the side of the sinks, balancing himself tight against you in between your legs, which wrapped around his hips and pressed him further into you, under an instinctive impulse.

You panted against his lips as you felt his erection against the inside of your thigh, his body eagerly surrendering to yours in desperation.

His commanding voice and face were something that really turned you on even more, if that was even possible. It wasn't usual for him to be this stern with you, he was usually like that with the other players, with strangers, always cautious, quiet and tactful, meticulous of his every step and every word.

“W-wait— we're going to fuck in h-here?” you somehow managed to asked in between frantic, breathless kisses, barely opening your eyes, catching him with an expression of raw lust, pupils fully dilated now.

Young-il smirked playfully, allowing you to catch your breath for a moment, hands caressing your skin appreciatively beneath the fabric of your shirt, before dropping down and laying on either side of you against the sinks, veins bulging against his skin, “You want to do it in the other room? I don't mind having an audience.”

His little tease and the way he tilted his head made you blush furiously, fingers nuzzling the back of his neck, curling between locks of his hair.

“The guard will hear us...” you tried to talk some sense into him, whispering quietly to him, leaning your head even closer, as if you were little kids sharing a forbidden secret.

But Young-il stood his ground, kissing your lips shortly, to reassure you, noticing the worry in your big eyes, “Don't worry about him, don't worry about anyone,” his hand snaked between your bodies, spreading your legs a little further apart, “He won't hear a thing, they never hear or see anything. Not if they are ordered not to”

One of his hands reached up, stroking your hair soothingly, sensing the softness of your locks between his fingers. You were perfect, perfect. And he just knew he could lose all track of time, if it meant letting himself fall into you, touching you, feeling you, worshipping you.

"Lift your hips for me, yeah?”

Obedient, you lifted your hips just a little, letting him pull the hem of your tracksuit pants down your legs, taking it out of the way of obstructing his path into you.

“I know you want this as much as I do, you don't have to say it,” he cheekily smiled, looking up at you once he had lowered your pants down until they were at the level of your ankles. On his journey upwards, he kissed the side of your leg, your knees and your thighs without taking his eyes off yours, he was ruthless and you looked so pretty to him.

“Your body speaks to me, it has spoken to me since the first game. I've noticed the way you look at me. You are a naughty girl.”

You heaved a sigh, closing your eyes and pulling your head back as his hand dipped into the center in between your legs, feeling the wetness of your panties and the heat, your cunt pulsing around nothing. Your hands, now on either side of you clasped onto the ceramics of the sinks, your back arching beautifully.

You can't help the way your body trembles, flutters and simply submits when his finger rubs your swollen clit through your panties, feeling your face and your whole body flush, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment at the magnitude of his words and the enormity of all that was happening.

“Look at you,” he cooed, eyes locked on your pussy once he had pulled down your panties with precise but desperate motions, ran his index and middle fingers through your slick folds, making you moan, “you're soaking wet for me, just for my kisses? Fuck, you are so beautiful. My pretty, dirty girl. Letting herself be touched by a stranger.... but then again, not a stranger at all, hm?” his voice almost sounded mocking when it reached your ears, “I need to taste you,” his gaze moved up to your face, and he looked nearly pleading, he licked his lips in anticipation, fingers sinking just barely into the small entrance of your core, “may I?”

“Please—” You at once nodded feverishly, almost whimpering over the words that rushed into your throat, “Yes! Please, Young-il, please—”

He dropped to his knees in front of you, slouching closer, sinking right between your legs, his hands lingered around your knees, squeezing them against him with a possessive hold.

“In-ho” he corrected you, flushed against the skin of your inner thigh, pressing kisses along it, all too drunk already by your intoxicating scent, his mind going fuzzy with desire, the urge to make you his, “Call me In-ho”

You didn't even pause to doubt what he was telling you, Hell, you'd call him God if he asked you to. You were in the palm of his hand, on full display. His lips kissed your sex and you mentally thanked fate for putting you there, with him.

