#let’s just pretend he didn’t die

[emmster]

Some slight Ghoap in the morning

[ravenpureforever]

So guess who finally watched JJK

[came-out-of-the-coffin-desisted]

my haaaaaands are still fucked uuuuuup but when they’re unfucked up i’m gonna draw smth so sexy and delicious for my new skyrim oc i can see the comp in my mind’s eye it’d just make my hands fall off if i tried to draw it

[musclesandhammering]

Oh lord, see… I’m so annoyed we never got a deeper dive into their relationship, because I actually think it’s so much more complex than just “Thanos tortured Loki”. This is gonna be an unpopular take.

I keep describing it as a criminal striking up a partnership with a mob boss, because that’s exactly how it feels to me. Like was their relationship shitty and unequal and horrible for Loki? Yes! But did Loki freely enter into that relationship for his own purposes and hold some of the cards himself? Also yes!

It really is such a unique dynamic, because Loki had way more autonomy in that little set-up than, say, the Black Order. But he was also more anchored to Thanos’s base than someone like Ronan. And he wasn’t treated in a familial way like Gamora and Nebula. So, conclusion? Loki was his “ally”, not his employee, and there were undertones of a fucked up sort of mentorship.

I don’t think Thanos ever looked inside Loki’s mind. And I don’t think he ever tortured him, per se, as a punishment. Thanos knew what all the major heroes looked like- that’s how he knew Thor. And I think all the torture was framed as “training” or “enhancement” (much like with Gamora and Nebula) and, in Loki’s case, I believe he wholeheartedly agreed to it. Now, was he in a good place mentally when he made those choices? Oh hell no. But was he lucid enough that they were still his choices? Yeah I think so.

Loki was led into that trap by his own anger and lostness and search for vengeance and purpose, and those are the things that kept him there too. Like I said, he probably saw Thanos as a sort of demented mentor- he clearly told him about what happened that led him to Sanctuary, but Thanos didn’t know he was adopted so he must not’ve read Loki’s mind to get that info. So, Loki confided those bits and pieces. And you know what? You’re right, that “you’ll never be a god” line clearly struck a nerve, so I’m willing to bet Thanos did some confiding of his own.

They were allies- not on even footing, no, but Loki wasn’t being actively oppressed either- and they likely had tentative plans beyond the New York attack. Something along the lines of “you get me the tesseract, I’ll get you a throne, and then we’ll see what else we can achieve together.” Loki obviously knew their partnership would never make it that far (I don’t think he even really cared to win in New York), but he played into it anyway. And Thanos probably suspected Loki would betray him eventually (judging by how suspicious the Other was of him in A1) but he wasn’t certain of it.

And now, six years after it ended, here they both are seeing each other again for the first time. Thanos has an air of cocky bitterness about him, and Loki is clearly terrified but still defiant. This guy who no one dares oppose is standing there looking at this troubled soul whom he- in his own mind, at least- took in when he was rejected by everyone else, gave him an opportunity to achieve greatness, and then got ghosted by him. That’s gotta lead to some resentment. And from Loki’s pov, his deal with the devil that he made when he was at his lowest most shameful point is finally coming back to bite him and the people he loves. Yeah, neither of them is happy to see the other, and they both knew what was gonna happen.

*end rambling

“The Tesseract or your brother’s head. I assume you have a preference?”

Have….have we ever considered the fact how utterly disturbing it is that Thanos a) waves Thor in front of Loki because he knows that Loki would kill the universe to save him, and B) HE RECOGNIZED THOR AS LOKI’S BROTHER ON THE SPOT? 

I don’t think that Thanos, Thor, and Loki had a little sit down before the battle started and talked about familial relationships. 

This line, usually thought of in passing, means these things: 

Thanos knows how important Thor is to Loki, which means Thanos and Loki have talked about this beforehand. 

Thanos knows what Thor looks like which means Thanos has seen Thor from Loki’s head before

Thanos knows that Loki has the Tesseract. He could have chosen ANY PERSON on the ship to convince Loki to give up the Tesseract, but instead, he picked Thor out of the group and CHOSE to use Thor against Loki on PURPOSE. 

Thanos didn’t demand the Tesseract from Loki first, he WANTED to play with him and he WANTED to torture Loki and he WANTED to see Loki mouth “please” and he WANTED to see Loki’s desperation and he WANTED to see Loki break again, and he WANTED Loki to think Thor getting tortured was his fault, not Thanos’

Thanos knows Loki on an intimate level that we do not fully understand. 

Thanos probably knows Loki better than his family does

And Thanos, more than likely, killed him in the way that he knew Loki was terrified of 

[nanaslutt]

Can we get a part 2 of when reader asks satoru and suguru if they fucked before

of course ml!! tysm for asking <3

part 1 here~

contains: fem reader, fluff, crack, choking, hair pulling, anal sex (gojo gets fucked) spanking (geto spanks gojo once), dirty talk, overstimulation, dacryphilia if you squint, dare i say sub satoru, sub/dom dynamics if you squint, suguru and reader are competitive, u tag team gojo together

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

“so, when we’re you guys gonna tell me you’ve fucked before?” you asked, raising your eyebrows

gojo froze in place, pausing his efforts to get a towel to clean you up, he slowly turns to you, faux innocence on his stupidly pretty face, a big hand coming to rub the back of his neck

both you and geto stare at him, a smirk plastered on sugurus handsome features, heavy hand holding up his head, awaiting his response,

“now what on earth put that idea in your pretty little head?” he questions, hand falling on his hip sassily as he does an absolutely awful job lying

“oh i don’t knoww,” you drawl, pretending to think, “maybe geto telling you he was going to fuck you like it was the most normal thing in the world,” you scrunched your nose, shrugging

“but what do i know!” your eyebrows raised, suppressing a smile,

“nothing, you know nothing,” he replied, wiggling his finger back and forth in front of him like a child

“don’t tell me you forgot satoru, you might hurt my feelings.” geto teased, from his place between your calves, tilting his head to the side, “i know we were a little tipsy, but you told me i was an unforgettable fuck.” he pouted, faking offense, “you weren’t lying to me were you?”

satoru’s hand still on his hip like the sassy man he was, his mouth just flopping open and closing like a fish out of water, trying to think of a quick retort but failing to come up with anything, because the raven haired man was right

he was a truly unforgettable fuck

“now my feelings are hurt, he didn’t say I was an unforgettable fuck..” you pouted, crossing your arms over your bare chest,

“your mouth almost sucked the soul out of me,” he echoed from the hall

he had taken the opportunity of getos attention on you while he was ‘consoling’ you to slip out of the room, walking back in with a few damp towels, “course you’re an unforgettable fuck, way more than that monkey brained freak,” he hisses at geto, sitting next to you on the bed, using the warm towel to wipe his cum from your cheeks,

“oh? really?” geto let his head fall from his hand, landing against your knee, squinting his eyes at satoru while the blonde continued cleaning down your body, wiping up any fluids the two men had left

“think i remember making you cum..how many times was it again? 4? you were shooting blanks before i was even done with you” he smiles, rubbing your knee fondly with his strong hand while staring at gojo challengingly,

gojo looks away from your breasts, staring back into geto’s deep brown eyes,

“n they only made you cum once..” suguru mumbles into your knee,

“woah! woah, okay, I didn’t know i was competing with you in the first place!” you defend yourself, front half of your body shooting up, making gojo sigh as you accidentally knocked his hand back, “‘s not about quantity anyways, it’s about quality” you said smugly,

“n toru here, said I almost made him die so id say my quality is michelin star,” you proclaimed, narrowing your eyes at him before gojo pushed ur torso back down,

“i’m surrounded by a buncha babies jesus christ,” gojo shakes his head, pulling your leg out of sugurus grasp to access your leaking cunt better, pressing the harsh cloth against you and wiping you as gently as he could,

“sorry,” he winced for you in sympathy when you groaned out a protest, trying to close your legs on his hand at how painfully sensitive the rough towel made you feel, “anyways, you’re both good in bed, kay?” he continues,

“when suguru fucks me, it feels like my fucking guts are getting all messed up to make room for his stupidly big cock,” looking up through his lashes at sugurus smug expression, then back down to focus on what he was doing before making eye contact with you,

your arms still crossed over your chest, “n your throat squeezes me so fucking good i thought i was seein the pearly gates,” hand coming up to pinch your cheek, discarding the towel somewhere on the floor, standing once more to look for someone’s shirt on the floor he can put on,

“ ‘fucks’ as in you’ve had sex multiple times?” you stared in disbelief between the two of the large men, before settling your eyes on suguru

continuing your teasing you spoke up again, “and my compliment still sounded better,” you challenged him, a smug looks gracing your features

“you think so?” the raven haired man scrunched his eyebrows together, before turning his head to look straight at gojo’s supple bent over ass as he picked up a shirt and started to pull it over his head, “well, only one way to be sure which of us is really better.” he says to you quietly before standing

coming up behind gojo and grabbing his raised arms, preventing him from putting on his shirt, “hold that thought satoru, we’re in the middle of a little debate right now” yanking the shirt from satoru’s hands and throwing it back to its prior home on the floor,

“think you can help us? hmm?” he whispers, right into the shell of his best friends ear, sending goosebumps down his neck, “we’ll make it worth your while.”

———————————————————————

almost two hours later and the three of you were still in the same room, on the same bed,

gojo on his back, suguru fucking his cock right into his prostate as you face gojo, bouncing on his overstimulated dick, a thick ring of yours and his combined cum on the base of his overstimulated cock,

“c-cant cum anymore p-please- haaah- fuck please!” gojo whimpers out, thrashing his head back and forth on the sheets as fat tears drip down his face, making his cheeks shine under the light, “‘s too much ‘m too sensitive, ohmygodd” he drags, curses spilling from his lips one after another, his hold on your grip sure to leave nasty bruises as his hips fuck into your warm cunt without his brains permission,

“not till you tell us who’s better,” geto emphasizes with a heavy thrust, hand coming up to choke you out while he gives gojos poor hole the meanest treatment,

“‘s me right? ‘ve made you cum inside me so many times.” you slur, voice strained from getos rough grip on your throat

“bold of you to think that was your doing,” geto scoffs at you, “cmere,” he pulls your head back to press your lips together, other hand interlacing with gojos on your hip

satoru whines underneath the two of you, watching you makeout and feeling your cunt pulse around him because of suguru’s expert tongue work in your mouth had him spiraling

your hands coming up to grab geto’s wrist while he hums into the kiss, biting your lip between his teeth and pulling on it, letting it go before he chases after it and connects your lips once more

“‘m gunna cum again- please fuck- nggghhh i c-cant cum again,” gojo whines, squeezing getos hand and your hip for support as he’s falling into yet another orgasm and fast,

suguru pulls away from the kiss, releasing his grip on your neck as he pushes your lower back down twords gojos chest, “yes you can,” he growls

the raven haired man grabs your hair by the roots and pushes your face into satorus, “help him through it baby,” not needing to be told twice, you grab gojos cheeks with both your hands and slot your lips against his,

“mmmmph- mmm- can-t- p-please i-“ his protests being cut off by your lips, not letting him catch a breath

“got you, cmon” you comfort him in between your assault on his lips, geto reaching between his bestfriend and your body, finding your neglected clit, and rubbing sloppy circles on it, helping you get closer to your own high

“right there with you,” geto grits his teeth, resisting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and tip his head back, so he can watch the show unfolding in front of him,

“gonna fill up this tight ass while you cum inside them, okay? and you’re gonna take everything we give you, right?” geto’s hips losing their rhythm, teetering on the edge of his own orgasm

gojo just whimpers into your mouth, hes trying to speak, he really is, but it’s all too much, he’s completely fucked out

“need to hear you say it satoru,” he emphasizes with a mean thrust, fucking impossibly deeper into his tight hole,

getos hand rubbing sloppily on your clit almost becomes too much, “yes! yesyes please ohmygod- gonna take it- shit-“ gojo’s whiney voice gets out just before he feels your cunt start to squeeze him,

“toru! fuuuuck me!” you whine, the blondes hips mindlessly fucking up into you helping you ride out your high as he cums so fucking hard, bordering on painful as spurt after spurt of his warm seed fills you once more,

and he’s gasping, barely coherent broken moans of both of your names on satoru’s tongue

geto not far behind you as he stills, balls deep inside gojos ass, the last push he needed seeing the two of you cum all over each other,

“yesssss fuuuuck” he clenches his teeth together hard, toothy grin emerging on his face, finally letting his head fall back, eyes following suit, rolling to the back of his head, “take it f-fucking t-take it.” fucking each rope of his cum deep into gojo’s ass

all three of you bask in the aftershocks of your intense orgasms, core clenching and unclenching around gojo’s length as you finally come down, picking your head up from gojos neck and smiling at his current state,

he was sniffling and gasping, red faced, tears decorating his lashes, making them look like glitter, he appeared more fucked out than ever

geto behind him slowly pulls out his softening cock, and gojo lets out a long groan of overstimulation when he does so, digging his fingers into the fat of your sides and wincing, “fuck, please don’t move yet, might pass out if you do” he says to you, his poor dick crying for relief, still snug inside your pussy, twitching every so often against your walls

you giggle, peppering kisses all over his face, he lets his eyes shut, finally relaxing a little as he relishes in the feeling of your soft lips on his skin,

suguru coming around to sit by his head

when you stop your assult of kisses on his porcelain face geto grabs gojos cheek furthest away from him and makes him turn his head into his thick thigh, “so,” geto starts, rubbing his thumb on gojos cheek, “who was better?” he asks, cocky smile finding home once more on his face

gojos eyes shoot open, looking at him slightly panicked, squeezing your upper thighs for support before he speaks, looking back between the two of you,

“i….im afraid if i don’t answer we will never leave this room.” he gulps

geto confirms his fears, tilting his head to the side, face sporting the fakest smile of comfort gojo has ever seen, “you would be absolutely right.”

