#it's breezy out and it's making her hard

[soulflatter]

"I'm learning some pretty neat stuff today."

[viridescentelf]

Yandere elf x reader - Bath time :)

Character and Art belongs to @meo-eiru! Please check out her blog ✨ Another BIG thanks for creating him!

This is a follow-up to my last fic: if you want to read that one, click here. I'm not sure if I'll do another one, a bit out of ideas lol.

Warning: 18+ content, drugging, general nsfw, explicit

—————

The water stung your damaged knee. Silas was preparing something in a wooden pail, humming some tune, while you sunk deeper into the hot spring. The water brushed your chin, as you glared at the back of the stupid elf’s head, bobbing back and forth as he dunked colorful fluids from flasks into the bucket. His long, luscious hair was levitating on the water's clear surface, covering his butt.

You were so close to freedom. He told you he’s enchanted the area now, stopping you from leaving entirely. No idea how that worked, but he showed you by pushing you gently against an invisible barrier. Your cheek had squished against the unseen partition, like when a human tests their cat’s intelligence against walls in those videos. “To protect you”, he explained in his sing-song trill.

If you hadn’t been injured, you would’ve made it. Away from this maniac.

“Look what Mama made!”

Silas held the bucket under your nose, smiling serenely. The liquid was a mix of pinkish goop and specks of sparkles. Your eyes lingered on the strange soup, then turned up to meet his excited face.

“What the fuck is this”, you mumbled crossly.

“No swearing, darling!” He patted your head. He didn’t know what the word “fuck” meant, but he read that it is bad for children to use. “It’s my healing salt! Doesn’t it smell amazing?”

Silas kept holding it under your nose. It did smell good, damn it.

“It will heal your poor leg. Plus, it makes everything feel a bit tingly. Healthy for cleaning up down there.” He gestured to his crotch.

Fuck.

Without warning, he dunked the solution into the bath. The mixture oozed slowly into the clear spring. The effect of it was almost instantaneous. You felt the biting pain ebb from your limb and you sighed in relief. Elf magic was so fascinating. If only Silas wasn’t such a freaking psycho. You would love to learn more about it. And then go back home and sleep in a bed without tits in your face.

He was right about the prickly sensation. You felt a warmth pulsate down there, as you absentmindedly sunk deeper into the water. Your gaze blurred and you felt the comfort of the heat engulf you.

Silas pulled you to him and placed you in his lap. His towering upper body remained out of the pool, the breezy touch of his skin a great juxtaposition to the searing heat of the water. To be fully engulfed, he would have had to spread himself across the whole spring, leaving no room for you.

You felt him grow below you. The effects of the water seemed to work on his form as well. His cheeks blushed.

“Be good, darling.” He breathed into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Let’s heal you completely.”

Your leg was fine. You didn’t need any more healing.

Silas’ lips brushed yours, his tongue slinking quickly and entangling in yours. The potion and his saliva were making you go crazy, your lap roaring with want. It was impossible to bottle up.

The potion made movement slow. You were attempting to push away with the last of your wits, but it came across as you gently pressing his chest together. He misunderstood and held your face up to his breasts.

“Drink up…”, he trebled, leading your mouth to his hard teat. It was hopeless.

Your wet lips traced around it and you felt the elf jitter under you with excitement. His hands were softly trailing down your back and took hold of your bottom, squeezing the soft tissue. The water delayed his movement, but you felt him lift you slightly, hovering dangerously above his throbbing shaft.

You could feel him against your entrance, nudging slightly. The heat consumed you, thrumming in the area, wanting. You released your lips from his chest, gazing dozily into his red face. If he was blushing more, you could not tell. He looked so enthralled; the big, dumb eyes full of devotion to you.

Silas crashed into your lips again, kissing desperately, lapping up every part of your mouth. The more saliva you exchanged, the more you felt yourself pulsate. The waves within you crashed, begging for relief. You tried to use your arms to push him off of you, but they felt so limp.

You hated this effect he had on you. You couldn’t stop yourself. This surge and needing the release - it drove you insane.

Floating above him in the spring, you felt him twitch there in unfair expectation. He was far too massive for you.

Silas wrapped one arm around your waist, pushing you closer into his body. Your breasts compressed against his and he moaned shakily at the sensation.

“Mama will heal you, dear…”, he huffed after releasing himself from your lips, with bits of drivel escaping his mouth. “I lov-“

You couldn’t take it anymore. You sat down on him, letting the beginning of him enter you with a strong jerk. He filled you up, with just so little of him inside. Your entire body shook from the flash.

Silas head knocked back; his eyes crossed as he let out the loudest yelp you had ever heard from him. He had never felt you like this before. He only dared milking himself in your sweet mouth, for fear of tearing you apart. But this… the feeling of your tight, velvety walls, the little he could feel of it was enough to make his world spin.

He instinctively grabbed your hips with a jolt and lifted you up and down on him. He wanted more of that sensation, more. More. More!

You were bouncing on top of him and felt every sinew explode with electricity. He bucked his hips slightly when you bobbed back down, but not too much in fear of breaking you, slowly deepening each thrust.

Although you could hear his pitiful “Ah! Ah! Ah!”s, your entire environment seemed to muffle. All you could feel was the inconsolable penetration. The way every jab made your groin burst into flames. The water splashed vigorously around you, as he guided your body into his. He lifted you like you weighed nothing. His head was still jerked back with his eyes in the back of his head, it seemed he was unable to do anything other than plunge halfway into you.

You couldn’t help but release low moans yourself, the note of your bellows making him tense up more. His large hands were clasping your ass, the flesh spilling out between his long fingers. You whimpered and let him consume you, every thrust splitting your walls further. The loud clapping of your bodies and the vigorous splashing, you were intoxicated. The sounds. The sensation. It was diabolical.  

You let out a string of deep moans, as you came, the wetness around his shaft increasing as you tightened your grip around him. Silas couldn’t hold it any longer, either, as he erupted within you, squealing from the overwhelming pleasure.

He spilled out of you. A puddle of white foam bubbled around you. Silas heaved loudly, blinking excessively and tilted his head back forward, staring dumbfoundedly at you.

He looked like you beat him up. Tears were escaping his rippling eyes, as a tiny sob hiccupped out of him.

Fucking baby.

“D-Do you feel better now? Have I healed you?”, he squeaked, pulling you into his arm cages again.

You rolled your eyes and nodded out of sheer vanquish. There was no point explaining to him that this wasn’t how you heal humans. There was no point explaining to him that mothers don't do this.

Silas kissed your head and swirled his hand in the water, making his semen drift away from you. “Oh…all the precious milk. Gone…”

He grabbed a sponge from behind him and started cleaning you feebly, his hands still shaking from the massive release. You saw a tear fall from his cheek. Without thinking, you brushed another one off his cheek.

He gaped at you after the gesture, pausing his scrubbing.

“O-oh darling. You really love me, don’t you? That’s why it felt so good…”, he smiled widely, more tears splashing out of his googly eyes.

You didn’t answer. You didn't know why you just did that.

Silas hugged you so tightly, you let out a wheeze.

“I love you too, my sweet!!” he squeaked and squished you more. “It’s getting late. We still need to have dinner! And you need a proper portion of milk!”

You closed your eyes, sighing.

Another milking session...

[kashverse]

can i request a vacation with the kuna fam?

vacation for the kuna family is a non-negotiable, just like tax evasion for the rich and sukuna’s right to always be right. even if it's peak vacation season and the prices make you feel like you should start an anti-capitalist uprising, sukuna still takes his family on a trip. “this is highway robbery,” you mutter, staring at the obscene total on the hotel bill.

“highway robbery is when i force a company into bankruptcy,” sukuna corrects, signing the check without blinking. “this is just capitalism.”

and, of course, matching outfits are a must—including beachwear. you in a breezy cover-up, babykuna in an adorable one-piece, and sukuna in his beach trunks and absolutely nothing else, because the man has zero shame and an ego the size of the sun.

which is exactly why you’re currently holding yourself back from strangling a passing woman with your beach towel as she blatantly ogles your shirtless, tattooed husband. she’s staring so hard you’re convinced she’s mentally printing out a 4K poster of him for her bedroom wall. you narrow your eyes. “excuse me?” 

the woman blinks, clearly not expecting to be called out. "huh?" 

"do you need a picture or should i just let you borrow him for a second?" you say, voice dripping with deadly sweetness. sukuna, utterly entertained, casually drapes an arm over your chair. “babe, be nice.” 

you scoff, flipping your hair. "please. i am being nice."

meanwhile, on the other side of the beach, sukuna finds himself struggling. some random man is shamelessly staring at you sunbathing, sunglasses perched low on his nose like he’s about to write a dissertation on your beauty. sukuna’s left eye twitches.  “the fuck is he looking at?” he growls under his breath. 

"maybe my incredible fashion sense," you hum, stretching lazily under the sun. "i’ll bury him in the sand if he doesn’t stop," sukuna mutters, cracking his knuckles. 

"aww, babe," you coo, grinning. "you sound jealous."

"damn right i am," he grumbles.

but the final straw? some snot-nosed six-year-old punk is staring at his baby girl. 

babykuna. his pride. his joy. his perfect little princess.

the kid is standing awkwardly a few feet away, clutching a plastic shovel like he’s about to write a love confession in the sand. babykuna, blissfully unaware, is humming as she sculpts a perfect sandcastle. the boy swallows hard, gathering all his courage. he takes a deep breath. steps forward.

"hi," he says, small but brave.

sukuna immediately sits up.

"NO."

the kid freezes. babykuna frowns up at her dad. "papa, what?"

sukuna glares daggers at the boy. "what do you want?"

the poor child visibly shrinks. "uh—i just—"

"no. go away."

babykuna huffs, punching sukuna’s rock-solid thigh. "papa! stop being scary!"

"yeah, suku," you say, barely holding back laughter. “he’s just a kid.” 

sukuna scoffs. "yeah? so was genghis khan once."

but before babykuna can argue, an even worse situation unfolds. mr pickles, is currently stumbling around with his entire head stuck in a sand bucket. the miserable yeowling that follows is so dramatic it sounds like a victorian-era orphan mourning his dead parents. babykuna gasps. "mr pickles!"

the cat thrashes. trips over a sand mold. collapses like he’s been shot. babykuna immediately rushes over to save him, while you and sukuna watch, completely unfazed.

“should we help?” you ask. sukuna takes a sip of his cocktail. "nah. he’ll figure it out."

it’s chaotic. it’s stupidly expensive. it’s a test of patience. but, honestly? it’s perfect.

[anothermaletfwriter]

Don't Climb the Stairs in the Woods

Carter isn’t what you would expect from his appearance. He hated how even in the year of 2025, people made assumptions based on what he looked like. Yes, he was a twink but that didn’t mean he was gay. In fact, he was the opposite. He was the elusive straight twink, having the slender youthful pale white frame often held up by gay men as one of their beauty standards while having only attraction for the opposite sex. He was entirely straight, not even remotely bi-curious. It was a constant social problem but it particularly plagued him in his love life. The hot girls he wanted to bang friend zoned him as they wanted their own little gay best friend. Surprisingly despite his looks, he wasn’t very tolerant of the gays or their lifestyles. Unfortunately, he would learn tolerance and acceptance the hard way.

Today was one of the few dates he snatched with a woman. His tactic of deepening his voice and making his flirting extremely obvious worked this time. He was in the middle of talking to the cute blonde named Carrie at a coffee shop when her muscle-bound gay Asian best friend, Tristan, came along. He sashayed in his walk, wrists limping and hips swaying, as he hugged his bestie. While Tristan’s only direct interaction with Carter was a friendly wave and “Hello, how are you?”, Carter felt the atmosphere had been spoiled. He got sick of the man at first sight and hated it even more when Tristan opened up his mouth and all that came out was his overtly-flamboyant cadence. Carter abandoned his date and left the shop instantly, explaining that he didn’t want to date a girl with gay friends like Tristan.

Now he was walking through the woods, attempting to find a peace of mind like he always did. He took on his usual trail, passing some pine trees and a pond that had geese and ducks. Strangely enough, there were no sounds of creatures. No things hissed or slithered. Even the ducks that honked at him were silent. Everything in the forest was quiet save for the crunch under his feet and the breezy wind that haunted him. Something is wrong here.

He tried to turn back on the trail but the forest had reorganized itself, his path now blocked by a thick brush of trees. It was too thick to get through. He turned forward and a staircase stood there. It was made of concrete with graffiti of rainbows and nets of vines on the side. Chills ran through his heart that warned him to not get on it. He became paralyzed as voices without a source whispered for him to go on it. There was something exciting only seen at the top. No matter how hard he tried to push his legs back, they could only move forward, his body out of his control.

“I don’t deserve this. I wanna go home,” He tried to speak out but his tongue didn’t follow. He hoped that this was all a bad dream and not karma for acting like an asshole earlier.

As his sentient body slowly went up the stairs, the voices got louder. As he got on the top, the voices felt like they were screaming in his ear but with both feet on the final step, only the ground afterwards, it stopped. Everything was frozen in time like someone had paused the channel. The only noises he heard were his heartbeat and stomach churning before it all returned. The trees swayed in the softer wind and the ducks quacked and tackled each other in the pond.

His entire body felt cooler, and he felt his raised goosebumps. He was naked! All of his clothes gone and out of sight. God this was embarrassing. He covered his average-size junk with his hands, realizing he was in control of his body again.

Happy that nothing severely bad occurred, Carter carefully went back down the stairs.

He noticed that the steps seemed lower down than before, as his legs made larger strides. His skin was changing, while initially thinking it was a trick of the light, he finally realized his skin tone was shifting into a darker and tan shade. His flat cardboard of a chest popped up like two meaty balloons as his skinny abs hardened into a vascular 8 pack. His jawline felt sore as it elongated into a more rectangular shape and chiseled out for a more mature appearance. His stick-thin legs became tree trunks. His curly brown hair shortened into jet black and straight short hair dyed with a tinge of brown. On the arms he held on the rail, they exploded with muscle. His bicep grew more prominent with veins that pumped testosterone through out his whole body the closer he got on the bottom. His ass felt heavy as it had expanded with muscle.

After getting off the stairs, Carter ran to the pond and was shocked by the stranger in the reflection of the water. He was a Chinese hunk now!

His member poked out as he became aroused from his own reflection. The more he stroked, the more of his memories transformed. All the nights he spent in his car banging woman turned into Sniffies and Grindr meetups where they flip-fucked in his car. His attraction to woman replaced by an attraction to men, notably Asian muscle men like himself, like a real man. His name was not Carter, it was Cade. Before he could climax, his phone dinged, ruining his streak.

He sighed, opening past the lockscreen off his near naked body in front of a tropical sunset to a Grindr notification. It was from Azn muscle, “U at the trail yet?”

“Yeah. Got so horny I almost got off lol.”

“Lmao save your hot cum for me. Be there soon.”

Cade exhaled with impatience. After a blink, a backpack and bike manifested on the ground next to him. After another blink, a pair of tight white shorts appeared on his body, not leaving much to the imagination. He began to remember that he was biking shirtless as usual to his Grindr hookup spot and passed the time by admiring the gorgeous nature and his handsome reflection.

Once his hookup, whose name was Tristan and was complaining of a bitchy straight white twink earlier, arrived, it didn’t take long for them to get on their knees on the warm sun-heated ground, taking turns as they pounded each other’s bubble butt with their monster Asian cocks. Cade reveled in being used by a fellow muscle Asian, their mouths fondling their asses and cocks. After they filled each other with their hot potent seed, they parted ways, messaging each other to meet at the same spot again next week.

Cade returned to his apartment to prepare for the rest of the hookups for the day. In an hour, he had to meet in the bathroom of a closing down mattress store. In three hours, he was back in the trail. He would finish his last hookup in an upscale luxury apartment at the stroke of midnight before sleeping on the stranger’s bed.

Cade sometimes had nightmares that he was a straight white twink lost in an eternally paused forest but they went away after a few weeks. After all, he had always been Cade and no one else. He was a gay Asian muscle slut and was proud of it.

