#like that's normal. that's a normal thing

[aberellan]

The fact that the amount of anime titles you've watched and visual/light novels you've read is what passes for media literacy nowadays is depressing.

(Although I suppose saying it under a post made by an umineko pfp is pretty tone-deaf 😅)

'Irredeemable media' is such a funny concept to me because it's never used for stuff like Birth of a Nation or A Serbian Film. It's always The Owl House or My Hero Academia because these people only watch things for children and can't stand any conflict more complex than Super Mario Brothers.

[screampied]

PARTITION! g. satoru

ৎ୭ sum. your sugar daddy, satoru’s worst fear happened. he fears you’re too much of a spoiled rotten brat. screw riding in his expensive private limousine—you wanted to ride something else instead. (him, duh)

wc. 7.3k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy gojo! au, age gap (early twenties + thirties), car sęx, bratty reader, unprotected, getting eaten out the window, tít job, reverse cowgirl, doggy, cunnīlingus, nanami cameo, slight alcohol consumption, size kink, cęrvix kissing, possessive themes (wearing waist beads w his initials), implied multiple rounds, he’s sooo whipped, bręeding.

➤ sd! gojo masterlist

“meet my baby here, sweets. charlotte.”

“satoru, what.”

as satoru had an arm slinked around your waist, brushing a thumb across the jewels that stuck against of of the many designer blouses he’s bought you within the past week, he hums. the two of you were staring straight at a limousine. it was icy blue like his eyes with a plethora of dark-tinted windows. to even top it off, it had ‘G.S limousine service, inc.’ carved into the side of one of the doors in bright, blue cursive.

you huffed, smearing your glossed lips together. “you named your limousine?”

“heh, well she’s yours now,” he hums, guiding you toward the slid open doors. “c’mon, there’s a club i wanna take you to. if we leave now, we can beat the press.” and satoru takes a peek at his gleaming, pricey watch. he helps lifts the back of your long skirt from touching the ground before you step in. immediately, you’re hit with flashing lights inside the luxurious car and its plush red seats.

“where to, sir.” a blond chauffeur adjusts his mirror with a sigh, taking a short glance at you.

satoru throws an arm around you, tugging lightly on his tie that’s tucked neatly in his suit. “ah, kento, meet my girl. and please—drive us to my private lounge,” satoru kisses your cheek as you sit, whispering in an impish, low tone. “buckle up, sweetheart. ‘s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

the seats were oh-so-soft, a violent hot color of maroon as the entire limo was lit up with nothing but dim flashing, flashing lights.

it was bright, the size alone was probably bigger than a simple normal bathroom. satoru saw you taking in the luxurious life like you always did, craning your head from left to right before peering at the empty wine glasses in front of you both.

“it’s so pretty,” you hummed, your head resting against his shoulder.

once you’re laid against him, you’re smacked with his signature loud cologne scent. it was always a scent you’d never forget, nor could you get used to.

it’s strong, making you take the citrusy manly aroma in silence every time.

with a raised brow, you look up at the white-haired man before timidly murmuring, “wait- what do you mean this is mine? like.. the whole thing?”

“yeah, silly girl,” satoru brushes a thumb around the center of your forehead in invisible circles.

you’ve grown to get weak with his tender touch every time. cerulean-iced eyes lock against you lovingly, and that’s when that cunning grin spreads at each side of his crooked lips. “think of it as an uh- surprise gift for the new year.”

with a pout, you open your mouth to complain. “satoru- last week, you just bought me-”

“a convertible, and i’d do it again in a heartbeat,” satoru whispers, planting another kiss near your temple.

your incoming words come to an abrupt pause, and the cute speechless look you gave him always made him hum in amusement.

one of the many things satoru liked- no loved about you, was that you were always so humble.

you were forever grateful, but you couldn’t help but be hesitant sometimes at how much he’d constantly spend for you. satoru continued to shower you with compliment though—constantly reassuring you that he wanted to splurge his money on you.

you were living the dream - literally.

embodying the life of a rich girl, a type of rich girl where you’d usually see in cheesy movies or sung in iconic songs by artists like gwen stefani.

even though it’s been a full-blown year, you’ve started to grow accustomed to the sweet luxury of being a sugar baby.

satoru gojo’s sugar baby.

but he wasn’t starting to see you as just his pretty ‘lil sugar baby though, that much was apparent.

satoru didn’t expect you to not only take his money but his heart too.

and he never minded.

he couldn’t put a price on that anyway.

“besides,” he grabs a clear, empty glass and an unopened bottle from underneath the fuzzy, red seat. with a flick, satoru removes the cork that is plugged near the top with just his thumb and middle finger. as he pours a small portion of wine inside, the velvet-colored liquid stains against all sides of the glass.

“what’s mine is yours, baby,” he takes a sip before sighing at the cassis flavor hits against his tastebuds, “ ‘s what my sweet thing deserves.”

as you’re still pouting, the limo continues to drive.

the windows were tinted, but it was clear as day when you looked through them to take a quick peel. as usual, the roads were quite busy with rush hour but it was a smooth ride nonetheless.

however though, you had to admit, you were getting a bit… bored.

satoru sat man spread, both of his wide legs taking so much unnecessary space before he contemptibly sighed again. with one of his arms still wrapped around you, you took a moment to take in his suave, handsome appearance.

he always was draped in nothing but tuxedos—

after all, without the whole sugar daddy side thing, you sometimes forget how satoru was a literal well-known businessman.

he never really went into the specifics of his work, but you knew he was the CEO of some private company.

satoru was a very powerful man, a man with a big net worth … but an even bigger heart.

the shoes that satoru wore were dress shoes of his own brand, of course. in the luminous, glittery lights of the inside of the limousine—the shoes were visibly spit-shined from top to bottom. his suit’s dark black, and the handkerchief that stuck out of his front chest had the imprints of your lipstick on it.

of course he kept that.

his hair..

it’s messily ruffled but somewhat presentable, slicked back as usual with a faint side part. over time, you started to notice how he was growing facial hair too.

it’s subtle, and you’d have to squint but you saw it. you saw how specks of white hair were trying to form down near his chin.

it was attractive nonetheless, and the thought of satoru growing a stubble had you squeezing your thighs together in shame.

after all, he was in his early-thirties so he was bound to grow some facial hair at some point. he’s always been a well-shaved man, but the image forever plagued your mind.

“yeees, sweets.” he snaps you out of your little fantasm, the near-empty wine glass still in his hand. he sits the expensive bottle of ‘screaming eagle’ near the limo’s bar that was covered with dozens of tiny, pretty rhinestones.

“h.. huh?” you stammer, blinking thrice.

shit.

the way you stared at him was like a deer in headlights. caught red-handed!

that same wry grin that stretched so slyly pried at both cracks of his lips before satoru tilted his head. “you’re starin’ y’know,” and you felt his hand placed on your thigh. “is my baby bored?”

“a little,” you admitted, hearing the loud screeching of tire wheels and screaming horns of other cars in the background.

only satoru could make you feel like you were the only girl in the world..

slowly, satoru dragged his pink tongue over his upper lip which was a bit damp from the scarlet-colored wine.

you sucked in a raucous breath - your thoughts turning more ‘n more filthy by the second.

his lips.. they were so perfect, naturally glossed, and forevermore had a plump downward curve. you could stare at them all day, and your eyes widened once a drip of wine started to trickle down the right side of his lip.

“ooh- excuse me. guess ‘m a bit messy today,” he throatily chuckles, feeling the coldness of the red droplet race down his skin. “would you be a doll ‘n lick that up for me, sweetheart?”

“okay-” you comply right away, positioning yourself on his lap.

satoru titters, cocking his head lazily toward the left as you get comfortable. cute, he thinks.

he could already tell how eager you were. also, he didn’t tell you the duration of the ride but it was probably about a good hour.

like hell could you even wait that long.

it felt like time was so cruel - standing still as you inched closer and closer toward his face. satoru laid man spread the entire time, eyeing you closely with his gaze never leaving yours.

he paws a big hand near your waist, hearing your pretty airy breaths pick up.

“stop looking at me like that-”

“aw, is it a crime to stare at my gi-”

satoru’s fatally silenced with a kiss.

it’s a rough one, and you couldn’t wait to run your tongue across the remnants of cherry-flavored wine that now started to drip down his chin.

it tasted sweet - a spicy cherry flavor, and you moaned once his knee aligned itself between your thighs.

his thigh was so bulky too, even underneath the lanky, slender slacks he wore. satoru was a particularly ripped guy in general — you knew his workout routine like the back of your hand, and sometimes he’d even let you do sets with him.

(sets that mainly consisted of you sitting on his back while he did push-ups orrrr sitting on his abs while he used barbells in his private gym)

“mhm~” you moan against his lips, hearing the competitive sounds of teeth rudely smacking against each other in vigorous sync.

each tongue’s on a dangerous mission, desperately trying to dominate the other and you couldn’t help but melt.

your twisting, hot tongue started to wander, creating a slippery snail trail near the crack of his mouth before nibbling on his bottom lip. “sa- satoruu.” you’d breathe, one hand giving his tie a needy, impatient pull.

“heyyy, you know i don’t speak whine,” he whispers, breaking away from your lips for a second.

your lips were already swollen, slickly shining with saliva that could’ve been an easily replaceable substitute for lip gloss. “use those words, sweetheart,” and it was like the more he spoke, the deeper his voice seductively pitched.

the knee that still rested between your sprawled open legs didn’t make things easier either. “tell me what you want ‘n maybe i’ll give it to ya, hm?”

with a huff, you mumble a soft, “you-”

“well yeah, me silly! elaborate for me though.”

“i want- i want you.. i want all of you satoru. right now,” you go into more detail, leaning in to paint a slope of wet kisses down his neck. satoru’s collar was a bit unkempt—some exposed skin showed above his collar which you then brought upon yourself to attack with kisses. “pretty please.”

“hah- but.. you already have me,” he inhales, groaning once he feels you starting to grind against his lap.

satoru’s touch was pure static..

his fingers couldn’t help but mindlessly roam, tickling against your bare skin that protruded through the minuscule squares of your ripped fishnets.

the stare you two shared was just so intimate, and he could almost already smell your lusty, loud arousal..

“mhm- y’know, what i want too?” satoru huskily whispers against your ear, grunting as your hips slooooowly rubbed against his visible boner.

hugely, it stuck out through his jet-black slacks. leave it to you to always make him hard.

“tell me.” you reply with a chastened frown, sliding a hand up his loose button-up. your hand enters underneath his shirt and his skin is so warm that it feels like his entire body is on fire.

right away, your curious palm gets a taste of his hardened abs that were nearly akin to the texture of a damn brick.

rigid, flexing muscles of satoru’s relax at your touch before he grabs a nice chunk of your ass.

“oh, nothing! ‘m just a.. ‘lil thirsty, sweets..”

♡ ♡ ♡

“ohmygod-” you’d squeal, cupping a clammy palm over your mouth.

when satoru said he was thirsty, you surely didn’t expect him to have you hanging out the window with your ass perfectly perked out.

with a single hand, he pulled up your skirt, raising it to the brink of your waistline while dragging your pretty lace panties to the side with a single thumb.

you were partially hanging out the window - safely though, he’d never let you fall.

satoru had an arm wrapped around your waist, one hand sliding down your thigh. vehemently, his tongue swirled circles around your clit before giving it one looooong suck.

his lips puckered, and he could already feel your hips starting to stutter against his mouth.

“mng- ‘toru,” you’d heave, wriggling your ass around his face. the tip of his nose started to rub up and down your slit too, and he’s shamelessly getting a whiff of your candied mess.

he was always so nasty, proudly spitting on your pussy, lapping it up before it dripped onto the thousand-dollar seats.

“mhh- wiggle that ass a little more for me baby, dance with my.. haaah- tongue,” he whispers airily, thumbing a fat finger near your pulsing clit. satoru found it so cute how you’d pulse every time he’d smear slippery circles around your pussy.

you just couldn’t help it!

you’re sucking in each ‘n every breath, sinking the edges of your teeth into your bawled knuckle to suppress your moans.

a strong gust of wind strikes you as the car continues to move, and you’re just meekly smiling at the cars that pass by.

from their points of view… the drivers are just seeing some random girl slightly hanging out a halfway-lowered limousine window.

in reality though,

you were getting eaten out while dozens of cars speedily drove past you.

through your slightly blurred peripherals, you saw satoru’s chauffeur who you remember hearing him address as ‘kento’ earlier, giving you a peer through his side-view mirror. he had his hands firmly on his steering wheel, scoffing to himself with a head shake.

he mumbled something under his breath as he looked away, focusing his browned eyes on the talking GPS that read him the directions to the destination.

from your sweet, repetitive moans, you couldn’t exactly make out what he said but from a quick read of his lips, you’d probably guess it was something like:

“i don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

as you’re still hung out the window, your legs part a bit - causing your eyes to widen.

satoru’s slurping you clean, skipping frisky plump fingers down your thigh before cupping his plump lips around your pussy. his head, it moves back and forth, ferociously shifting side to side like a damn madman.

you probably looked soo stupid. your mouth stayed open the entire time with your jaw forever dropped—dangling like an earring.

“fuh- fuuuck,” your trembling voice pitches higher, and you claw a hand near the back of your ass.

tightly gripping at a piece of your ass, it fits around your hand entirely before you turn to look back at satoru.

already, his chin’s got a pretty coat of your juices pouring down his jaw. his tongue was just hungry, wanting far more than just a few sips of his expensive screaming eagle..

you were far sweeter than any beverage, and satoru continuously took big, big gulps.

he treated his lips like a straw, pursing them to suck before slurping every single drop of you clean until you could barely hold your legs open.