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one ┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

Once you knew, you��knew. 

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found. 

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to. 

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.  

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you. 

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had. 

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything. 

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amount of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him. 

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.  

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it. 

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment. 

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. 

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white. 

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed.  You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard. 

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with. 

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes. 

There it was.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[dksfml]

take a chance with me - yjw

pairing: school president!jungwon x club president!reader genre: secret dating, highschool, jungwon is jealous with club vice president!sunghoon, FLUFF!! en-drama typa jungwon word count: 2.3k summary: jungwon and you knew it's for the best that you keep your relationship hidden for now, however, things have been hard for jungwon ever since the whole campus started thinking that sunghoon and you make a great pair.

His laugh you'd die for, his laugh you'd die for The kind that colors the sky...

every first monday of the month brought a unique buzz to the broadcasting club. it wasn’t just about club projects or the regular announcements—there was something else in the air, something that made your heart race a little faster. it was the day jungwon, the school body president, would step through the door for his monthly broadcast. to everyone else, it was just routine—an official duty where the admired campus figure would deliver school updates. but to you, it was more than that. it was the one time you could be near him without arousing suspicion.

you, the disciplined and respected president of the broadcasting club, known for your flawless grades and no-nonsense attitude, and jungwon, the school’s golden boy, adored by every girl who passed him in the hallway. on the surface, you were nothing more than polite acquaintances—just two student leaders crossing paths for official business. but beneath that carefully crafted facade, there was so much more that the rest of the school didn’t know.

today, like clockwork, you heard that familiar knock at the door. straightening up, you cleared your throat, trying to act as composed as ever.

“come in,” you called out, keeping your voice steady.

jungwon stepped inside, and the usual chatter of the club quieted down. he smiled politely, his gaze quickly scanning the room until it landed on you. but as usual, you pretended not to notice, staying focused on the papers in front of you.

“here’s the announcement script,” you said, handing it to him without so much as a second glance. your heart pounded, but you maintained your distant, professional facade.

as he took the script from you, his fingers brushed yours—just for a second—and it sent a wave of warmth rushing through you. he didn’t meet your eyes, but you knew what that touch meant. behind the polite smile he wore in front of your club members, there was something more. and you wanted to believe no one noticed the way his fingers lingered, even if just for a heartbeat.

sunghoon, your vice president, leaned back in his chair, completely unaware of the tension. “i’ll review the schedule with y/n before we finalize it. right, president?” he asked, smiling at you like always.

“right,” you replied, forcing a smile back, though your mind was elsewhere. you caught jungwon’s jaw clench slightly, something only you could notice. he had heard the rumors—the whispers around school that you and sunghoon looked like the “perfect couple.” people shipped you two together, even though sunghoon was just a good friend who had no interest in relationships. jungwon never mentioned it, but you could tell it bothered him more than he let on.

as jungwon left the room, a small part of you wondered if that would be your last interaction for the day, but you knew better.

to everyone else, it was official business as usual: the president visiting the broadcasting club to announce the school’s plans and upcoming events. but to you and jungwon, there was an unspoken connection woven into these formalities, hidden beneath the surface of your perfectly poised exteriors. and then there was sunghoon—your broadcasting club’s vice president—always by your side, unaware of the subtle, electric tension that hung between you and jungwon during these monthly meetings.

today, as you navigated the bustling hallways of your school, you could feel eyes on you. it wasn’t unusual; as the strict, organized, and admired president of the broadcasting club, people often looked up to you. but the whispers and glances lately were different, especially when sunghoon walked beside you.

“they look so good together.”

“i swear, they must be secretly dating.”

“she’s always with him. it’s just like one of those romance novels.”

you heard the whispers and pretended not to care. you and sunghoon had always been close friends, working seamlessly together, and despite what people said, you knew there was nothing romantic between you. but there was someone else who wasn’t as indifferent to those rumors.

as you entered your classroom later that morning, your gaze drifted down the hallway, half-expecting to see jungwon pass by on his way to class. your heart skipped a beat when you spotted him. he walked with that calm, composed air, surrounded by a group of his friends. the girls nearby were in full swoon mode, whispering excitedly the moment he appeared. jungwon was the definition of the campus crush—handsome, charming, and utterly out of reach for most.

you quickly looked down, busying yourself with your notes. jungwon couldn’t approach you, not here, not with so many eyes on him. but as his footsteps drew nearer, you froze. was he really coming over? the air around you tensed, your fingers tightening around your pen. please don’t. not in front of everyone…

and then, he walked straight toward your desk—but not to you. instead, he leaned over to your classmate, the one seated directly in front of you.

“hey,” jungwon said casually, flashing that easygoing smile that made every girl’s heart flutter. “can i borrow that biology book you mentioned last week?”

your heart sank and surged all at once. he wasn’t here for you—but then again, maybe he was. his left hand rested on your desk as he spoke to your classmate, his fingers so close you could feel the warmth radiating from them. you glanced down, glaring at his hand as though it had betrayed you. did he really have to lean on your desk?

your classmate handed him the book, completely oblivious to the silent turmoil you were in. jungwon didn’t look at you, but you could sense the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“thanks,” he said smoothly, turning to leave. but before he walked away, his hand brushed over your desk once more, as if to remove something he’d forgotten. you glanced down after he left and saw it—wrapped candy with a crumpled note tucked beneath.

your fingers trembled as you carefully unfolded the note, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. the message inside was simple, but it made your heart race:

“hi gorgeous, i miss u :( just want to tell you how much i want to hold your hand right now. CU l8r <3”

a smile tugged at your lips despite your best efforts to remain composed. you crumpled the note back into your palm, hiding it away before anyone noticed. that brief interaction had felt like an eternity, and your heart still raced from the near disaster of him actually talking to you. but now, all you could think about was the note, and the secret rendezvous waiting after school.

the day crawled by, and soon enough, the afternoon bell signaled the time for jungwon’s monthly broadcast. the familiar hum of equipment filled the broadcasting room as you and sunghoon prepared for the transmission. you kept things professional as always, though you could sense the mounting tension.

when jungwon arrived, the atmosphere shifted instantly. his usual calm demeanor was in place, but you saw the slight flicker in his eyes when he glanced at you standing next to sunghoon. it was subtle—just a brief tightening of his jaw, a flicker of something unspoken—but you knew what it meant.

you handed him the microphone, nodding as you spoke in your most official voice. “the floor is yours, president.”

“thank you,” jungwon replied, taking the mic with practiced ease.

as jungwon spoke into the mic, laying out the plans for the month, you kept your eyes on the monitor, pretending to focus on the broadcast. his voice was smooth and steady, but you couldn’t ignore the way it made your heart skip.

“...and as we move into the second semester, we look forward to increased collaboration between our students and the research institute,” jungwon announced, his voice echoing through every classroom.

you felt a tug, something beyond the words, and against your better judgment, you glanced at him. to your surprise, he was already looking at you. just for a second, his eyes held yours before he turned back to the camera. it was quick—barely noticeable—but it sent a flutter through your chest.

in that tiny moment, you knew. even with the whole school listening, it felt like the words were just for you.

meanwhile, sunghoon remained oblivious, casually checking the sound levels as jungwon spoke. he leaned back in his chair, totally unaware of the silent storm brewing between you and jungwon.

the broadcast ended without a hitch, and jungwon handed the mic back to you. “good job,” you said, keeping your voice professional.

“thanks,” jungwon replied. he was all business now, but as he walked past you toward the door, his fingers brushed your hand, a fleeting touch meant only for you.

sunghoon, who was packing up the equipment, didn’t notice a thing. you wished you could feel the same ease, but every time sunghoon stood close to you, or when he smiled too casually, you felt the weight of jungwon’s gaze, the jealousy simmering beneath his calm surface.

after school, you took your usual route, heading in the opposite direction from jungwon as always. the two of you were careful—no one could suspect that the broadcasting club president and the school body president were secretly dating. but as you turned down the familiar alleyway behind the school, there he was, leaning against the brick wall, waiting for you with that familiar mischievous smile. the moment your eyes met, you felt the weight of the day melt away.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice no longer the cool, composed tone of the school president, but warm and affectionate—just for you.

“hey,” you replied, your smile growing as you walked toward him.

without saying a word, he slipped your backpack off your shoulders and pulled you into his arms, his fingers intertwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. in that moment, the tension of the day—the whispers, the teasing, the rumors—melted away. everything faded the instant you were alone with him, the world outside forgotten.

“you have no idea how hard it was to keep a straight face during that broadcast,” he murmured against your hair. “standing there, talking to the entire school, while you were right there next to sunghoon.”

you smiled into his chest, feeling the warmth of his embrace. “sunghoon? really? you know he doesn’t care about the rumors. he’s just doing his job.”

jungwon sighed, resting his chin on your head. “i know. but still… i hate that people keep pairing you two together.”

“i don’t care what they think,” you replied softly. “i only care about you.”

jungwon smiled down at you, his eyes filled with affection as he laced his fingers through yours. “i know. and that’s all that matters.” he gently tugged you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “but sometimes i wish i could just—”

“just what?” you teased, smiling at how cute he looked when he was flustered.

he hesitated for a moment, before breaking into a mischievous grin. “sometimes i just want to make it obvious to everyone that you’re mine. forget all the secrecy.”

you laughed softly, your heart fluttering at his words. “we can’t, remember? the school would lose its mind.”

jungwon groaned, his hand tightening around yours. “i know. but i miss you so much during the day. all those girls swooning over me in the hallway… it’s hard not to tell them i’m already taken.”

“well,” you said, leaning in closer, your lips brushing his cheek, “you don’t have to worry. i’m the only one who gets to hold your hand after school.”

he chuckled softly, squeezing your hand. “and i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“i missed you,” jungwon murmured softly, his thumb gently brushing against your hand. “it felt like forever since i last saw you.”

his voice, low and tender, sent a warmth through you that rivaled the sunlight, and you couldn’t help but smile at how much those simple words made your heart flutter.

you laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “you saw me at lunch. in fact, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

he smirked, clearly proud of himself. “what? borrowing a book from your classmate isn’t allowed anymore?” he teased, though his eyes sparkled with something more.

“you know exactly what you were doing,” you shot back, playfully nudging him. “leaving a note like that? what if someone had seen it?”

“no one did,” jungwon replied smoothly, pulling you closer to him. “besides, i like the thrill of almost getting caught.”

you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. “you’re impossible.”

“but you love me anyway,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. there was a gentleness in his voice, one that only came out when it was just the two of you.

you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder as the world around you grew quieter. in the dim light of the alley, away from prying eyes, the two of you could finally be yourselves—no rumors, no pretenses. just you and jungwon, hand in hand, hearts racing in sync.