[illbegottenfaith]

unadulterated loathing (a what is this feeling inspired fic)

yours and theo's feelings for each other evoke a deeply visceral physical reaction in both of you, for which there can be only one explanation (theo nott x reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - had this idea ever since I watched wicked and so I whipped smth light and fun up prettyyy quickly (I think this is the fastest I've ever writtena fic? then again it is on the shorter side) enjoyyy :)) p.s. im quite behind on my notifs etc cuz of college so if i havent responded to anything pls know its an accident!

tropes/warnings - enemies to lovers, quips/banter, fluff, mentions of injury

word count - 1.3k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson

"I'm afraid the rumours are true," you were saying to Penelope Skeeter, a budding journalist eager to follow in her aunt's footsteps. "Theodore Nott was just so taken by my looks this morning that he promptly passed out in the Hogwarts library, poor thing. The whole school is bereft, naturally, but Madam Pomfrey herself expects him to make a full recovery."

You paused as her reedy-looking assistant snapped a picture, putting on a breezy, winning smile with just a hint of oh-silly-me-for-putting-one-of-Slytherin's-star-Quidditch-players-in-the-Hospital-Wing-but-also-who-could-blame-this-pretty-face.

"You could say I, quite literally, stole his breath."

Your impromptu interview came to a crashing halt as a strained groan sounded from the hospital bed a short distance away. The three of you glanced over to see that Theo had woken up and was now very much alive and kicking.

"Oh," you said, abandoning that affected, simpering tone for one with a noticeable trace of disdain. You thought you'd have more time. "You're up."

"Lies," Theo rasped breathlessly, with all the menace of a kitten swaddled in a blanket, eyes darting mistrustfully between you and Penelope. "Liar."

You tilted your head, your expression as displeased as it always was when it came to Theo. "Aren't you supposed to be dizzy or something?"

"Don't listen to anything she says, especially if it's about me. Strike that all - hang on - "

You watched him flail uselessly in his attempts to sit up, unimpressed.

"I don't think you hit your head hard enough."

"Shut up," Theo wheezed under the stifling weight of the warm compresses laid across his chest, "and get out."

You pouted exaggeratedly. "But you're sickly, sweetheart."

His already pale face blanched at the pet name. "Out. Out!"

For as long as you could remember, you had never gotten along with Theodore Nott. Anything he said, you'd feel compelled to disagree with, and anything you did, he felt compelled to sneer at. The adverse physical symptoms that presented themselves within each other's proximity certainly didn't seem to help matters. One way or another, sparks were bound to fly if the two of you were in the same room.

"It's - it's her - " Theo had spat out at The Three Broomsticks on a Hogsmeade trip in your third year. "She's doing this to me and she's doing it on purpose."

Mattheo had creased his forehead.

"Like a...like a hex?"

"No," Theo had said, distractedly scratching the hive that had appeared on the back of his hand. "It's worse than a hex. My pulse is rushing, my head is reeling, my face is flushing..."

"...oh," Mattheo had said, realisation dawning upon him. "I get it. It's lo-"

"That's it, Mattheo." Theo had interjected. "You're absolutely right."

"I am?"

"Yes, exactly. Loathing is what this is. Loathing." He had swivelled around, hatefully fixing his gaze on where you were laughing over some undoubtedly inane subject matter over butterbeer with your friends. "Unadulterated loathing."

Mattheo had rolled his eyes over Theo's dramatics.

That was years ago. Now, the butterbeer was gone and the inane subject matter was long forgotten, but the two of you were still too abrasive to get along. It was as though you couldn't help but rub each other the wrong way, the way you brought out the worst in each other. The detestation that everyone had hoped you would grow out of seemed to have grown with you, with petty jabs and insults and below-the-belt undermining becoming a regular occurrence between the two of you.

Today was no different. You were spending your morning free period studying at the library with your friends, roaming the bookshelves for anything that could help you with your Defence Against the Dark Arts essay. You'd turned the corner of the aisle, a heavy tome in hand, only to find Theodore blocking your path, his long fingers leisurely tracing the spine of a book like he had all the time in the world.

"Figures," you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. "Of all the dark, damp corners in the castle, you'd turn up in this one. Like a bad penny."

Theo's gaze flicked up to meet yours, his expression impassive save for the slight lift of his brow. "Charming as ever, I see," he drawled in his low voice, carrying that familiar bite. "I didn't realise the library was off-limits to people with half a brain."

You narrowed your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. "Don’t flatter yourself, Nott. If brains were currency, you'd be bankrupt."

His lips twitched, and for a moment, you swore he was fighting back a smirk.

"And yet, here I am, managing just fine without the constant headache of your presence. Speaking of which—" he gestured vaguely at the aisle, "—you’re in my way."

There it was - that repulsive, three-sizes-too-big ego of his. Really, it was a wonder how he managed to fit that swollen head of his through the castle doors.

"I'm in your way?" you repeated incredulously. "You do realise the universe doesn't actually revolve around you, right?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me," he said smoothly, effortlessly plucking your book out of your slack grip. "You always seem to be in my orbit."

You peered up at Theo from beneath your eyelashes. You tilted your head, your lips curling into an insidious, self-satisfied smile that Theo didn't quite understand.

"Please. You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid."

Theo felt a pang in his chest. His pulse stuttered and there was this nauseating feeling in his stomach. His vision swam, and it was all a bit blurry after that. The next thing he knew, there was an awful lot of shrieking coming from the crowd standing over him. Over him? His hand twitched. The hand that was on the very same rock-hard floor he was lying on. When did he get down here?

He groaned softly as the voices around him grew louder. There was this awful pounding rattling his skull. With considerable difficulty, he cracked an eye open, trying to get a sense of his bearings. Some of the silhouettes seemed vaguely familiar. He could recognise some voices - his friends must have found him. Those looked like Mattheo's shoelaces right next to his face.

And in the middle of it all was you, ashen face with a panic-stricken expression, with a vice-like grip on his forearms.

And then everything went black again.

Madam Pomfrey had come along just then, shooing Penelope and her photographer away. You weren't quite as lucky in your attempt to slip out with them. So now here you were, stoically holding Theo's hand in your slightly clammy palm at his bedside while she checked him over.

She hadn't told you to hold his hand. Theo decided he'd pull away in a minute. Maybe two.

He cleared his throat ineffectively, dry from a lack of water. You glanced at him.

"Admit it. You were terrified for a minute there."

You pressed your lips into a thin line like you were holding back a smile, trying to give the impression of watching Madam Pomfrey.

"You wish," you mumbled out of the corner of your mouth.

Still, he didn't miss the way you squeezed his hand as part of you relaxed in what seemed like relief.

"I know."

You dragged your gaze back to him, shaking your head somewhat affectionately as you took in the colour returning to his cheeks.

"I see you're feeling better already."

"Something about you gets my blood pumping."

Madam Pomfrey stepped away for a moment, leaving the two of you alone behind the screen. You leaned in until your noses were almost touching.

"Are you saying I make your heart race, Nott?"

This close, he can see the faint freckles scattered across your nose, the way your lashes brush your cheeks when you blink, and the flicker of mischief in your eyes. And for the first time in all the years he's known you, he admits to himself that perhaps you might be more than a little easy on the eyes. Especially his eyes.

"Sure," he says quietly, his gaze almost lovingly lingering over every blemish along your nose. "Let's go with that."

Part 2

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (21 - The Autumn Singes)

Chapter Summary: It was very childlike—how she went about her day doing the most innocent things. And yet—

You couldn’t stop thinking about how she felt pressed against you. How soft her lips were when you kissed them. How wet she’d been that night, soaked from the rain and from wanting you. Since moving to Scotland, neither of you had brought it up—not once. And every time you thought about circling back to that moment, you realized you still couldn’t find the right time. Sometimes the memory of it felt like a distant dream, and you were left questioning whether it really happened or not.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 5.1k+ | Chapter Tags: First time, fluff, smut

A/N: Things finally align for Wanda and Y/N. More importantly, smut is back. But it's so tender and loving and sappy so be warned! // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The first thing you did when you and Wanda arrived in Scotland was clean up the small, nondescript apartment Natasha had directed you to. It smelled of dust and damp wood, and the wallpaper peeled at the corners, stained with colors you’d rather not think too hard about. But underneath it all, the bones were solid. Sturdy. It was something to build on.

Most of all, it was yours now. 

Yours and Wanda’s.

As you scrubbed the counters and unpacked the meager belongings you brought with you, you told her the truth. Natasha had helped you acquire a new identity, complete with forged documents, a thin but convincing backstory, and a job that surprisingly appealed to you. You couldn’t help but smile when you told Wanda it was the job of your dreams—and how it was also a chance to start fresh, doing something that mattered to you. And, because Natasha never did things halfway, she’d also arranged for a second job offer. One you’d held out to Wanda, despite knowing she probably wouldn’t take it.

She didn’t. Wanda had looked at you, her lips quirking in that soft, amused way she had when she wanted to be polite. “I’ll figure it out on my own,” she said, leaning against the counter, watching you work. She’d always had this way of saying no without making it feel like rejection, like her refusal wasn’t about you at all.

You glanced at her, pausing to wipe your hands on a towel. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s not glamorous, but it’s something.”

She smiled faintly. “I’ve been careful with my money. And besides,” she added, her voice breezy but not dismissive, “I’ve survived worse.”

Wanda was careful with her money, you learned quickly. Frugal, almost to a fault. Where you had your savings tied up in an account you couldn’t even access without some bureaucratic headache, Wanda had cash. Actual, physical cash—small bills tucked into an envelope she kept in a knapsack. You’d teased her about it once, back when things between you were still easy and new. She’d shrugged and said, “Pietro and I didn’t keep bank accounts back then. Force of habit, I guess.”

There had been instances when you’ve been short on money, and well, you always found some bills tucked in your socks every now and then.

—

Your first day as a security officer at the library began with a shirt that sat stiff on your shoulders and a badge so heavy it tugged awkwardly at the fabric where it was pinned. The library itself was grand but weathered—arched windows, polished wooden counters, and a faint smell of old paper and mildew that you’ve always found comforting. 

You spent the morning being introduced to everyone: the head librarian, a stern but kind woman named Marion; two younger assistants, Callum and Fiona, who proudly professed their caffeine addictions and carried them around like marks of pride; and a janitor named Angus.

It surprised you how easily they folded you into their world. Callum and Fiona took you out for lunch that day, leading you to the Subway shop down the street. You almost said no and thought of some excuse about needing to check the perimeter, but something about the way she said, “Come on, it’s tradition,” made you cave. You sat awkwardly at the corner of their little table, your new uniform chafing against your skin, wondering if they could smell the fraud on you. But they didn’t. They talked about books, weekend plans, and the eccentric patrons who frequented the library. 

It was bittersweet—the way they welcomed you without hesitation, without suspicion. They didn’t know who you really were. They had no idea you’d saved the world more times than you could count on both hands—or that you’d taken lives in the process. They didn’t know your face was plastered across Interpol’s most-wanted list, with a bounty large enough to make anyone who recognized you instantly rich. 

You reminded yourself of that constantly. This wasn’t permanent. You weren’t supposed to get attached. But somehow, lunch became routine. Three of you, sometimes four, depending on who could slip away from their duties.

It was a fragile little slice of normal, and you couldn’t help but hold onto it, even if you knew it wasn’t yours to keep.

—

Wanda, on the other hand, moved at her own pace. 

She wasn’t working—not officially—and at first, it bothered you. Not because you thought she should be working, but because you weren’t sure if she was acquainting herself with a new town and a new identity just fine.

To you, it looked like she was doing nothing. But that wasn’t fair judgement. Wanda filled her days in her own subdued way. 

You’d asked her once, while she stirred something on the stove, what she did all day. She’d shrugged without looking at you. “I walk. I try new cafés. I watch people.”

“Watch people?” you asked, curious.

“People tell stories without saying anything. You just have to pay attention.”

Sometimes she went to museums, or sat in parks with a sketchbook you didn’t know she had until one day it was casually left open on the coffee table—a half-finished drawing of a tree, delicate lines forming branches that reached out like arms.

And then there was the TV. Wanda didn’t watch mindlessly; she absorbed. Old sitcoms, cooking shows, documentaries about things you knew she already understood. You’d catch her staring at the screen sometimes, eyes glassy, like she was somewhere else entirely.

Back at the compound, she rarely had time for movie marathons. You figured it was partly because Vision probably discouraged it, and partly because the constant training and meetings left everyone too exhausted by day’s end.

It was very childlike—how she went about her day doing the most innocent things.

And yet—

You couldn’t stop thinking about how she felt pressed against you. How soft her lips were when you kissed them. How wet she’d been that night, soaked from the rain and from wanting you. Since moving to Scotland, neither of you had brought it up—not once. And every time you thought about circling back to that moment, you realized you still couldn’t find the right time. 

Sometimes the memory of it felt like a distant dream, and you were left questioning whether it really happened or not.

—

You got your first pay today—a thin envelope instead of a digital deposit—and it brought this unexpected rush of pride. It wasn’t even a tenth of what you used to rake in from Stark Industries, but somehow it felt more gratifying. 

On your way home from work, you made a quick stop at a takeout place. You’d been craving greasy noodles and sticky-sweet dumplings all day, thinking about sharing them with Wanda. But you wanted something more to celebrate with, and you took your time wandering around town for a clue. 

It wasn’t until you were riding the subway, head leaning against the cold metal pole, your first paycheck stuffed—and a little forgotten—in your pocket, that you started to feel… stupid. You’d been walking around for over an hour, takeout cooling in your hands, looking for something to celebrate this milestone and coming up empty. 

You were close to giving up when you heard it.

Music.

At the far end of the car, three musicians had set up—an older man with a violin, a woman with a cello balanced delicately between her knees, and a teenager, maybe seventeen, strumming a guitar with steady hands. They weren’t playing anything you recognized, but it was something slow and aching, and it made you close your eyes as you let yourself sink into it.

That’s when the image of Wanda’s hands hovering over strings, her brow furrowed in concentration, the soft tilt of her head when she found the sound she was looking for, came to you. You’d never told her how much you liked hearing her play back at the compound.

By the time the subway screeched into your stop, the idea was fully formed. You hopped off the train, take-out bag swinging at your side, and made a beeline for the nearest pawn shop you could find.

—

Wanda opened the door before you even had a chance to fish out your keys, her face breaking into a smile so wide it almost made you worry.

“You’re home!” she exclaimed, breathless and a little flushed. She wore an oversized dress shirt that skimmed just above her knees—normally paired with sweatpants, but tonight her creamy legs were bare for you to admire. 

You swallowed dryly and instinctively hid the gift you’d bought for her behind your back. You hadn’t expected her to greet you like this—she was usually curled up on the couch with her feet tucked beneath her, engrossed in Modern Family, her latest obsession from last week.

She bounced on her toes, practically glowing. “I have news,” she said, fingers tugging at the hem of her shirt. There was a glimmer in her eyes—like she’d been holding onto this all day, just waiting for you to walk through the door.

You nudged the door shut behind you. “What is it?”

She bit her bottom lip, trying to hold back a smile but failing adorably. “I found something I want to do. Well… it’s not exactly a job—more like volunteer work.” Her voice wavered between pride and nerves. “At a foster home. I checked it out this morning. I start next week.”

A grin broke across your face before you could stop it. “Wanda, that’s amazing!”

Without even thinking, you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her in. It happened so fast that you weren’t sure she’d welcome the sudden embrace, but her arms came around you just as tightly. You felt her breathe you in, and a small shiver ran through you. For a while you both just stood there, holding each other with your eyes closed.

That’s when you remembered the present you left outside. Carefully, you pulled away, an excited grin lighting up your face. “Oh! I almost forgot,” you said, moving back to the hallway to retrieve your gift. 

Wanda blinked, confused—until her gaze landed on the guitar case. Her eyes widened. “Wait—what…”

You popped the latches and opened the case with a flourish, revealing a glossy, warm-toned acoustic guitar. “Ta-da!”

She lifted a hand to her mouth. “Wha—Y-You didn’t have to—this must’ve cost a fortune!”

You shrugged, grinning. “I absolutely had to,” you said, throwing her a playful wink. “First paycheck.”

Wanda looked from you to the guitar, her eyes glassy with emotion. “You’re too much,” she whispered, fingers brushing the strings. “This is... perfect. Thank you.”

You lifted the guitar from its case and handed it toward her. “Come on, let’s see how you look with it.”