“mhm- look at alllll this pretty fuckin’ ass,” he groans, removing your hand that was gripped on your rear.

with a whack! he hits it, humming at the cute ‘lil jolt of your shimmying body.

your skin jiggles in his face instantly, and you feel his curving tongue precisely slow its frantic pace down by the second.

there….

the tip of his pointed tongue stretched itself so far out that it clicked itself against your precious g-spot. “mng- spread y’rself wider, baby. ‘m not done with my.. hah- drink.”

“suh- sssatoru,” you’d drag out your whiny, pathetic words.

your brows formed into a furrow as your hands grabbed onto the edges of the rolled-down window. sweaty, perspiring fingertips imprinted the fogged glass as he licked every wet orifice thoroughly.

thankfully, some music was blasting in the background—seemingly drowning out your constant, pleading whines and whimpers..

satoru’s designer tie even gets a bit wet - you’re drip drip dripping, tears of glossy slick pouring flawlessly from both sides of your legs. he brings a thumb toward your hole, feeling your cute wriggles before spitting down your pussy.

slowly, the webby string trails a straight, sloppy line down and he licks it up — removing his thumb and starting at your hole before lapping his tongue down the bottom part of your pussy.

he’s wholeheartedly feral - animalistic, working his tongue until your brain turns into mush.

eventually, you ended up crawling back into the spacious limousine and landed on your back.

with your legs still spread, satoru lifts your thighs, continuing his feast. “mmph- get back here, sweets. ‘m not haaah- done,” he’d jibe each time he’d squint to see your cute weak pulse up close.

you’re impatient - desperate for your release so much that you could almost taste it..

it tasted sweet with a bit of tang, and the more you fantasized about your inevitable orgasm— the more more more you were starting to blank out all on his tongue.

“mnh- attaaaaa girl, let ‘toru get a nice good sip.” he’s still slurping you, a few excess juices smearing against his cheek.

satoru’s long, white lashes flutter open and close as he relishes in your treacly taste.

you just couldn’t stay still though.

with the way your hips cutely tossed ‘n turned each time his tongue delved inside of your sopping cunt, he’d think your middle name was ‘squirmer.’

time drags by for a looong time, not as long as satoru’s tongue though.. not by a long shot..

it flicked its way through each spot, munching proudly against your clit before your tummy tucked inward. your brain haywires, and with your mouth wide open — the only sounds that escaped were small, labored breaths.

you’re cumming, and your lashes frantically blinked at so many blinks per second. your muscles that were once tense relaxed as you’re finally succumbing to pleasure.

you squealed out that final, harmonic battle cry before your head plopped into the edge of the limo’s seat.

“fuck- fuck, fuuuck,” you’re whimpering, repeating the same swear like a broken record as you feel him grab ahold of your writhing hips.

his tongue’s length curved its way everywhere, creating a path to remember as it made itself known at all tender areas of your pussy.

“uh huh- that’s it, good girl. ride it out, riiiide it out, i gotcha,” he groans, laying his tongue fully flat. it’s a rose-like pink, soddened tastebuds sizzling in contempt once you’re ‘quenching’ his thirst with your sweetened arousal.

buzzing sounds went in and out of your ears as you just released huff after puff through your lungs. satoru’s lips were glossed with nothing but your slick, even more than they already were.

he gives your poor, convulsing clit its last finally smooches before reluctantly breaking away.

“hah- never a dull moment with her,” he licks his lips from top to bottom, grabbing out his lipstick-stained handkerchief before patting underneath his chin. “you okay, sweetheart?”

“ ‘m okay,” you breathe, still feeling tingles surge through every one of your veins that ran down your wobbly, numb limbs. your legs had it the worse.

you barely felt anything, and satoru helped you back to your feet.

it was a limo, so it wasn’t like you could exactly stand but you sufficed by crouching just below the fuzzy-made hood.

satoru lies slouched back - giving his lap a few playful pats before tilting his head at you. “c’mere, sweet thing,” and his voice was dripping with erotic silk.

his ocean-strong eyes zero down at your body, trailing up up up before eventually stopping just about your waistline.

your skirt was now off — pulled to the floor and so were your panties. you only had your matching blouse on. you got an idea though, and satoru watched you get on your knees. “oh..?”

“ ‘toru,” you speak in shortened puffs, still trying to get over your recent teeth-shattering orgasm. every sensitive axon and nerve located in your body was screaming at you, aching for more stimulation as time passed.

as your hands casually spread his long legs wider across the cushioned seats, you hummed. “remember those waist beads you ordered me a few weeks back?”

“mhm,” he nods, eyes never darting away from your wriggling body for a second.

satoru wondered what your game was.

as he was trying to prevent himself from smiling, he was starting to realize that maybe, just maybe you were starting to get just a liiiiitle bit spoiled.

as his legs were fully sprawled apart, you brought your hands toward the hem of the designer blouse that stuck against your skin. you honestly lost count of just how many clothes satoru’s bought you within the past year.

he watches closely - zeroing down at your figure, nipping on his lip as he stares at you leisurely pulling the piece of clothing off of you.

satoru’s seen your skin countless times, but there was just something about your body that he just couldn’t get enough of.

couldn’t get enough of you..

if he was being honest, he could stare at you all day.

“look. it fits perfectly,” you speak in a sweet tone, your thighs stuck together as you were still dripping from the inner crevices. you could feel yourself throbbing, and it took everything in you to not let out a moan.

satoru tsks, kissing his teeth once he’s now exposed to your skin.

the damn beads,

they wrapped around your waist and indeed fit your entire torso. his eyes studied the gold that went around your raised hips, whistling once he saw those two crystallized initials - his initials.

‘G.S’

the small two letters hung on one waist bead that was drooped low near your naval and an extra twin pair near the charms behind your back. “fuuuck- know that’s right,” satoru huffs, his breathing starting to get a bit heavy.

“all mine, heh- looks so damn pretty on you,” and as his eyes continued to meander down your skin, satoru’s head rests back against the softly cushioned seat. “hm- how ‘bout you model for me? show off that gorgeous body a little more f’ me.”

“say ‘please’,” you’d get on his lap, wrapping your arms around him. satoru looks up at you with a mere pouting scowl, a hand instinctively attaching itself to your hip.

“pleaaase, oh-pleaseeee sweets. don’t tease me too bad, you’re bein’ a bit of a spoiled girl right now,” he whispers, bringing wet, cold lips toward the corner of your neck. you moaned, feeling satoru’s free hand strum a few fingers down your waist beads.

they clank clank clanked, creating pretty jingle sounds at each faint movement before you started to move your hips.

“goddamn-” he holds in a breath, practically wordless as his eyes continued to rove.

briskly, you slowly turned yourself around, teasingly popping your hips to the dropping beats of the song that played through the limo’s speakers.

satoru’s suddenly short of breath, circling a thumb around the left cheek of your ass. he’s so hard, and you could feel it the more you rubbed your ass right up against thaaat particular spot.

he sucks his teeth once more, grunting as he feels the cloth knead against your skin so good..

“woman, you’re bein’ such a bratty tease right now..” and he could taste that round, large lump forming near the very back of his throat.

satoru shivers as your hands place on the crown of his knees, and you’re starting to rock rock rock back ‘n forth his throbbing boner. “hmph. the things i let ‘cha get away with, lucky ‘m not.. haah- fuck, bending ya over my lap, baby.”

“you talk a lot for a guy with a boner this hard, ‘toru.” you shrug, continuing the sensual jerking of your hips.

he’s grunting at every swift turn of your body, hearing his heart loudly thump through his ears.

the limo’s speed picks up a few miles and you could hear the grumbling from underneath the vehicle as you stayed quiet for a few seconds.

“mmh- fine, since you said please.”

as you’re still facing the other way, you reach for his buckle with your fingers brushing near the cold straps. you couldn’t see, so he grabbed your hand—guiding you where to unbuckle his slacks.

“f.. fuck, hurry up. you rubbin’ against me isn’t helping matters at all, y’know,” he tries to laugh but it comes out very dry.

satoru just wanted to be inside you, making you remember your place with a few sloppy strokes.

you giggled, hearing his pants and boxers sliiiide down to his ankles with a thud before jostling your rear way back against his leaning cock. it hung so cutely, and its tip was swollen with veins protruding at a few girthy sides.

with satoru still having a hold of your hand, he makes you touch the leaking head. “ooh,” you hum, twirling a thumb around his tender frenulum.

as you do so, he moans out the sluttiest moan, pretty white lashes squeezing shut for about three seconds to savor this moment.

“heh.. little girl,” he gutturally prowls, aligning his dick in between the crack of your fleshy mounds. it’s very hard, and you hummed at the warmth he provided. “go on then.. ride me in reverse, sweets. this the ride you wanted all along, hm?”

“yeaah,” you played along, almost seeing the weary smirk unfurl across his lips as he spoke.

you couldn’t wait any longer either.

you were throbbing persistently, every fiber of your being longing for satoru to ease his way inside of your pretty, sobbing cunt.

he was so big that your hand could barely wrap around the entity of his length. instantly, your palms met with various veins as you raised your hips moderately.

his vermillion-shaded tip carefully hovered over your dripping hole, and satoru’s just heavily breathing at your stilled body.

“mngh-” you released a rough, jagged breath once you were slowly making your way down on his cock.

like usual, you’re presented with that loving tiiiiight stretch that lasts for about a good four seconds.

satoru’s tip alone was big, and it pummeled through your insides as his inches started to leisurely disappear.

it’s such a lewd scene - a scene he wouldn’t mind replaying over ‘n over again in his head..

your pussy sings out sloshes of wet high notes in harmony, trying to take in his weighty shaft.

your mouth opens up on its own, and you’re breathing out colorful swears of ‘ohhh fuuuck’ ‘s as you continue to sink your way down.

from the both of you, countless breathy breaths were drawn from both raspy lungs as the mouthwatering penetration continued.

it felt like a squeeze pinching near your insides, tickling around you from the inside before adding pounds of pressure pressure pressure..

your hands go back to being placed on his knees, whimpering as his slick cock eases its way inside of your pussy. spongy, clamping walls hugged around him like a vice and your teeth were starting to feel that familiar chatter.

“god- always s- so fuckin’ big, ‘toru,” you moan, your bratty ‘lil façade shortly faltering once he’s finally buried balls fuckin’ deep.

the pit of your tummy was constantly heaving, cowardly sucking itself in and out at the sheer weight of his size before you eventually relaxed.

“perfect fit for my perfect… hah- girl.” he grunts, taking a quick peer down at your unbalanced thighs that struggled to move at first.

gradually, your hips started to move and greeted satoru’s lap with a sharp, rude slam. once you started to adapt to a rhythm, your hips rolled and rolled.

“agh- that’s i.. iiiiit,” he choked on his saliva, playing with the waist beads that danced against your torso as you moved.

satoru moans, feeling his fat base smush its way against your ass once you sat down. your hips were reeling, winding back into his pelvis like a wind-up toy.

with parched, hot skin amongst skin - the sounds echoed against the limo, nearly sounding over the music that played in the background.

satoru’s watching as you plop straight back into him before you sprightly wriggle your hips in a seductive circle.

“my, ain��t you a naughty girl..” he tosses his head back in overwhelming rapture, feeling his dick twitch inside you as the sloppy sounds continue.

it was hard not to hear - if it was anything satoru knew about your pussy, he knew that it was always, always vocal with him..

you’re slamming back against his lap every time, squeezing your palms against the crowns of his knees with your body twirling and falling back into his inviting lap.

if you kept riding him like that, he’d really be head over heels.

“ugh- yeah, girl. ride it, ride this dick like it’s yours because it fuckin’ is,” satoru grunts, feeling your cunt tighten for a second at his exact words. “heh- did my messy girl like that? like hearin’ that ‘m yours, sweetheart?”

“mhm,” you’d nod with your lips clamped shut.

he’s just so big, stretching through your insides with such ease. the once slow and steady beats of your heart were now thump thump thumping!

satoru’s bulbous-shaped tip had a hooked upturning curve, and fuck did you feel every sloping curve as you bounced up ‘n down on his cock.

it’s so good that your mouth’s pathetically watering from the inside, and you’re already starting to feel that burning sensation electrify through your aching, stretched muscles.

“mngh- look at this body, s… so damn-” and he pauses, clenching his jaw at the sloppy wet feeling of your barriers bear-hugging around his cock.

you’re just working your hips like it’s a full-time job, throwing them around in a circle so fast that even satoru could barely keep up.

with thighs upon thighs upon thighs, your skin sticks against his like glue. a trail of colorless slick smears down satoru’s leg and he moans at the loud slaps of zealous, clapping skin.

you’re sticky still, and he’s moaning louder once the speed of your hips quickens.

“yeah? yeah, better- fuckin’-ride-me,” and even though his voice faintly cracks, satoru still manages a sort of poised, cocky persona.

multiple ‘encouraging’ swats hit against the cheeks of your ass and you’re whining, putting your all into the movements of your jerking body. satoru’s snowy brows contort before he gives your waist beads a soft tug.

“do it, fuck me, baby. ‘n while you’re at it..” and as you’re still moving your hips, you feel a bit of paper rain down your back that’s starting to perspire with sweat.

“fuck-” satoru grunts smokily, staring as hundred dollar bills fall down your bare spine. “forgot ‘ta give you your allowance, might as well give it to you now.”

“hngh- satoruuu,” you whined, his cock hitting its way through every spot. it french-kisses near your clit before passionately making out with your cervix.

it located both spots easily, and the feeling had your toes curling inside of your four-inch heels.

satoru ended up tossing those same bills down your back, staring as it prettily fell down your body before landing on his lap and the limo’s cottony carpet.