“i do,” you whispered, closing your eyes as you let yourself sink into the comfort of his presence. “i love you.”

the words felt like a promise, a secret meant only for the two of you. and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

[suguann]

an. part two of this | masterlist

You tell him you broke up with your boyfriend while he’s away for work, bunked up in a safe house in the middle of nowhere with shit reception, hearing your words as clear as day as if they weren’t the chopped-up version coming through his burner phone.

“It just…didn’t work out.”

It didn’t work out.

He pretends his stomach doesn’t pleasantly twist because he’d expected it to happen eventually. He’s not happy about it—although it does make the desert heat more bearable in his heavy tactical gear—and tells Soap to fuck off when he comments on it.

It was a one-time fuck because Simon doesn’t date. He’s tried in the past before he met you—the flowers, the late-night dinners—but with him being gone almost every other month (sometimes longer, shorter if he’s lucky), it never works out in the end. Sleeping with you twice would fall under that category, the quasi-relationship kind, and make everything messier than it needs to be. 

Just some fun, no strings, those are the words he promised.

If only he believed them.

He does, for all of two weeks until he’s home again, and it’s summer, so you’re wearing a flowy dress that shows off the long expanse of your legs. 

(He’s a goner—not even sure why he tried to think otherwise.)

That one time he’d promised turns into a second, both of you stumbling into your apartment after a night out. The music from the pub still thumping loudly underneath your floor as he pushes you against the front door, hands in your hair—on your waist, underneath your skirt, down your thigh to hitch it over his waist—teasing your mouth open with a swipe of his tongue across your bottom lip.

You make this delighted little noise in the back of your throat, arching into him, and his hand spans down your stomach, beneath your underwear, to nudge your messy clit with his knuckle, wanting to hear all the sounds you make now that he has you alone. 

A whiny cry of his name rewards him—jeans tightening around his waist at the sound—when his fingers go down, down until they press against your tight little hole, one finger pressing inside slowly. "If I make you cum, I get to fuck you here.”

You smile prettily, and it disarms him. “If you make me cum, you can fuck me however you want.”

Neither of you makes it to the bed, falling asleep on the living room floor instead, the blanket from the couch draped haphazardly over both of you with his arm curled over your waist.

That night had been a slip of judgment, a product of wanting something warm and soft after several months of only having his hand for company.

It happens again and again, and he keeps letting it happen until there’s no more hiding under the guise of just fun because it somehow turns into a lot more than that.

Simon can’t explain how it happens—maybe becoming something he can touch and hold and think about often—but he finds himself in an exclusive relationship with you that isn’t exactly a relationship because he’s unsure of the ins and outs that they entail.

(Always has been.)

His father was a shit role model, and it was always easier finding someone new who didn’t know his name or care about his scars and only wanted a nice fuck. There had never been any point in shooting for something serious when it was always out of the question for him, until now, that is.

He takes you to that over-rated restaurant overlooking the Thames Marcus never brought you to. A picture of you and him with the sunset in the background—your smile almost blinding in the photo—becomes his home screen, and he finds he doesn’t care when Soap has something to say about it.

He lets you do nonsensical shit, like buying small plants for his house that are surely going to die from him being gone before he comes up with the great idea to give you a key. It’s just a key.

(It’s more than just a key.)

Simon finds himself asking if he can come over more often throughout the week, which slowly moulds and shifts into nights filled with things other than sex—sleeping after a long day of work, cuddling on the couch, cooking together, going to the movies—he doesn’t try to make a big deal out of it because you used to hang out all the time without sex. 

(Somewhere, there’s a but in there.)

There’s still no label to whatever this is, and he wonders if you want him to be the first to say the thing you’ve both been dancing around for a little over…he can’t remember, but he knows it’s been long enough for your things to mix in with his at his house. 

Be with me because I’m yours, and you’re mine, that’s what he’s trying to say, and it’s never the right time. Men like him—a little broken, rough, and jagged around the edges sharp enough to cut—aren’t good with words like that.

(That’s what he thought.)

If he hadn’t seen you talking to a guy at the pub, eyes crinkling in that same sweet way whenever Simon makes you laugh, he wonders if he would’ve been the first to break from the start. He knows it’s your job as a bartender to be nice, but his jaw clicks at the sight of the guy leaning over the bar and into your space, almost too close.

The feeling doesn’t go away until he has you spread out on your mattress under him—clothes haphazardly peeled out of the way for him to put his mouth on you—your lips pursed tight around two of his fingers to give you something to focus on as his other hand works between your thighs, pressing down on your tongue when gurgled little sounds slip out.

He teases you with a small, pink vibrator he found inside your bedside table, your legs kicking out and toes curling into his calves.

“Mine. This is mine, love,” he groans, pressing you further into the bed with his weight. “Do you understand?”

You nod, tears pearling and leaking from the corner of your eyes.

“Lemme cum,” you whine, words muffled. “Simon, I want to cum. Please.”

He won’t lie that he’s close after jerking into his fist to the sight of you writhing on the sheets—swears he can feel his heartbeat throbbing against the back of his fingers—takes in your surprised expression when he pushes forward, impaling you on the first few inches of his cock.

His stomach twists from the squeal that escapes your throat, and fuck, your cunt, so hot and tight with little pulses that drive him crazy, only growing tighter when he turns up the speed on the vibrator.

“‘Mm, gonna cum. I’m—”

He grits his teeth as you start to flutter around his cock once he’s rooted inside you. “Go on—fuck—go on, love. Let me feel it.”

You look so perfect like this, like a dream: lips parted into an enticing little O with his name tumbling out in breathy mewls, tits hanging out from the bra he shoved to the side, eyes glassy and unfocused. 

“So fucking pretty.” He kisses your throat, panting into your sweat-slick skin, and it’s not long before he’s falling over the edge with you. 

Next time, he’ll have the courage to tell you: that you’re not someone he calls for a meaningless fuck on the weekend, that Simon misses you when he’s gone and can’t wait to come home, that he wants to try with you—except not when he’s balls deep and trembling inside your heavenly cunt.

But the smile he feels against his shoulder makes him think that maybe…

Maybe you already know.

[monstersholygrail]

New City, New Life

5k celebration ‘Choose your own adventure’ story

Wolf Hybrid x fem!reader— free use city, olfactophilia, semi-public sex, oral (f!receiving), marking, biting, knotting

You stop the moving truck just outside of your brand new house. Ducking your head you check it out through the window and nod appreciatively. It looked a lot better than it did online! Though for the surprisingly low price you got for an entire house you wouldn’t have complained about whatever it looked like. But you scored great for not viewing the house in person before buying it and moving to a whole other city you had never heard of let alone been to.

Was that pretty stupid of you? Sure! But you can’t exactly regret it when this is the outcome. And besides, you needed a change of pace from the monotony of your old life. You needed a new adventure. An unknown city, your own house, and a change in work was just the start, you were positive.

When that mysterious headhunter came to you a few months ago with the opportunity of a lifetime, it couldn’t have come at a better time. It was like something in the universe knew you were having a rough time and needed to leave. So you took the risk and packed up your entire life. It all happened so fast you didn’t even get the chance to do any of your own research on the neighborhood, the city, or your new job. All you had to go on was the brochures the headhunter sent.

Again, was it stupid? Nah, you’re sure it’ll all work out for the best.

But as you flip the latch and push up the tailgate to reveal the moving truck full of boxes that you alone have to move, you start to second guess your statement. You really should’ve hired that Minotaur Moving Company the headhunter suggested. You can handle this. You can totally… totally… hand this.

“Hey, neighbor!” A voice calls, startling you out your daunting thoughts.

You lean to look over the side of the truck and are instantly blown away by the sight in front of you. A sexy ass Wolf Hybrid walks down the sidewalk toward you. His muscles bulging and straining against his tight button up shirt. His slacks not hiding anything he’s got going on downstairs. The smirk on his face is absolutely panty-dropping and you feel yourself go weak in the knees from it. More than ready to drop down and him do whatever he wants to you.

“Moving in?” He asks instead of immediately taking you right then and then. For a second you’re disappointed before you realize this is the real world and people don’t have sex with people they’ve just met… right?

“Yeah, yeah. Gotta bring in all these boxes, gonna take so long,” you say, your voice sounding breathier than you meant it to.

The Wolf Hybrid’s eyes flash but before you can read the expression it’s gone and that friendly neighbor persona is back on. He looks into the truck and scoffs as if it’s nothing.

“Let me help you with that then!”

Before you can pretend to resist, claiming he doesn’t need to help before he insists in a way that would have your panties gushing, he swings himself up into the truck. The words immediately die on your tongue as you see him pick up a heavy box like it’s nothing. Oh, well I guess your panties are getting soaked either way.

You swear that the Wolf Hybrid can tell you’re already turned on as he inhales deeply just as he passes you. But thankfully he doesn’t say a thing and heads up your porch, waiting with a wagging tail for you to open up your house to him. You exchange polite greetings as you walk inside with him and get started.

The two of your work together pretty well. Walking back and forth between the truck and the house. You can’t help but let your gaze linger on him and the way he moves. And every time you look at him you catch him looking back, his heated gaze raking over your form.

The tension grows thicker with each box you both carry. While the Wolf Hybrid forces you to stay away from the heavy boxes, only allowing you to lift the light ones. It only serves to increase the tension and turn you on even more. Still, you both manage to work up quiet the sweat by the time the moving truck is almost empty.

You sigh heavily as you push yourself back up into the truck. Heading all the way down to the front to look for another box to carry in. Just as you reach down to pick up a box of throw pillows, two clawed hands dig into your plush waist and a sharp gasp falls past your lips. You freeze in place, questioning why your pussy clenches down around nothing.

“Think I’m finally gonna fuck you now, sweetheart, ‘k?” The Wolf Hybrid growls, his chest molding to your back. His snout nuzzles into your throat and down into your shirt. He inhales deeply, a rumble moving through his chest as your musk washes over him. “You’re finally ripe ‘nough f’me.”

With a quick jerk of his hands, he’s shucking off your pants. You jump a second later as his snout presses deeply against your slit, rubbing his nose back and forth, smelling all of you. You moan softly, your mind fading away before you can question what the hell is happening. This is what you wanted this whole time after all. Can’t complain now. And you surely won’t as his long prickly tongue joins in, lapping up the mess your slick left on your pussy.

“So fucking drenched for me already. I think you’ll fit in around here just fine,” he rasps as he latches onto your clit and gives it a teasing suck that has sparks shooting through your core.

You go to finally ask what he’s been on about, and why the fact that you’re a soaked mess for him would mean you’d fit in, but in a flash he’s standing up and kicking your legs out to spread for him. His fat tip pushes against your entrance and your jaw drops, tongue lolling out at his sheer girth. His cock splitting you open in two as he pushes his big cock all the way inside your desperate pussy.

“N-nngh! Fuuuck. So fucking tight for me. Glad I got to you first. With a pussy this good you’re gonna be busy in a city like this,” the Wolf Hybrid growls out, his claws digging into your waist.

You can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. But none of it matters anyway as he uses his grip and immediately starts spearing his shaft deep inside your sloppy cunt, over and over again. The only sound that registers now is your own moans as he fucks you brainless.

The truck shakes with the force of his thrusts and you hold onto the boxes in front of you for dear life as he takes you on a wild ride. His cock glides along your gummy walls, igniting your every nerve as he hits those spots inside you that have you seeing stars. Loud cries leave you but you can’t seem to give a fuck if anyone hears. They should hear how good you’re feeling right now.

“God, yes! Take it! Take my cock, darling. Gonna have to get used to this after all. And I’ll be more than happy to help you adjust.”

You cry out louder, your throat aching with the strength of the noises leaving you. You desperately try and rock back and meet his thrusts but the Wolf Hybrid snarls, his claws digging even deeper into your hips. He leans over you and his fangs are sinking into your flesh a moment later. Keeping you perfectly still for him as he slams his length into your depths, his tip kissing your womb with every thrust.

The onslaught of one sensation after the other has every single one of your atoms quivering with anticipation. Your toes curl as he reaches down, flicking your clit just right, and a second later you’re freezing up as your orgasm crashes through you.

Wolf Hybrid roars as your precious pussy clamps down on him. He continues to thrust into you, swinging his hips back and forcing his knot inside you with a slick pop. The sudden stretch prolongs your orgasm and makes you scream in delight. He cums not long after you, his knot expanding inside you as he pumps load after load of hot cum straight into your wrecked womb.