She laughed as you guided her to the couch, placing the guitar strap over her shoulder. It didn’t matter if she knew only two chords or none at all—she'd learn them again, now that she had the means to do so.

“I still can’t believe this,” she murmured, settling her fingers on the fretboard and plucking at the strings.

“You’re going to do great with this,” you said, settling beside her. “And you’re going to be amazing at the foster home. Those kids are going to love hearing you play.”

Wanda laughed. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Play something for me?” you asked, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees.

She glanced over at you, head tilted, a soft smile on her lips. “You sure you don’t mind if I play my favorite?”

You shook your head, eager. “Not at all. I’d love to hear it.”

She seemed thoughtful for a moment, then began to play a melody that made your breath catch. It only took a few seconds for you to recognize it—the Sokovian lullaby she used to sing late in the night when she thought everyone else had gone to sleep. You’d heard her hum it to herself every once in a while, sometimes so quietly you weren’t sure she even realized she was doing it. 

The melody she was making was so beautiful, but when her voice joined the guitar, you were enchanted for good. 

We’ve been waiting for you

'tie mi t͡ʃaˈjaɫəm

Now you are here

ˈʃiɪdeŋ ˈti e ˈʃte

More perfect than I imagined

ˈdrage wo t͡sto ˈmisliɫəm

Our house is now a home (our house is now a nest)

ˈdom naʃ ˈʃiɪdeŋ ˈgnieʒdo

No matter where you go

bez veˈdeɪ̆ doˈkude ˈjit͡ʃiʃ

Sunlight shines on you

ˈʃiʒa ˈsunt͡so nad tiˈe

When she dragged out the final note to its ending, you clapped, a broad grin spreading across your face, and Wanda’s cheeks reddened.

This girl really was amazing—in every sense.

“It’s not much,” she whispered bashfully. 

You swallowed the rush of reverence rising in your chest. “It’s everything,” you murmured, voice thick. “I think it might be my favorite now, too.”

Your applause faded as you noticed the way Wanda was staring at you—intently, unblinking, her green eyes darkening with an intent that made your pulse thump against your rib cage. You opened your mouth, the start of a question on your lips—“Wanda, what’s—”

Before you could finish, she carefully set the guitar on the floor beside her, and then—

And then she launched herself at you.

You barely had time to react as she straddled your hips, her legs on either side of your hips, pressing you back into the cushions. The momentum of her body made your head spin, and any question you had died on your lips as her mouth crashed onto yours.

She kissed you like she couldn’t get close enough, like she was starved for contact. You tried to match her pace, but it was near impossible—her urgency was overwhelming. Your hands found her waist, gripping the soft fabric of her shirt as you let yourself get lost in the taste and feel of her.

A small sound escaped you when her fingers went to the buttons of your uniform, fumbling but dead-set on getting them undone. One by one, she tugged them loose until your shirt hung open, exposing the rise and fall of your chest beneath a black bra.

You caught on quickly, your hands dropping to your belt, fingers trembling slightly as the task suddenly felt far more complicated than it should have. Any focus you had shattered when her mouth found your neck, her teeth sinking into your skin before her tongue followed, soothing the sting.

“Wanda—”

She pulled back just enough to yank her own shirt over her head, and your breath caught in your throat—she wasn’t wearing a bra. The sight of her bare skin sent heat flooding through your veins, and then, in a heartbeat, she was leaning in again, her mouth finding yours with that same consuming hunger.

You broke away from her lips just long enough to tilt your head down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses across her chest. A soft groan slipped from Wanda’s lips, and you felt her tug insistently at the ponytail keeping your hair tied back. The band snapped under her fingers—or maybe under a subtle flick of her power—and suddenly your hair was free. She ran her nails over your scalp, scratching gently as you placed a wet kiss over the swell of her breast.

“God, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” you breathed, trailing your lips up to the sensitive peak of her nipple. You dragged your tongue across it, earning a sharp gasp from her. “You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, voice thick with want.

She let out a breathy laugh, her hands tightening in your hair as you drew a hard nipple into your mouth, sucking softly. The taste and feel of her made your head spin, and you lost yourself in the sensation for a moment, swirling your tongue around the bud. 

“Oh God…” she moaned helplessly. “You too, you’re so…”

Wanda’s sentence ended in a needy whine. You switched to her other breast, giving it the same slow, deliberate attention, sucking softly as you let your palm caress the one you’d just left. Wanda’s lips parted on another helpless sound, and you couldn’t help but smile around the warm skin in your mouth.

Her impatience soon got the better of her. “Off,” she demanded, pushing at the waistband of your pants. “These… off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you breathed, trying to move your hands to the fly of your trousers. But before you could start, you felt a shimmer of Wanda’s power surge around you. With her magic, she unclasped your belt and pushed your pants down your thighs in one swift motion.

A surprised laugh caught in your throat. “Show-off,” you smirked, but there was no mistaking how grateful you were for her ability to make things happen quickly. You wriggled your hips, kicking your pants off the rest of the way. Wanda’s eyes never left you, dark and hungry as she watched every awkward shuffle, every moment of clothing leaving your body.

Wanda’s hands slid up your shoulders and found the clasp of your bra, fingers fumbling only for a second before snapping it free. She tossed the garment somewhere behind you, too impatient to care where it landed. A fresh rush of heat bloomed on her cheeks as she let her gaze linger on your bare chest, and she reached out to touch you almost reverently.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, noticing the awe in her eyes and the hesitant way her hands cupped you.

She swallowed, nodding once. “I—I’ve never actually been with a woman before…”

You smiled at her and guided her palms against your breasts, covering her hands with your own so she could feel how you liked to be touched. Your breaths grew shallow and ragged when Wanda’s warm fingers brushed over your taut nipples. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, watching your reactions as she tried different pressures and strokes.

“You’re making me feel good,” you managed to whisper between soft gasps. “So fucking good.”

Wanda’s cheeks burned deeper at the praise, but she didn’t look away. Emboldened, she kneaded your flesh in slow circles, and each pass of her palm sent a fresh wave of wetness between your legs. 

Your own impatience stirred, drawing you to the junction of her thighs. You pushed her panties to the side, and your fingertips traced her slick heat. A low groan escaped you at how soaked she was—she practically pulsed under your touch, swollen and undeniably turned on. The fabric of her panties was ruined, dampness seeping through in the most delicious way.

And then you remembered her confession from weeks ago—she’d never truly come. The thought sent your heart racing, but you fought the urge to ask more questions this time. You didn’t want to make this a test or some sort of milestone. This moment was for her, on her terms, however it played out.

“Let me take care of you, okay?” you murmured, brushing a thumb gently along her jaw.

She gave a shaky nod, her eyes fluttering shut. You gently took Wanda’s hands off your body, shifting your grip to guide her onto the couch. She followed your cue, sitting down with a slight tremor in her legs, her breath already coming in short, uneven bursts. Her cheeks were flushed, and she kept her knees pressed together, almost like she was trying to make herself smaller under your gaze.

You took a deep breath as you slipped off the couch and knelt on the floor between her legs—only you were still high enough that you were at her eye level, able to see the nervous excitement crossing her face. She swallowed hard, then let out a shaky exhale, unclasping her hands where they’d been gripping each other in her lap.

“Hey,” you said softly, sliding your palms along the outsides of her thighs. “Is this okay?”

“I…” Her voice wavered, and she forced herself to meet your eyes. “I trust you,” she finished softly.

Those three words meant everything to you—maybe even more than the other three words Wanda hadn’t said back. Words you weren’t expecting her to say, not anytime soon, maybe not ever. You loved her, and whether or not she loved you in return didn’t change that. Loving her felt like a privilege, something rare and fleeting, and it was enough. More than enough.

Wanda nodded, swallowing hard, then loosened her legs so you could settle closer. With careful hands, you reached for her hips, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of her damp panties. You felt her muscles tense, then slowly relax as she lifted her hips just enough to help you. Bit by bit, you slid her underwear down, revealing soft, warm skin beneath. The garment peeled away, clinging for a second where it was soaked, before slipping past her knees and down to her ankles.

“It’s alright if you want to stop, or slow down,” you reminded her, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze, your nails pressing in just a little more than necessary.

“I don’t want to stop,” she whispered.

That was all you needed. Leaning in, you placed a soft kiss on her mons pubis, feeling her shiver at the contact. You moved slowly, pressing a trail of gentle kisses lower, letting her adjust to each new inch of intimacy. Wanda exhaled a trembling sigh, her hands bunching up the couch cushion on either side as she braced herself.

You kissed every inch of skin in your path, taking your time with her body as you made your way closer to her center. Wanda’s breathing grew more erratic, her thighs trembling under your touch. When you reached her most intimate place, you couldn’t help but pause, taking her in.

Just above her clit, a neat patch of hair framed her perfectly, her clit already engorged and peeking shyly out from beneath its hood. You couldn’t help but smile—she was so beautiful, so vulnerable, letting you see her this way. You brushed your nose lightly across her vulva, pressing a soft kiss nearby as her breath caught. “So stunning…” you murmured against her skin. 

Below a whisper, you added a single word—“Mine”. It was possessive, a fleeting slip of thought that you couldn’t hold back, even if you never intended for her to hear it. Wanda seemed completely unaware, lost in the slow rise and fall of her own breathing. She parted her legs a bit more, silent permission for you to continue.

Gently, you began to massage the area around her pussy, your fingers moving in slow, soothing circles to help relax her muscles while simultaneously teasing her. 

When she opened her mouth to ask, voice trembling with anxious need, “What’s taking you so long?” you finally dived in and gave her a tentative lick, starting from her entrance and dragging your tongue slowly up to her clit.

Wanda’s whole body jolted, and she let out a sharp, unrestrained curse. “Fuck!”

You repeated the motion, slower this time, savoring her shudder and gasp. Her hands gripped the cushions as your tongue explored her—deep, then up to her clit.

Her thighs twitched against your shoulders, your name falling from her lips in a broken moan. Encouraged, you let your tongue move lazily, caressing her in slow, deliberate strokes. It wasn’t long before Wanda began to move on her own, hips rolling, pressing herself against your mouth—chasing every bit of pleasure, fucking herself onto your tongue.

You pressed a hand against her lower belly to keep her grounded, your fingers splaying across her skin as you worked her with your mouth. Each time your tongue dipped into her entrance, you felt her pulse around you, her arousal so obvious in the way she grew wetter with every movement.

“Y/N—Y/N….” She kept calling your name in broken syllables.

Soon enough, Wanda's movements grew more desperate. Her hands, which had been clutching the cushions for support, moved to your head. Fingers threaded through your hair, tangling and pulling gently at first, then with increasing firmness. It was clear she was finding her rhythm, her own way of expressing what felt good, what she needed more of.

You didn’t resist. Instead, you surrendered to her, letting her guide you. Wanda’s hips rolled with purpose now, pressing herself against your mouth. The pressure of her hand on your head left you still, no longer moving on your own. Her clit throbbed against your tongue, and you adjusted subtly, letting the flat of your tongue glide over her sensitive bundle of nerves each time her hips surged forward. 

“Y/N…” she gasped, her voice heavy with need. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”

You couldn’t have stopped even if you wanted to. You dug your hands into her hips, holding her steady as she fucked your face with abandon, her moans turning into cries that bordered on incoherent.

Wanda’s movements became more erratic, driven by a strange, swelling pressure that coiled in her lower belly. You sensed her confusion when she stiffened, her hips momentarily faltering.

“I—” she managed, voice shaky, “something’s—”

Wanda looked almost scared, and you’ve rarely seen her afraid. 

“What’s wrong?” you murmured against her,  worried you’ve done something she didn’t like. You kept the stimulation on her clit, massaging it in rough circles with your fingers.

She shook her head, her brows knitting together. “It’s tight,” she admitted. “In my stomach. It feels like… like it’s going to—

You could tell she was right at the edge of truly losing control, so you decided to help tip her over. You replaced your fingers with your mouth once more, sucking softly on her sensitive bud, and then, with careful intent, you eased a finger into her soaked entrance—just one at first, letting her body adjust. 

“You’re close,” you said, before blowing over her clit in relief and excitement that she’s about to come—and you’re the first to get her there. “Just let it happen.”

“I don’t know…” she whispered, biting her lip, her hands hovering restlessly near her stomach as if she could stop it from happening.

“You’re safe,” you promised in between licks while curling your finger inside of her. “I’ve got you, okay? Let it happen. I’ll be right here.”

“Y/N,” she whimpered, her voice high-pitched and shaky. “I—I think I’m…”

“You are,” you affirmed gently. “You’re about to come, baby, come for me.”

Her hips jerked spasmodically, and you could feel her clench around your finger. With a few more deliberate strokes, focusing on the rhythm that had her moaning loudest, you felt her body suddenly tighten in a drawn-out moment of suspense.

And then, with a long, keening wail, Wanda finally let go. 

She sobbed your name as her orgasm overtook her, her body tensing and releasing in time with the rippling pleasure. It was raw, overwhelming, and utterly beautiful, and you couldn’t look away as she experienced it for the first time.

The fervor in her eyes melted into awe and disbelief, as if she were unsure she’d actually reached the peak she’d been chasing. She let out a disbelieving laugh, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Oh god… I can’t believe I…”

You gently took your finger out, continuing to stroke her softly with your tongue as you helped her ride out the tail end of her orgasm, her body shuddering with each aftershock. But as the last wave of pleasure rolled through her, Wanda whimpered and tried to push your head away, squirming under your mouth. You relented, pressing one last kiss against her inner thigh before sliding up onto the couch.

A grin tugged at your lips as you climbed over her, feeling more than a little proud of yourself. She was still catching her breath, her flushed skin tempting you again. You placed a hand at her waist and urged her to lie back fully on the cushions, legs tangling together until you were hovering above her.

Leaning closer, your face inches from hers, you smirked. “So… was that to your satisfaction, Maximoff?” 

Wanda’s cheeks turned impossibly red, her lips parting in shock before she let out a breathless laugh. She reached up, her fingers grazing your cheek before resting on the back of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads touched.

“You’re very good,” she whispered softly.

An amused laugh escaped you. “Comes with experience,” you teased, wiggling your eyebrows dramatically—though not without a certain smugness.

Instantly, you noticed how Wanda’s face changed. A shadow of something like annoyance passed over her features, and for a brief moment, her eye twitched in an unmistakable display of jealousy. It was almost too cute that it had you bursting into a breathy laugh, earning a small frown from her.

“Oh, don’t laugh,” she huffed, swatting at your shoulder. “You say that like you’ve… you know, done this with a bunch of people.”

You snorted. “A bunch? Hardly.” You hesitated, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Besides… I’m out of practice. I haven’t been with anyone since I met you.”

“Really?” she murmured, eyes searching yours for the truth.

“Really,” you said, your tone serious—though you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. Because honestly, the moment Wanda entered your life, no one else even registered. Down bad didn’t begin to cover it.

Wanda shifted slightly beneath you, her knee coming into contact accidentally with your soaked underwear. That’s when she realized that the past several minutes had been all about her, and a flush crept up her neck.

“You haven’t…” she began.

You noticed the faint droop of her eyelids, the way her head tilted slightly forward, almost resting against your shoulder. “Wanda,” you said, caressing her cheek in a way that coaxed her further into her exhaustion. “You’re tired.”

She blinked, like she was trying to push through it. “No, I—”

“You should get some rest.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, fingertips resting just below your ear. “You could’ve—” Her cheeks pinked. “I mean, I’m not the only one who should feel good tonight.”

“Hey,” you cooed, “it’s alright. There will be another time… right?” The last word lifted slightly—turning it into a question. You didn’t want to assume anything. For all you knew, this could’ve been a one-time thing. The last thing you wanted was to trap her in expectation.

She gave a heavy-lidded smile and nodded. “I was looking forward to it,” she murmured, then, a beat later, she looked into your eyes with a quiet determination as she added, “I love you, Y/N…”

The world stopped for a second, the moment stretching into something infinite. Then you pressed your lips together, exhaling slowly. “You love me,” you said at last—not a question, but a statement. 

A certainty.

“And you love me too?”

It was almost ridiculous that she had to ask—but you’re more than happy to give the answer. “I do.”