“ ‘m gonna cum i think,” you moaned, slowing your turning hips in hypnotic, carnal arcs. satoru’s hands were brought to your waist with two thumbs pressed at each side of your hips. “ ‘m cummin’ satoru.”

“me too, s.. sweets,” he swallows, hissing silently at the unsteady bucking of your bouncing ass.

your rear jiggled at each slamming thrust, ricocheting against his thighs and it was just so mesmerizing to watch.

satoru’s feeling the scorching tip of his cock grow hot, and he’s starting to feel all types of contractions arise within his muscles. “god- tell me where to tell me where.”

“inside,” you moaned, bringing your hands toward your chest to cup to bouncing tits. you squeezed them, smearing a thumb around your hardened nipples before making yourself even more aroused.

it’s just so much to process.

your rutting hips, the loud squelches of your pussy, satoru’s dick driving through you repeatedly.. oh, you were in a daze.

“f- fuuuuck. be a… hah- good girl ‘n take it all then.” he groans, elated euphoria swelling within him.

you stuck against his lap so good, slickly sliding your ass back before going forward, then back into his pelvis again.

your movements alone left such a good taste in his mouth, and once he feels himself about to burst - he fuckin’ bursts.

a massive load spurts out of satoru, shooting deeply into your fluttering womb as your hips come to a freezing still.

you’re cumming too - whimpering as you’re gushing down on his cock while being absolutely filled.

wads ‘n wads of milky, gooey cum floods inside of you, plugging you to the fullest. you’re both moaning lowly, rocking against each other in rushed unison before you arch forward.

your ass was fully bent over, and satoru stared openly as he was still shooting such deep, frothy amounts inside of you.

you looked so pretty like this that he couldn’t help but mentally take a picture, widely peering at the foamy droplets of cum that started to trickle their way down his overwhelmed base—creating a sparkling white ring.

it’s still as thick - still as veiny, and satoru makes you raise your hips ever-so-slightly.

doing so, he stares at your soddened pussy that’s lewdly spitting out a few heaps of cum before hearing that cute wet ‘plop!’

“fuckin’ dirty girl..” he huffs, one hand softly caressing your waist beads. he takes a glance at the ‘G.S.’ initials that were engraved near the back side of the many other charms, and he sighs.

right as you’re pulled up to where his creamy tip was juuuust about to slide away from your soused opening, satoru gives your stuffed pussy a soft pat.

“don’t know who’s dirtier…. herrrr,” he mumbles, swabbing a thumb around your cum-covered hole before bringing it up to his mouth.

with a wet smacking ‘ccht’ of satoru’s lips coming together—he licks his thumb clean, cooing silently at the taste of himself like the filthy, filthy man he was. “or you.”

♡ ♡ ♡

after many, many positions, you found yourself losing multiple rounds with your shallow breath as if even breathing was a mere contest. he’s had you in position after position, folding you like a freshly baked pretzel. it’s almost like the two of you weren’t literally in a limousine.

you hoped his chauffeur nanami didn’t hear. that would’ve been well, embarrassing.

the drive felt like forever.. but, you honestly didn’t want it.. this to end.

you’re a mess, stuffed to the uttermost fullest with ribbons of satoru’s freshly hot cum messily tearing down every slick crevice of your thighs.

currently, satoru had you in one of his favorite positions.

doggy.

part of the reason why he loved it so much was mainly because of the perfect, jiggling view.

your ass - he loved seeing how it would react from each rude smack, swatting his palm over and over again at your cute, tender skin. the pads of your hands pressed firmly into the limo’s seats as he’s just giving you the pound of a damn lifetime.

“mngh!” you’d whine out, drooling from the sides of your jittery, spit-slick lips that refused to stay shut.

he’s effortlessly reaching all the right areas, swiftly pumping his way past that cute taut ring of your entrance that he’s grown to love.

that brief tight stretch nearly makes him lose his mind, and satoru then brings his hands toward your waist. “right there, right fuckin’ th— mmph!”

“shhh, you’re gonna.. hah- miss the best part, sweets,” the white-haired man cups a hand over your mouth.

slow strokes - deeper thrusts..

your eyes rolled ‘n rolled back, gasping against his palm once he sneaks a hand in between your wet thighs. with your waist beads tickling against his wrist, satoru gives your pussy a soft smack.

your wetness ‘splashes’ against the center of his hand, and it even pops out a cute sound too.

“uuugh- ‘m gonna… cum agaiiin,” you’d raise your ass in the air just a bit more, your voice turning more whiny within seconds.

your words were still a bit muffled with his hand covering your mouth, but he still made out your whiny, inaudible words—just barely. .

the sounds of fierce, sharp hips brutally clashing against skin every time made him groan. it’s a booming resounding ‘pop!’ or ‘pap!’ noise every time that makes your entire body ring instead of just your ears.

his cock’s searching through your wet, gripping walls as if it had some sort of life purpose.

“hah- me t.. too, sweetheart,” and fuck, satoru’s drowning in his sweat. “phew-” satoru brings the back of his wrist to wipe some from his forehead. glancing down, he stares at your jouncing ass before giving you one, snappingly deep thrust.

“pussy’s a fuckin’ workout- oh shiiiiit.” and satoru’s feeling you clamp clamp clamp down on him, giving his dick the work of its life.

you could feel the individual staticky pulses of your clit signaling messages to you that you’re just so close and you’re nearly salivating inside of your mouth.

soooo good.. for a moment you forgot the two of you were still in the back of a limousine.

he’s fucking you so good that you could barely think straight.

satoru’s still playing with your pussy, giving it spanks in between his robust thrusts.

his rotund tip beat red, an oxblood blush of red as he continued to ram a heart-shaped sloppy kiss toward your clit.

at that moment, your legs cutely retreated and your chest collapsed forward. “feels s.. sooo good satoru, ngh- ‘toruuu!”

as your body spasmed at the onslaught of his reckless, sloppy thrusts - your hips were all the way raised against his lap.

you’re losing track of thoughts as you’re harshly creaming down his shaft, murmuring out cute little babbles of ‘ooohs’ once you feel his angle deepen.

satoru brings a hand down your fleshy back, staring at your skin that was wetly decorated with sweat while studying the goosebumps that ran down your spine.

“ ‘m gonna.. hah- cum,” he groans, a few stubby fingers thrumming down the gold waist beads that wrapped around your waist.

he brings his thumb toward the tiny ‘G.S.’ initials before pressing his honed-shaped pelvis wholly into you with just a single, barbaric thrust.

“all mine, my pretty… hah- wife.”

wife?

you heard that — you definitely heard it, but part of you wondered if maybe satoru was just overly pussy drunk as usual.

but the thought alone - the thought of actually being his wife of satoru gojo, your sugar daddy, didn’t seem too bad.

as the image of you walking down the aisle crossed your mind, your throbbing brought you straight back into orgasmic reality.

“wait.. hnng- pull out,” you’d moan, another idea popping into your head. instead of satoru usually finishing inside, you had a better idea.

“haah- ‘kay,” he pants, his snapping hips working overtime as they continually mercilessly plunge deep into your heated core.

his rhythm was far slower, but his thrusts were always in such a hurried frenzy.

he’s close - so so close.

you’re still covered with his cum from before from the legs down, and it paints such a pretty canvas on you.

a lewd, erotic canvas maybe..

quickly, satoru ends up pulling out with a hand wrapped around his cock that painfully throbbed. it scrunched up a bit at the sudden coldness, already missing your clingy warmth before you flip over.

“h.. hm?”

“ ‘toru, put ‘em between here.” you spoke in a hushed tone, sinking your knees into the limo’s velveteen-made seats.

he hungrily stares at you with nothing but lust surrounding the entirety of his rounded, dilated pupils. at your sweet, breathy word of ‘here,’ you brought two hands up to your breasts.

“naughty… temptress,” satoru clicks his tongue. aligning his swollen dick in between the crack of your sweat-dripping chest, it easily sliiiiiides its way through.

he watches intently as you squeeze your tits together, glancing up at him with those pretty, siren eyes of yours that were starting to droop.

“mmh,” and as his tip disappears between the slot of your chest, you hang your head down, flicking your tongue across the tender slit of his shaft.

“f- fuck, ‘m gonna cum. can’t- hold it anymore, sweets,” satoru groans, his words so guttural ‘n low that they sounded almost like a growl.

he knew he wasn’t gonna last much longer, not when you were on your knees—stuffing his dick right between your perked tits.

he’s sloppily starting to thrust his cock in and out between the valley of your breasts and felt himself throb at each cute jounce they created amongst each other.

so …. soft.

satoru’s achy tip was forming into an angry shade of bloodshot red, and the entirety of his shaft was smoldering from the stimulation. after a few long milliseconds though—he finds himself shooting white blanks again.

he’s fucking between your tits as you held them together, spraying a nice sum of his load onto your chest. you gasp, a bit landing on your lip and you lick it.

satoru’s moaning - no, grunting as he’s finishing against your breasts. he drags a shaky hand through his tousled, white hair before letting off a deep, heavy sigh.

“ohhh… fuck,” he grumbles, the tips of his ears burning a fiery pink.

his limp cock now remains idle, still buried between your tits before you slide your tongue across the leaking creamed tip.

it’s so glossy, dribbling from all sides with his pasty mess plastered on the upper part of your chest. “didn’t know i had.. such a dirty sweethe- fuck.”

satoru pauses for theatrics — holding his breath, thinking he was still cumming, but he wasn’t.

his mind was simply playing tricks, and his jaw clenched once you lapped up the remnants of bittersweet tasting cum that splattered on you. you used your thumb to reach the spots your tongue couldn’t, and once you were finished, satoru bent down to pull you into a fervent, deep kiss.

you moaned against his lips as the limousine still created miles upon miles. you lost track of time, but you’d guess it’s probably been well over an hour's drive.

“mng-” satoru grunts into your lips, feeling your arms wrap around him. he still had his button-up shirt on the entire time along with his suit just above his torso. he’s tasting himself on your lips, grunting once he felt your hand tug on his ruffled black tie.

your tongue was sticky, swirling a circular pattern around the inside of his mouth before you sucked on his.

satoru allowed you to make him get underneath you, and he felt your legs crawling on top of him.

as you’re both still deeply making out — fighting each other with sharp slaps of teeth smacking against each other, you gingerly pull away.

“i’m your wife now?”

“h.. hm?”

“earlier,” you lick near the corner of his lip. “you said ‘m your pretty wife.”

satoru gives you a sleazy lopsided grin. he looked so pussy drunk that he almost forgot about that tiny piece of dialogue that spouted from his lips.

“ah, i did call you my wife, didn’t i, sweets?” and as a thumb caresses around your cheek, he hoarsely whispers. “well, do you want to be?”

bringing a wet, torrid kiss toward his bottom crooked lip, you hummed. “i do.”

“wish you would’ve told me sooner though,” he sheepishly says, giving his tie a few meek pulls. “i could’ve proposed the right way but.. this is fine too, i gues-.”

“shhh-” you silence him with yet another barrage of kisses, cupping his face.

satoru grunts, hearing the little jangles of your waist brands yet again as your hips laboriously swayed against him.

your forehead is pressed against his and its hit with a bunch of sweat from satoru.

satoru moans from your ardent, vehement kisses, his lips being left all plump, reddened, and not to mention swollen all because of you.

his dick twitches—a prominent vein striking near the left side as you steadily moved your dripping pussy against it in slow, ravishing rocks. “lie back,” you whispered, playfully pushing him back against the seat.

satoru reclines back with a ‘hmph’ and he raises a silvery brow at your audacity. “lie back ‘n let your fiancé ride you again.”

“heh.. yes, mrs. gojo.”

[cupcakedieabetes]

Jason's a 10 while his boyfriend looks mid

In Gotham University where Jason is studying literature, while Danny is studying engineering. Nobody knew how they even met, but they both showed up one day going out with each other.

Nobody knew why exactly Jason, who is an absolutely beefcake, built like a fridge, was with a guy that totally looks like a loser. He was tinier than Jason - a complete twink-, he often gets up to run to the bathroom citing stomach problems, once you set him off about something, he'll never stop yapping about it.

So, one brave student went up to Jason and asked the question. Why him?

Jason just smirked and tilted his head at Danny.

"Open your mouth."

Danny does so obligingly in confusion. What he didn't know nor did he realise was that once he did, his features started to distort, looking more...not human.

His teeth were sharp and jagged, his mouth was like a gaping abyss, so dark that the only thing that you see was more and more teeth. His eyes took more of a green hue, skin turned paler, and his freckles shone like the stars.

Danny then rolled out his tongue, which came out long and serpentine, flicking it a bit before rolling it back into his mouth, becoming normal once more.

Jason gave a lovesick lustful look at him.

The student immediately understood and simply said 'Have a nice day', because they get why. Teratophilia is a thing, people.

[prokopetz]

Doesn't Hasbro have a strong incentive to make a "lite" version of D&D with a pared-down paperback rulebook and sell it as a casual-friendly overpriced starter kit with a bunch of dice, figures, treasure cards, etc.? It could be a strict subset of the normal 5E rules (I guess - not that knowledgeable about TTRPG design). That way they could sell you all the same books. Seems like a slam dunk

Hasbro's present marketing strategy for Dungeons & Dragons is to try to position every D&D group as potential purchasers of every D&D product. Among other things, this is one of the main reasons that every campaign setting other than the Forgotten Realms is being repackaged as a series of tourist destinations for Forgotten Realms based campaigns to visit, and why there's been a strong move away from focused, topical sourcebooks and toward big, messy "book of everything"-style anthologies that consciously avoid focusing too much on any one type of character or campaign. It's also why the core books make a lot of noise about how wonderfully modular the rules are without actually providing any meaningful modularity in practice – if the game was designed to make it easy to pick and choose modular components, they'd risk fracturing the player base into distinct subsets with different preferred sets of modules.