“If I hadn’t already said it, welcome to the neighborhood,” he says breathlessly in your ear.

After his knot had gone down, he slipped out of you and the two of you finished carrying the boxes in. Well, more like you laid on your couch while he carried the rest in because you couldn’t seem to walk for the life of you. He offered to stay, help you clean up and look after you till you could walk again, but you politely declined. You started your new job in the morning after all.

As you leave your house the next morning, body still a bit sore from the best fuck of your life, you realized you had a tiny issue. Your car was being driven down by a friend from your old city but it wasn’t here yet. You had to get to work somehow.

Looking off to the side you spot your neighbor in their driveway and your cheeks tinge pink. He was with a couple of his friends and it seemed like they were on their way somewhere. His friends appearing to be an Orc, a Naga, and another wolf. You could always ask them for a ride. Or maybe you shouldn’t bother your neighbor after what happened yesterday. You could always take the bus. Except… you have no idea where the station is. Well, you could always walk. Maybe stop for some coffee along the way.

[almostfoxglove]

BLOCK PARTY

written for @auteurdelabre's TROPE OFF! challenge & a special thank you to @jolapeno for coming up with this idea - ilysm!

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Joel Miller x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 4.6k | TROPE: FAKE RELATIONSHIP CW: Tooth-rotting fluff, so much soft!joel, a tiny bit of protective!joel as a treat.

SUMMARY: After your ex moves into the neighborhood, Joel offers to pose as your boyfriend at the annual block party. It shouldn't be hard to pretend for a night, since he's hopelessly into you.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Joel remembers the day you moved into the house on the corner perfectly—that orange craftsman with the cute triangle yard and a pergola on which the last owners let their wisteria die, left empty for nearly half a year. He’d just gotten home from a job, sweat-stained and spent, desperate for a shower when he’d heard the hum of an unfamiliar car. He’s not curious by nature, keeps happily to himself, but that day he found himself spying out through the picket of window between his curtains, wondering who it might be.

Thank god he did.

Thank god, too, that no one else bought that house. Has a little wrap around porch, a red door. Whole block wanted it—hell, Joel even heard the couple left of him consider it one evening. We could sell, one had said, hushed and conspiratorial, then buy that one.

But they didn’t, and a few weeks later you and your beat-up hatchback rolled up into the driveway, gifting Joel one measly glimpse of the back of your head as you rushed inside. No sight of you the next day; you kept the curtains drawn. But two evenings later a moving truck squealed up the quiet street and Joel, well. Joel happened to be near the windows when the truck happened to stop outside your orange house and happened to catch a look at you slogging down from the porch to roll up the back of the van with a distant grunt, unveiling your boxes and towered belongings.

He was pretty much a goner right then, right there. 

Because you looked miserable, an Atlas lugging the world on your shoulders. Dark shadows clinging to the hollows of your cheeks. Your hair pulled back and greasy, your t-shirt a size too big, puddled at the hem with a stain. And maybe he’s getting soft or was from the start, because against his better judgment and the complaints of all his tired joints, Joel jogged out of his house and right on up to you. Offered to help you carry it all inside.

Took an hour to trek the boxes in, twenty minutes to tetris the couch, and another thirty for the rest of the furniture. One lampshade broke, for which Joel will never forgive himself but you swore it was fine, insisting it wasn’t one you liked, that it belonged to an ex. 

The whole evening sped by and bruised blue, and Joel’s stomach sank just a little when it was done. Though his body howled and ached, he wouldn’t have minded if it’d taken eight more hours to haul all that shit into your house. Might’ve offered to help you unpack if that wouldn’t have been a creepy thing to do.  But you shook his hand in thanks, gave him your name and a stiff smile, promising him dinner, or muffins, or whatever the fuck neighbors do as you walked him to the door with the urgency of a vampire who has only a few minutes left to black out all the windows and doors before sunrise. Hurrying him out, wanting to be alone.

When his own front door was latched, the house dead in its quiet, Joel swore to himself that once you got settled, he’d find some way to tell you that you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, that the caw of laughter you let out when he’d dropped the foot of your couch on his ankle was the best fucking sound even if it did bruise purple and green, that all the furniture you own is somehow perfect and warm and exactly what he’d never think to buy but would love to come home to, and that just shaking your hand made him feel like a kid again. That he’d pretty much do anything to be the one who puts a smile on your face.

But you’ve lived across the street three years now and he’s never told you. 

Can’t now. It’s too late. You’re friends.

And anyway, these days you smile plenty on your own; you don’t need him. Took the better part of a year, but you perked up. Transformed that triangle yard into an Eden, built trellises for sweet peas and tomato vines. Every year, bushels of strawberry plants bloom in summer and rows of squash unfurl in autumn. Stalks of bulb plants flower every month right on cue. Your birdfeeders never vacant, the little wooden house driven into the yard on a stake dizzy with mason bees in spring.

Three years after you moved in, no one would ever believe Joel if he told them how you’d looked that first day. Her? Can’t picture that girl sad. Her? The one who’s always smiling? You’re messing with me.

Now, both of you swaying on his porch swing—looking out into the rutted wasteland of backyard he swears one day he’ll landscape—Joel watches that old shadow cross your face as you lift your lemonade to your chewed-up lips. He can see it. The light in your eyes swishing dark like you’ve drawn the curtains. For three years he’s watched you build yourself up, coax yourself into the sunshine, only to have it extinguished by your ex—an ex who’s moved in just five houses down.

It might kill him to see you like this again.

Joel might kill the bastard just to prevent you any more harm. Burn that goddamn house to the ground. He’s glad that he broke that lamp when you moved in. Not that he says.

“C’mere,” he says, stretching out one arm, and without hesitating—without even turning your head to look at him—you sink against his side, cheek squished to his chest. A torture and miracle, the gift of your touch. How you have, over the years, decided to trust him. 

“Of all the fucking neighborhoods to—” you start to say, but your voice cracks, betrays you, and there’s a jagged edge to your next breath that makes Joel’s whole body yank with pain. “Of all the fucking neighborhoods for him to choose.”

“I know, darlin’,” Joel mumbles, resting his chin on the crown of your head. Praying he doesn’t imagine the way your body deflates at his touch.

“Block party’s gonna suck,” you sigh, and if he closes his eyes Joel can almost imagine that this is something that it’s not. That if he wanted to, he could kiss you right now, touch you properly. Pet and lick and fuck every thought and worry right out of your head. That your heart’s racing even half the speed his is right now. 

You must hear it, he thinks—with the shell of your ear resting so near that traitorous organ—but if you do you don’t say a word.

Joel squeezes your shoulder. “Don’t gotta go alone,” he says. 

This stiffens your shoulders, holds your breath. You peel yourself from his side and evening sun paints your face orange as a clementine, gilds your eyes with tendrils of gold. Your brows pinch together so sweetly, curving down above your nose as a laugh rises to your lips. “Right,” you chuckle. “Sure.”

“I mean it,” Joel says, and takes his arm off you to sit up straighter, rocking the swing. “Could go together.”

He’s not sure why you look so surprised. You’re friends. You go places together. Lunch, the movies, to the grocery store. Shit, you drove him home loopy from the dentist after they cracked out his wisdom teeth. Took photos of him after you waddled him into his house, drugged up and chipmunk-cheeked. Relished showing him every snapshot for weeks afterward, giggling and pinching his face until he blushed. 

Going to the annual block party together seems a hell of a lot more neighborly than that.

“What,” you say, still smiling at him like he’s crazy. “And you’ll pretend to be my boyfriend?”

It’s possible Joel’s heart stops. All his thoughts certainly do. All sound, reasonable logic floats away until all that matters in the world is your face, your gob-smacked smile. The dissonance of what he was offering and what you heard.

“If you want,” Joel hears himself say.

And that’s that. He digs his own grave.

If anyone was around to see Joel’s face when he first lays eyes on the guy, they’d probably assume you used to date the devil himself. Jaw grinding, arms crossed tightly over his chest, every nerve flayed and hair on end—doesn’t seem to matter how much you assured him that your ex isn’t a bad person, Joel hates the guy. If he were a younger man, as reckless as he’d once been, he’d knock the guy on his ass for daring to step foot in the neighborhood, let alone buy up a place.

You’re with Joel in your front yard showing off the mason bees that dart in and out of their paper tubes when something flickers in the corner of Joel’s eye—a man running on the sidewalk, earbuds in, sweat pooled in a V on the front of his t-shirt. He does a double take at the sight of you. 

Joel squares his shoulders.

The guy comes to a jogging halt, pops an earbud out as he calls your name, and Joel’s heart might rip clean out of his chest when your face falls at the sound of his voice, all the pride in your smile snuffed in the blink of an eye. You turn so slowly. Wave a little sheepishly. “Hi.”

“Do you—” the guy starts to ask, his bright eyes flickering between you and your orange house.

You nod. “Three years now.”

His eyes damn near pop out of his skull—this, at least, is one small comfort. He had no idea you lived here. He’s not following you or nothing. As you rub the back of your neck, suddenly quiet, Joel hears your voice in his head saying, You’ll pretend to be my boyfriend? 

Guess that starts now if you wanna sell it. At least that’s what Joel tells himself as he takes a small step closer and settles his hand on the small of your back over your t-shirt. Swears he can feel your every tiny twitch beneath his palm, every degree of your body heat. There’s just one second of lag before you inch closer, too, making a shrew of his nervous heart. Blood races in his veins; his stomach turns to molten gold.

A twitch snags in your ex’s cheek and Joel’s lips tighten, fighting back the smug urge to smile. Tucked against his side, you look up at Joel and he can’t help feeling like next to you is exactly where he belongs. Perfect, you smile before drawing your eyes away, and slip your arm around his waist. 

“Sorry,” you say, grinning in a way Joel’s not seen you manage since this jackass showed up. “This is Joel. My— uh—boyfriend.”

Maybe heaven is one beautiful lie.

Joel must be a greedy man, because he slips his hand up your spine to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s either the best or worst feeling in the world, the way you don’t resist for a second. The way you melt against him, your hand gripping at the hem of his t-shirt over his hip. 

“Right,” says your ex, still doe-eyed when he meets Joel’s blackened stare. “Clark. S’nice to meet you, man.”

Joel hmphs , gives him fuck all but a stiff nod, and for just one second you turn your face into his chest like you’re trying to smother a laugh. Pride has never filled him quite as quickly as it does now, knowing he’s the cause. That he’s put that smile on you, making you bite your bottom lip. He’s the one who’s made this gentler on your heart.

When Clark takes off again, you and Joel wait until he disappears around the corner to withdraw your arms, then you break into stomach-y laughter, smothering your face in your hands. “Oh god,” you wheeze, your whole face split by joy. “His face. That was—shit, that was incredible. That felt so good.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Joel looks out into the empty street to hide his blush, focusing on the golden light of August’s showboating. It’s a perfect evening, oak trees gossiping in the balmy breeze. It’s small, sure, but knowing he’s made you feel so good sets him on fire, fries his brain. He wants to make you say so good, so good, so good, in every possible way. 

You snort, you’re laughing so hard. 

“Happy to be of service,” he mumbles.

“Jesus,” you go on, and he turns to find you’re wiping your thumbs under your eyes. “That felt so much better than I thought it would. I think you might be a genius.”

Sure, genius. That’s the word for it.

On the day of the block party, you ask Joel to creep across the street at the break of dawn, insisting that people could be setting up, and, wouldn’t it look weird if we didn’t come out of the same house? We have to look like we’re sleeping together, dumbass. He only managed to restrain himself from suggesting that he just sleepover by the skin of his teeth, so tempted by the thought of being close to you at night—even isolated on your couch, so many doors away from your dreams.

But he’ll take the morning. He does. As early light sets the asphalt ablaze, Joel slinks across the road to your house, finds your front door unlocked, and lets himself in. Inside is cold like winter, the air-con cranked, and you’re on the couch in a sweater that’s cuffed at your wrists, coffee smoking in your hand, your legs folded up beneath you, bare.

“Morning,” you say, when you see him, a kind smile on your lips.

Joel shuts the red door behind him, clears his throat. “Mornin’,” he says.