[motherearthlovesus]

theo nott is a dick to you - but this time it’s on a yacht!

pairings: theo nott x reader, draco x pansy, mattheo x everyone, tom riddle x reader

warnings: 18+, asshole theo

moodboard: link

summary: forced to attend blaise's yacht party, you expected boredom - not a soaked dress, lost cigarettes, and theo nott's infuriating smirk.

pansy had dragged you along to yet another one of blaise’s yacht parties. you had been resistant when she first suggested attending the party that morning, but she wore you down over the day. she picked out a dress for you and promised to pay for the uber there and back, so you finally relented. the whole ordeal was more trouble than it was worth, especially for a party that blaise seemingly throws every other week, but as you stepped onto the yacht, the warm salty sunset wrapped around you like a protective cloak and the rhythmic lapping of water against the hull quietened the buzzing in your mind.

you watched as pansy’s eyes locked with draco’s. she turned to you, widened her eyes in excitement and gave your hand a firm squeeze before walking away to sraco, who was patting his lap. they became immediately immersed in their usual banter, their voices low and teasing, filled with electric tension that crackled like the distant murmurs of cicadas on shore.

the boat’s deck was illuminated by the sunset and soft lights, together they casted a glow on the partygoers, making their laughter and flirting seem almost magical. enzo and his effortless charm were the centre of attention as he mixed cocktails. his movements were smooth and confident, each shake of the cocktail shaker accompanied by a breezy smile that made the giggling girls surrounding him, lean in closer. Aa the other end of the deck, blaise and mattheo lounged on long couches. despite having a girl under each arm but mattheo, seemed to disregard their presence as his gaze wandered over the crowd, his smirk was twisted in amusement as he eyed the other girls with a calculating glint, clearly only interested in finding his next conquest. on the couch opposite him, blaise traced idle circles on the leg of a girl sitting next to him, his attention seemingly elsewhere - perhaps on how hard his mother will kick his ass when she see’s her yacht is missing, once again.

a cool breeze whipped your cheek and quickly reminded you that you were currently standing alone in the middle of a party. you quickly grabbed a champagne glass off a passing server and walked over to the boat’s railing. the coast was just a glitter of golden lights at this distance. you couldn’t help but think how much more you would enjoy this if the air wasn’t sweltering with so much horniness. you turned from the view to pull a cigarette out from your handbag, watching as mattheo made-out with yet another person, the second one you’d seen since you arrived.

“poor girl” you shook your head as you struggled to light your cigarette in the wind.

theo nott, who you had not noticed but had been watching you since you stepped aboard, strutted over to you.

“those things will kill you, you know,” he remarked with an air of superiority.

“you’re one to talk,” you shot back, arching an eyebrow. “didn’t you get suspended in fourth year for smoking behind the quidditch stands?”

theo grabbed the cigarette and lighter from your hand, lit the cigarette in one smooth motion, took a couple of puffs, and then handed it back to you. “that’s none of your business, ficcanaso” he said with a smirk.

theo reclined against the rail with a glass of whiskey in hand, he was observing every glance and every subtle movement you made. his eyes, dark and intense, lingered on you as you turned to smoke your cigarette over the edge of the boat.

“thinking of taking a dip?” he asked, his tone low and almost seductive.

you turned to face him, catching the glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“you’d like that wouldn’t you” you mock.

theodore’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he took a step closer.

“oh, I would” and without a hint of hesitation, theo stepped closer, his movements fluid and purposeful. he gave you a firm, playful shove, sending you tumbling over the railing and into the water with a splash.

as you surfaced, coughing and sputtering, theo dived in, effortlessly cutting through the water. when he emerged next to you, his expression was brimming with smug satisfaction. he casually pushed his wet hair back, his movements smooth and deliberate, clearly savouring the moment.

“my cigarettes! you fucking idiot!”

“don’t be so grumpy principessa, I can buy you as many cartons as you want”

you started pushing waves of water in his direction, violently and repeatedly. theo avoided your splashes at first, but as you struggled to stay afloat and aim your punches, your movements grew more erratic. in your frustration, your legs absentmindedly wrapped around theo’s waist, trying to stabilise yourself to hit harder and cleaner. theo looked down at you, his smirk widening with a blend of amusement and arrogance. you glanced down, suddenly aware of how your legs were wrapped around his waist.

“careful,” he murmured.

you glared at him, pushing yourself away. as you swam back toward the boat, you mourned the remnants of your cigarettes that were drifting away. as you climbed the ladder, you could feel his eyes on your body, on your wet dress clinging to your waist and hips. you started to feel your dress creep higher up your thighs with each wrung. his voice called out from the water, dripping with a mix of admiration and cocky charm.

“nice view from down here. could get used to seeing you like this.”

only now did you remember the g-string you wore so that no underwear lines ruined the dress.

“shut up, theo.” you spat sharply down at him.

his smirk remained, eyes tracking your every move.

after climbing back onto the boat, you stood there, shivering and looking around for anyone who might know a drying charm. as you scanned the deck, tom caught sight of you and strode over. as he approached you his gaze lowered and he shook his head amusedly.

“you look nice tonight” he taunted.

without waiting for a reply, he waved his wand with a practiced flick. a warm, tingling sensation spread over your dress and hair as he dried you off. while waiting for tom to finish, your gaze drifted back to the water’s edge just as a dripping wet and shirtless theo climbed back onto the boat. his eyes met yours and his smirk grew. you silently vowed that this would be the last of these stupid boat parties.

eeee didn't mean for it to be so long, let me know what u think!

comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[rosierin]

uno, dos, kiss | atsumu miya

synopsis; they're home alone, it's raining, he’s bored, and somehow (y/n) is playing uno with a rose on her bed and a kiss on the line.

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The candle on her desk flickered gently, casting shadows along the spines of her books. Lo-fi hummed in the background, slow and rhythmic, just enough to fill the quiet. Her window was cracked open, letting in the faint scent of rain and the occasional roll of thunder. The sheer curtains danced with the breeze—light and ghostlike—fluttering around the warm, golden light of her room.

She sat at her desk, legs tucked under her, pen in hand. Writing always helped clear her head. Sometimes it was dramatic. Sometimes it was mundane. Tonight, it was somewhere in between.

She was mid-sentence when the first knock came.

Then a second.

Then a third.

Then silence.

And finally, a fourth—softer. Suspiciously... needy.

(Y/n) glanced at her door, brows lifting.

“Atsumu,” she called, not even turning around. “You know you’re allowed to walk in, right?”

The door creaked open—just an inch.

“I didn’t wanna intrude if ya were journalin’ about me again.”

Of course.

She finally looked up.

There he was: pyjama pants, hoodie, hair messy, like he’d been aimlessly padding around the hallway for the last twenty minutes. Which—he had. She knew because she'd heard his dramatic sighs echoing down the hallway around ten minutes ago.

“Not everything’s about you,” she said.

“But some of it is.”

She stared.

Atsumu wiggled his fingers like he was conjuring something.

“Anywayyy. The house is suspiciously quiet. No twin yelling. No Suna wheezin' at stupid TikToks. Just you. And me. And the thunder outside.”

She raised a brow. “Okay?”

“So.” He took a step in. “We could do somethin’ about that.”

“…Like what?”

“Dunno. Play a game. Watch somethin’. Flirt. Kiss a little.”

He said it like he was listing ingredients. Casual. Breezy. Ridiculous.

She squinted. “You wanna play Uno and make out?”

“I mean now that you’ve said it like that—” His face lit up. “Yeah. Kinda sounds like the dream.”

She launched a pillow at him. He caught it with both hands like it was a wedding bouquet, grinning like an idiot.

“Okay, loser. How about you start with Uno, and we go from there.”

“Deal. But fair warnin’—if I win, I’m cashin’ in a kiss.”

“That’s not how Uno works.”

“It is in my rules.”

She shook her head, fighting the urge to smile.

He disappeared for all of two minutes and came back wielding a deck of Uno cards, a bowl of gummy bears, and a single rose he’d very obviously stolen from the dining table vase.

“To set the mood,” he announced, placing the flower between them with a romantic flourish as if they were sharing a candlelit dinner.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw the back of her skull.

But when he flopped down on the edge of her bed across from her, cross-legged and beaming, shuffling cards with the kind of intense focus he usually reserved for volleyball—or, apparently, potential kissing—her chest did this stupid thing.

A flutter.

Warm. Unexpected. Annoying.

God, he was infuriating. Always so extra. So smug. So Atsumu.

But also…

Also, part of her kind of wanted to let him win.

“You ready to lose?” She asked, cracking her knuckles like a seasoned Uno champion.

Atsumu leaned back, arms crossed behind his head like he was about to lounge his way to victory. “Sweetheart, I’ve never lost a game where the prize is yer affection.”

“You’ve never won a game where that was the prize.”

“Until day."

She dealt the cards with professional precision. He immediately pouted at his hand.

“Why do I got four Wilds? Is this karma for flirtin’?”

“Could be,” she said lightly. “Or maybe the universe is just tired of your nonsense.”

“Unlikely. The universe lives for my nonsense.”

The first few rounds go smoothly—well, as smoothly as Uno can go with a menace like Atsumu.

He slapped down a Draw Four with the flair of a magician mid-final act.

“Boom. Take that.”

She huffed a laugh. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Not nearly enough, if I’m honest.”

She retaliated with a Reverse, followed by a Skip.

Atsumu gasped, clutching the rose to his chest like she’d betrayed him. “Et tu, (y/n)?”

She snorted and waved a hand at his obscure reference. “Play your cards, drama queen.”

Several minutes (and three aggressive +2s) later, they were both down to their last card. The tension was palpable. Outside, the rain picked up, the thunder grumbling as if Mother Nature herself was narrating their showdown.

“Uno,” she said coolly, dropping a red 7.

Atsumu stared at his hand, then at (y/n).

“Hey. Before I destroy you, can I ask somethin’?”

She narrowed her eyes. “If this is another ‘cash in a kiss’ thing, I swear—”

“Nah, nah—well. Kind of. Hear me out.”

She quirked a brow, already amused despite herself. “Go on?”

He leaned forward again, folding his arms over his knees where he sat at the edge of her bed, chin resting on his wrist as he gazed up at her with the dumbest, softest little smile.

"Since ya won't let plant one on ya—"

“Nope.” She smiled, just as sweetly.

He held up a hand. “Lemme finish.”

And for some reason, she did. She always did with him.

There was something about Atsumu that made her press pause. Even when he was being ridiculous. Especially when he was being ridiculous. He could barge in, derail her night, demand attention like it was his right—and somehow, it never annoyed her the way it should. Simply because, talking to him felt... well, easy.

She’d never admit it out loud, but she liked it when he showed up like this—mischievous and maybe a little bored. He never really needed a reason to be around her, and that meant more than she could say.

(Y/n) snorted as Atsumu's voice took on a mock-serious tone.

“How about on the cheek? That ain’t so bad, right?”

She barked out a laugh. “Is this your version of checking the terms and conditions?”

“I’m a respectful man,” he said, nodding solemnly. “Gentle. Law-abiding. Soft lips. Big heart. Unmatched Uno card skills."

She stared. He held the gaze—completely unserious, completely committed.

“Fine,” she said eventually, sighing through a smile. “If you win.”

The man was practically glowing. “Ohhhhhh bet.”

He slammed down his final card—a yellow 3.

Neither the right colour nor the right number.

(Y/n) blinked. “Wait. That’s not—”

“Aw, would ya look at that—I win!” He threw both arms in the air like he’d just scored match point at Nationals.

“Wait, what? That’s not how this works—!”

“Terms and conditions, you said it yerself!" he sang, already scooting closer with a grin so wide it was a miracle his cheeks weren’t cramping.

She opened her mouth to argue. Paused.

Honestly?

She wasn’t even mad. Confused, yes. Mildly betrayed, also yes. But mostly… she was just trying not to laugh.

Because look at him—grinning like an idiot, holding that stolen rose like he was the lead in some dramatic romcom. And that sparkle in his eyes? Stupid. Hopeful. Completely disarming.

She sighed. “Just the cheek,” she warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of anywhere else.” (Liar.)

And then—softer than expected—Atsumu shifted closer.

One of his hands found her knee, fingertips resting there, feather-light but somehow enough to set her skin on fire. The other gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, slow and careful like she might disappear if he moved too fast.

Her breath hitched.

Then he leaned in—close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath, close enough that if either of them moved even an inch in the wrong direction, this wouldn’t be so innocent anymore.

And finally, with a softness that made her chest tighten, he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Warm. Lingering. Dangerous in how gentle it was.

She blinked.

He pulled back slowly, eyes flicking to hers, something playful swimming behind the gold.

“Did I get ya hopes up?” he asked, voice low—teasing, but… still not quite as cocky as usual.

(Y/n) scoffed, instantly deflecting. “As if.”

He grinned, head tilting. “That a no?”

“That’s a shut up, Atsumu.”

His grin only widened. He flopped back onto his elbows with all the satisfaction of a man who had absolutely, without question, gotten her hopes up.

Then—playfully, shamelessly—

“Round two?”

She smacked him with a throw pillow before her brain could catch up.

He accepted it like a blessing, laughter spilling out of him—loud and stupid and happy. Grinning like a boy who just found a coin on the ground and got praised for it.

[p0orbaby]

I’d Probably Still Adore You with Your Hands Around My Neck

summary: leah has a secret

warnings: SMUT 18+, sub!dom, bottom!leah

a/n: your request is my command

word count: 1.6k

-

It starts with a look. A subtle one, really, just a quick flick of Leah’s eyes, down and up, like she’s checking to see if you noticed. But you always notice.

You’re observant like that. Like a hawk, or maybe more like a cat, because there’s something inherently smug about the way you register these things. It’s how you caught on to Leah’s little secret in the first place.

You’re in the kitchen, and she’s leaning against the counter, scrolling through something utterly boring on her phone. Probably an article about defensive strategies or how to perfect her backspin. You’re chopping vegetables, slowly, because you’ve caught on to the fact that Leah has a thing for watching you use knives. It’s not the sharp objects themselves that do it; it’s the way you’re so confident with them, the way you handle everything with this casual precision that borders on reckless but never actually is. You’re good with your hands, and she knows it. Really knows it.

You catch her peeking at you again and decide to test the waters. “Leah, can you pass me the olive oil?”

A simple request. Nothing too loaded. But you notice the way she hesitates before reaching for the bottle. You wait, pretending not to care, but your ears are pricked for any sign of the shift.

She hands you the oil, and you make a point of brushing your fingers against hers when you take it. Just to see what happens.

She shivers.

You almost laugh out loud, but you’re not cruel. Not too cruel, anyway. Instead, you give her a small, almost imperceptible smile, a reward for being such a good sport, and turn back to your chopping.

“So,” you say casually, “anything exciting happening today?”

She grunts, which is her standard answer for “not really, but I don’t want to talk about it.” You wonder, as you slide the knife through the tomato, if she even knows what’s happening. If she notices that with every slice of the blade, she’s slipping further into that place where she’s not entirely in control anymore.

It’s a subtle descent, like someone drifting off to sleep, and you’re more than happy to nudge her along.

“Why don’t you come over here,” you suggest, your voice still light, breezy, as if you’re not luring her into anything at all. “Keep me company”

She pushes off the counter and walks over, stopping just behind you. Close, but not too close. Always so careful, your Leah. Always so measured.

But when you turn around, leaning against the island with the knife still in hand, you see that look again. That flash of something dark and needy that she tries so hard to keep under wraps. You can’t help yourself; you press in closer, until your chest is almost brushing hers, until you can feel the warmth radiating off her skin.

“You seem tense,” you murmur, pretending to inspect her face for any signs of stress. “Rough day?”

Leah swallows hard, but she doesn’t move back. “Just the usual,” she says, her voice low. A little too low.

You set the knife down and grab a piece of cucumber from the cutting board, holding it up to her lips. “Here,” you say, like you’re being the kindest girlfriend in the world. “Eat”

She hesitates again, and you can almost see the wheels turning in her head. She’s calculating, analysing, trying to figure out if this is a trap. But she doesn’t want to disappoint you, so she opens her mouth, and you slide the cucumber between her lips.

Her eyes flutter shut, just for a second, and you have to suppress a grin. She’s such a sucker for this. You’re not sure if it’s the authority in your voice or the way you’re feeding her like she’s some pampered pet, but either way, it’s working.