All this in mind, it's fairly easy to see why there's currently no official "light" version of D&D. Under the paradigm of every single D&D group as a potential purchaser of every single D&D product, a version of Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition that was actually, meaningfully simpler than the core product would function in practice as a competing game (what if people decide they like the simpler version better and just play that instead?), and the last thing you want is to compete with yourself. TSR learned that the hard way! With substantive simplification off the table, the only introductory version of Dungeons & Dragons Hasbro can offer is one with exactly the same rules which simply has less content, and tells people to buy the full version if they want more – which is exactly what they're selling in the various starter sets that are presently available.

[defmaybe]

Someone in the Crowd

12 Days of Christmas: Day 12, January 5th, 2025

ITZY’s Lee Chaeryeong & Shin Ryujin x Male Reader

10.1k words

Christmas Masterlist

A/N: The work itself is going to be a little confusing because of the frequent perspective shift, hope you enjoy it! Also, thanks for the support during the last twelve days!

—

Another Day Of Sun

“So, Yeji,” Ryujin lets the last words trail off in the air. She’s twisting her ankles in nervousness. “I’d like to ask you something~”

Yeji doesn’t look up from her Percy Jackson and The Titan’s Curse. “What is it, Ryu?”

Ryujin giggles. She can do this. “You know you’ve always been my role model in a lot of things, being the strong and fierce leader you are~”

“Yeah, sure, strong and fierce.” Yeji pulls up an air quote, clearly amused by her friend’s sudden compliment.

“Yes, I love you, Yeji,” Ryujin sulks, putting her hands on Yeji’s shoulder. Yeji’s walls are crumbling.

“I love you too, Ryu,” Yeji says, without looking into Ryujin’s eyes. She’s still focused on her book. It’s probably the fun part. She seems to be in the middle of the book, though, not sure what’s so fun about that. Ryujin is more of a romance type than a fantasy one.

Ryujin giggles again. “Hehe, so, as I’ve said, I’d like to ask you for something.”

Yeji clenches her brows a little, but her eyes are still on the book. She flips it to another page. “For something?”

Ryujin’s smile is so bright it hurts. She’s definitely going to get this. Yeji’s giving in to her! “Tonight–”

Yeji suddenly closes her book, and Ryujin’s gleeful expression collapses. Fuck. Yeji didn’t even mark the page she was reading on!

Ryujin is definitely not going to get this.

“Tonight?”

—

Chaeryeong is waiting in her room, kicking her feet in a burning anticipation. Will she have to stay here tonight?

The US tour has been, to say the least, draining for the girls. Yuna is still asleep at two in the afternoon after last night’s show, while Jisu is now throwing profanities into her microphone to her Helldivers' teammates. Chaeryeong and Ryujin, on the other hand, have been planning to go somewhere on their last night in the US. They just have to ask for Yeji’s permission first.

She really needs this, and all she hears are faint mumbles from Ryujin and Yeji talking. Her heart is beating fast.

She really needs this, and it’s killing her.

She really needs this.

—

“Y–Yeah, t–tonight,” Ryujin stutters. Her face turns pale from fear. Is Yeji going to scold her?

“It’s not safe, Ryu. Do you know what can happen here?” Yeji’s expression is nothing but concern, caring for her friend’s well-being. Ryujin knows this, but the blazing fire inside her tells her to keep going.

“Yeji, please, I’m so tired from the tour. I really need this!” Ryujin argues, but it proves fruitless, as Yeji rolls her eyes.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t, Ryujin.” Yeji uses her full name. She’s serious about this. She throws the book onto her bed with a thud.

“But–”

“Nothing’s going to change my mind. Try,” says Yeji, her posture inviting Ryujin to bring up an argument.

She has already made up her mind. It’s over.

“F–Fine, Yeji,” and Ryujin walks away, heart full of disappointment.

—

Chaeryeong watches Ryujin walking into the living area, crestfallen. Oh, it was no for an answer.

“Is everything okay, Ryu?” she asks. 

“She said no,” Ryujin answers, still looking down on the floor despondently.

Poor Ryujin, she’s so bad at persuasion.

“I’ll talk to her.”

—

“Yeji,” Chaeryeong says.

Yeji is back to her Percy Jackson and The Titan’s Curse. It’s probably the fun part. She seems to be in the middle of the book, though, not sure what’s so fun about that. Chaeryeong is more of a mystery type than a fantasy one.

She looks up from her book, adjusting her glass a bit. “Same thing?” God, she just read Chaeryeong so damn easily.

Chaeryeong sighs, walking towards the bed before sitting down. The bed creaks a little. “You know, Ryu has given her all for this tour. It’s normal that she’d need some relief. You understand how our lives go, right?”

Yeji sighs. Her expression softens. “I’m sorry, Chae. It’s just not safe out there! I can’t let you guys risk your lives just for a night out. What if you get abducted? What if someone recognizes you?”

“We’ll be careful, Yeji. I can assure you of that.” Chaeryeong pleads, putting her hand on Yeji’s. Chaeryeong has nothing but her promise.

Yeji sighs again. She’ll probably see their effort through the tour. They deserve this.

“Fine, Chae. Be careful, alright?” Yeji plants a kiss on Chaeryeong’s forehead. “Have your pepper sprays ready. Have our numbers on the speed dial.”

Chaeryeong beams. She’s going to have a lot of fun with Ryujin tonight. “Thanks, Yeji.”

—

“So, for the first week’s assignment, just give me anything, alright? Just give me anything you got.”

The professor’s words echo inside your head.

Well, what’s it going to be?

It has been the question you’ve been asking yourself since last Monday, and it’s Sunday now. You’ve tried picking the ones from your Japan trip years ago, but none of them looks good enough. You’ve gone to the Statue of Liberty. You’ve gone to Central Park. You’ve gone to the Brooklyn Bridge. None seemed to work.

Should I pick something from my home? No, that’s too cliché. Should I pick someone? That’s even worse. Everyone’s going to laugh at you.

So, here you are, in a bar at 6 PM, venting your struggle to your bartender uncle in a nightclub—under this eye mask the bodyguards insisted you wear.

You just can’t find a photo to hand in for the first assignment.

—

“Is there any bar you’d recommend to us, mister driver?”

The young driver has had his mouth opened wide for at least a few minutes now, unable to find a voice in his throat. Ryujin has to ask for the third time, and he’s still in shock to see his idols in the back of his seats.

“Mister driver?” Ryujin asks again. Her patience is running thin. Is her presence that shocking to someone?

“Let’s just open Google Maps and pick some random bar, Ryu,” Chaeryeong says.

“W–Wait,” the driver finally says something. “I know a place. I–It’s pretty private.”

Ryujin smirks at the response, and it sounds like a nice place to be tonight. “Take us there, mister driver.”

—

The night wears on, and people are filling the club. You’ve been looking at the photos on your phone for three hours now, and you just can’t seem to find the perfect photo for tomorrow.

The techno music shakes your body, sounds like Reznor and Ross. The colored lights get into your eyes sometimes, but they’re having less effect than they should’ve been. You’re still concentrating on your device. Some people have even bumped into you, but only an apology and your eyes are back at your phone.

“Anything yet, tiger?” your uncle asks, shaking his bartender thing you’ve never cared to learn its name. It kind of works as a percussion instrument.

“Nothing as always,” you reply with slight disdain. You’re going to be doomed when the sun rises.

He laughs, pouring the contents inside his percussion into a cocktail glass. “Try going out there and dancing! Perhaps you’ll find an inspiration~”

You smile softly back at him, but dancing really is not your thing. “I’m not really good at it, uncle. I’ll have to pass.” You take a sip of your Long Island Iced Tea.

He pulls your glass back, staring into your eyes with an encouraging smile. “Look, I’m not going to let your ass sit here being all hopeless like that. Get out there and dance!” he orders, smiling.

You sigh, giving in to his demand. “Fine.”

“Get someone back to your place too if you can!” your uncle says with a smirk before you walk away into the raving crowd.

—

“Thanks, mister driver,” Ryujin says before handing back the freshly signed Crazy in Love album to him. He’s shaking with excitement.

Ryujin and Chaeryeong get out of the taxi to a normal-looking nightclub. Two muscular bodyguards are standing beside the door. Damn, they look scary.

“IDs please,” one of the bodyguards says sternly, and both Ryujin and Chaeryeong comply immediately, showing their cards.

The bodyguards examine the IDs carefully, making sure that the women are of age. The air thickens, and Ryujin finds her limbs freezing up. Are they going to be recognized? Are they going to be denied from getting inside? 

After a while, they finally nod in agreement and give the IDs back to her. Ryujin lets go of the breath that she doesn’t know she has been holding.

“Here are your masks. Enjoy the trip!” the other bodyguard says, winking at them with a smile. The tension drops. He hands two fancy-looking eye masks to the women.

He probably knows her and Chae.

—

Someone in the Crowd

Fuck, how can Ryujin hear her in a place like this?

The EDM music blares through the club. The colorful lights shine onto them. Chaeryeong scans over the club to find a quiet corner to avoid recognition. They still have to be cautious, even with a mask on. Sadly, there’s none, leaving them with only two options: leaving, or trying to blend in with the crowd.

Chaeryeong weighs the choices. The first one leaves her despondent, while the second one contains the risk of getting exposed by Dispatch by tomorrow morning.

This is hard.

But before she can decide, Ryujin drags her into the lively pack of people.

“We deserve this!” she shouts, pulling Chaeryeong’s hand into the crowd.

Chaeryeong feels unsure. She needs this, of course, but the fear of uncertainty lingers, and she just can’t let it go.

“Really?”

“Don’t live to regret this, Chae! We only live once!” Ryujin shouts.

That alone seems to make sense to Chaeryeong.

—

You aren’t sure what moves you are making. They probably look funny. God, you’re embarrassing yourself.

The bass vibrates the air around you and the crowd. You find yourself in the middle of the club, seeing people grinding on each other (even one another can be seen beside you, you swear). You start to feel the heat growing in your pants at the sight. If someone would be beside you right now.

The DJ announces something you can’t quite make out. The crowd roars in rejoice as you’re bored to death. Suddenly, the music changes to ITZY’s Wannabe. Holy shit, you recognize this. You can dance to it, at least a little.

Jansorineun stop it

People start to do Shin Ryujin’s iconic shoulder dance beside you, and you can’t help but join in. Her high-pitched singing voice fills the air with energy, and it flows through you so damn freely, injecting the missing liveliness into you. It’s giving you the life you’ve been missing for the last three hours.

Araseo halge

And that’s the first time you’re having fun tonight.

—

They’re singing their song?

Chaeryeong looks over at Ryujin to see her dancing to it, and she can’t help but follow her friend’s iconic move, smiling. She looks around to see the people also imitating the move. Damn, Ryujin must be so happy.

As the song goes on, Ryujin and Chaeryeong are laughing and dancing joyfully. People are singing and moving to their song! She finds herself beaming uncontrollably to see her efforts not going to waste. It’s like there’s a spotlight shining on them, and that couldn’t make her happier.

I wanna be me, me, me

The crowd cheers, along with Ryujin and her. The concept and message feel so simple, looking back, but the effect it had on people makes Chaeryeong so ecstatic. 

Just be yourself.

This really is their night.

—

After a little over three minutes in heaven, the song ends, transitioning to the citizen-darling APT. You’re still enjoying it, but the thirst in your throat starts to grow. 

It’s time for a drink!

You go back to the bar, evading the people grinding on each other (or one another, you don’t judge them, anyway) to your destination. You tap your hands softly on your thighs to the rhythm of the song.

You find your uncle waiting for you, standing in front of your seat, smiling happily at his nephew’s effort. He’s making a drink in his percussion thing. You’re making him proud.

“How did it go?” he shouts, shaking the drink masterfully.

You let out a somewhat drunk laugh. “It was fun. You were right!” Alcohol is starting to have an effect on you.

“Told ya,” your uncle says, before walking to the other side of the bar, leaving you tapping your fingers to the song alone.

—

Apateu apateu, apateu apateu

Chaeryeong dances to the beat joyfully. She loves this song, always has been. Her arms and legs are moving in sync to the beat. She’s happy. She’s ecstatic, even.

What she hasn’t realized yet is that–

“God, I fucking love this–”

–her friend is missing.

“–song.”

Apateu apateu, uh uh-huh uh-huh

Ryujin is probably going to the toilet, though. Maybe she should just keep dancing along to the song. Ryujin should be back soon.

—

“Long Island Iced Tea, please,” Ryujin says to the bartender. A young man is close to her. He’s tapping his fingers to the rhythm of the song disinterestedly. Is he waiting for something?

The bartender laughs. “Well, my nephew also likes it! Wanna make it two?” He asks the young man, who seems lost in his head. He only nods.

Ryujin lets out a small smile, before taking the seat next to him. He seems nice. Should she talk to him a bit?

“So.”

The young man turns to her.

“Having fun?”

He nods, smiling.

Ryujin lets out a small laugh. What should she start the conversation with?

“Do you listen to ITZY?”

Fuck, why did she ask that? What if–

“Yeah,” he says groggily. He’s clearly starting to get drunk. Thank god, she can probably show her true colors with him without much worry.

“Were you here when they played Wannabe?” he asks. His uncle hands him the Long Island Iced Tea.

Ryujin can’t help but let out a smile. He recognizes one of her songs! She then softly makes the shoulder dance, making him chuckling and following her moves.

He seems like a cool guy.

—

Where the fuck is Ryujin?