There are hours until the block party begins, so you and Joel kill the morning on your couch watching shitty TV and drinking enough coffee that Joel’s hands begin to shake—though maybe that’s just the cold, the air frigid in a way that transcends summer. Maybe it’s just you. You, transforming leftovers from your fridge into a breakfast hash, rich with cilantro from the plant on your windowsill. You, knocking your knuckles against his arm whenever you laugh at something stupid he’s managed to say or a joke on screen. You, handing him his refilled mug or breakfast bowl or taking them back to wash up, brushing your fingertips against his hand. Every time.

It’s a jolt to his whole system, this small meeting of your skin.

Soon the television is challenged by the din of your neighbors setting up tables and booths and games for the kids—at which you straighten on the couch, craning to peek through one of your picture-frame windows. A sigh blooms from your lips, then you set down your mug.

“Should put clothes on,” you tell him as you rise, legs unfolding. You look so soft. Joel knows you would be. “Gimme a second.”

Then you’re gone, and his head falls down against the back of your couch, the heels of his hands grinding into his eyes. It feels like you’re only gone for a second before your footsteps pinch down the stairs once more. “Headache?” he hears you ask, catching him with his hands still over his eyes. “Did I give you too much coffee?” 

You’re teasing. Joel can hear your smirk as his hands slip back down to his lap, craning over the back of the couch to look up at you, and the world crumbles below him and falls away. Brows folded low over your eyes, you slide your hands down your front to soothe wrinkles from the skirt of your red sundress that only you can see. Slack-jawed, Joel finally manages to sit up, then twists to look back at you properly—perfect, that’s what you are. Every temptation and every vice and every poison he’d willingly drink.

“The dress is too much, isn’t it?” you say, sounding worried now.

He shakes his head, fights not to reach over this goddamn couch and pull you onto his lap. The thought alone makes his cock twitch traitorously in his jeans. You’re close enough that he could. You’re right there.

“S’perfect,” Joel croaks.

You let out a sigh of relief and nod before moving toward the door for your shoes. With his last remaining sense, Joel turns his head just before you bend down to reach for a pair of sandals. This was a terrible idea. He sees that now. A huge fucking mistake. 

But it’s too late to back out now, because you’re already calling him over, sliding your hand into his as you step out onto the porch like this is normal, like you’ve done this before, like you don’t mind his sweaty palm. Outside the street is a racket, a flurry of children chasing each other between driveways and neighbors cracking the caps off beer bottles, a painted banner strung over the road between two maples: 

B L O C K   P A R T Y ! 

He hears you make a quiet hmph sound of amusement as you draw toward the crowd.

Joel waits, but to his surprise, no one asks why you’re here together, why you’re holding hands. Sorta figured you’d have to do the awkward uh, yes, it’s very… new for everyone, but nobody asks. In fact, when you vanish momentarily from his side to get drinks—the ruffle of your dress flirting with the tops of your thighs—someone tuts sweetly to Joel, “I knew it.”

Then you’re back before he can blush, two bottles sweating in your hands, and the neighbor vanishes the second you pass one to him. Your forehead has pinched up with nerves. Must mean you’ve seen him, Clark or whatever, and Joel’s a man of his word—you’ve asked him to do a job—so he glides one hand around your waist and presses his lips to your temple. Mumbles softly, “I’ve got ya,” against your skin as he breathes you in. There’s something sweet in your perfume, he thinks. Lilac or honey.

As if on cue, a soccer ball zips beneath the banner and a moment later it lifts as someone chases after it. Clark, obviously, looks up, sees you in the nook of Joel’s arm, and tucks the runaway ball under one arm without a word, then takes off in the direction he came from without so much as a nod.

Joel feels your chin jut into his chest as you squeeze him, smiling. “This is gonna be fun,” you grin.

Joel takes a deep breath to keep himself from hoping. That glint in your eye—one part mischief and another affection—ain’t good for him, but he can’t help the twitch at the corner of his mouth, that instinct to return your smile. “Careful, darlin’,” he mumbles, and as he brushes his thumb across your cheek you lean into his hand. “Face might stick like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you say, “What, you don’t like it like this?”

Though he only hmphs, Joel suspects you know that he does, in fact, like you very much like this: smiling up at him like he’s painted the sky with stars just by standing at your side. 

How quickly the day passes with you beside him. For every year he’s lived in the neighborhood Joel has too attended the block party, but like most obligatory functions, he finds himself worn down quickly, always the first to leave, retreating into the quiet of his house when he’s reached the end of his meager tolerance. When he’s had too many conversations and seen too many faces too close together and he’s desperate for quiet, for sleep.

It’s different with you. You buffer so much of the polite conversations he’s never been good at having with grace and ease, always drawing the focus away from him just as he starts to feel it’s too much, like you can tell when Joel’s at the end of his rope. Sure, he’s still gotta stand there while you chat to whoever about mixed up mail or work or garden soil, but so long as they’re looking at you, that swell of too much never comes. He can just stand there, sipping his beer or lemonade, and focus on the swipe of your thumb across his knuckles as you hold his hand. The heat of your body when you lean into him.

By sundown, Joel forgets that it’s all pretend. He forgets this is nothing but a favor between friends.

Now the food has dwindled, that summer smell of hotdogs dissolving from the air, and all the lawn chairs once relegated to each person’s lawn shuffle into the black street as cicadas form their nightly orchestra. You don’t have any lawn chairs, but Joel’s got two. Always has—he doesn’t know why. Only ever just him at these things.

Maybe he was hopeful, back when he bought them.

It’s hard not to feel—as he drags both out to sit at the back of the crowd—like he was waiting for you. He just didn’t know it at the time.

“So prepared,” you tease him, as you settle into your seats. 

“Keep it up,” he replies, his eyebrows warning in their slow rise. “I’ll take that chair you’re sittin’ on.”

You scrunch your nose. “No you won’t,” you say.

Obviously he won’t. But you don’t have to be so cute about it. 

Then a sudden chorus of children shrieks, announcing the first firework. There’s a hissing, then a dart in the darkness, and a small spark of golden light cracks open overhead. A smattering of applause simmers, punctuated by oohs and awws, and all the kids giggle every time a sparkler booms. Beside him, the glitter of each explosion forms a galaxy in your eyes, your lips parted with wonder. The prettiest thing Joel’s ever seen, just like that first day. After a while you notice that Joel’s not watching the show, and turn slowly to look at him, your expression open and tender.

“Missing the show,” you say.

He shrugs. “I’ll see ‘em next year.”

When you smile, he wants to kiss you so badly his heart might actually stop, strangled by its longing.

But your head whips back at the thunder of a vibrant firework—a dandelion of neon blue and searing white—and the moment passes. Then Joel watches your smile falter as your eyes fall into the crowd; Clark, sitting up near the front of the pack, is looking back at you over his shoulder. Trying to be subtle and doing a shitty job; head snapping away the moment he sees Joel’s glare. 

“Ignore him,” Joel says, and reaches down to wrap a hand around one leg of your chair, dragging you closer to him. You let out a giddy yelp of surprise and draw your ex’s attention again. 

This time you don’t flinch or falter. One glance at the guy and you’re reaching for Joel, fist gripping the collar of his t-shirt to tug him toward you. He’s got no chance to think, to panic; it happens too fast. Your sweet mouth closes over his—not for a peck, but a real kiss. Lips parting to taste his bottom lip, a breathy sigh passed from your tongue to his. Joel’s lost all at once, no use resisting. His hand curls gently over your wrist to keep your grip on him as he tilts his head to lick into your mouth. 

The fireworks fall away.

You taste like lemonade and hops and the raspberry cobbler someone cooked up, and there’s not a cell in Joel’s body that doesn’t swoon at the way your lips chase and melt into his, humming softly against his mouth when he cradles the back of your head in the palm of his hand. How you tug gently at his bottom lip before you draw away, forcing his hand to slink from your hair.

Clark’s staring. Your lips proud and grinning. Plush and kiss-bitten. Looking every bit as calm as Joel feels walloped. You hm smugly to yourself and drop your head on his shoulder, attention once more captured by the crackle of fireworks Joel forgot were happening, and even though he’s a fool for agreeing to something he knew would rip him up, he can’t bring himself to regret it. Not when you’ve kissed him like that. Not when you’re lying against him still, even though Clark has turned away.

The whole rest of the show passes in a dizzy haze. A blur of shattering light, and the heady weight of you leaning against him. Near the end you slip one hand over his knee. Your ex isn’t watching, doesn’t see the way your thumb glides slowly across the denim of Joel’s jeans, intoxicating. 

It feels, or else he hopes, that it’s just for him. 

The night is black by the time he walks you home, all your neighbors disappearing into their darkened houses, his lawn chairs stowed safely on his porch, and even though everyone’s gone when you reach your porch you still don’t let go of his hand until you’re at the door and you have to get out your keys. 

Your lock surrenders with a metal crack and you let your red door swing open. Inside your furniture beckons from the shadowed living room, cozy and soft. But you hesitate in the doorway, looking up at him. Joel has to put his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep himself from pulling you against him properly, and pinning you to the wall. 

You scrunch your nose at him again. “Thank you,” you say, and your bottom lip pinches between your teeth as Joel’s gaze falls to your mouth. “Was actually pretty fun, in the end.”

Joel nods, drops his eyes shyly to his shoes. “I had fun too,” he manages to say. 

Your sandal nudges the toe of his boot as he stares at his shoes. “Y’alright?”

No, he’s not alright. He knows what it’s like to kiss you now—how the hell’s he supposed to go on living with that, and not ever have it again. “Mhm,” Joel lies, head snapping up to meet your gaze. He mistakes the look in your eyes for discomfort, thinks he must be keeping you from your night, from sleep. That after you were so sweet to him all day, he’s got the nerve to bother you. His heart winces as he forces himself to take a small step back. “Sorry. Don’t wanna keep ya.”

“Oh,” you say, face falling a little. “Okay. Goodnight then.”

There’s no way the pathetic flinch of his lips looks anything like a smile as he mumbles a sorry g’night.  

Then your face shrinks slowly in the closing gap of the door, a darkened look haunting your face that Joel swears—in the split second he sees it—almost looks like disappointment. Like you don’t want him to go. 

When he licks his lips, Joel remembers the plush of your lips, the soft hum you’d made when he licked into your mouth, how you’d leaned into his hand when he cradled your head. How your ex could never have seen or heard any of that sitting so far away. 

Maybe you just wanted to. God, he hopes you wanted to.

So before he can talk himself out of it, Joel’s hand jumps out and smacks flat against your door, holding it ajar. Through the slender gap he watches a grin bolt across your face as you sigh thank god and grab hold of his shirt, hauling him through the doorway to crash your lips against his.

dividers by @thecutestgrotto - tag list & some mutuals!

@ak-vintage @thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @harriedandharassed 

@burntheedges @jolapeno @la-eterna-enamorada29 @iknowisoundcrazy @guiltyasdave

@littlemisspascal @luxurychristmaspudding @tonysopranosrobe @evolnoomym @sweetpascal 

@spacelatinos4life @sweetpascal @biggetywitch @wannab-urs @helenanell

@pedgito @pastelpinkflowerlife @jessthebaker @rav3n-pascal22 @sixhours 

@noisynightmarepoetry @kyberblade @beezusvreeland @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack 

@pedrospatch @yopossum @toomanytookas @sawymredfox @galway-girlatwork

[haetero]

all mine.

PAIRING: aemond targaryen x afab!reader. WORDCOUNT: 1.9k

CW: jealous sex, mating press (hehe), unprotected sex, breeding kink!!, creampie, kind of angsty but its porn w a little bit of plot. use of high valyrian + a sprinkle of aegon bashing! mdni <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this was originally a 500 word drabble and then... i went a bit nuts.. if you enjoyed the fic, pls lmk! not proofread we die like literally everyone lol.