You take another slice, holding it up again. “Good girl,” you whisper, and this time, her eyes snap open with a look that makes your pulse multiply. There it is, the crack in her armor, the thing she’s trying so hard to hide but can’t.

She chews and swallows, her throat bobbing, and you wonder how far you can push this. How much she’ll let you get away with before she snaps. You’ve been doing this for a while now, playing these little games, but it’s still a thrill to see how much she’s willing to surrender.

You set the cucumber down and grab her hips, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between you. “I think you need to relax,” you say, and she nods, almost imperceptibly, like she’s too scared to actually agree out loud.

You lean in, your lips brushing her ear. “Bedroom,” you whisper, and she shudders against you.

She hesitates again, just for a second, before she turns and walks toward the bedroom. You follow, taking your time, watching the way her shoulders tense and relax with every step. She’s trying to play it cool, but you know better. You’ve got her exactly where you want her.

By the time you reach the bedroom, she’s already sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for you. You stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching her. She looks so small like this, so different from the commanding presence she usually carries herself with.

You cross the room and stand in front of her, your hands sliding up her arms, feeling the tension in her muscles. “Lie back,” you say, and she does, her breath hitching as her back hits the mattress.

You climb onto the bed, straddling her hips, and you can feel the way her body reacts to the weight of you on top of her. Her hands twitch at her sides, like she’s not sure what to do with them.

“Hands above your head,” you instruct, and she complies, her fingers gripping the pillow behind her. She’s always so eager to please, so ready to follow orders, and it’s almost too easy to get her like this. Almost.

You lean down, your lips brushing hers, and you feel her body tense beneath you. She’s waiting, anticipating, and you let the moment stretch out, let her feel the weight of your control before you finally press your lips against hers.

She kisses you back with a desperation that makes you ache, her mouth opening under yours, her tongue sliding against yours like she’s trying to tell you something without words. And maybe she is, maybe this is her way of saying she needs this, that she’s been craving this, even if she’d never admit it out loud.

You pull back, just enough to break the kiss, and you watch the way her chest rises and falls, the way her breath comes in short, shallow gasps. She’s already so worked up, and you haven’t even touched her properly yet.

You slide your hands down her body, feeling the way her muscles jump under your touch. “You’re so tense,” you murmur, your fingers trailing over her ribs, her stomach. “You need to calm down”

She nods, her eyes wide and dark, and you can see the way she’s fighting to keep herself together, to not lose it completely. But you’re not going to make it easy for her. Not tonight.

You slide your hand lower, slipping under the waistband of her shorts, and she gasps as your fingers brush against her. She’s already wet, and you can’t help the satisfied smirk that spreads across your face.

“So needy,” you tease, and she lets out a soft whimper, her hips bucking up against your hand.

You take your time, dragging your fingers through her slick heat, feeling the way she shudders beneath you. You can tell she’s trying to hold back, to not give in too quickly, but you’re not having that.

“Don’t hold back,” you say, your voice firm. “Let me hear you”

She whimpers again, louder this time, and you reward her by sliding two fingers inside her, feeling the way she clenches around you. She’s so tight, so hot, and it’s all you can do to not lose yourself in the sensation of her.

You start to move your fingers, slow and steady, and you watch the way her eyes flutter shut, the way her mouth falls open in a silent moan. She’s so beautiful like this, so open and vulnerable, and it makes your heart race to know that you’re the one who gets to see her like this, who gets to make her feel this way.

You pick up the pace, your thumb circling her clit, and she’s panting now, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She’s close, you can feel it, and you lean down, pressing your lips to her ear.

“Come for me,” you whisper, and that’s all it takes.

She cries out, her body going rigid under you as she comes apart, and you keep moving your fingers, drawing out her pleasure until she’s trembling, her whole body shaking with the force of it.

You finally slow down, easing her through the aftershocks, and you pull your hand away, feeling a surge of satisfaction as you watch her chest heave with the effort of catching her breath.

You slide off her, lying down beside her, and you pull her into your arms, feeling the way she finally relaxes against you, her body melting into yours.

She’s still shaking a little, and you press a soft kiss to her forehead, whispering soothing words in her ear as she comes down from her high.

You can feel the way she’s clinging to you, like she’s afraid to let go, and it makes your heart swell with affection for her.

“Good girl,” you murmur, and she sighs, her breath warm against your skin. “You did so well”

She doesn’t say anything, just nuzzles closer to you, and you can feel the way her body is still humming with the afterglow of her orgasm.

[luveline]

JADE!!! WE WOULD LOVE TO SEE ANOTHER SPENCER X BADASS GIRL!!! maybe its a quiet day and reader & spencer just chilling and joking around in their little world and the others just watching ahahah

thank you for your request babe, I would love to write more for this pairing if u have requests!! ♡ fem!reader

"What are they doing?" Emily asks, a fierce whisper that carries across the jet. 

"I think they're flirting," JJ whispers back. 

Hotch closes the case file in front of him. There's nothing left to do until they get home but sit here in each other's company. You and Spencer seem to have realised this before anybody else, shoulder to shoulder, a book in his hands. He's slouched with his leg crossed over his knee, taking up the majority of the couch. You seem content to take the brunt of his weight while giggling softly by his ear. 

Hotch can't lie, he's genuinely startled by your behaviour. It's the total opposite of your usual affect.

"That's not flirting," Rossi says without looking up. 

Hotch has to agree. You brush a stray hair from Spencer's shoulder and he doesn't so much as blush, turning the page to show you something particular. You lean in closer still, hand resting now on his shoulder. 

That's not flirting, that's way beyond it. Spencer is practically in your lap, and you —wouldn't hug anyone on your birthday, didn't tell them where you were for four days when you had appendicitis until you were forced, cold, lone wolf you— look like you're about to cuddle him close and whisper sweet nothings in his ear. 

You're in your own little world. 

"I stopped expecting her to push him off twenty minutes ago," Derek says, as seemingly unbothered as Rossi. 

"Don't tell me you knew about this," Emily says incredulously. 

"They've been going on dates." 

"They what?" 

You laugh happily at Spencer's side, pointing at a specific line with the tip of your fingernail. "When asked, Moroscova said that the length of his stay was an act of perjury," you read. 

Spencer laughs at your quotation, sharing a secret smile with you. "That haircut is an act of perjury." 

Your eyes glow with a look Hotch knows well. Haley looked at him like that for years. "Thanks for reading this with me. I know I'm slow." 

"You're not slow. I'm really fast. There's a difference."

It's the definition of young love, Hotch thinks, all those heartfelt reassurances disguised as brags, stolen touches, Spencer's knuckles stroking up and down your outer thigh. 

He turns back to his book and you stare at the side of his face. It's a little heartbreaking. Hotch knows if things don't work out between you, you'll take it hard. Your affection for Spencer has always been in the silent things, undulating, until lately: you listen to him talk when nobody else has the patience, what must amass to hours and hours of stories and statistics; you defend him at every turn, in every precinct in every city; when Spencer has a hard time, you refuse to rest until he feels better. The case before this one, the unsub beat you across the face with the handle of his gun, and you leaned out of the ambulance with your eye glued shut to make sure Spencer got anaesthetic before his stitches. You look at him like he's hanging the moon in real time. 

"Okay, that's too much," Derek says. Hotch detects a hint of brotherly affection in it, but mostly disgust. 

You raise your gaze from Spencer's chest, the breezy smile playing on your lips flattening into a hard line. You send Derek your fiercest glare, him being the first in your line of sight, and Emily gets the shock of her life when you turn and narrow your eyes at her, too. 

Emily smiles widely. "Hey, how's it going over there?" she asks. 

"Why are you guys looking at me?" you ask. 

"You can't guess?" Derek says.

"If I could guess, I wouldn't have asked." 

Hotch gives you a disapproving look. Tone it down, Agent. 

"I just wanna know what's so interesting," you say, leaning into indifference.  

Spencer looks up from his book. "What?" 

"Nothing," you say, your tone gentler in a capacity only profilers might notice. "Don't worry about it."

Spencer sits up and your eyebrows pinch down. Hotch wants to save it and he also doesn't get paid enough. Everything works out in the end, he thinks, not believing himself even slightly as he gets up to make a cup of coffee at the back of the jet. Your sullen tones hardly reach him through the curtain and over the sound of the hot water kettle, Spencer's puzzled reassuring even quieter. 

[littlemelanintales]

Aftercare

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Soft!Bucky, cock drunk reader, after care, no smut

Your face was still mashed into the mattress beneath you. Ringlets voiding your full vision with the taste of salty sweat creeping past your huffing lips. You felt kisses placed on your hot shoulder blades and the curls being swiped from your face.

Your eyes were unfocused but centered on the lightly breezy curtains,

"Speak for me."

"Mmm." Was all you could let out. Bucky got up from the bed and crossed the hardwood to the adjacent bathroom. You could hear the sink running and the medicine cabinet open then shut again. The loud padding of his weight crossing the floor filled the otherwise virtually silent room.

He squatted to your eye level, bringing the cool towel to gently wipe the night from your brow.

Your breathing relaxed further, drinking in the sparkle in his eyes and the gentleness he has with you.

"There she is he said softly.

"Sit pretty for me, Baby. Can you do that?" You nod and slowly started to sit up and turn yourself over. Small squeaks and groans escaped your lips as the buildup in your triceps tensed up. You leaned back against the headboard, taking a deep breath. He started to bring the duvet up but you declined,

“ ‘m hot." He smiled, leaning in and placing a kiss to your forehead. Bucky grabbed the 2 Tylenol and glass of water from the night stand. He lifted the cup to your lips and placed his cold, hard index finger under your chin to guide your head with the water. You took and swallowed the medicine before resting your head back. He placed the cool towel on your forehead before standing,

"That needs to be empty before you go to sleep." he said behind him as we went back to the bathroom. He re-entered with another cloth in hand. He sat beside you and ran his hand up the length of your leg. You twitched when he reached her inner thigh and he left out an breathy laugh.

He gently separated your legs, lightly lifting it and placing himself on his stomach between them.

He leaned in and softly left open mouthed kisses to the insides of both your thighs. He closed his eyes and sighed at the smell of you; sweet left over arousal and sweat. When he opened them he was eye to eye with your sticky, wet pussy. The sight of your juices and his cum secreting from your used hole left him in a trance.

"Ohhh, Baby. You did so well for me," your heart rate started to increase just slightly, "the best girl I could ever have. So needy. So obedient. Drink your water, honey.

You brought the cup to your lips and Bucky brought the new warm cloth up from his side. He started with a single swipe. You arched your back at the sensation the courses through you. You placed the cup down, mesmerized by him.

"You made me feel so good. Did I make you feel

good?"

"Yes, Daddy," you said as you smiled down at him and ran your fingers through his hair. His grip on your left thigh tightened just a little bit, his body unwillingly notifying you that his heart skipped a beat.

He finished cleaning you up and got up from the bed. He pulled the duvet over you without asking this time. Bucky lifted the cup one last time and you happily drank the rest of it contents. He threw the towels in the hamper, grabbing a shirt from the dresser in the process. He walked back over to you and let you settle into your pjs.

He walked to his side and climbed in, immediately pulling you as close as possible. He left kisses on the back of your neck while he whispered about how he wants to spend the next day.

"I love you, YIN."

"I love you too."

seen this before? tumblr deleted my other account so i have to rebuild

[exquisink]

jealousy is a vibe down // geto x f!reader

cw. jealous bf!suguru geto, college au, no curses au, cunnilingus, spanking mentions, mentions of rough sex, public sex, communication issues, geto sucks at feelings

wc. 7.5K (a lot less than expected, lol...)

After a few semesters of college you have to admit you have acquired quite a number of assets. You have completed your first three semesters with straight A’s and have received recognition for such achievements. You have a great set of new friends, and from that friend group is your sweet, sweet boyfriend Suguru Geto of already half a year. That soft spoken gentleman a year ahead of you with enviable thick, long flowy black hair he often kept in a half-up, half-down bun who sat behind you during some of your shared lectures, and with the sharpest set of deep indigo eyes that you fall too easily in a trance if you stared long enough into them. Someone you were too shy to speak to until he broke the ice first. You two hit it off right off the bat, and one thing leads to another and now you’re in your first real, serious relationship. 

It’s hard to believe, even now. Before college, you’re kind of known as someone who didn’t get out of her shell very much. In fact, you never really remember having a solid group of friends until now. Sure you may not be as close to some of them as you are to others, but isn’t that generally how it goes? You can’t expect to be everyone’s friend, and that shouldn’t be what you want, either. 

The first few semesters of college have been easy breezy for you that of course you’re going to give yourself a pat on the back for handling it all like a champ, but as soon as your relationship with Suguru continues to develop, you have begun to feel that small inkling of unease because of a little shift in his attitude around you. You’re not sure if you’re imagining it even now, especially given how he usually carries himself and how his friends and other people generally perceive him. He’s kind, calm, patient… but you find it’s only to a certain degree in some situations. 

Even the most saintly can possess only so much virtue until eventually, there are some cracks in that foundation. 

But no one believes you when you bring it up to anyone who is just as close to him as you are. 

You can’t blame them–who’s going to believe that the slight limp in your leg is because your sweet, sweet gentleman of a boyfriend Suguru Geto got too jealous of a classmate being a little too flirtatious with you? When you think back on that interaction, you don’t think of it beyond the superficial. Just a classmate complimenting you on your super adorbs maxi skirt that you decided to wear and style up because what’s the use in finding that right occasion to wear something fun? For some reason it bothers your boyfriend that you got someone else’s attention like that, even if you insisted to him that it was harmless, nothing to make such a grand thing out of either yet that didn’t seem to calm him down at all or reassure him. 

So much so, that once everyone’s dismissed from the lecture, he drags you into the nearest broom closet down the hall, and fucks you absolutely stupid until you’re too compliant to not say that you belong to no one else but him.

Who’s going to believe that he’s slapped your ass so hard until both cheeks were redder than the rubies he bought for you earlier in the week that it hurts to sit anywhere? You keep grunting each time you try to move during a lecture and he’s sitting in the row just above you, like usual, his hard, sharp stare boring into the back of your skull and you can’t even focus on what the professor is practically spoonfeeding you for the midterm exam approaching in a few weeks. That’s something you might have to reason with Suguru later, but when he gets into these moods, it’s hard to get through to him. You’re going to gain more leverage talking to a brick wall in these instances.

Who’s going to believe that while you’re trying to study in a more secluded area of the third floor of the campus library that he’s forcing you to fuck yourself on his thigh because he has a point to make about you being his and his only? He has to drive that point all the way home in any way he can. And you’re too smitten with him to see him any other way than through those rose-colored lenses of yours. 

Because truthfully, these moments where he lets his petty jealousy take control of him are just that–mere moments. Otherwise he returns to that perfect gentleman character that he’s curated for you and for everyone else. It’s as if there’s some kind of mental switch he can turn on or off at will, like retail workers switching on their customer service persona on and off. 

A lot of the time, it’s difficult to tell what he must really be thinking. Does he think he has control over you? In some ways, yes, he does. 

But your gut is telling you this isn’t right. You should know better than to disregard anything it tells you about anyone, even someone you fully trust with your whole heart. 

But who are you to trust those instincts when he’s too busy rearranging those very guts of yours, making you bounce on his dick but clamping his hand around your mouth to muffle any sounds you make because those are only for him to hear and you don’t want to disrupt the people who are studying nearby, some of whom you recognize from class. Your low moans are muffled against his skin and you know he’s milking every minute of watching you like this, completely at his mercy, succumbing to him, and a part of you can’t even deny that you do enjoy when he gets worked up but there’s another part of you incessantly nagging at you about calling him out on this. Because you find this side to him a little frightening. It’s one thing if he’s gotten comfortable enough with you to show other sides to him, and that in itself is a high compliment, but if that’s true then why do you still feel that little inkling of uncertainty? Is it just because you’re still fresh meat in the romance department? Are you just way too vanilla for your own good? Who the fuck even knows? 