Chaeryeong starts her search for her friend, who has now been gone for twenty minutes. She’d never go for a long bathroom break anywhere outside of the hotel, of course. ‘They’re dirty’, she once said.

Chaeryeong scans the crowd for a short-haired woman in a blue denim jacket, but there’s none to be found. Her heart rate rises. What if she was actually abducted?

Fuck.

She tries to call Ryujin, but she doesn’t answer. She needs to go somewhere she can rely on.

Shit, the bar it is.

Chaeryeong walks towards the white area in the club's corner. She’s going to ask someone if they had seen a short-haired woman in her denim jacket, blue. She’s going to find Ryujin without raising a suspicion. She’s going to find her friend.

And be it fate, be it a mere coincidence. She does a double take, then a triple take. She finds her friend sitting at the bar, talking to a young man. Ryujin is rejoicing in the conversation, so does he.

Thank god. 

—

“Hey, I thought I lost you!”

A sound comes from your right. You look over to find a tall, long-haired woman walking towards you two. She’s in a tight-fitted dress that shows off her curves beautifully. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” says the short-haired woman. She seems calm, unlike her friend, who looks a bit worried, hands shaking beside herself.

“Thank god,” the long-haired woman says, annoyed by her friend’s antics. “Don’t fucking go somewhere else alone, alright?”

The short-haired woman only giggles.

The long-haired woman shakes her head. “So, who’s this guy?”

The short-haired woman introduces you to her friend, who’s listening intently. You give her a handshake before dragging the chair behind you close for her to sit down.

And the night begins, for real this time.

The conversation goes on. Many Long Island Iced Teas are served to the three of you, and by the time you look at your watch, it’s eleven already. 

Time flies when you have fun.

The conversation with these two unknown women has been nothing short of calming to you—a contradiction to the raging music around. You’ve talked about your life as a photography student, while they’ve talked about their careers. You find out that they work together, and you understand how tiring and demanding their job is.

“Is it fun working with your friend?”

The two women look at each other before laughing. “Well, it’s good sometimes. But yeah, there are times that I get tired of her face,” the short-haired woman says, as the other nudges her shoulder softly.

“Damn you.”

You look at your watch again. You should go to bed now; class is tomorrow morning!

“So, it has been nice talking to you guys–” you’re trying to sound as polite as possible before drinking up the last of your cocktail. “–but I have a class tomorrow morning, and–”

“Aww–” the short-haired woman sulks, kicking her feet like a child “–can’t you just stay? For us?”

“Yeah, please?” the other woman chimes in.

You genuinely appreciate their gestures, but you can’t stay up late like this, especially in a nightclub.

“I’m sorry, guys, but I really have to go.”

Ask for their contacts!

You pull your phone out of your pocket. “Can I have your Instagrams?”

The women smirk at each other. “Sure, if you can promise you’ll tell nobody about this,” the long-haired woman says.

It’s a bit weird, really, but they probably have their reasons. “Sure.”

The short-haired woman is the first one who types into your phone. She giggles while doing so. Fuck, should’ve cleared the search history first, those IVE Instagrams.

“Seems like you’ve followed me already~” the short-haired woman says, giggling, before handing it to the long-haired woman, leaving you confused.

Is she? She looks kinda familiar.

“And me too~”

You narrow your eyes. Have you met them before? Under that mask, you think there’s something about them, but you just can’t quite make it up.

She hands you back the phone, and your eyes widen at the realization as you look at your search history.

They signal a ‘shhh’ with their fingers, smiling.

They’re @iamfinethankyouandryu and @chaerrry0.

—

Ryujin then laughs at the man’s shocked expression, before closing in on his body. She gets so close to him she can feel his warmth on her. She plants a hand on his thigh, and he shudders in response.

“You know the implications, right?”

He can’t seem to find a word out of his mouth, still hanging open. He must be so damn shocked to meet his idols in a nightclub like this, and they’re lusting over him!

—

With the teasing image, Chaeryeong’s core starts to heat up with desire. She’s a little apprehensive, but with him still seems to be lost on what to do, or what to say next, she has to make a move. She follows Ryujin and touches his thigh.

“Come on, do you want us?”

She then glides her hand up his inner thigh, feeling his muscles. It gets closer and closer to the growing tent in his pants, before she stops just right before the contact. His breath hitches.

“I–I–”

“Don’t be shy, pretty boy. You’re quite a catch yourself~” she says, followed by the hottest lip bite she can make. He sucks a sudden at the sight.

“W–Won’t you guys get caught by D–Dispatch or something?” he asks, voice shaken. His hands are trembling with pure anxiety. “I mean, I’d be v–very honored to be with you two tonight.”

“Well, fuck Dispatch,” Ryujin says, and Chaeryeong nods in agreement. “It’s not everyday we get to do this.”

—

A Lovely Night

The taxi ride to the hotel starts quietly. He’s trying his best to not pull the driver’s attention to the fact that he’s heading to Ryujin’s hotel in the middle of the night. If the driver knows, it’s over for the three of them.

Ryujin, though, can’t keep her hands to herself, snaking down to his crotch whenever she can. She wants this so fucking badly. She’s getting wetter and wetter as the seconds go by. Her core is aching with unbridled lust.

He’s so damn big.

—

Chaeryeong can’t risk having her fame tarnished with a single night, but god fucking damn, why does Ryujin keep touching his cock?

“Want a touch, Chae?” Ryujin whispers into her ear.

Chaeryeong slaps Ryujin’s hand away from his length, not wanting to indulge in such perverse action. “Don’t fucking do that, Ryu!” Chaeryeong sneers quietly, and Ryujin giggles. Fuck, why is she so insufferable?

But Chaeryeong can’t deny the ache building up inside her crotch. She’s feeling it. She needs a release.

—

Ryujin doesn’t stop with Chaeryeong’s words. They only spur her on even more. Her hand finds its place under his tight boxers, and she starts stroking it softly. Her other hand grabs some creased dollar bills for the taxi driver. She’s going to keep quiet about this.

“How much do we have to pay you, ma’am?”

“Just don’t kill each other and you’ll be fine,” the taxi driver says.

—

Ryujin’s aroma is intoxicating you. It’s so sensual, and your cock is so hard because of it. You can’t help but let out a moan. She looks into the rearview mirror to see the well-being of her customer, but she doesn’t seem to care, as she switches back to see what’s on the road without a word.

Ryujin’s smell reminds you of those femme fatale you’ve seen in the movies—sensual, manipulative, dangerous. This is so heavenly for you.

After a while, Chaeryeong puts her hand on your body, feeling your tight abdomen. Her finger draws a pattern on your toned chest. She’s admiring your strong frame.

“You do feel good, pretty boy.”

—

“So,” Chaeryeong says, unsure of what to do next.

“Where do you want to start?” Ryujin asks.

You turn to her. Her eyes are bored into yours. She’s expecting an answer from you. Don’t just say ‘I don’t know, Ryujin’, but where should you start?

“Where do you guys usually start from?”

What a dumbass question! Do you think they bring a guy back to their hotel and do this every day?

“Kissing, perhaps?” Chaeryeong chimes in. “We should start slowly, what happened in the taxi doesn’t count.”

“I have a little game,” says Ryujin. Her hands are groping your back and chest. You shudder at the contact. “Let’s compare our kisses, shall we?”

You gulp, hands trembling, but you’re trying to keep your cool. “Sure, who should I–”

Ryujin captures your lips in a searing kiss, as Chaeryeong unlatches herself from you with a small whine. Ryujin’s tongue invades your mouth aggressively. There’s a faint hint of raspberry covered in that heavy Long Island Iced Tea she drank over the night. Her hands dig into the under of your waistband, groping your raging bulge through your boxers, making you jolt in response. You moan and moan into her mouth.

Your hands start to have a mind of their own. Your right hand snakes under her shirt to feel her toned back, while your left hand finds itself on her lacey bra, kneading her soft, firm breasts. God, she has a nice body. She moans and moans into your mouth.

“Damn.” You hear Chaeryeong say from the back, as you start to get used to Ryujin’s body.

Suddenly, Ryujin pulls back from the burning kiss. She’s panting softly, clearly satisfied with the kiss. “Could’ve used more tongue, but this is already pretty good.”

You try to catch your breath, feeling like Ryujin pulled the air out of your lungs. “Th–Thanks, Ryujin.”

“Your turn, Chae,” Ryujin says.

You turn to Chaeryeong. She’s staring into your eyes blankly. She’s as unsure as you.

You give her an offer, “Do you want me to–”

“I’ll–I’ll do it.” Chaeryeong says, before taking a deep breath. “I just–need to get used to your body a bit.”

Her hands start to find their rhythms. She starts from your hands, holding on to them softly. She then wanders upwards along your arm, feeling your lean muscles.

“You take care of yourself well,” she says, voice laced with sultry.

“Th–Thanks, Chaeryeong.” Your appreciative words are rewarded with a smile from her. Her hands then travel over your body. Her left hand finds your erection under your boxers. She’s stroking it softly, enough to earn a whimper from you. Her right hand runs over your back, sending pleasure through your frame.

“Nghh~”

After a few pumps, her hand leaves your cock, making you groan in the sudden absence.

She then grabs your chin gently, before pulling you into a loving kiss. The faint scent of your cock remaining in her hand flies into your nostrils. 

Chaeryeong doesn’t let her tongue slip into your mouth like Ryujin did. She merely has a taste of your Long Island-laced lips. You can taste the strawberry resting on her mouth, mixed with the Long Island Iced Tea she drank throughout the night.

Your hands feel her pert breasts on top of her tight-fitted dress, squeezing them, kneading them. She has been taking care of herself well; you can feel it. You wander down to her wet cunt under her panties, and she gasps softly into your mouth. You’re sure that she loves this.

“Mmm, that felt good, baby,” Chaeryeong says, muffled into the kiss.

You feel her puffy cunt on your palm, seeking her wetness with your fingers. You find out that she shaves, before you plunge yourself into her drenched cavern.

“Mmmph!” she rasps. Her body turns into a jelly, able to be controlled to your liking. You dig your fingers deep into her sweet, wet cunt, before curling up to where she’s sensitive the most. She falls into your embrace. You hear Ryujin chuckling on your back. Chaeryeong’s body warmth emanates into yours. Her wet cunt is welcoming your fingers easily.

Still, you can’t let her cum so soon. You regretfully pull out of the kiss and her wetness, before sucking on your fingers lewdly. She tastes so salty and musky. God, what a pleasure to your tongue. Chaeryeong pants.

“S–So,” Chaeryeong says, still trying to catch her breath.

“Who’s better?” Ryujin asks, staring into your eyes.

You let out a sigh before answering, “I get to feel Chaeryeong’s pussy, so–”

“Hey! That’s not fair! You didn’t even touch my panties!” Ryujin sneers.

—

“Stand up and face me.” Chaeryeong watches Ryujin ordering, and he complies immediately. His erection pokes through his pants into a tall tent on his crotch.

She admires his stiffness for a while. She seems eager to take in the image of his big cock. Her hands toy with his bulge playfully, eliciting moans from him. 

She then grabs onto his waistband, looking up into his eyes.

“Ready?”

He nods.

Chaeryeong watches her friend pulling his pants down, revealing the bulge under the boxers. He’s fucking horny for them, isn’t he? Chaeryeong can feel the heat building up within her core. She needs a release, but she isn’t brave enough to let it out yet.

The show continues, as Ryujin pulls his boxers down. His erection springs freely. 

God, he’s so big.

Ryujin admires his length for a while. Her eyes are now gleaming with desire, and Chaeryeong can’t help but start to rub her core, sending shockwaves through her body. Fuck the reticence. She needs to cum.

“Again, you said that you didn’t touch my pussy when I kissed you, right?”

He nods sheepishly. Ryujin is going to make him feel her cunt.

Ryujin then pulls him down and captures his lips aggressively again. Chaeryeong lets out a gasp. This time, she brings his hand into feeling her puffy cunt, and he pushes his soft fingers into her. Chaeryeong can hear her friend moan needily into his mouth.

“Mmmph, that feels so good, pretty boy,” Ryujin says into the kiss. His fingers turn upwards to stimulate Ryujin’s inner walls, making her body shiver. Chaeryeong watches their bodies turning into a needy ball of lust. He’s so good at this.

Chaeryeong can’t bear the beckoning heat inside of her anymore. She pushes her slender fingers into her pussy, playing with the inner walls of herself. She quietly moans at the lewd sight. 

—

You hear Chaeryeong moaning from the back. This probably spurs her on, so you lose yourself deeper into the kiss. You push your tongue into Ryujin’s mouth, and she gasps at such audaciousness. She wants your tongue, so you give her your tongue.

Your finger is still working on Ryujin’s g-spot tirelessly, trying to elicit moans out of her mouth. She responds willingly to your touch, and you love the way she reacts like this.

“So–So good, Ryu,” you utter, trying to keep yourself from getting lost in the situation.

—

Ryujin softly plants her lips onto the head of his throbbing length, rewarding her with an airy moan from him.

“Fuck!” he cries in a whisper.

He composes himself well. The other three aren’t going to wake up if he can keep his voice down like this.

“Come on, Chae,” Ryujin unlatches herself from his stiff cock, but still keeping one hand on it, stroking softly. “Make him cum.”

“B–But I don’t wanna kiss you, Ryu. I–”

“Now is not the time, Chae. Just come here,” Ryujin signals her friend to give him an otherworldly blowjob with her. She’s too drunk to care about kissing Chaeryeong right now.

“I–uh–fuck, alright!” Chaeryeong finally gives in, and Ryujin smiles at her friend’s compliance.

Let’s give him the blowjob he’ll never forget.

Ryujin plants her lips onto his cock again from his front, taking in his intense taste. He’s driving her insane with his cock. He rasps quietly in pleasure. His mouth hangs open, and Ryujin is sure revelling in the way he’s feeling her on his cock right now.