ABSTRACT:

aemond gets caught up with his royal duties and finds himself spending less time with his precious lady wife. determined to take matters in your hands, you make some silly choices involving another prince, which only makes things worse. till it gets better :)

this time, you think you deserved it.

what begun as a harmless jest to get aemond to pay attention to you quickly led to letting aegon drunkenly sweet talk you at supper. and yes, pretending to flirt with your husband’s brother in front of him might not have been the best decision, but you were just having fun right?

wrong.

you were perhaps the stupidest woman in all the seven kingdoms. really, there was no rationale for choosing to engage with aegon for more than ten minutes at a time and yet here you were, ‘giggling’ at his piss poor jokes and pretending to listen to his made up tales of something you couldn’t care to remember.

you could only chastise your past self for your poor decision making skills as aegon whispered into your ear, far too close to your liking. he stunk of the rich, dornish wine served earlier in the evening and his eyes lazily stared at the expanse of your chest. but regardless of whether he was drunk or not, aegon had enough wits about him to realise his brother was furious.

a sly grin on aegon’s face, he seemed to understand the predicament you were in and leaned in to plant a wet kiss on your cheek, before loudly announcing his exit with a parting “my lady”, to further enrage aemond.

internally groaning, you waited till aegon left before daring to take a peek at aemond. but he wasn’t even looking at you.

the complete lack of response terrified you. in fact, you’d almost convinced yourself he didn’t care at all, until you noticed his blanching knuckles gripping his silverware. “aemond, i-," you begun.

in an instant, aemond had gotten up out of his seat and finally looked at you with a look in his eyes that only meant one thing. he mumbled out a quick excusal for the pair of you, before extending his arm towards you with a pointed stare.

you were well and truly fucked.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

before you can realise what’s happened, aemond’s dragged you to your shared chambers at a pace you’re struggling to keep up with. quickly dismissing your maids, he shuts the doors firmly, before turning his back to you and shucking off his outer clothing. you dejectedly do the same, struggling out of your dress. you leave them in a heap on the floor, stripping down till you’re in your underthings.

the sounds of aemond changing have quietened down, spurring you to take a peek at him. he’s left in his pants; his broad shoulders and back on display for you to admire. maybe he'll listen to you if you explain yourself, you delude yourself. tiptoeing over to where he stands, you attempt a sheepish half smile, grabbing onto his bare arm to direct his attention to you.

“please, i’m sorry, i wasn’t thinking, i just missed you,” you start, attempting to make eye contact with aemond. he’s yet to talk to you, pointedly ignoring you. he simply stands there, jaw clenched, refusing to acknowledge you any further.

you feel stupid, really. doing all this to gain the attention of the man standing in front of you and even then, he doesn’t even spare you a glance. you wait for a few more seconds before deciding to save yourself the embarrassment. with a sigh, you turn back to your shared bed and sit yourself down.

you rush to unpin your hair, readying yourself for sleep. the dull throb of want in your stomach has you frowning but you know the only person who could satisfy you is aemond. in your distracted state, you don’t see that aemond’s turned back to face you.

“do you take me for a fool?” you freeze, not expecting that of all questions. you start to respond when he cuts you off with a glare. aemond huffs out a curse and walks over to stand in between your legs. a part of you think he looks majestic from this view, but you’re quick to silence your thoughts as he slightly lowers himself till he’s level with you.

“you missed me, so you thought it best to what? throw yourself at my brother?” the affronted look in your eyes tells aemond he’s wrong but he’s not feeling very charitable as you try to come up with right thing to say. “and you thought i’d just let him have you?”

“no! i swear, i was being childish aemond,” you try to reason with him. the longer you think about it, the faster you realise how childish you really were. but it doesn’t change your intentions. you were unsatisfied and tired. but you also hadn’t been this close to aemond without someone else being nearby in a while. the dull throbbing sensation in your cunt was starting to spread and you fought the urge to rip your underthings off and let aemond have his way with you.

“if you wanted something, all you had to do was tell me, not run off to aegon,” he muses, his right arm coming up to trace the veins in your neck. aemond can feel the way your breath stutters; he takes note of the way your lips quiver and fingers curl up slightly at his words. you not-so-subtly push your thighs together, trying to alleviate some of your lust by yourself.

a satisfied grin curls at his lips and aemond, finally, leans into the slope of your neck. you shiver at the feather-like sensation of his lips pressing into your skin, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself before he pushes you onto your back. “aemond, i need only you,” you shyly mumble, before reaching up on your elbows to undo the clasp of his eye patch.

aemond lets you do as much before throwing it behind him, fixing you with a lust-filled gaze that has you whimpering within a second. he leans over you, and makes a show out of dragging the fabric of your underthings down till he’s rid of them, throwing them to the side. you’re shaking as you watch him eye your cunt with a starving look.

calloused hands grab at the fat of your thighs, kneading the soft skin there before pushing them to your chest. you mewl as cold air fans over your wet cunt, catching the way aemond eyes your hole greedily twitching around nothing. “this is what you wanted, right?”

“yes, yes, please,” you beg. if you weren’t so desperate already, you would have gagged at the sound of your whiny tone. but aemond seems to like your desperation. aemond undoes the string of his pants, before palming himself with a squeeze that has him sighing in relief. your mouth waters at the sight before you.

aemond gives himself a moment before he climbs over you, his frame gently pushing onto your knees in the position you’re in. your eyes flutter shut at the sensation of his warmth enveloping you.

“no, look at me, ābrazȳrys,” your silver haired lover grunts, as he goes to drag his cockhead over your slit. “i should get aegon to pleasure your whorish cunt instead.”

your immediate protests brings a smug grin to aemond’s face. of course, he would never let his brother anywhere near the ethereal sight beneath him, but seeing the tortured look on your face brings him a sick sense of pride. he plays with you like this for a moment, rubbing his cockhead over and over your clit till you’re nearly crying out in want.

after what feels like a lifetime, he decides to push into you. aemond intently watches the way his cock catches at the rim of your pussy before he slams into you. your resulting gasp has aemond’s chest tightening as he loses himself to the feeling of your walls clenching around him immediately.

letting out a strangled moan of your name, he sets a brutal pace from the get-go, ploughing forward until you’re clawing at his neck and shoulders for a reprieve. you’re a quivering mess under him, a mix of moans and cries escaping you. you can feel him everywhere.

a light flush rises on aemond’s cheeks and upper chest, a pink hue that matches the fine dresses you might wear to a banquet or a tourney. your teary eyes trace the faint red lines peaking up on his broad shoulders, evidence of your passion that has your core clenching tighter around him. aemond catches your stare, mouth agape in a euphoric state of mind and pushes your knees down even further, if it was possible.

his wife, his lover, his, his, only his.

"it's okay, sweetling," he vows, fat cock bullying your walls as he moulds himself into you. he bends down to leave a path of kisses trailing down your neck, assuming a steady yet punishing pace into your sopping core. "for me, remember? you can take it for me, right?" aemond groans, drunk on the way your pussy sucks him in, eyes squeezed shut in the pleasure you both share.

leaning back, aemond watches you grip the sheets tightly, he feels the way you soak his cock every time he rocks into your pussy. you've gone half mad, tongue lolling out as you chant his name as a mindless mantra. he drags your knees down to instead wrap around his hips, bringing you closer to plant wet kisses down your neck, nipping at the salty skin. you keen into his ear at the change of position, untangling your hands from the sheets to cling tightly to aemond.

"feel good, love?" he murmurs, trailing his arm down till it lights presses onto your stomach as he drives his cock back into you. "tonight's the night i'm filling you up. that way, my fool of a brother will know to stay away from you.”

you don’t even think you’re making sense as you blabber your agreement. you want, no, you need him to give you his heir. you need him to drive himself further into you till you feel him in your chest, in your heart.

the thought of a miniature aemond targaryen running around has your heart swelling in your chest; the life you’ve always wanted but never let yourself dream of for too long. your lives were far too cruel for such a precious being to be born into it, yet aemond seems hellbent on making it come true as he bullies his cock further and further into your cunt.

aemond slows to a dangerous grind and bends down to capture your lips, his lean torso catches on your clit as you arch up into his mouth. "aemond pl-please, i want it," you whine, your hips buck as his languid thrusts reach a spot deeper than you thought possible. "you're mine," he groans into the heat of your mouth, skilled fingers come down to rub taut circles on your aching clit. he feels the telltale signs of your trembling walls and your greedy eyes beg him for release.

“fuc-fuck, nyke’m bē konīr,” aemond huffs, feeling your cunt swell around his cock as he rams deeper into you. you’re scrambling to hold onto anything; his shoulders, his wrists, the pillow, the sheets.

when you start twitching around his cock, walls fluttering at a pace aemond can't keep up with, he thinks you're the most divine creature in all the seven kingdoms.

and as you cream around his cock, aemond finds himself pushing himself into you one more time, filling you with his hot seed and the unspoken promise to cherish you for as long as you'd have him.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

high valyrian translations:

ābrazȳrys - wife. nyke’m bē konīr - i’m almost there.

[mattybsgroupie]

call | matt sturniolo

contents: cursing; established relationship; phone sex; guided masturbation; use of “y/n”; soft dom!matt

- ♡ -

notes: i just realized that i haven’t sexted in months?! (anyone willing to change that?!) so here’s some phone sex with horny matt ♡ thank you SO much for over 900 followers this is insane, i appreciate every like comment reblog and follow so very much! y’all know the deal: not proofread, but have fun with this one! love you guys

- ♡ -

after spending the whole day with my best friends doing a shopping spree, the only thing i wanted after getting home and taking a shower was talking to matt. i displayed all of my new belongings across my bed, carefully taking pictures of each item and sending to him.

after uploading the last one, matt didn’t text. instead, he immediately facetimed me.

“put it on” he said as soon as i picked up, not letting me talk. “i’m serious y/n, put it on”

“it’s for a special occasion” i said, chuckling when he got closer to the screen.

“i gotta see it!” he complained and i turned the camera, showing the stuff i had gotten. i knew he only had eyes for the new lingerie set i bought, a red lace bra and matching panties.

“there, you saw it” i joked, sitting on the bed with my back against the headboard. i positioned my cellphone by the pillow so he could see me as i grabbed the bra, playfully letting it rest on my chest over my sweaters.

“that looks really good” matt said, sighing deeply as he lifted one of his arms to rest behind his head. “but y/n, i think i might die. like, at any second” he spoke and i furrowed my eyebrows.

“what are you talking about, matt?” i giggled as i folded the lace, ready to toss it back on the bag.

“lack of titties” i couldn’t believe he had said that with a straight face. i bursted out laughing and had a peek of his growing smile on the screen, proud to have made a good joke.

“don’t laugh!” he continued with a fake angry tone on his voice. “it’s a serious condition and only you can cure it, but it has to be right now”. i brought my palm up to my face, hiding my eyes as i denied with my head, trying not to laugh again.

“so you want me to put it on? right now?” i asked, showing him the piece again. matt nodded vigorously, pouting his lips.

i rolled my eyes and touched the hem of my sweater, narrowing my eyes as i tried to hide a smile, pretending to tease him. i removed the fabric and threw it over the bed, exposing my bare chest underneath it. matt gasped, left hand now running through his hair as he adjusted himself to sit properly.

i kept on looking at him, widening my eyes as if i said “well, there it is”. matt licked his lips before talking again, “you’re so fucking pretty”

i tilted my head to the side and pulled the scrunchie that held my hair up, letting it fall over my shoulders. just when i was about to grab the bra, matt interrupted me.

“i wanna go there. fuck y/n, can i come over?” he asked, now scratching his beard, ready to get up at any second.

“are you insane?” i hissed through my teeth, grabbing my phone and bringing it closer to my face. “my parents are here!”

“and you’re doing me a strip tease?” he widened his eyes, acting like he was surprised. “such a naughty girl, getting naked with me over the phone when the house is full”

“shut up” i rolled my eyes, praying he’d actually continue. matt’s grin grew wide when he noticed i had bitten my lips and my breath suddenly had gotten faster.

“should i?” he said, lowering his hand to somewhere the camera couldn’t capture. “i bet you like this, hm? showing yourself off like a slut for me”

i adjusted myself in the bed once more, now lying and getting comfortable. matt noticed i had changed positions, “show them to me baby”.

with a heavy sigh in anticipation, i lowered my phone, showing him my breasts. i couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle when he said “fuck”, as if he'd never seen my boobs before.

my nipples were hard, all of matt's teasing about me being naughty for doing this at my parents' house only made me more aroused - and my plan wasn't, in fact, to wear the lingerie tonight. matt's birthday was approaching and wanted to make him a surprise, but he clearly couldn’t wait.

“we don't wanna make a fuss, do we?” he asked me from the opposite side of the screen, his voice snapping me back to reality. i nodded in agreement. “think you can do something for me, babe? open your mouth, yeah?” he commanded.