“Be considerate of your peers, pretty girl,” he murmurs in a light, teasing way before nipping your ear. You lose count how many rounds it’s been since you began… studying. Your jaw’s hung open, drool trickling from the corners of your mouth from all of those orgasms he’s freely rewarded or punished you with for such an innocent thing you thought you did earlier. Finally, he decides it’s time for you to catch your breath, slowing his ministrations but relishing in the warmth around his cock from your fluttering, needy cunt. After all you both do have an exam coming up to study for together and at the moment you’re not even sure if you can tell right from left he’s fucked you too dumb. He makes you warm his cock for the rest of the time you spend together at the library. He’s quizzing you on the material you were trying to absorb from this morning’s lecture which is next level mean because he knows you struggled to concentrate with how sharp your ass cheeks are still stinging and he’s still made you bounce on his dick and thigh like you have to tough it out for him or something. That’s just monumentally unfair but he doesn’t seem to care right now.

“Explain this concept to me,” he instructs as he points to a segment in the textbook and you try to focus on the words on the page that seem to blur the longer you struggle to read it. Really, you do try to tell him about something related to quantum mechanics, but you’re so fucked full of his cum and he’s keeping it all lodged up in there using his dick to keep it all plugged up inside. This isn’t fucking fair to you anymore, you keep telling yourself that, but you can’t find yourself saying no to the love of your life. Yes, you’re willing to go as far as to admit that because you’ve never felt for anyone the way you do for Suguru so that’s why you should do a better job at advocating for yourself in a relationship you want to make work. 

And you have to make it absolutely fucking clear that you don’t want to feel like you’re being taken advantage of by the love of your fucking life.

“I…” you start, cursing yourself because of how meek and small you sound right now; your voice trails off as you suck in a breath. “Can we take a break?” 

“What’s the matter, beautiful?” he whispers into your neck, inhaling your scent. “Did I fuck you too dumb now? What’s going to become of your grades after this?” 

His hand slides up your thighs but you stop him. He doesn’t push further, but as he adjusts you feel all of his cum plugged up inside you shift too and you wince. It feels all so… you don’t know but you know one thing: you don’t like this. Whatever this side to him he’s choosing to reveal to you. Is this what they call ‘post nut clarity’ or whatever those weirdos ramble on about? It’s not hot or sexy or charming, not like the Suguru you fell in love with so hard you smacked your head onto the ground. 

Who is this man fucking you dumb? You don’t know anymore. 

“I have all A’s,” you counter, “You can’t actually think that this solves anything–!” 

“--What are you talking about?” he probes with a raised eyebrow. 

You frown at him, matching his stare—this isn’t nice at all. Oh, he thinks you can’t think for yourself, hm? You’re wondering if you should begin to dismantle the image you have in your mind about your so-called gentleman of a boyfriend when he can’t seem to get his own act together. You’re starting to believe he doesn’t completely trust you, and you’re not sure you’re okay with it because as far as you know, you have done absolutely nothing to warrant any of this.

You don’t have to keep playing along, do you? Because you’re beginning to understand how unhappy this is really making you. As much as you like him…

You try to adjust yourself, wincing as your back brushes against his stomach and try to adjust your clothing so you don’t look so utterly… questionable to your peers should you run into any which you definitely will. Even at this ungodly hour, the campus is completely packed and brimming with students.

“I don’t think I want this anymore,” you mutter as you begin to gather your things. From the corner of your eye you catch Suguru tapping his fingers along his knee as he tries to remain calm, like what you’re saying isn’t actually affecting him and you know it is by how he’s absolutely fuming behind those hard eyes of his. And you hate that he’s put together this different version of him to the rest of the world because no one is going to believe you if you try to tell others the kind of man he really is beneath it all.

“I don’t think you trust me, and that’s why this isn’t going to work. You may think this is cute, but I don’t think it is,” you go on, finally beginning to take a few steps back. “Until you want to talk things out like adults, I don’t want to see you like this anymore, Suguru. I’m sorry.”

Right now, he lets you go quietly, sparing you whatever dignity you have left. You don’t think it’s considerate–that’s bare bones to you. That’s the very least he can do for you after getting into something that’s honestly way over your head. Does he even really care enough to change something about this? Or are you going to have to cut things off for your own sake? 

You get back to your apartment, impressed you didn’t catch any weird stares on your walk of shame back.

Truthfully, you aren’t even sure you are. Because for the first time in a while, you have snapped out of whatever trance Geto has put you under.

Usually, Suguru likes to do all of the aftercare. He’s not completely an asshole—why else are you dating him?—and he does want to make sure you don’t feel disgusted with yourself after everything. But you doubt anything he can do right now to make up for his attitude lately is going to change how you feel right now. Which is like a total chump. His cheap, pretty whore. 

After you clean yourself up, you brace yourself as you scroll through the myriad of texts he’s bombarded you with since you left. 

Geto: please talk to me

Geto: i didn’t mean to make you feel like i don’t trust you

Me: then what the hell is your problem? can’t use your goddamn words?

Geto: oh thank god you’re speaking to me 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

Geto: baby i’m so sorry

Me: i don’t enjoy how you’ve been acting lately. your other girlfriends might have thought it was cute or hot or whatever but i think it’s actually fucking scary

Geto: i’m sorry

Me: are you?

Your phone rings. Geto’s contact card pops up. You rub your temples. Can you really do this right now? You have a feeling you’re going to say a plethora of things you may or may not regret later.

You let each call go to voice mail. Apparently, this doesn’t keep Suguru from spamming your phone again with more pleas for your forgiveness… is this really how he wants this to go down? You have believed he was more of a man than this at one point…

Geto: yes. answer the phone

Me: i don’t want to talk to you right now

Geto: but baby

Another roll of your eyes. Seriously, he has definitely got to try harder than this if he wants to prove some point to you. After a certain point in your life, this sort of behavior warrants blocking them cold turkey. And you have half a mind to do that yourself.

Geto: it won’t mean anything unless you hear it with my voice 

Geto: at least open the door 

Your eyes flit to your door. You can hear a bit of shuffling behind it. You know you should stand your ground but you’re less of an adult if you don’t hear him out at the very least. Dragging out a sigh, you slip out of your bed and amble over to answer it. You’re greeted with a bouquet of an assortment of your favorite flowers and boxes upon boxes of your favorite chocolates and candy and other sweets.

You glower at him, and he tries to flash you that charming smile of his that can uncharacteristically make you go weak in the knees even in the heat of an argument but you’re not allowing him that satisfaction this time around. No, you’re stronger than this. Just because Suguru Geto is devastatingly handsome doesn’t mean he can use it as his ‘get out of jail free’ card.

“This isn’t going to work,” you start in a steady tone but you fear you’re betraying yourself. You don’t want to be tough on him, but it looks like that’s going to be the only way to get him to understand your perspective on the matter.  “I’m not easy and I’m sick of you treating me like I am. I know you must think I’m some meek little girl, but I’m not.”

“I know,” he remarks, and you don’t know if you can trust his words considering his string of actions… you have noticed, the more you have reflected on them, that they don’t often align. He cares about you yet you find he doesn’t outright admit it to you to your face. It’s like he expects you to dissect him like an experiment, but you’re neither a mind reader nor a scientist. You’re his goddamn partner. At least you think you are. “But take them anyway. And please listen to me.”

“What did I do to make you not trust me?” you ask. 

His expression falters. That’s a first, actually. Usually he can hold himself rather well in even the most gruelling of situations but maybe you have more of an effect on him than you have ever given yourself credit for until now.. You’re unsure of what to do with this sudden change of pace, but that’s something for you to dig into a bit later when you have a little more strength in you to deal with him.

“Nothing. Nothing, baby, I—!”

You feel something inside you snap.

“—then what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“A lot of things,” he admits with a bow or his head. 

“Well, that’s something we can see eye to eye on,” you mutter under your breath. 

“Are you going to let me in?” he finally asks because honestly him standing awkwardly in the middle of this apartment floor is kind of a pathetic look. It’s kind of a refreshing change.

“I don’t know. Do you still think fucking is the answer to all of those insecurities I’m not responsible for causing?” you counter with a pointed glare. 

“…No,” he claims, posture deflating. You study him, wondering if this is a good idea. You’re not buying it, but you let him in, anyway, not before putting a sock on the door handle.

“Alright. Talk,” you instruct him as you rest your hands on your hips. “Or do you not know how to do that at your grown ass age?”

Suguru opens his mouth, but it remains parted as if he’s stalling, trying to figure out how to word this without digging himself a deeper hole where you might bury him alive and hold his goddamn funeral.

“I’m sorry, baby. I thought… I thought we had the same thing on our minds. I didn’t realize I was crossing a line,” he starts, “I was wrong to do that. Of course I trust you. I just don’t trust other people around you.”

“And yet your solution is to punish me?” you interject, “That’s not an appropriate way to handle it. I’m not trying to sound like a shrink but what the hell is on your mind when you do that crap?”

“That’s not what I was doing,” he protests, as he takes a step closer to you. He notices the chip on your shoulder and he gives you space. 

You don’t know what kind of logic goes through his mind unless he’s not thinking with his brain and just thinking with that third leg of his like most men. 

“Then what were you doing? Marking your territory?” you challenge, “Because as far as I remember, I don’t think we established any dynamic like this when we started dating.” 

He freezes, meeting your eyes. Oh. You must’ve struck a chord and you’re not sorry about it because he’s got every nerve in your body lit up and about to explode like a goddamn bomb because he’s pissed you off this fucking badly.

“Oh. Is that it?” you groan, smacking your forehead. “I’m not into it, Suguru. I told you maybe your past girlfriends were okay with it, but I’m not. Do you not understand how ridiculous you sound? I’m a whole person, not an object.”

“I know,” he murmurs, “And you’re the greatest thing in my life.”

“I sure don’t feel like it right now,” you scoff while sniffling a little. “Lately I feel more like your cheap whore.”

“Don’t call yourself that!” he protests, mouth agape like he’s actually aghast you’d think that—but how else could you feel like given his behavior as of recent? “Not unless you like to be called that in bed or something but never think that. I don’t think that about you.”

He gestures to the gifts. “I know that’s not a lot, but what else can I do to prove that to you?”

“Control your goddamn behavior is one way,” you begin, “Talk to me, or something. Let’s actually make sure we’re on the same goddamn page. My ass is still sore even after putting ointment on it.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, wincing at how he’s been handling you. “Can… can we just… you know, fix it?”

“Of course we can but you have to want to do that too. I can’t tell a grown man what to do,” you retort, “But I am on the verge of completely ending it because it’s like you don’t know how to fucking communicate—!”

“—wait,” he cuts you off, eyes softening. “Please, don’t. It can’t be that easy.”

“Of course this isn’t easy,” you sneer, “Nothing is easy about trying to break up with your boyfriend who acts more like my keeper.”

“It’s not like that!” he counters, voice going up an octave. Oh. desperation. That’s a hat you didn’t think Suguru could wear yet here it is right before your eyes. 

“Then what is it like because all evidence seems to point to the fact that you don’t fucking trust or respect me!” 

“That’s not true!” he exclaims, “I swear it’s not like that at all. I’m sorry, I know I fucked up.”

“Saying it is one thing but showing it is something else,” you tell him, “I don’t think this is working. We aren’t working. I think… I think we need a break, Suguru.”

“That’s a step up from breaking up with me,” he answers with a sigh. “Can I at least kiss you?”

“No. Just go,” you reply before turning away, burying your head in your hands. Geto hesitates for a moment, you can see his hand reaching out to you but he relents, exiting your room. 

Nothing about this feels good.

But being with someone who makes you feel more like an object than a person feels worse. Does he even actually see that or is he more mad about losing control over you? You don’t know, and in that moment, you’re not that interested in dissecting your enigma of a boyfriend. The only person who knows him better than you is—

—whipping out your phone, you send Satoru Gojo a text. You don’t have much of a relationship with him, but it is worth trying to gain some outside perspective of this. 

Your phone buzzes in your hand. You answer. 

“So, wanna explain to me why Suguru’s sulking in his room right now? I can’t get a word out of ‘im.”

“We’re on a break.”

You hear him sigh over the line.

“What’d he do?” 

“Not be a man and communicate.”

“Ah. This wouldn’t have anything to do with how you were acting this morning, right? Suguru must have really gotten rough with you. What’d you do?”

“Nothing! He just wasn’t okay with someone getting too flirty with me and then he fucking spanked me too hard during sex—!”

“—damn, I knew he had that dog in him but that is another side to Suguru I didn’t need to know about. So you’re saying you have an issue with his jealousy issues or something?”

“Kind of. He could just like, tell me but instead he had to punish me for something that isn’t my fault. You don’t think that’s a little… I don’t know, backwards?”

“Kiiiind of. I can see where you’re coming from. I can talk with him or something but I am not having much progress right now.”

“I kind of just want your perspective on him. You know him better than anyone. What is he not telling me?”

“So, if I have to be honest with you, Suguru’s got his fair share of vices like everyone else. He holds onto his pride a little too hard but he won’t ever admit it. He has a hard time being vulnerable even with me. So you just got to remind him that you’re not trying to judge him or something but if you want me to get even more honest he needs to be knocked down a few pegs because honestly getting a little too rough with your girl isn’t sexy. Not unless it’s something you communicated beforehand and stuff.”

 “I’m glad you agree with me on that part…”

“Well yeah, I mean sometimes the jealousy thing can do wonders for the sex life but you know, your partner has to actually like that.”

“Thanks for hearing me out, Gojo. And for the insight.”

“Yeah, of course. And girl, please. I’m begging you. The guy can be as insufferable as me, so please take a few blows to his ego because he really needs it.”

You laugh, “I’ll keep that in mind. I… I think I’ll call him later this week. I just don’t think I’m in a place to talk to him especially since I’m still in pain.”

“Yeowch. That rough, huh? I mean, damn. I’m kind of in shock. Perfect gentleman Suguru can fuck that mean?”

“No one would,” you sigh, “Not even you? Come on, there’s no way you haven’t heard him with his other girls.”

“Actually he hasn’t brought many girls as far as I can remember. Sure he’s had many interested but he hasn’t seriously dated in a while. Not until you.”

Oh. 

“Wait, really?”

“I mean I could be wrong and he could have had a few flings but it’s not like I go up to him asking him to give me intricate details about his love life. He does babble on and on about you to the point where I feel like I know you and I met you what, a handful of times outside of class?”

“And these are yet other things he’s failed to communicate to me…”

“Sounds like he has a lot to confess once you get back to him. Listen, is that all? I gotta go check and make sure he’s not doing anything too dramatic. I think I hear him blasting fucking Weezer right now and my ears are bleeding.” 

“Alright. Thanks, Gojo.”

“Yeah.”

Well that’s a lot of news to take in right now. 

The next day, you sit on the far end of where you usually sit with Suguru, Gojo, and some of his other friends. You aren’t that close to any of them, all of them being more friends of your boyfriend to you but you obviously have nothing against any of them. For fuck’s sake you actually tried to talk to Gojo about this, just to see if you were overreacting and thankfully he agrees with you on something. That means he’s not afraid to challenge whatever his best friend thinks about something.

You do feel his eyes land on you all throughout class. You try to ignore it, chewing on the eraser of your pencil as you mull over something the professor mentioned about some theory you have been deciphering yourself on your own time. You’re no scientist, but you’re trying to be. It’s just that’s not something you want to be in a goddamn romantic relationship with someone else. 

But you have to admit… a part of you wishes he does end up coming up to talk to you because you don’t fancy the idea of being some social recluse just because you’re fighting with your boyfriend. You’re not trying to make things hard for him or you but you want to be fucking heard too. He must understand that about you if he’s actually giving you the space you need right now, right? So that must mean there’s still hope for things to work out with you two and you can still have the hottest sex as long as he’s not using it as a means to control you for some bizarre reason you still can’t come up with yourself. Any that make sense or any that don’t dehumanize you.

This is so lame. You can’t believe your resolve is already crumbling because you can catch those adorable sad puppy eyes of his from the corner of your eyes. He’s not even chastising Satoru for poking him in the cheek throughout the entire class like he normally does. Satoru must have some kind of cuteness aggression toward his friend and you can’t exactly blame him for that either. Suguru Geto is by all accounts the most devastatingly beautiful man your eyes have ever been blessed with seeing and you actually get to have a piece of that because he wants you back.

Finally the professor dismisses you for the day and you bolt out of there before you lose any dignity you have left. You have a feeling you’re going to toss any and all caution to the wind the minute Suguru decides to break the i–

“--Hey.”