Chaeryeong then joins in on his back, starting to take a swipe of her tongue on his hardened testicles. Her hands land on his muscular ass. He’s covering his mouth to not let out a loud moan. God, what a sight for Ryujin.

—

Chaeryeong doesn’t want to kiss her friend. It’s weird to be Ryujin. So, she just paints his balls with her saliva hungrily, meticulously avoiding her friend’s lips. Her hands are roaming over his back—a courtesy of her, while Ryujin takes his front.

She then feels his hand gripping onto her head from the other side. Ryujin is getting it too. He’s pressing Chaeryeong harder into his ass. Their makeup starts to get messy from performing their oral masteries on him. He moans and cries silently in ecstasy while also trying his best to not wake the others up. Chaeryeong can’t help but to run her fingers down between his ass cheeks, and she gets another whimper from him.

His balls taste so damn salty, so musky, and that’s driving her insane. Her cunt feels like it’s on fire. She uses one of her hands to dig down her tight pants and rub on her swollen clit. It feels so good. It feels like she’s going to fly.

“Shit, this feels so–ahh,” a soft moan leaves Chaeryeong’s mouth as she plunges her fingers into her cunt, curling them up where she needs it the most. Her silenced whimpers hit his balls. God, this feels great. 

—

The pleasure these women are giving you is unreal. Ryujin creates a suction around your cock, bobbing her head back and forth. She’s so damn good at this. While on the other side, Chaeryeong drags her tongue from your sack up to your puckered hole. Fuck, it feels so damn good.

You press their heads into your aching heat, and they seem to accept it eagerly. Both Ryujin and Chaeryeong up their antes for you, and that brings you closer and closer to your orgasm.

Suddenly, an idea pops into your head.

“Girls?”

“Yes?” Chaeryeong and Ryujin answer at the same time. They stop their oral masteries, making you groan softly at the sudden detachments.

“Can you guys like–sucking my cock at the same time?”

The two women look at each other. It’s going to make them think. You see Ryujin nodding, but Chaeryeong hesitates a bit.

“I–”

“I–I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to, Chaeryeong,” you say. 

—

Chaeryeong has certainly given some blowjobs, but this is the first time she’s going to do it with Ryujin. Hell, it’s the first time she’s going to do it with another woman. This is huge for her.

Chaeryeong contemplates for a few heartbeats. This is going to change the dynamic between her and Ryujin forever. On the other hand, the alcohol-induced aching inside her core is ravaging her inhibition. Plus, they’re just having a little fun anyway, nothing serious.

Fuck it, let’s do this.

She then shoots a grin back at him. “Alright, pretty boy, get on the bed.”

—

He quickly complies with her order. Ryujin watches his erection twitching in pure anticipation before turning to Chaeryeong.

“Let’s do this.”

Chaeryeong nods. She doesn’t seem to be weirded out by the prospect of kissing her friend anymore, and Ryujin couldn’t be more happy with the fact.

Ryujin then climbs up the bed, crawling towards him like a predator. Her eyes look into his hungrily, before taking a long lick from his balls up his shaft. He moans uncontrollably, still keeping his volume low, trying his best to not wake up the other women.

“God, you’re so good at this, Ryujin,” Chaeryeong says, following Ryujin’s lead onto the bed.

Ryujin giggles before giving him another wet lick on her throbbing cock. She has to make him falter under her touch. She gives him a lick, and another, and another. He groans, moans, and whimpers with her sensual contact. 

And if that isn’t already enough, Ryujin takes his mushroom-shaped tip into her filthy mouth, coating him with her saliva. He grunts in pleasure. His body turns rigid.

“My god, Ryu–Ryujin,” he moans her name out, and that encourages her even more. She takes in more of his length with each bob of her head, staring from just the tip, going deeper and deeper. Eventually, her nose hits his pubic bone, taking him in fully and staying right there. She can’t think straight right now, with a cock stuffed in her mouth like this. She wants him to lose control. She wants him to moan her name uncontrollably.

She’s making gagging sounds. Her eyes are watery. This cock is too big for her, but her capacity means shit if that means she gets to hear her boy moan like this.

“Hey,” Chaeryeong snaps Ryujin back into reality, pushing her arm softly. “This cock isn’t just for you, Ryu.”

Ryujin regretfully pulls back from his hardness, slowly. The cock inside her throat is now gone. She whimpers at the sudden lack of filling in disappointment. Black streaks from her makeup are now forming from her tears.

“F–Fine.”

—

His cock is now slicked with Ryujin’s drool. He’s going to taste like Ryujin, isn’t he?

“Can I have him for a sec?” Chaeryeong asks her friend, still trying to catch her breath after taking an entire cock inside her mouth.

“Go–cough–ahead, Chae.”

“Thanks.”

Chaeryeong begins her show slowly, but there has to be sensuality in it. That’s her aim. She works down his taint first, drawing breathy moans from him. His taste is so intense, so addictive. It’s his pure body scent mixed with Ryujin’s raspberry. It’s like an aphrodisiac to her.

She doubles her efforts, drawing a straight line up from his testicles, to his shaft, to his leaking tip. Her tongue is making him whimper erratically, and she’s relishing in it. It feels good to have him lost in pleasure like this.

“You’re doing this pretty well too, Chae,” Ryujin says, finally recomposing herself beside Chaeryeong. He’s shaking.

Chaeryeong can only smile, her lips still busy kissing a trail on his thick cock. She’s smearing her essence all over him. He’s going to taste a bit–different after this.

“God, shit, just suck me off already, Chaeryeong,” he pleads, making Chaeryeong chuckle.

“I’ll wait for Ryu, pretty boy.”

Ryujin slowly recollects herself by the side as Chaeryeong is busy teasing his cock, wiping her own drool off her mouth. Then, she finally rejoins the play, starting by licking the underside of his hardness. He moans in ecstasy.

“Fuck!” he cries out, making Ryujin giggle softly.

Chaeryeong knows that it’s time for her to go in, so she pulls back, taking him on the left side. She’s inviting Ryujin to take the other side of his cock. Ryujin does so, and he lets out a whimper.

—

You’re absolutely revelling in the pleasure these women are giving you. Ryujin and Chaeryeong are giving you one of the best blowjobs you’ve ever had. The amount of saliva is perfect. The technique is immaculate. The sight is nothing short of exquisitely vulgar. You’re struggling to find a purchase in the bedsheets.

They’re sliding up and down on your cock from the side. When one goes up, the other goes down, keeping your cock being fully taken care of by their mouths the whole time. The pleasure on your cock shoots through you like a bullet. Fuck, this feels great.

Ryujin then syncs her movement with Chaeryeong, now moving together in an up and down motion. Their lips make contact when they’re at the tip of your cock, and sometimes, they put on a show for you, kissing each other with your cock in the middle. Their tongues pierce into each other’s mouth, grazing your aching tip as they kiss.

With such a lewd sight, you can feel your orgasm coming. Your legs grow tense. You’re going to cum from this double blowjob from your idols.

“Girls, I–I think I’m gonna cum.”

Both of them only reply with a giggle, before sealing the tip of your cock with a sensual kiss, one that’s so damn pleasurable for your dick. The view is just too splendid for you—two women kissing on your cock. The sensation is unreal. This is just too much. You can’t hold it anymore.

“Fuck!”

Cum is fired out of your cock into the kiss, and the women both hum in satisfaction. Your cock twitches between their dirty mouths. Your whole body jerks and spasms between them. Your whole life leads to this, and you wouldn’t change a thing.

Your whole body shudders in rapture, unable to make sense of the pleasure coursing through it. Cum is shot out of your cock into their mouths, and they seem to be happy to share your nectar together.

Your orgasm inevitably dies down. You’re starting to catch your breath. They look up at you with nothing but lust inside their eyes.

“That tastes good, pretty boy,” Ryujin says, scooping the remnants of your cum on her cheeks with her fingers, before plunging them in Chaeryeong’s mouth. She seems to be taken aback by it, but eventually, she happily accepts her friend’s fingers. Fuck, what a sight.

Chaeryeong is sucking her friend’s fingers with her eyes closed, trying to take in the salty taste of you as much as possible. She lets out a satisfied hum in the action, and you feel like you’re ready to take on both of them again.

—

Chaeryeong loves this. She loves the way Ryujin’s fingers are toying with her tongue. She loves the way his salty taste engulfs her like a tsunami. Chaeryeong fucking loves this.

“So good,” she says, muffled into Ryujin’s fingers, before they’re pulled out of her mouth, leaving Chaeryeong whining in disappointment with a string of saliva.

Then, as she opens her eyes, she is welcomed by the sight of Ryujin unbuttoning her shirt, ready to bare herself in front of them. Her black, lacy bra comes into view. 

She looks so hot.

“What, do I look that hot?”

Chaeryeong recollects herself immediately. She’s caught staring at her friend’s body. How embarrassing!

Ryujin only giggles before removing her outer garment. Her toned tummy is now visible. Chaeryeong watches the man drool over her friend’s body, and she can’t help but chuckle at him.

—

Ryujin is now boiling with lust. She needs to get rid of this fabric cage as soon as possible. Her pussy is drenched, and she needs something inside her.

She quickly unlocks her black, lacy bra she’s wearing, exposing her firm breast for the other two to see. She feels so–naked, so–vulnerable, but fuck it, she needs something inside of her now, and it’s going to be his cock.

“Alright, you two–oh my god, will you guys just fucking stop looking at me and strip, please?” Ryujin sneers, fed up with their gazes on her. She wants a cock inside her now, and if their clothes are staying on like this, all this juice would be for nothing.

“O–Oh, sorry, Ryu,” Chaeryeong says before quickly unzipping her black dress from behind. Ryujin watches the act in contentment. Chaeryeong’s small breasts slowly come into view. Along with her friend, he strips himself off his shirt, revealing his toned abs for the women to see. Fuck, he looks delicious.

“Hey,” he says, chuckling, snapping her back into reality. “Ready?”

“Y–Yeah.”

He moves her chin closer into another torrid kiss. His Long Island-laced lips touch hers. His tongue pierces into her mouth with aggression. They are intertwined in a battle for dominance. His free hand grabs and squeezes her breast, eliciting a jolt in her body. Ryujin moans out into the kiss in pleasure.

She then hears Chaeryeong huffing. “Come on, guys. This isn’t just about you two!” Chaeryeong says, annoyed by the sight of the two kissing.

Ryujin giggles, before pulling Chaeryeong into the kiss. Their tongues are intertwining messily, drool is dribbling down their chins onto the bedsheets. Their hands are desperately clinging on to one another, trying to have their fair share of arousal.

“Oh god,” Chaeryeong utters, barely catching the chaotic rhythm of the kiss. Her drool leaking everywhere, splattering on Ryujin’s and his body. “Th–This is fucking—mmm.”

—

God, this is embarrassing for her.

Chaeryeong is having a hard time catching her rhythm. She’s trying, but the other two are so adept with their tongues it’s making her crumble.

“Goddamn it, s–slow down, guys,” she utters into the blazing kiss. Her hands are caressing Ryujin’s and his body. She knows that her spit is leaking, but she has to catch up.

She hears the other two giggle with her struggle. Fucking bitches.

Ryujin would be the first to pull back from the kiss, panting, leaving the two of them in the act. She leans back a little, clitoris already swelling with arousal. 

“Alright, can you fuck me yet, pretty boy? A woman needs a cock over here,” Ryujin says, teasing her nub with her fingers.

“Just–Just go, she needs this,” Chaeryeong says. She can’t help but feel a little disappointed, as he pulls back from the kiss with a slight whimper.

“O–Okay,” he says, as Ryujin flips onto her stomach, hands and knees on the bed. She’s ready to take his cock.

—

Ryujin is on all-fours, ready to take his cock that she has been craving. She needs his cock inside her cunt. She wants to be plowed. She wants to be fucked.

“Yesss~ put it inside me, put it inside me,” she rasps—so eager, so needy.

He frantically tries to line up his cock against her cunt. His mushroom tip ghosts past her a few times, making Ryujin groan in dissatisfaction. Chaeryeong crawls to the front of Ryujin, spreading her legs. She’s going to have Ryujin eat her out.

“So, I’m supposed to be the middle woman here?” Ryujin playfully teases. She’s more than willing to taste Chaeryeong’s nectar.

“Y–Yeah–ahh! Fuck!”

Chaeryeong’s head falls backwards as Ryujin presses the tongue against her pretty cunt. Ryujin is quite sure that the other women might hear that, but Chaeryeong’s wetness and texture is just too exquisite for her to care. Ryujin lavishes her friend enthusiastically, lapping up the nectar that has been building up through the night.

“Nghhh~”

Chaeryeong’s taste is driving Ryujin insane. She’s salty. She’s musky. She’s perfect. Ryujin just keeps swiping her tongue against Chaeryeong’s folds, eliciting guttural, deep groans out of her friend. At the same time, he plunges his cock into Ryujin’s cunt from the back.

“Mmph! Shit!” Ryujin moans. His cock starts to fill her pussy as she’s lapping at Chaeryeong’s delicious cunt with reckless abandon. His cock is so big, making her feel so full. His hands grab onto her slutty waist for a hold, simultaneously locking Ryujin in place. She becomes a whimpering mess between the groaning him and the shaking Chaeryeong.

His length nudges her g-spot softly, making her knees weak. She falls stomach-first onto the bed, so ready to be prone-boned. Her tongue keeps up the work tirelessly. Chaeryeong is still a shaking lump of flesh in front of her, and Ryujin has to make her friend cum.