“Say it” he ordered, just before he plunged his tongue deep between your folds, knocking all the little breath left in your lungs. “Say my name, angel” the vibration of his voice against the most sensitive flesh of your body clenched the knot deep in the bottom of your belly.

“In-ho” you named him between shaky whimpers and little moans, like a prayer. One of your hands dropped to his head, fingers sinking into the black of his hair, tugging it and making him hiss against your cunt. “In-ho...”

In-ho, In-ho, In-ho...

“Good girl”

God.

He ate your pussy like it was his very last meal, lapping and drinking in everything you had to offer, every bit of wetness from you. The slurping noise burst through every wall of the bathrooms and suddenly, you didn't give a shit if the guard outside heard you, you didn't give a shit if all the guards heard you. 

They could be right there watching you, you couldn't care less, it wouldn't change the way you tugged at his hair, how your eyes rolled back and the way he was gazing up at you from below, kneeling perfectly between your legs as if they were the gates to heaven.

His tongue seemed familiar, his fingers squeezing your thighs, his eyes locked with yours, his lips kissing your sex with no breath, all the breath he needed was you. He didn't feel like a stranger, your body acquainted him, perhaps in another life. It all felt like deja vu, a reminiscence.

Your muscles tensed and he felt it through his tongue. You were about to cum, and your throat felt scratchy from all the moans and whimpers rasping through it.

“Gonna cum, baby?” he coaxed, pulling away from your cunt for just a couple of seconds, sneaking a hand in and pressing just barely at your entrance with a couple of fingers, kissing your clit and sucking it just right, “Yes you are,” he grumbled endearingly, his tongue tracing caresses all around your clit now, looking up at you.

“You're so tight” he marveled, watching in awe as your cunt eagerly attempted to suck in his fingertips, clenching and struggling to fit them. “Look at her, so eager... such a good girl, aren't you?” Once again he leaned into your clit, kissing, sucking and caressing it with his tongue, already too pussy drunk to stop. “Cum for me. Cum on my tongue, yeah, just like that”

“Holy shit, In-ho—” you hiccupped, feeling tears blur your vision, a wave of pleasure unleashing from deep in your belly. You moaned his name like a prayer, pressing his head closer to your cunt on an instinctive impulse, “Mmph!”

Maybe it was seeing his chin and mouth all dripping wet of you, or his dark, deep eyes marveling at how your pussy squeezed tight around his fingers, or his other hand sliding up under your shirt, finding one of your breasts and flicking your nipple. Maybe it was all of it, either way, you were cumming like you had never cum before. Your whole body was shaking and succumbing to the overstimulation. Succumbing to him.

In-ho gulped down everything you gave him like magic waters.

“You taste better than I imagined,” he confided, licking his index and middle finger as well, catching every trace there was of you that he could possibly consume as if it were honey.

Then, he kissed your pussy once more before standing up, sending shockwaves of electricity through your whole body with his touch, his hands settled on your hips, holding you so you wouldn't fall.

And he just smirked. He moved closer to you and kissed your mouth, making you savor your own taste through him, his hands appreciatively caressing your thighs, swiftly pulling up your panties back on.

“You're perfect, perfect,” he smoothed against your lips, his forehead leaning close to yours and he kissed you again, praising you, holding you tight in the afterglow of your orgasm, “My girl, my favorite girl, so good for me"

“We need to get back before someone starts to get suspicious,” he mumbled softly, helping you to your feet and pulling up your pants, always holding you with his hands and strong arms.

“B-but,” you retorted, your hands gripping his shoulders, still feeling your legs a little wobbly and unsteady, your dilated pupils and half-closed eyes following him as he arranged you, “I want to-”

He interrupted you, grinning warmly, stroking a lock of your hair away from your forehead before kissing your lips once more, as if closing a deal, a promise, “There will be time. Be patient, princess. We don't want the others to find out about my favoritism, do we?” seeing you still looking a bit confused, and still denying with your head, In-ho smiled playfully, “That would be very unprofessional of me, so this will be our secret”

This time you kissed him, sealing the secret.