Oh god fucking dammit, the world is never in your favor, isn’t it? When do the stars ever align for you for once? Can’t you have one moment where you have the upperhand and not have to endure another unnecessarily forced interaction with someone you wanted to avoid until you feel okay enough to talk things out yourself?

In spite of the protests warring with each other in your head, you meet those sad, sad indigo eyes. Are those fucking eyebags? Has he lost sleep over this? Do you really have more of an effect on him than you think, like Gojo told you yesterday? 

“Hi,” you breathe in response, finally, after you realize you left him hanging for a few moments too long (and a few moments not enough for you but again, when do you ever matter in these situations?) 

Now you’re adopting his nervous tick, drumming your fingers along your leg as he holds a bit of a staring contest with you. But it’s not malicious. He’s just trying to get a read on you, testing the waters. 

“Why didn’t you sit with us?” he asks, deciding that’s the best path to go on right now… ah, at least he’s making some kind of effort. 

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” you admit, your voice meek and timid and you hate that your voice is betraying you yet again. Yes you already miss him. But you are not going to go against your own boundaries. You have to be stronger than your feelings right now.

“Of course I do,” he replies, “I always want you with me.”

You blush. 

Man, he really has a way of getting those kinds of reactions out of you even when you’re upset. 

“Do you want to get lunch with me? I swear I won’t do anything,” he offers. You consider your options. 

It doesn’t sound like a bad idea. 

You already miss him and you hate yourself for it. 

You decide to eat together at the campus dining area. It’s upscale with a lot of popular joints but Suguru as per usual likes to stick to his preferred entree which is just stacks upon stacks of soba noodles. You think it’s such garbage food, but he enjoys it. Besides, it’s not like you have anything to say about keeping a stellar diet yourself. If you want a burger, you’re getting a damn burger. If you want a salad, then you’ll get a salad maybe with dressing on the side and extra croutons if you’re really feeling all that frisky. Your meal is left half eaten though because you and Suguru’s entwined hands are resting on the table between your respective meals. He’s running his thumb along your knuckles, as if to soothe you, because you got into the discussion sooner than you’d like to. You have hoped to tackle this in a time where you felt a bit more levelheaded, but you can see it in his eyes and in the way he speaks, that he truly regrets how he’s been acting around you.

Still… 

“I don’t want you to have the wrong idea about this, about us, I mean,” Suguru goes on, ignoring Satoru trying to get his attention and preventing him from trying to steal a few bites of his tower of soba noodles by gripping his wrist. Gojo pouts as if he doesn’t have a plethora of trays of food to gorge down for himself! 

Gojo leaves you two be for another few moments, sulking while digging into a cheeseburger. Why does he even buy the trashy stuff when he can afford the fancier foods?

“Then we have to set some ground rules,” you reply finally, internally reprimanding yourself for caving this early on. But you can’t find it in your heart to keep denying him when he keeps looking at you with those pair of sad, kicked puppy eyes. It’s a sight you’ve never seen on him before. 

“I’m all ears,” he swears, eyes never leaving your face, scanning you, assessing you—like he wants to commit this all to memory so he doesn’t fuck things up for himself all over again. 

“Fucking tell me if something is bothering you,” you start, “instead of resorting to … whatever the fuck that was the other day.”

He nods. “What else?”

“I just want you to feel like you can talk to me,” you go on, “That’s literally it.”

“I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t trust you,” he says again. You bite back a sigh. 

“I’m still upset,” you reply, “And I’m still fucking sore, thanks.”

He winces when you mention that again. “I’m sorry…”

He presses a soft kiss along your knuckles, another apology after an endless stream of apologies. Something bobs in your throat. You want to melt into a puddle of goop. You fucking hate yourself. You fucking hate that you are in love with this stupid man. 

“I’m crazy about you,” he murmurs into your skin, and your heart flutters like a swarm of frantic butterflies. “I just want you to see that and I gave you the wrong impression. I’ll do everything to make you understand.”

“Suguru…” you breathe, squeezing his hands. He returns the gesture. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“You have any idea how much I love a woman who stands on business?” he growls with a wolfish grin on his features. 

You roll your eyes. “Way to ruin a moment. No wonder Gojo is your best friend—!”

“—hey! I was not involved in this conversation!” Gojo interjects, eyes blown wide like you committed some criminal offense. 

“Oops,” you quip, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. 

The two of you excuse yourselves and in the blink of an eye, you find yourself back in your apartment, pinning Suguru by his shoulders against your door as your lips remain locked on each other’s. You really can’t keep your hands off of him for long, but you’re still grunting from pain here and there and finally, Suguru addresses the issue. 

“Can I take care of you? You didn’t let me… after that,” he murmurs into your lips, breathing slightly ragged. “I hate knowing I caused that so let me make up for it.”

How can you say no to that stupid fucking face he keeps sporting each time he looks at you now? God, it aims straight through your heart like a jagged arrow each time.

You opt not to protest, allowing him to guide you to your bed, laying you on your stomach while he retrieves some of that ointment you’ve been treating yourself with since that day. You still want him to talk about what went through his mind, but he is still embarrassed about his own behavior and you can tell from how reverent his actions toward you are. You’re trying not to feel too guilty about calling him out since having arguments is healthy in a relationship, right? And you want this to work. You know he does too.

You don’t speak as he peels your trousers off. You don’t speak as he squeezes some of that ointment onto his hand and begins kneading it into either of your lower cheeks, slow. Soft. Gentle. Like he’s a trained masseur, you almost want to make a cute little remark but you hold back because the last thing you’re going to do is pull a Gojo move and ruin the moment.

A flush blooms on your actual cheeks when you feel him press a kiss to either mound, and you don’t wince this time. The stinging is finally beginning to lighten up but you aren’t ready for any kind of intimacy again any time soon. Suguru’s aware of it, and yet you feel those lips trailing down a little closer to your clothed perineum. 

“Oh my god, Suguru, I don’t think that’s–!” 

–he pulls back immediately. “I won’t do anything if you don’t want me to. I just, I um, I got a little ahead of myself. I’m sorry.”

Ugh.

You hate yourself. You hate yourself so fucking much right now when your legs cross over each other behind his neck and yank him in until his nose hits the cotton of your panties again. His eyes are blown wide when he meets yours, and taking note of how irritated you are, he still has the absolute fucking gall to be even more irresistible somehow.

“Baby, are you–? Do you want me to? I don’t want to go overboard–!”

“I’m letting you fucking eat me out, but that’s as much as we’re doing right now,” you mutter, flushing deeper as his eyes continue to practically bulge a bit out of their sockets like he’s some kind of animatronic. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice barely audible. “You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that right? I wanted to make sure you knew that but instead–!” 

–he peels off your underwear and once he yanks it off from your ankles, he tosses it unceremoniously elsewhere, uncaring for where it lands.

He props you up a bit, hands sliding up your thighs before resting on your ass cheeks again, careful, slow. Gentle. Taking too much care not to hurt you after going through all of that just to make a point–he doesn’t want you to make you feel anything less than… he doesn’t want to make you feel less than anything at all. 

“Instead I did the opposite. I’m so sorry gorgeous. You’re the only girl for me,” he purrs as he licks a line from your pussy up to your perineum. You bite back a whine, digging your fingers into the sheets, hiding your face into the pillow because Gods you may be the most vanilla girlfriend in the world because even little things like this make you feel so embarrassed. He’s the only man you’ve ever gotten this far with yourself, so hearing what Gojo admitted the other day about Suguru never having any serious girlfriends before you was a shock to your system.

The tip of his wet muscle lingers on your perineum for a few more, drawn out, agonizing moments, grazing along the sensitive skin. His breath fans against your back hole and you want to end yourself in that very instance. This feels so… weirdly delicious but so humiliating simultaneously. 

“You’re beautiful, and I can’t believe I made you feel anything other than that,” he babbles, more and more sweet nothings but you doubt it with the way his tone seems to carry so much affection for you and only you. It makes you feel like the only woman in the world. 

“It’s actually appalling to me that you don’t believe that about you. Why do you think I was so pissed at that guy who got a little too close to you for either yours or my comfort?” he inquires, but by his tone it sounds more rhetorical but is he confessing his real reasons behind why he’s been behaving so… completely out there? “You really don’t know how the world sees you, how I see you… it makes me absolutely fucking livid. I’m sorry I lost myself a few times before this.”

He licks another line up your folds which are already wet and dripping just from anticipating his next move. 

“I just can’t believe you don’t see what I see,” he pauses to collect himself, almost like he’s trying to hold himself back from something. 

“Suguru, wh… what are you talking about?” you mumble into the mattress, impressed you could even form a coherent sentence.

“I’m talking about why I only saw red when that guy thought he could make a move on you. It’s because no matter what you do, you command the world to see you��to worship you. But I want to be the only man in the world who can do that,” he explains, and your eyes widen. Why is that sentiment… weirdly sweet? Sure his earlier execution might not have been the best but now you know what he had really been thinking.

“So it’s not because you don’t trust me?” you ask, but your tone still insinuates that you’re incredulous about his motives. And you really don’t like that you doubt his motives. That’s not the foundation for anything healthy, isn’t it? But the seed’s been planted quite some time ago and you don’t know how to get that out of your mind.

“Of course not,” you hear him growl in a way that makes your stomach churn. “Just the opposite. I should be the only one who gets to make you feel like you’re on top of the world. I should be the only one who gets to worship you and the ground you walk on. No one else. Call me selfish, but isn’t that my fucking job as your boyfriend?” 

He kisses into your folds, deep and sloppy, and you squirm which only seems to spur him on, to get him to tease you even more.

“I’m sorry I made you feel anything other than loved,” he whispers as he laps at your pussy like a tiger in heat. “Cherished. Because you are, baby. You truly are.”

“I-I f-forgive you, Suguru. I-!” Your sentence is cut off by a moan that escapes your lips when he sucks down hard on your clit, making your eyes roll back into your skull. For a man who hasn’t slept with many women, he’s far too good at what he’s doing to you which is rendering you into a nonverbal mess.

“I’m so glad you do but I’m so far from finished worshipping you,” he moans into your cunt, each swipe of his tongue making you keen and he’s not even all that bothered by the sounds of lewd squelching filling your room. “I can’t have my girl go strutting around this world not understanding her true worth, her true beauty, and my bottomless devotion to her.”

His girl. His girl. HIS girl… you love hearing that but you’re still in disbelief.

“Your girl?” you murmur out loud, awed. 

“Yes, my girl,” he huffs, sucking hard on your clit again and making you choke on a broken gasp. He chuckles, as if amused with himself. “I thought we’ve established this, gorgeous. Do I have to wear a chain around my neck with your name on it to prove it?”

Usually it’s the other way around, so… 

“Will you really do that?” you breathe and he responds with another harsh suck on your cunt, and you cry because you feel it coming, hard. He pulls back to watch your hole clench down on nothing before spitting onto it, making your body jerk in place. 

“I’ll do everything for you, gorgeous,” he vows, his tone full of affection, devotion, adoration. “Everything.”

Bold words out of a man like him, but you can’t find it in you to find any reason behind his words as you flip yourself over, sitting up and yanking him with a fistful of his shirt and kissing him hard and needy, uncaring of your taste lingering in his mouth. 

You break the kiss, but still find yourself clinging to his messy half-up, half-down hair, eyes boring into those stunning deep indigo ones of his. 

“Ow,” you mutter, realizing you put yourself in an uncomfortable spot. 

“Let’s not push ourselves,” he chides in a softer tone. “Let me clean you up.”

“O-okay,” you reply, still feeling your soul got sucked out of your body just from that kiss alone. You are as whipped for him as he apparently is for you, and you wonder if you don’t make him feel secure enough about that still.

If he’s willing to work on things about himself, then so are you. 

[httpvomitello]

Bully x Nice Girl – Joaquin Torres x Y/N: He teased her relentlessly back in the day, but now he’s the one falling hard for the girl he swore never to like.

I hope you like it ~ ☆

Tables Turned .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: He used to tease you like it was his job — the cocky, too-charming boy who always knew how to get under your skin. But years later, Joaquin isn’t laughing anymore. Because the sweet girl he once swore he’d never like? She’s the only one he can’t get out of his head.

joaquin torres x f!reader

Joaquin Torres used to be the worst.

You weren’t being dramatic.

Back in high school, it felt like his entire existence revolved around finding new and creative ways to get under your skin.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he used to call across the hall, grinning wide when you’d scowl back.

“Did you leave your glasses at home again, or are you just ignoring me?”

Or your personal favorite—

"Biting your lip like that won’t make algebra any easier, princess."

Everyone else thought it was harmless.

Typical teenage teasing.

You knew better.

Joaquin was relentless. Smirking, cocky, magnetic in that stupid, infuriating way that made your stomach twist even when you hated him most.

Eventually, you grew up.

Graduated.

Left that version of him behind like a bad memory.

Or so you thought.

Because now, standing in front of you at Sam Wilson’s barbecue, wearing a perfectly fit t-shirt that showed off way too much arm, smiling like he knew exactly what kind of havoc he was about to cause—you realized the universe had a sick sense of humor.

You tried to act casual, setting your drink down a little harder than necessary on the table.

“Didn’t know you were invited,” you said, aiming for breezy and missing by a mile.

Joaquin chuckled, a low, lazy sound that made something traitorous flutter in your chest.

“Didn’t know you still hated me,” he said, grin widening.

You lifted an eyebrow. “Did you think I forgot?”

He leaned a little closer, like he had a secret to share.

“Was kinda hoping you’d just admit you liked the attention.”

Your mouth dropped open—and before you could deliver the scathing retort you were forming, he laughed and backed off, heading toward the grill like he hadn’t just punched your heart straight in the face.

Cocky bastard.

The rest of the afternoon was pure torture.

Joaquin was everywhere.

Handing you a drink with a wink.

Teasing you during a game of cornhole.

Sitting way too close during dinner, his knee bumping yours under the table way too often to be an accident.

And the worst part?

You didn’t hate it.

Not even a little.

You hated that you didn’t hate it.

You hated that every time he laughed, your heart felt like it was skipping down a flight of stairs.

You hated that when he caught you looking and gave you that slow, knowing smile—you smiled back.

When the sun dipped low and the backyard filled with fairy lights, you tried to slip away for some air.

You made it as far as the side of the house before you heard footsteps behind you.

"Running away again, Sunshine?"

You turned, arms crossed.

"You are insufferable, Torres."

He just smiled, taking a few slow steps closer.

“Yeah, but you’re still here.”

You opened your mouth to snap back, but he was closer than you realized—close enough that you could smell his cologne, something clean and woodsy that made your knees a little weak.

“I was a jerk back then,” he said suddenly, voice softer. “I know that.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“I teased you because…” He laughed, shaking his head. “Because you were smart. And kind.”

You stared at him.

He shoved a hand through his hair, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him.

“I was a dumb kid who didn’t know how to deal with someone like you. Someone who scared the hell outta me.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs.

“I don’t scare you now?” you whispered.

Joaquin smiled, but it wasn’t cocky this time. It was soft.

“Terrify me.”

You exhaled shakily, the years of tension humming between you like a live wire.

He stepped even closer, leaving almost no space between you.

“I think about you,” he said, voice low. “Way more than I should.”

Your breath caught.

“And if you’ll let me,” he added, eyes locked on yours, “I’d really, really like a chance to do this right.”

You should have thought about it. Should have weighed the risks, remembered all the stupid fights and stupid jokes.

But instead, you closed the space between you in one reckless step, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down to you.

The kiss was electric.

Years of teasing, years of fighting, years of ignoring what was right under the surface—gone.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been waiting forever. His hands found your waist, holding you like you were something precious.

When you finally broke apart, you both laughed—quiet and breathless.

“So…” he murmured, thumb brushing your jaw.

“Still think I’m insufferable?”

You smiled, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Oh, absolutely.”

He laughed—and kissed you again, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world to convince you otherwise.

And honestly?

You were already convinced.

[uniquexusposts]

Will you update he still cheated? 🥺

But they still cheated | M. Verstappen (4)

Summary: Y/n finds out about a massive family drama; a cheating scandal. When she is lost, Max comforts her

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Y/n stepped back into the vehicle and looked in front of her; the sheer size of the A380 never failed to amaze her, even after all these shifts. With her headset on, she listened closely to the final clearance from the cockpit, the tower, and the controls.