A cock inside her spurs Ryujin on. She licks her friend’s pussy even faster, and Chaeryeong starts to put the pressure on Ryujin’s head, pushing her head deeper into her cunt. Ryujin can’t think straight anymore—cock in her cunt, cunt in her face. The two of them are taking over her senses—the size, the taste, the scent. It’s everything Ryujin wants.

—

This pleasure feels like a sin to Chaeryeong. She can’t quite comprehend the feeling coursing through her right now. Ryujin’s tongue is doing wonders on her pussy, but she’s her friend! How are they going to look at each other tomorrow?

Still, the pleasure overwhelms her senses like a goddamn tsunami. It’s fucking electric every time Ryujin’s tongue glides past her swollen clit. Her cunt feels like it’s on fire. Hell, her hand even presses Ryujin’s face deep into her needy pussy!

“So–So good,” Chaeryeong mewls. Her head falls backwards.

The grip on Ryujin’s head becomes tighter. Chaeryeong is trying to intoxicate her friend, making her drunk with her pussy. The strands of Ryujin’s short hair find their places between Chaeryeong’s hands. Ryujin is drunk in her pussy, and Chaeryeong, even if it is so foreign, is loving it.

—

Shin Ryujin’s cunt feels too good.

You pound into her with reckless abandon, eliciting moans and whimpers suppressed by her friend’s cunt. She’s lying stomach-flat on the bed, so perfect for your domination. Her juice spills out of her needy pussy onto the bed. Those poor staff. They’re going to have a lot of work tomorrow.

You lie down against the smoothness of her back, feeling her warmth. You’re putting your weight on her. Your head is right beside her. Such a perfect view to watch Ryujin eating Chaeryeong’s cunt. The sight of her tongue splaying on her friend’s cunt is obscenely vulgar. Chaeryeong’s meaty thighs are shaking in pleasure.

Your hands roam over the front of Ryujin’s body, feeling her abs, her firm tits, and eventually, you grab onto the front of her neck. God, what a body. You pull Ryujin’s face out of Chaeryeong’s cunt, leaving a string of juice between them. Ryujin is so drunk in pleasure coursing through her—your cock inside her cunt, and Chaeryeong’s cunt on her pretty face. Her eyes are barely open. Her expression is so damn puzzled by the situation.

Suddenly, you pull Ryujin in for a sensual kiss. The remnant of the earlier Long Island iced tea lingers. Then, there’s the violent taste of Chaeryeong’s salty juice on her lips. It’s so good. You plunge your tongue into Ryujin’s mouth, making her moan as your cock keeps plowing her cunt with no abandon.

—

Chaeryeong is barely able to catch her breath as Ryujin’s tongue leaves her cunt. God, what a feeling she just had. It’s a bit of a whiplash, but her finger will do. She pushes her digits into her own cunt again as they kiss, watching the rough fucking in front of herself. She curls her finger where she needs it the most, prolonging the intense pleasure she felt from Ryujin’s tongue. She’s chasing her own orgasm, and she’s sure that she’s so fucking close.

“Oh god, oh god, oh goddd!”

Chaeryeong sprays her juice onto her friend’s face, making her the first victim of the night. She cums, hard. Her body shakes with intense pleasure as her fingers are knuckles deep into her cunt, curling up at the right fucking spot. Her body falls onto the soft bed, limping, shaking.

“Nghh~ Ch–Chae, you t–taste good,” Ryujin stammers, eyes barely open, body all limp under his dominance.

She can only catch her breath quietly, in front of the rough fucking Ryujin is taking.

—

The sensation is just too foreign for Ryujin to comprehend at this point. Chaeryeong just squirted on her face, and then she got knocked out from the sheer intensity of her own orgasm. Ryujin can’t move. She’s merely a spectator of this debauchery, and the best part is she’s more than willing to let him fuck her into oblivion.

“Nghmm, s–so g–good,” Ryujin mewls, so cock-drunk with the violent pounding from her back.

He gives her ass a loud spank, making her moan in the mix of shocking pain and surprising pleasure. His cock grazes against her wall so well—perfect curve, perfect length. He’s everything she could’ve asked for.

“More!” Ryujin says.

—

You give Ryujin’s reddened cheeks another harsh spank, making her yelp. Her ass is so fucking soft. You’re loving this. She’s loving this.

“More, p–please!” she mewls, she’s barely holding herself up from the pleasure coursing through her veins.

Your fucking cannot get rougher at this point—the ass slap–

“Ah!”

–the violent pounding. It’s making Ryujin dazed. It’s making Ryujin lost in the throes of pleasure. And the best part? It’s you doing all of this.

—

If he keeps up the pace, she’s going to cum in a minute.

Her pussy is getting stretched by his cock. He’s making her feel so full. It’s hitting all of her right spots. She keeps moaning and moaning in the wake of this divine delight. Her body feels limp, unable to move, but she loves this. She’s getting a cock inside her cunt, and she couldn��t have asked for more tonight.

The wave starts to form. It’s far, but it’s there. Her muscles tighten in this bliss. She’s going to cum!

“Oh god, I–I’m gonna–”

Her words are cut off with another slap on her ass, making her cry an unintelligible sound out. She finds the sound weird, but that’s the least of her concern right now.

“–cum, nghh.”

The wave hits. Ryujin’s orgasm crashes into her like a goddamn tsunami. Her body turns rigid in the wake of this divine delight under his. She lets out a loud wail. Her hands find purchase in the bedsheets, gripping onto them with her dear life. She savors it hungrily. She knows she’s going to fucking remember this, she’s going to.

After what felt like an eternity, she comes down from her peak. Ryujin slowly catches her breath with her still-fluttering eyes. She just had one of the best orgasms in her life. She’s going to cherish this moment, she’s going to.

—

That blowjob plays a part in delaying your orgasm. Thank god.

You drag your cock out of her spent pussy. It’s glistened in her filthy juice, shining against the nocturne. You watch her as she basks in the afterglow, trying to make sense of what just happened.

(Well, you’re also trying to make sense of what just happened.)

“Oh god,” you utter. Chaeryeong slowly sits up on the bed again, hair all messy after her mind-breaking orgasm.

“Should we–Should we take–a break?” you weakly ask, barely holding yourself together.

“Another round, p–please.”

“Fuck me, this time,” Chaeryeong blurts out, seeing the damage you’ve inflicted on Ryujin. “I want the same package as hers.”

Fucking hell.

—

You are sure that you aren’t going to forget this.

You’re fucking Lee Chaeryeong’s ass, as she eats Shin Ryujin’s pussy from above. Ryujin is looking up at you with her doe eyes, so dazed by the overwhelming pleasure she’s feeling. Chaeryeong’s ass feels so tight, so right. You can’t help but moan her name out in pure ecstasy. This is going to leave a mark on you forever. 

Your balls ghost past Ryujin’s face. Sometimes, she’d stick out her tongue to make your body jolt when you thrust into Chaeryeong’s ass. Ryujin moans and writhes under her, so lost in the pleasure her friend is giving. This must feel so right for her.

“Fuck, y–you’re so tight, Chaeryeong,” you utter, eyes barely opening with the intense pleasure coursing through you.

“You–You better c–cum in my a–ass–ah!” she replies, shaken as your cock plow into her ass.

“M–More than happy too, M–Miss Lee.”

—

She now knows why Ryujin was so ecstatic when she’s fucked like this.

He feels so full in her ass, full in the way no one has ever made her feel before. He pounds her without any relent, making sure that she will never forget this. The sensation is just electric. The sensation is just overwhelming, and she’s loving every second.

Ryujin’s taste is also nothing short of insane. She’s perfectly salty. The texture is perfect. Her scent is driving her insane. Chaeryeong keeps lavishing her friend’s cunt tirelessly, so fucking determined to make her cum with her tongue.

“G–God, fuck. Y–You taste so fucking good, Ryu,” she mewls, voice shaken along with the movement of his cock in her ass.

She hears Ryujin giggle from below.

—

Two layers of drunkenness can be a little overwhelming for Ryujin—one with the alcohol, another one with the sex, but she’s fucking revelling in this.

His balls are swinging above her face, and she makes sure to stick out her tongue whenever she can, to make him cum in her friend’s ass. Ryujin grabs onto his thighs softly, leaving enough room of strength to make him move freely. Her nails dig lightly into his skin, leaving crescent marks on him.

Down below (or above, it doesn’t matter anymore), Chaeryeong sure knows how to eat pussy. She’s lapping Ryujin’s cunt masterfully, eliciting moans and moans out of her lungs. She’s so fucking drunk in the sex she just can’t think straight anymore.

The familiar sensation builds up in her loins—the same sensation for when his cock was in her cunt, the same sensation for when her fingers are knuckles deep into her wet, tight cavern. She’s going to cum.

“Oh god, oh god, gonna cum!” Ryujin mewls, so hazy from the relentless pleasure crashing onto her.

Instead of any reply, Chaeryeong only laps on her cunt faster and faster and faster. Ryujin’s head is feeling like it’s going to explode. She’s so dizzy. She brings her finger down to rub herself off, making her hips buck into Chaeryeong’s face with bliss.

Ryujin becomes the first to cum twice in this messy debauchery. Her cunt sprays gushes of juice onto Chaeryeong’s face. Her friend shows no sign of disgust, instead latching her lips on Ryujin’s clit, making her scream in pure delight. Her hands find purchase on the bed sheets tightly, as her scream pierces through the quiet nocturne.

—

Well, Yeji is definitely going to hear that.

Ryujin tastes great—perfectly salty. Chaeryeong feels torn. It feels so wrong to be her friend, but who can resist Ryujin’s charm?

Ryujin’s legs twitch in the corner of Chaeryeong’s eyes. She seems to be really lost in it. Chaeryeong keeps her mouth on Ryujin’s needy pussy, casting her in a state of bliss. She tugs it. She nibbles it. She’s making her friend scream with her filthy mouth, all the while taking his cock in her snug ass.

The sensation from behind her is going to put her in the same fate as Ryujin. Her muscles are blazing now. She’s going to cum with a cock in her ass!

“I–I think I’m gonna c–cum too, nghh~”

“At your service, Miss Lee,” he replies, pounding as fast as humanly possible into her. It’s coming. It’s coming.

Gushes of her own juice are discharged onto the damp sheet. Her body writhes with pure ecstasy. Her head falls onto the bed. The current just cuts through her so easily as she breaks the silence in the same way Ryujin did. This feels too fucking good.

—

It’s fucking unforgettable.

You keep fucking Chaeryeong through her unyielding orgasm. Her ass clenches around you as she cums violently. Ryujin is now panting below you, face full of bliss—eyes barely open, tongue hanging out from her slutty mouth. Chaeryeong’s arms are barely holding herself up. She almost collapses onto her friend’s body, writhing with pleasure. What a fucking sight.

You chase your orgasm relentlessly, not giving up even if Chaeryeong and Ryujin already did. Even thrust, every breath, everything in your life was leading to this moment, and you’re not going to waste it.

The familiar feeling builds up within your loins. You keep chasing it. You keep running for it. You’re going to cum inside of Lee Chaeryeong’s ass, and you’re not letting anyone stop it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu–ah!”

To say that it’s one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had wouldn’t be a hyperbole (up there, rivalling the one that you just had by their mouths mere minutes ago). You can literally see stars within your eyes as you unload globs of cum into Lee Chaeryeong. Your body shakes with unyielding bliss. You grunt—loud, stark. Your nails dig into the waist of Lee Chaeryeong. To cum inside her ass is just utterly divine. Your breathing stops. Everything stops. At this moment, it’s just you, Ryujin, and Chaeryeong in this debauchery that no one is going to rob away. This is the fucking high of your life.

You slowly come down from the precipice. You feel so dizzy from the heavenly sensation you just felt. Your cock twitches its last portion of cum into Chaeryeong’s ass, before you drag yourself out of her tightness. Her asshole gapes, missing your cock. Your cum flows out of her gaped asshole. Fuck, it’s beautiful.

“Fuck,” you utter—lost, dazed. You just did something you can’t comprehend, and it’s going to forever stick with you as one of the best moments of your life.

“Yeah, fuck,” Chaeryeong pants, before collapsing on top of Ryujin.

—

City Of Stars

“I know it’s a bit weird to ask you this.” you pause, unsure of your next words. Are they the right people to ask?

Fuck it, you just had the most mind-blowing sex with them. A question wouldn’t hurt.

“But I have an assignment due–” you pause again, looking at your watch. It's a little after two “–today.”

Ryujin laughs quietly. “What? Are you going to have us help with your assignment?”

You can only smile shyly, looking left and right at their ethereal, after-sex faces. “Kinda, yeah.”

Both women let out a laugh. “Sure, go ahead,” Chaeryeong says.

“As I’ve told you, I’m a photography student–”

“Wanna work for JYP after you graduate?” Ryujin asks.

You chuckle. “If it means I’ll see you two again, definitely.”

“That’s our boy,” Ryujin says, nudging your shoulder playfully.

“Well, as I’ve said, I have an assignment due in like–seven hours,” you continue. “I need a photo to hand in this morning. It can be pretty much anything.”

“Anything?” Chaeryeong asks, her hand gently caressing your shoulder.

“Yeah, anything.”

The three of you say nothing for a heartbeat, letting the silence hang in the air. They’re probably trying to help you.

“That seems like a straightforward assignment for me,” Ryujin says. Her hand roams down your body once more, making you shiver.

“Yeah,” Chaeryeong adds, giggling at your response. “Couldn’t have been so hard.”

She gives your cock a slight touch with the back of her hand, and your breath hitches a little.

“My suggestion–” Ryujin leans in to pepper your neck with kisses, sending pleasure through your body “–just pick something that screams you.”