“such a good girl,” matt said after watching me. “now put your tongue out. i want you to stick two fingers in there”.

i already knew what he was going to ask next, so i sealed my lips around my own fingers and started to suck on them the same way i would if it were his instead of mine. i squeezed my eyes shut and leaned my head back against the pillow, relaxing my body as my tongue rolled between my fingers.

“take them to your nipples”, matt's voice was now deeper, more intense, and i could hear the sounds of the sheets moving along the bed - matt, surely, was hard already. i shifted the camera once again, now revealing my hardened tit and massaging it fully with my palm, my thumb circling my swollen nipple.

i let out a groan as i placed my index against the previous finger, almost as if i was pinching my own tit. my hands were not as agile as matt's, but his gentle incentives and his steady breaths made it easier for me to picture him there, playing with my flesh, squeezing, kissing and biting my bare skin.

then, suddenly, he flipped his screen to the back camera, showing the bulge that his sweats could barely hide. matt groped himself, mimicking thrusts with his palm over the thick cloth. he wrapped his knuckles around his length, tugging at his pants to show how his cock poked through the fabric. i noticed my lower lip sore as i bit it a little too hard to cover the sound of my whimpering and opened my mouth, sighing loudly and feeling my pussy clench.

“matty,” i called, receiving a reassuring tone. “take it off” i asked and he quickly did so, revealing his hardened cock.

his tip looked swollen and red, as if he'd been waiting for this forever. i could see the pre-cum leaking out of his slit, almost dripping down his shaft. my palm went towards my cunt, closing my thighs to feel the friction of the cloth of my shorts against my soaked folds.

“are you touching yourself babe?”

“n-not yet” i whispered. “fuck matt, please- can i?” matt hadn't started touching himself either, only dragging his hand lazily over his drooling cock.

“spread your legs and touch your clit for me, tell me how it is” he spoke and i quickly took my shorts off, completely naked, and opened my legs. my fingers wandered above my clit before i started to apply some pressure, goosebumps rising on my skin from the sudden contact.

“it's- swollen… hurts, matty” i whined, still gripping on the phone with my other hand.

“yeah? your tight pussy is aching already?” matt asked as i squeezed my eyes, traveling my digits down my wet folds, feeling how my pussy throbbed. “keep rubbing yourself real good sweetie, think of my fingers hm?"

“f-fuck, wish you were here” i really did. matt's fingers were much longer and worked faster than mine, being able to get me off in a few minutes.

“me too babe, look how worked up you got me” he talked about his cock, beggining to stroke his shaft in front of the camera. matt's breathing got heavier as his movements turned to a quicker pace, the wet sound taking over my speakers. “makin' me feel so good even when you're not here”

i could feel my pussy clenching, my need to be filled getting more intense as i circled my clit. i decided to take my cellphone to the nightstand next to me, fixing the screen so i could display my entire body as i touched myself to matt's words. “fuck, so pretty” he whispered as he kept on watching me carressing my curves.

“yeah babe, just like that. can you do something else f'me?” i nodded, not being able to form any coherent words, only muffled moans coming out of my mouth. “try sliding in a finger, hm? want you do it real slow, feel your walls closing around it”

i moved my middle finger down to my entrance, teasing it before going in. i remembered the way matt would do it, playing with his digits through my folds before pushing inside of me. he had turned the camera back to his view, showing his tired blue eyes and flushed red cheeks, lips open apart, a string of saliva connecting both parts. i groaned at the scene, finally starting to curl my knuckles.

“now put your hand on your neck. want you holding it tight while you finger yourself” i rolled my eyes as i wrapped my palm around my neck, increasing my grip’s pressure. i could feel blood suddenly rushing on my veins, my heart beating faster as i kept on that delightful torture of thrusting and choking myself.

“yeah, getting out of breath? 's okay, just as much as you can, know you love feeling dizzy right?” matt teased and the knot on my lower belly became harder to hold. “i need your f-fingers, fuck!” mine couldn’t reach my spot as good as his did.

“not good enough without me princess? don't stop rubbing your clit, do it with your thumb, you'll feel good” he adviced me, noticing my frustration. i did as told, moving faster as my legs twitched, spasms taking over my body as i got closer to my climax.

“babe, look at me” he called at my desperation. “bring the camera close, wanna see your face when you come”

“m-matt! please, gonna cum!” i cried once again, grabbing the phone quickly.

“yeah? gonna be my good little slut and cum for me over the phone?” i interrupted him with a chocked moan. “you can come babe, make a mess all over your fingers” matt said and i finally gave in, letting my orgasm break down on me. i tossed my phone on the bed as matt talked me through it, gripping on the sheets along with his praises.

“gonna lick you clean later” he continued, “love when my tongue drags through your sensitive pussy don't you? f-fuck y/n so fucking pretty i-” matt was cut off, groaning deeply.

“you came?” i spoke in a shaky voice, still out of breath. matt turned the camera once again, showing his now half hard cock coated in his white spurt, cum covering his fingers and part of his belly. i smiled, finally coming back to my senses.

“listen” he started. “that red bra? best purchase ever” i chuckled, not having energy to talk. “but like, i might still die from the lack of titties disease”

“you are seeing them matt. right now, my tits are here” i rolled my eyes. “and i told you, this set is for a special occasion!”

“special occasion tomorrow at my house, deal?” he joked and i denied with my head, covering an yawn with my hand. “you must be tired baby, lets go” he said as he adjusted himself in bed, turning to the side. i just pulled the sheet over me in order to cover my body, not wanting to get up.

“hey” i called, catching his blue eyes staring at me. “i love you”

“love you more. i’ll pick you after lunch, alright?” i nodded before i kissed the screen, receiving another kiss from matt. he disconnected the call and i finally closed my eyes, knowing i’d have to bring my new purchase to his house on the next day.

- ♡ -

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[rinachains]

sukuna x gn!reader; fluff; established relationship; no-curses!au

“Why are you so pretty?”  

Sukuna turns his head to your figure that is sprawled lazily on your couch, your own head hanging upside down on the headrest, blinking at him owlishly. His gaze, which had just been focused on the cutting board in front of him - where he was preparing the late-night snack you requested - is now focused on you, interrupted by your unexpected words.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes.” A dopey smile stretches across your face, high on whatever feelings are rushing through your body at that moment. “Madly in love with you.”

Sukuna glances at you, a deadpan look, though your eyes catch the flush that colors his cheeks, barely noticeable, soft and oh so pretty. Betraying his nonchalant exterior.

“Go to sleep.”

“Aww, c’mon, I can see you blushing!”

“Tch, don’t be weird,” he grumbles, face turned to the side, before abandoning his task and making his way to the couch, putting you in a headlock, ignoring your shoves and squeals.

Sukuna finally releases you after you try to bite his arm, your teeth almost leaving a mark (not that he'd actually mind). As you sit up, disheveled and catching your breath, his large hand wanders to the back of your head, a careful grip, and he stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.

To an outsider, your boyfriend would probably appear unaffected, perhaps even threatening. But as his partner, someone who knows him too well, you can quickly recognize the softened edges around his eyes, the glint in the maroon of his irises. It never fails to spread warmth throughout your entire body, and you have to stop yourself from burying your face in his broad chest.

“You’ve been trying to tease me a lot lately, you brat,” he drawls, scratching his nails along your nape.

You hum, tipping your head back into his pleasant touch and giving him a short, firm nod. "I am. It's because of your reactions, they're really cute."

Sukuna immediately grimaces at your words and stops scratching, his eyebrows drawn together as his lips fall into something awfully resembling a pout. Like an angry cat, you think to yourself.

“Don’t use that word with me.” 

You roll your eyes and bring a finger up to his face to smooth the wrinkled space between his furrowed brows.

“Oh, get over it. What do you want me to say? Hardcore?”

He pretends to bite your finger, sharp canines lightly scraping the skin while another unhinged giggle escapes your lips at the playful gesture.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t say anything at all.”

A snort leaves you as you wave a hand dismissively at him.

“Yeah, yeah, if that were the case then you wouldn’t be with me in the first place.”  

Suddenly, his other hand reaches up and squeezes your cheeks, causing your lips to form an 'o'. He shakes your head from side to side, gently, eyes never leaving your face.

"You run your mouth way too much."

"M'only matching your energy," you manage to mumble and he lets go of your face.

A click of his tongue, “You wanna die?”

“Uhh, I’m so scared,” you taunt him, the corners of your mouth lifting up, knowing that his threats are just empty words. His own way of showing love, one could say.

His hand, the same one that just squeezed your cheeks, then travels down to wrap around your waist and your lips part immediately at the sensation. But instead of giving it a light squeeze like he usually does, he pinches your side, making you yelp and slap his hand away.  

“Stop!”

"You asked for it," he shrugs, and you can see him trying to fight off a smile that threatens to spread across his face. You're tempted to tease and coo at him again, but you're afraid of what he might do to you, unsure if you'd survive.  

You let out a loud sigh, "All this just because I called you pretty. How sensitive of you."

His brows rise and this time he doesn't hold back a smile, threatening and promising nothing good.

“Oh, I’ll show you sensitive."

a/n: wrote this bc i'm lowkey procrastinating my toji fic whoopsie hehe

[euthymiya]

female reader ; non curse au ; established relationship ; reader lays on sukuna ; written bc i’m moving and can’t help but imagine sharing an apartment with him (i want someone to help me carry heavy boxes with flexing muscles as i take in the view)

“I can’t find the box with my bras,” you whine. It’s miserable, the look on your face. It fills Sukuna with unbridled joy as he cracks a thickly amused grin.

“Good,” he grunts in approval, “you don’t need them, anyway.”

“I do,” you glare. It takes all of three seconds before the reality dawns on you—and then he’s snickering as your glare becomes harsher. “You put it somewhere, didn’t you?” You accuse him through narrowed eyes.

“Me? I’d never.”

“I should’ve known moving in with you was a mistake,” you snap, “I’m moving back.”

“Too late. We paid for the moving truck.”

“Well, technically you paid for the moving truck,” you correct him, letting your lips stretch into a smug grin.

He scowls, rolling his eyes before slumping onto the bed with a groan. You follow him, curling up beside him as your head finds his chest and his arm tucks under your body to cocoon you closer. You inhale, he exhales, and even if your paces don’t match, your uneven breaths form a pretty solid rhythm.

“I’m gonna need my bras,” you insist.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “I’ll get the box from my trunk later. I’m tired, woman.”

“We still have to unpack—”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” he clicks his teeth in distaste. “I need rest—I did all the heavy lifting, since someone refused.”

“It’s what the man is for,” you hum cheekily.

“So then why didn’t you do it?” He raises a brow. You shoot him an unimpressed look at his smart comment, a tight lipped, sarcastic smile splaying on your lips as you let out a humorless chuckle.

“You’re right,” you nod seriously, “it’s my job to treat the lady right. Sorry you had to sprain your back with my boxes, princess,” you pat his cheek.

“The fuck are you on about?” The look of pure disgust on his face makes you break out into giggles, leaning up to kiss his jaw as he grumbles something incoherently under his breath. You hear bits and fragments of it. Something along the lines of such a handful and give me migraines that you don’t fully catch, but they manage to amuse you all the same.

“You’re pretty enough to play the part,” you hum, shifting your body to roll on top of his. You hover over him, and Sukuna lets out a dramatic grunt. You pretend—and it’s only out of the goodness of your heart—that his cheeks aren’t slightly rosy from the comment you made.

“You’re heavy,” he says (to which you gasp, offended) as he squeezes your ass (you gasp again and smack his chest this time) and shoots you a grin with no shame (you stare for just a strict second—and a strict second only—at his dimples).

“Don’t lie,” you huff, “that’s an insult to that gym regimen of yours.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” He asks smugly, mouth curving in that ridiculously annoying, yet stupidly handsome way as he adds, “bet you’re eye-fuckin’ me through that mirror as I life weights all the time.”

“I’m too busy worrying about those shaky arms giving out and leaving you to die under the weight.”

“Very funny,” he scowls, “you could pay our rent with stand up comedy alone.”

“Being my princess isn’t enough? Now you need to be my sugar-baby, too?”

“Enough,” he hisses, one hand coming to your face to keep you away as you break into a fit of laughs and try to give him a cheeky peck to the lips. “Stay away from me.”