���Pushback approved. Brakes released.”

“Copy that. Starting pushback now,” Y/n confirmed.

As the vehicle slowly moved the massive plane away from the gate, she gave her colleagues Josine and William a nod, who kept a close eye on the aircraft’s movements. She quickly focused back on the aircraft. There was something about manoeuvring an aircraft this size that always gave her a thrill. It was a job that required skill, precision, and teamwork—exactly why she loved working with Josine and William, who were also her best friends.

When the aircraft was properly aligned, she released the tug and drove away to a safe distance. As she stopped and stepped out of the vehicle, she signalled that the aircraft was ready to taxi. “Goodbye and have a nice flight,” she said over the radio and waved. With that, the last task of the shift was complete.

William looked at his watch. “We made up the delay; we sent them out in the departure window. Good job, everyone,” he said to the team and clapped his hands as he watched the A380 make its way toward the runway.

The team had a quick handover with the new shift and made their way to the canteen.

“I swear, that was the longest shift ever,” Josine groaned, stretching her arms over her head.

Y/n chuckled. “You say that after every shift.”

“Yeah, well, it always feels true!” Josine shot back playfully. “Anyway, what’s the plan now? We celebrate our survival today or what?”

“Why not?” William asked. “It’s just noon. Supermarket haul and picnic in the harbour?”

“Ooh, I’m in,” Josine said immediately.

“Sure, let’s do it,” Y/n smiled. “But first, I need to get out of this uniform as quickly as possible.”

William nodded and looked at his phone. “Train is leaving in twenty.”

“We’ll make that, no worries,” Josine grinned.

In the canteen, Josine ran to the changing room, William answered a quick call, and Y/n drank a glass of cold water. She grabbed her phone and made her way to the changing room as well. Just as she was about to put away her phone, Max called. She answered quickly.

“Hey,” she greeted him.

“Hey Y/n/n. Are you finished?”

She sat down on a bench and loosened the laces of her shoes. “Yes, just finished.”

“So, you’re still at the airport?”

“Yup.”

“Do you want a lift home? I’m also at the airport, just arrived here. Might wait a couple more minutes,” he casually offered.

“Uh… I’m having lunch with friends from work,” she mentioned.

“How many of them?”

“Josine and William.”

“Ooh, but there’s room for two more.”

A smile appeared on her face. “I mean, if you don’t mind it.”

“Of course not.”

“Thank you. Oh, and don’t mind the sweat smell. We worked hard,” she smirked.

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll send you the location.”

Y/n ended the call after saying goodbye and opened her locker. Josine looked at her friend. “Max is picking us up and bringing us to Monte Carlo,” she announced and took off her shirt.

A grin grew on Josine’s face. “Girl, how sweet of him.”

Y/n didn’t reply to Josine’s comment, knowing all too well that any reaction would only encourage the teasing about how she and Max would make a great couple; bla, bla, bla. Instead, she focused on swapping her uniform for a breezy summer dress, adding a few pieces of jewellery, and touching up her hair and makeup.

Twenty minutes later, the three of them made their way toward the pickup point Max had sent. The airport buzzed around them as they navigated through the pathways, but William’s steps slowed when he looked around in confusion.

“Y/n, are you sure this is the right place?” he asked, glancing at their surroundings. “This is the helicopter platform.”

“Uh…” Y/n frowned, checking her phone to confirm the location. “Yes?”

Before she could process it further, movement caught her eye. Max was striding toward them, effortlessly cool in his sunglasses, a relaxed smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh, my god,” she muttered, realisation hitting her. “He’s taking us with the helicopter.” She looked at Josine and William in disbelief. “I didn’t know this, I swear.”

Josine let out an excited gasp. “No way. This is insane.”

William crossed his arms, shaking his head with an impressed chuckle. “Man, your life is something else, Y/n.”

Max reached them. He greeted Josine and William with a casual ‘hey’, but he gave Y/n a hug and a quick kiss on her cheek. “I figured we would skip the traffic,” he grinned, clearly amused by their reactions. He grabbed Y/n’s bag and took it with him. 

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him, though she couldn’t stop the small smile forming on her lips. “You could’ve told me.”

“Would you have said no?” Max asked, raising a brow.

Y/n sighed dramatically. “Probably not.”

Josine nudged her with a smirk. “Obviously not.”

Max motioned toward the waiting helicopter. “Let’s go.”

As they climbed aboard, the excitement was undeniable. The roar of the blades filled the air as they buckled in and put on their headsets. Within moments, they were lifting off, the airport shrinking beneath them. Y/n glanced out of the window, taking in the breathtaking view of the coastline stretching far into the horizon.

Josine and William exchanged wide-eyed grins, already pulling out their phones to capture the moment.

“I just saw the A380 departure. Jeez, what a massive thing,” Max commented, turning to Y/n, who sat beside him.

She nodded absentmindedly, still admiring the view. “Hmm-hmm,” she murmured. “That was our last aircraft for today. The pushback for that plane is something else. I never get used to it.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what? You pushed that entire plane into position?”

She smirked. “Well, I have a very strong vehicle for it, but yeah.”

“Holy shit.”

A shy smile crossed her face, she adored his enthusiasm. “It’s my job.” She shrugged before shifting the conversation. “Anyway, how was your trip?”

Max leaned back slightly, relaxing into his seat. “Busy. A couple of events, meetings, and the usual media stuff. But I’m glad I get a few days at home before the next race.”

As they talked, Y/n listened attentively, occasionally nodding as he detailed his packed schedule. Meanwhile, Josine and William were too stunned to speak, completely absorbed in the experience of flying over the coastline, their phones alternating between snapping pictures and recording videos.

Y/n was scrolling through the newsfeed of a newspaper when she stumbled across a new article. Without hesitation, she opened the article. The headline caught her attention immediately: “Bianca Y/l/n fired from production after scandalous love affair.” Y/n looked impressed, that took two months, but sure. She continued reading the article. “Y/l/n had an affair with Patrick Leroux, a well-known banker, and ex-boyfriend of Y/l/n’s daughter: Y/n. Their management confirmed the affair between Bianca and Patrick started while Patrick was still in a relationship with Y/n.” The words felt like a punch to the gut, each sentence a painful reminder of the betrayal.

“Jeez,” Y/n sighed and shook her head. Max, William and Josine immediately looked at her. “The media is exposing Bianca and Patrick, what the fuck. This is insane. Hear this: Once a trusted name in the media world, Bianca now finds herself publicly disgraced. A respected figure in her field, she had enjoyed a career built on years of hard work and dedication. However, within days of the affair becoming public knowledge, her world came crashing down. Her employer, one of the largest and most influential media companies, issued a statement severing all ties with her, citing the betrayal and the negative impact the scandal had on their brand. Sponsors who once lined up to support her fled, unwilling to be associated with the scandal. In a matter of days, her career is effectively over.” Her lips parted as she looked at her friends, who were still processing the words. 

“My goodness,” Max mumbled. 

“Patrick, once a well-regarded businessman, found himself in a similar position, facing immediate termination from his high-profile company. Public outrage followed, and soon, every aspect of his professional life was called into question. No longer seen as a successful entrepreneur, he became the symbol of betrayal and deceit. Reporters dug into his past, unearthing old acquaintances and colleagues who painted a picture of a man who had used his position of power to manipulate others. As the scandal grew, so did the scrutiny of his every move. No interview, no press statement could save him from the tidal wave of public backlash,” she read out loud. “What the fuck, I… Ew. I feel so fucking disgusted.”

Max let out a quiet sigh, clearly unsettled by the words. “Jesus, Y/n... this is brutal.”

Y/n shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “You have no idea. It’s insane.”

Josine’s eyes widened as she continued reading. “The article doesn’t even stop there. It’s like they want to destroy them completely.”

Y/n glanced at her, unable to tear her eyes away from the screen. “Yeah. The media is going after their personal lives, digging up everything. Their old friends, associates, even exes; no stone left unturned. Every private moment, every text they sent, is being dragged into the spotlight. It’s like they’re trying to humiliate them completely.”

Max leaned forward, looking more serious than Y/n had ever seen him. “This isn’t just a scandal anymore. It’s a total destruction of their lives.”

Y/n felt a strange mix of anger and exhaustion settle over her. “I just want to jump out of the helicopter.” 

“Y/n,” William disapprovingly said to her. “Don’t say that.” 

“What? I feel so disgusting. It will forever haunt me,” she groaned and put her phone away. “Sorry, I’m ruining everything.” She looked outside. 

Silence fell between them. The sounds of the helicopter was the only thing that was hearable. After a while, they arrived the airspace of Monaco. The helicopter landed and they got out. 

“Hey,” Max said and stood in front of Y/n. “It will be okay,” he smiled. “Try to have fun.” He put his hands on her shoulders. 

A thin-lipped smile came on her face. “I will try,” she whispered. “Thank you for the lift.” 

“Anytime. Uhm, do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

She nodded. “I would love to.” 

He pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead. Y/n felt a weight in her chest as Max’s arms wrapped around her, offering a sense of comfort she hadn’t expected. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to breathe deeply, to feel the warmth of his embrace. The world outside seemed distant, as if the scandal and all the chaos swirling around her couldn’t reach her in that moment. 

He pulled back. “See you tonight.” He looked over her shoulder. “Cheers, guys,” he said to her friends. 

“Thanks for the ride,” William smiled. “Appreciate it.”

“Thank you,” Josine said. 

Max nodded and stepped away. 

Y/n turned to her friends and deeply sighed. “Sorry that you have to see this shit show and that I’m involving you with it,” she apologised. 

“Girl, we are your friends. We got your back, no matter what,” Josine smiled. “It’s not nothing. I mean, your own mother cheated on your father with your boyfriend?” 

“And she’s pregnant too.”

“What?!” 

“Surprise. And now I don’t want to talk or think about it anymore.” 

The three friends made their way through the busy Monaco streets, towards the supermarket, the energy around them as vibrant and chaotic as ever. But for Y/n, it was all muted, the noise of the world blending into the background. The glitz and glamour felt distant, irrelevant in the wake of everything her family had gone through.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

[jadeshifting]

— THINGS I’M LOOKING FORWARD TO. ( IN MY HOGWARTS DR, a VERY condensed list )

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

ib @dreamyshifts go check out her post it was so cute :^)

⋆˙⟡ magic, duh. my life becomes a whirlwind of breezy convenience and a raging wildfire of discovery and knowledge, a key turned in a lock that frees the possibility for endless learning and skill

⋆˙⟡ spending time with my little brothers—little enough that they still come running to meet me when i return home and throw themselves at me, they’re not old enough yet to think that’s embarrassing

⋆˙⟡ quidditch games !! not just screeching until my throat goes raw for the Slytherin team, but for cheerleading. all of our hard work culminating as we parade around in our skirts and put on a show with our star-glitzed green and silver pom-poms. (not to mention seeing the boys after the game. either on the high of winning or pissed from losing—sweaty either way)

⋆˙⟡ the kind of sugar-coated and syrup-dripping food that will make my teeth positively fall out. roast chicken drenched in garlic butter and mashed potatoes as creamy and light as clouds for dinner every night

⋆˙⟡ not just attending disgustingly opulent galas, but attending them with my friends. zipping into our gowns, fixing the boys’ ties, muttering to eachother about which pureblooded families are going to be nuisances that evening. shooting sidelong glances to eachother throughout the whole night, slipping away to sip champagne and watch the stars as early as we can

⋆˙⟡ all of the beauty potential—the makeup onto flawlessly smooth skin, the perfectly tailored and seemingly endless array of miniskirts and sweaters and gowns, the potions to smooth out my flowing hair. i just know i’m going to lose my mind when i see it all

[keisgirl]

x kenma, mentions of death and blood cancer

the first time kenma notices something is off, you wave it off as exhaustion.

"you're overthinking it, ken," you say, your voice light, breezy, untouched by worry. "i'm just tired. work has been crazy."

he watches you closely, golden eyes flickering with something unreadable. he doesn’t push further, not yet. instead, he nods, lets your excuse settle between you both like an unspoken agreement, and lets it slide.

the second time, it’s harder to ignore.

you flinch when he brushes his fingers against yours, something you never do. kenma stiffens. "what’s wrong?" he asks, pulling back immediately.

"nothing." you force a smile, but it’s weak, fragile. "my body's just been a little sore lately. probably from all the commuting."

it’s plausible. it’s reasonable. but it’s not true.

he doesn’t say that out loud, just studies you with a sharp gaze. your complexion is paler than usual, your skin almost translucent under the artificial glow of his monitor. when had you lost so much weight? when had the light in your eyes started to dim?

something heavy settles in his chest, an unease he doesn’t quite know how to name.

you should have known kenma would catch on eventually.

for months, you’ve been careful. careful to smile. careful to act normal. careful to tuck away your pain into the corners of your mind where no one—not even him—can reach.

but no matter how careful you are, kenma has always been able to read you. he’s always been perceptive, always attuned to even the smallest shifts in your behavior. and now, he’s watching you like he knows you’re hiding something.

"are you sure you’re okay?" he asks one evening when you curl into his side, your body unusually cold against his.

you want to tell him. you really do.

but you’re selfish. and weak. and terrified.

you don’t want him to look at you like you’re dying.

so, you just nod against his shoulder and say, "of course."

and kenma, for all his doubts, chooses to believe you.

you break up with him three months later.

"i just think… we’re not the same people anymore," you say, hating yourself for every word. "it’s better if we go our separate ways."

kenma stares at you, his face unreadable. his fingers tighten around the controller in his lap. "why?"

"we’ve grown apart."

"bullshit."

your breath catches. kenma rarely curses, rarely reacts so strongly. but now, he’s looking at you with something like betrayal, something like hurt. "you’re lying."

"ken.."

"tell me the real reason."

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "this is the real reason. i don’t love you anymore."

his expression shatters. just for a second, before he schools it into indifference. "fine. if that’s what you want."

you nod, ignoring the way your heart clenches so painfully it feels like you’re breaking into pieces. "goodbye, kenma."

and then you leave, because if you stay, you’ll break down and tell him the truth—that you’re dying, that you never wanted to leave him, that you love him more than anything, but you can’t make him watch you fade away.

he finds out months later.

when kuroo calls him in the middle of a stream, voice quiet, hesitant.

"kenma," he says, "did you know?"

"know what?"

"about her. about the leukemia."

kenma’s heart stops.

"what?" he breathes, voice barely audible.

"she’s in the hospital. late stage. she…she didn’t tell you, did she?"

his vision blurs. his hands shake. the pieces fall into place, and he realises

she didn’t leave because she stopped loving him.

she left because she didn’t want him to see her die.

he doesn’t think. he just moves.

and when he reaches the hospital, when he sees you lying there, too pale, too fragile, his entire world collapses.

"why didn’t you tell me?" his voice cracks as he grips your hand, as he searches your tired eyes for answers.

you smile, soft, sad. "because i didn’t want you to remember me like this."

kenma exhales shakily. "idiot," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against your hand. "i would’ve stayed. i would’ve never left."

"i know." you squeeze his fingers. "that’s why i had to go first."

he lets out a quiet, broken laugh. "you’re so unfair."

"i’m sorry."

he shakes his head, jaw clenched, eyes burning with unshed tears. "i love you. i still love you."

you close your eyes, exhaling softly. "i love you too, ken."

and as he holds onto you, as he listens to the faint beeping of the monitors, he silently prays for more time.

but he knows it’s already running out.

kenma never leaves your side after that night.

he stays until your last breath.

when the monitor flatlines, he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. just holds onto your hand like if he grips it hard enough, he can stop you from slipping away entirely.

but you do.

and for the first time in his life, kenma doesn’t know how to keep going.

he buries himself in work, in gaming, in anything that keeps his mind from the unbearable silence. but no matter what he does, it never fills the space you left behind.

kuroo finds him one evening, staring blankly at his screen, fingers unmoving on his keyboard.

"kenma."

he doesn’t respond.

kuroo sighs, sitting beside him. "she wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself."

kenma clenches his jaw. "she left."

"she loved you."

kenma exhales sharply, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "i know.”

silence stretches between them.

"it hurts," kenma finally whispers.

"i know."

he doesn’t know if it will ever stop hurting.

but for now, he sits in the quiet, mourning the love he lost, the future he never got, and the girl who left too soon.