“No, we’re roomies now.”

“We are not roommates,” he says, irritated by the idea. “That sounds like we’re fuckin’ strangers.”

“You’re right,” you nod thoughtfully, “I guess we can call it two mutually benefiting individuals that have decided to split costs to save money on a living space in an unforgivingly harsh economy—”

“You talk too much,” he mutters. And mainly just to shut you up (but maybe, perhaps, possibly for one of the mutual benefits, too), his hand grabs the back of your neck to pull you into a rough kiss. You cut yourself off by letting out a muffled gasp as his tongue presses against yours—messy, heated, and surprisingly gentle.

“Well, that was rather passionate. You know what they say about roommates,” you wiggle your brows as you pull away. He purses his lips in an agitated expression as he glares at your stubborn word choice.

“Stop callin’ me your fuckin’ roommate,” he demands.

You laugh. It’s soft—a light, airy noise. The sound bounces off the walls that are his and yours and echoes along the space between your pressed-up bodies. Along the boxes littered across the floor and the suitcases lined up in the corner. Along the clothes you insisted you needed that he hasn’t seen you wear in months as they lay in a heap on his closet floor. Along the kitchen table where you’ll have breakfast, and the living room where you’ll watch movies, and the bathroom sink where you’ll fight over space to brush your teeth.

He’ll never tell you directly (because he has dignity, of course) but he could really get used to living somewhere that houses a sound like that. A sound that makes him realize the difference between the space he lives in, and the place he calls home.

Home, he thinks to himself for a moment. Home is where your laugh echoes, ringing obnoxiously in his ear. Sukuna doesn’t think any living space will ever be the same again without it.

“Since we live together now—” you murmur, breaking him from his thoughts as you lean in to peck his lips. He hums in a rare, soft, content little sound that you don’t get to hear too often. “—I can finally decorate your plain ass apartment.”

His brows scrunch in horror as he registers your words. “Absolutely not—”

“Muah,” you cut him off with another peck to his mouth, “I’m thinking earthy tones, what about you?”

——————————

I carried like 20 something heavy ass boxes to and from my car nonstop today and every time I felt my poor arms get sore, I thought: wouldn’t it be so nice to have someone like sukuna and his four arms to do all the work while I sit and look gorgeous? He doesn’t have four arms in this fic, but that’s honestly his problem not mine. Just carry the damn boxes I’m just a girl

[landoughnut]

Golfing Snack

♡ masterlist - request!

♡ pairing - lando norris x fem!reader

♡ summary - when lando takes you out to golf, it ends up with him having his favorite snack (hint: it's not a food ;)

♡ warnings - smut, oral sex (fem receiving), fluffyish, public (but no ones around)

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.31k | ahaha this is my first time writing smut so I apoligize if it's not good!! let me know any ideas you have, xoxo

It was hot out. Really hot. You were out at a golf course with your boyfriend, Lando. He loved taking you with him, you were like his personal cheerleader. Lucky for both of you, today no one seemed to be around, most likely due to the extreme heat, so you had a nice spot to yourselves. 

To say you didn’t enjoy playing would be a lie, but you much preferred watching him as his muscles became very prominent when he swung his club. You also enjoyed how he looked while sweating, and more often than not, he would end up taking his polo shirt off which gave you a view to die for. 

Currently, you were sitting in his own private golf caddy, dressed in what must be the one of the shortest skirts Lando has ever seen you in. Your white top matched the skirt, and you were amused at the amount of glances Lando gave your chest, since it did show quite a bit of cleavage.

He thought you looked like the sweetest thing in the world, and it had him playing worse than normal. 

You watched as he began to line up his next hit, and he once again looked over at you, his cheeks somehow flushing even more. He was wearing a backwards cap over his curls, and you loved the sight. He tried his best to get a perfect shot, since one of the reasons for bringing you out was to impress you. 

After a few minutes more of watching Lando, you lift your sunglasses onto your head and let out a loud sigh to get his attention. 

“Babyyy,” you drag out and hop out of your seat. 

He lifts his head up and turns towards you, he chews the inside of his cheek, looking up and down at your glowing skin and cheeky smile. He wipes the sweat off of his eyebrows, “What’s up? You know, you’ve been distracting me all day,” he chuckles, leaning against his club.

“What can I say,” you grin. “Anyway, I’m getting bored, I’ve tanned enough today,” you say as you stretch your arms above your head. 

He puts his hands on your waist and pulls you closer to him, not sparing a glance at his golf club that fell over. “Well then, I can’t have my sweet girl being bored now, can I? What would you like to do, angel?” Lando places a gentle kiss on your forehead, his fingers tracing your jaw. 

You look up at him and flutter your eyelashes, and give him an “innocent” smile. Although he knows that it is anything but. You get on your tiptoes and bring your lips towards his ear, “I don’t see anyone around, you know.” 

He lets out a groan, and looks down at you, a smirk slowly growing on his face. He chews his bottom lip, pretending to think the idea over. Of course he wasn’t going to say no, he was practically obsessed with you. “You know what? I think you, baby, are a genius.” 

“C’mon!” You begin to tug him towards the golf cart, as you follow excitedly behind you. His eyes dropping to your skirt was one gust of wind away from giving him a show. You stop short and he bumps into your back, causing you to now groan at the feeling of him being hard, pressed up against you. 

He brings his face down and starts pressing hot kisses down your neck, then onto your collarbone. Your head drops back against his chest and your breathing picks up as his right hand starts trailing down to your skirt. He lifts it up slightly and can hardly contain a moan at the sight of your white panties, with an intricate lacy design.

“Shit, pretty girl, you must be trying to kill me,” he says. His hands drop when you turn around towards him and cup his face, bringing his lips to yours. 

He returns your kiss with just as much passion, if not more, and his hands go under your thighs, lifting you up as if you weigh nothing. You wrap your legs tightly around his hips and he licks your bottom lip. He pulls back for a second, admiring you, “I love you,” he whispers against your lips. 

“I love you too,” and then he went back to devouring you. He takes a few steps towards the cart and places you down on the leather seat. You look up at him and blush as he leans down and starts kissing down your chest and stomach. Your back arches slightly off of the seat when he reaches the inside of your thighs. 

“Mm, so beautiful,” he gives you a small smile, looking up at you. You smile back and take the cap off of his head, tossing it somewhere behind you so you can run your fingers through his curls. 

His eyes flutter shut at your comforting touch and he presses feather kisses up and down both of your thighs, which is sweet but you begin to get needy since he keeps avoiding the place you need him most.

He flips up your skirt and his eyes widen as the damp patch you’ve left on your panties. He feels himself get harder, if possible, and places a kiss right on top of the wet spot. 

You jump slightly and let out a breath. Lando brings his thumb to your pussy, and admires as he starts rubbing over the soaked fabric. You whimper at the feeling, your head falling slightly to the side. 

“This is so pretty, baby, I’ll have to get you a new pair,” Lando says before he rips them in half so you are exposed to him. You gasp at the sudden air blowing against your already sensitive slit. 

Before you can say anything his mouth is on you and you are a goner. He licks, and sucks, and brushes his teeth over your clit. You tug at his hair, causing him to groan, and it only encourages him more. 

Unless you’re hearing things, you swear you can hear him let out a few whimpers and he eats you out. He seems to enjoy how you try your best to keep your moans to a minimal volume. “Fuck,” he groans against you, and it feels divine.  

He continues licking and kissing you everywhere and starts rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb. You gasp and further arch against the seat, looking down at him with his knees on the grass. He looked beautiful, shining in a light coat of sweat, shirtless, with his curls all messy from you playing with them. 

After just a few more seconds of him increasing his pace, you feel yourself reaching your high and you cover your mouth as you let out a particularly high pitched moan. He studies your face, how blissed out you look, how angelic you are. “Lando, b-baby, I’m coming, oh my-” you gasp. 

“Cum for me, love, let me taste you,” he mumbles against you, “please,” he whines. That’s all you have to hear before you are cumming onto his mouth, which laps up every single drop you give him. You pant as the waves of unexplainable pleasure pass through you.

He moans as he tastes you, eyes rolling up and hands desperate holding onto your thighs. “You taste like heaven,” he whispers once he’s finished you off. 

You fall back into the seat and have a dazed smile as you watch your boyfriend stand back up, bringing his mouth to yours in a soft, loving kiss. You sigh as the taste of yourself in his mouth. You bring your hand up and twirl some of his hair. “Your turn now?” He chuckles and shakes his head. 

You frown and he grins, “When we get back home, love,” he winks.

[moonstruckme]

Are you going to continue the roomate James series? I’m actually in love with it😍

Yes! Thank you for reading <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 804 words

“Honey, I’m home!” 

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you roll your eyes to yourself. James has become more and more fond of these pet names, and of announcing his comings and goings like he’s worried you’ll miss him. (He’s never gone long enough for that, though you might actually miss him if he were.) If you don’t respond in some way or another, he’ll—

“Hey.” He pokes his head through your cracked door. “You alive in here?” 

You pause in folding your laundry to give him a deadpan look. “I could have been in my underwear.” 

He looks mildly horrified. “I’d hope if you were, you’d close the door all the way.” 

“You know, I did manage to stay alive even before you moved in.” 

James leans on your doorframe, giving you the sort of lazy grin you have to pretend doesn’t scare butterflies into flight in your stomach. You really hope that wears off soon. “See, but now I’m convinced if I don’t check on you, you really will die and it’ll be my fault.” 

“How would it be your fault?” 

“Classic case of roommate neglect. I smell the rotting coming from inside your room, the police come, they ask How did you not know your roommate was dead for a month? I reply, Well, officer, she said she could be galavanting in her underwear at any moment. They put me in handcuffs and I spend the next five to fifteen years having Sirius bring me cigarettes I don’t want so that I can trade them for ramen noodles in the yard.” 

You scoff, fighting a smile. “As if you would ever eat ramen.” 

“That’s what I’m saying, sweetheart. You’d be forcing me upon desperate times. But hey,” he raises his hands in a show of surrender, “I didn’t come in here to discuss prison currency. Would it be alright with you if I had friends over tonight?” 

“Of course,” you say, looking back down to match a pair of socks. “You don’t need to ask every time, it’s always alright.” 

“Thanks,” he says warmly, “but it makes me feel better to ask. What do you want on your pizza?” 

You blink. “Me?” 

“Yes, you.” He smiles. Butterflies all over again. “You don’t have to hang out with us to eat it—though we’d love to have you—but I’m not just going to order pizza to your own apartment without having any for you.” 

“It’s your apartment, too,” you remind him. “That’d be a very normal thing to do.” 

“Irregardless.” James waves you off. You wrinkle your nose at the word choice. “What do you want?” 

You swallow a sigh. There are some things, you’ve found, James is nearly impossible to argue with about. If you really dig your heels in, sometimes you can make him move first, but you don’t feel like it right now. 

You do the next best thing you can think of: choosing the least obtrusive option. “Cheese is good with me, thanks.” 

His eyes narrow like he knows what you’re doing, but he says, “Got it. I’ll let you know when it’s here.” 

“Thanks.” You turn your attention back to your laundry. James lingers in the doorway. 

A month ago, you would have kept ignoring him, working on the (unfounded) hope that he’d go away. Now, you look up. 

“Do you think you might come downstairs and hang out?” he asks. He has a strange look on his face, one you can’t quite decipher. “You know you’re always invited.” 

You give James a terse sort of smile. He’s not stopped inviting you to do things since the day he moved in. Your open invitation has been made very clear, and you’ve been accepting it more often lately. James is someone who makes it easy to feel close to him. He tosses pet names at you like they’re nothing, comes to check on you when he gets home, pretends he needs to go grocery shopping just because you need a ride to the store. Last week, you’d sat down to watch a movie with him and woken up to a black screen, your cheek smushed into his shoulder and his head resting atop yours. 

Somehow, you’ve let him spill into your life without meaning to, and now you have these childish, crush-like reactions whenever he smiles a certain way or calls you pet names with that familiar bent to his voice. You know you just need time to sort these feelings out. It’d probably be ideal to keep yourself from spilling into his life as much as possible in the meantime. 

But it’s hard to deny James anything when he’s so sweet to you. And he’s nice. His friends seem nice. 

“I might,” you say. 

“I’ll take the win,” James replies, smiling. These butterflies are seriously inconvenient.