“Ryujin, ngh~”

“You know, I wanna be me, me, me,” she continues between her heavenly kisses.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna be somebody,” Chaeryeong adds, her hands starting to jerk you off now. “Choose something that’s only you could’ve done.”

“Hhngn~”

The muscles start to tense up again.

“Yeah, because nobody else can do that,” Ryujin adds, still planting small pecks over your now-willing body. Her hands are everywhere.

“Good night, baby,” Chaeryeong coos.

And your vision turns white.

—

[boccher]

nothing had ever truly convinced me that there are actual fully bodily abled people out there in the world, until i read cleaning advice subreddits and blog posts. like, what do you mean you clean the shower and toilet every week. what do you mean you scrub the floor out of habit instead of mopping. how are you able to bend over for more than 10 minutes at a time. do your back and leg and arm muscles just not give out or cramp at all while doing these things. does it not take days for your joints to recover back to normal functioning. like holy shit im actually far closer to a disabled person than i am to any of these kinds of people

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

being depressed emotionally but not mentally is. weird

my thoughts aren't dark, life doesn't feel hopeless, I know the mood will pass, I'm calm and at ease with that

but I still feel flat, tired, unenthusiastic about anything, I don't want to eat, I'm not drinking enough water, I didn't leave bed today until 6pm

but when I did I stood outside, I planted my bare feet in the wet grass, and for a moment I didn't feel so numb, for a moment it was nice. I enjoyed that. I was capable of enjoying that, even if briefly

it's like I'm stuck halfway, I feel like thunder without rain

just kinda weird

[syoddeye]

sliding scale

You're in need of a handyman. He has needs of his own. cw: discussion of kids/pregnancy, john price inserting himself into your life, heavily implied breeding kink, unsettling and smutless (my brand)

You win the jackpot. Okay. Not the jackpot, but you're hit by a respectable windfall. It's like a cheesy movie you'd watch around the holidays: A distant relative dies, you receive a very serious letter, and suddenly, your account isn't as sad as it once was.

So, you do the impossible. The unthinkable. You buy a house.

An old, well-loved house from an elderly couple.

The day you close, they tell you about raising their kids in the house and mention the names etched on the door frame. When you arrive home that evening, the empty house feels grand and hollow, but there they are, just where they said. Names climbing upward in uneven increments, faded with time, but legible. You trace your finger along the marks, imagining small hands and the measuring tape, the years slipping by. It makes you smile, despite yourself.

You've never wanted kids, not really, but the thought of this, people leaving bits of themselves behind—it makes you mushy. You figure, once the dust settles, you'll let rooms to friends, maybe friends of friends. Start a fun little commune of sorts, a collective of people coming and going.

The first night, you drink nonalcoholic wine straight from the bottle and lie on your mattress on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. There's no furniture yet, just your overnight bag and the smell of fresh paint from a patch you tested on the living room wall. You fall asleep smiling. The house needs a lot of work, but you're not worried. Some TLC and elbow grease can go a long way.

Over the next few weeks, you move in and start working. Anything is possible with the power of YouTube tutorials and the local tool library.

You start in the primary bedroom and bathroom, learning to tile, install flooring, and connect plumbing for the perfect vanity and sink you found at a thrift store. It feels good to learn how things fit together and see the fruits of your labor. At night, you sleep in one of the old kid's rooms. The wallpaper is covered in rockets and planets. A couple of glow-in-the-dark stars cling to the ceiling.

The bathroom comes together wonderfully, and you feel invincible.

But then you get to the kitchen.

After an outlet zaps you, you decide you may be in over your head. That there really is a limit to what one person can do on their own. You start looking up local contractors, but everything is out of your budget. You've been doing all the work yourself for a reason. Then, after digging for ages, you find a promising lead: John Price - Handyman - Sliding Scale.

On the phone, John seems normal. Charming. Funny. He tells you he's impressed you bought a house on your own. (You've heard that a lot lately, and while it feels patronizing, you let it go. You did jump up a band upon inheriting your chunk of Great Uncle Leroy's money.) He agrees to come by and see what he can do.

You have to admit he makes a good impression when he shows up. He's punctual, polite, and looks the part. Broad chest, thick arms, big hands resting on his hips as he surveys the kitchen. After only a few minutes, he says he'll take the job. No hesitation.

You explain your tight budget and that you'll work alongside him when you're not at your day job. You show him the money you've set aside, expecting him to back out, but he just shakes his head and nudges the folder back across the table.

"Said I'd do it. Don't you fret, darl."

You vet him afterward, just to be sure. His references check out. The reviews are solid. He appears to know a little about everything. You text him to confirm, formally offering the job, and he accepts.

On the first day, you let him in and immediately have to avert your eyes. You didn't realize a toolbelt could look like that on someone. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms, and the way he moves—confident, purposeful—makes you grateful you're heading out to work. You tell him when you'll be back and leave quickly, gripping the steering wheel tighter than usual thinking about the hunk of man in your house.

When you return, the kitchen looks different, unfinished, but vastly improved. John's already fixed things you didn't think could be fixed. Over lunch, he even scoped out other problems around the house: a crack in the basement wall, a loose board on the stairs, and spots where the flooring must be replaced. He gushes about the house, praising its character, the way it's held up over time.

John's face grows serious, and stares down his nose when he finally asks, "You're not gonna ask me to paint over the wood or rip out the built-in hutch, are ya?"

His relief over your answer is palpable: No. That's why you bought the house in the first place. You describe what you love about it: the glass doorknobs, the dining room archway, and transom windows above the doors. He nods. He knows exactly what you mean.

Before he leaves for the day, he stops at the doorframe and points to the tallest name etched into the wood. You explain it belonged to the previous owners, a family with seven kids.

"Seven," he repeats, eyebrows raised.

"Right? Can you believe that? Seven!" You laugh. Frankly, anything more than two sounds insane. 

But John doesn't laugh. He stares at the names for a moment, his jaw tight. "Yeah. Difficult to imagine."

After he leaves, you scold yourself. You don't really know John. You've known him for all of a day. What if he came from a big family? Or what if he doesn't speak to his family anymore, if things are complicated with his parents? You feel awful, and the guilt channels itself into stress-baking.

The next morning, when he shows up, there's a platter of breakfast pasties waiting on the counter. He hesitates, looks almost bashful, until you insist. He takes a bite, then another, and looks at you with genuine astonishment. He says if you leave food like this every morning, he'll knock his rate down even further.

It makes sense, financially speaking, so you agree. You start making breakfast for two, and in return, he keeps the repairs affordable. The ritual becomes routine: John shows up every weekday morning, you eat together, he gets to work, and you leave. You look forward to seeing him. Hearing his voice rumble out good mornings and goodnights.

For two weeks, you come home to find steady progress on the kitchen. You help him out for an hour or two in the evenings, and by the time it's nearly finished, you've started discussing other parts of the house.

You mention the two smallest children's rooms aren't really usable for tenants. You show him your plans to knock down the wall between them and create a library or office space.

But this time, John doesn't agree.

"First I'm hearing of this," He leans back in his chair at your table. His arms cross over his chest, legs spreading wide. Even sitting, you see what he's doing. Trying to take a posture that carries authority, to cow you. "Tenants? What about a family?"

You try to steer the conversation back to your plans, to the picture you've sketched. "I'm not planning on having one. So, like I was saying—"

"Why buy a house this big, then? Why spend all this time fixin' it up if you're not planning to honor its legacy?"

The tone of his voice shifts completely, with no trace of the easy, flirty banter that's been your norm for weeks. His words drip with disdain. His brow knits together. Nostrils flaring. He looks genuinely upset. Mystified that you're not going to fill the house with your…your brood.

It's as if your refusal to have children is an affront to him personally. 

It sends a chill down your spine. Instantly, your image of him—this dependable, good-humored man—cracks apart. You glance past him, searching for the right words, and focus on the kitchen instead. The cabinets, the fixtures, the paint. All of it bears his mark now, and it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

The realization settles like a stone in your stomach. You can't keep working with him. Not if your plans for the house, your house, are going to be a problem.

You tell him as much, as gently as possible.

His anger bleeds out of him quickly, melting into embarrassment and shame. His shoulders drop, and he folds into himself in a way that seems almost impossible for someone his size. "Don't know what came over me, darl."

He packs up his tools while apologizing again, both for his outburst and for the unfinished work, and gives you the spare key you lent to him for emergencies. Before he leaves, he asks you not to write a review, not even a positive one, and you agree. Things had been good until now. You don't want to ruin him over this. People have bad days.

With the kitchen functional and nothing too big left on your plate, you cut your losses and decide to finish the work alone.

Progress is slow on your own, of course. One pair of hands, only so many hours after work to chip away at the list after work. Still, time moves faster than you expect. You push through exhaustion, head often swimming, and work late into the evenings. One night, you finish patching the floor and tackle the basement's cracked wall. Only when you get down there, it's already done. Smoothed over perfectly.

You tell yourself John must've fixed it before everything went south. But then you notice other things. Several odd jobs from your list are already complete.

Squeaky door hinges turn silent. The dings and nail holes in the walls, spackled over. The second toilet that kept running starts working correctly. It's partly a relief, like the house is taking care of itself, but also deeply unsettling. You don't remember doing it, you've never sleepwalked or slept-repair in your life, even in your overtired state, and you're still too sore over your falling out to text John and ask if he did it all.

Instead, you decide to take a break. A few days off work, a proper rest. Let the house settle, let yourself breathe. Nothing happens. No floating tools. No ghosts. It's like the house is waiting for you to look away.

Paranoia sets in. You order cameras—indoor and outdoor, enough to cover every angle.

The day they arrive, you barely make it through the door before tearing open the box. But something stops you. Your eyes catch on a strange wooden box sitting on the dining table. It's a shadowbox.

Inside the box is the slat from the front doorframe, the one with the heights and names of the seven kids who grew up here. It's been cut out, perfectly, and framed like an artifact.

Your stomach drops. You scramble to the doorframe and run your hands over it, frantic. The patchwork is seamless, so clean it's like the names never existed.

Then you notice the boots. Tucked in and lined up next to your own pairs. The extra jacket hanging on the hooks.

A shadow falls over you.

You freeze, heart in your throat, and slowly turn with eyes the size of dinner plates. Towering above you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, fists planted on his hips, is John. Grinning.

"Work alright today?" He bends down and pulls you to your feet by your wrist, wrapping you up in an embrace and welcoming you home. He sways slightly with you, like you're dancing, his chest rising and falling against yours. He looks at you with a clear fondness and affection, but there's something off, like a splintering foundation. Stable until you look too close.

You try to push yourself away, palms flat against his chest, but he doesn't let go. "What are—What are you doing here? What are—Why did you do that?" You glance again toward where the measurements used to be.

He chuckles, soft and unbothered, a wistfulness threaded in his words. "Well, we're gonna need the room for our little ones, yeah? Oh, we'll have seven or more, dependin' on what takes. Sliding scale and all that."

At your stunned, horrified silence, he slots a hand into the back pocket of your jeans. He gives your cheek a little squeeze and starts steering you toward the kitchen. The one he built for you.

"C'mon. Lemme tell you all about my plans for us."

[itneverendshere]

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

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of severe anemia; pregnancy; abortion

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe sat in his truck outside the unassuming brick building for longer than he’d care to admit, over two hours. The sign out front read “Coastal Therapy Center” in simple, soothing letters, but nothing about this felt soothing.

Therapy. 

If someone had told him just three months ago he’d be here, he would have laughed in their face. Therapy was for weak people, that was what Ward Cameron had drilled into him since he was a kid. It was the kind of shit he’d spent his whole life avoiding because, what was the point? Nothing ever changed. Not for him, not for his so-called family.

After his mom died, Ward’s solution was to bury it—all of it. Grief, pain, confusion. “Camerons don’t cry,” he’d said. “We keep moving forward.” But what if forward felt like walking through hell?

The door felt impossibly far away, but he knew he had to get out.

“Get your shit together man,” he muttered under his breath.

He could hear his dad’s voice in his head, unforgiving. Weak. Pathetic. That same voice had driven him for years, pushed him to be stronger, tougher, to bury every fucking thing he felt. But it wasn’t Ward’s voice that mattered now, it was yours, the Picture of your eyes shining with tears the last time you’d spoken to him.

He glanced at the building again, still not knowing if he believed in it, if it could fix whatever was broken inside him. But he did know one thing: if he didn’t at least try, he’d lose you for good.

Rafe exhaled sharply, shoving open the truck door, but before he walked it, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. His fingers fumbled with the lighter, the flame sputtering before finally catching. He took a drag, the smoke burning his lungs in a way that almost felt good.

He exhaled slowly, watching the gray wisps disappear into the air. He flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot. He should just leave. Get back in the truck, drive somewhere, anywhere but here. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered, pushing himself off the wall and shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked back to the door. One foot in front of the other, he told himself, although it felt like walking to his own execution.The waiting room was quiet, with soft music playing in the background. 

He hated it already. He didn’t belong here, but he chose to stay, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt like a bitch. He couldn’t stop his legs from bouncing as he waited for the receptionist to notice him.

When she eventually looked up and smiled, he nodded stiffly, avoiding her. He didn’t want her kindness. Didn’t deserve it. Rafe wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say when he walked into that first session. 

He didn’t know how to explain the mess, the voices in his head, the anger that raged over and the guilt that followed like a shadow. But he knew why he was here.

When the therapist finally called his name, Rafe hesitated for half a second before standing. She looked normal enough—glasses, sweater, clipboard—but it still made his skin crawl. He felt like she could see through him, as if she already knew all the shit he’d done and thought and didn’t want to admit to anyone, especially himself.

“Rafe?” she called again, her voice patient. He didn’t deserve that either, but he nodded and followed her to the room.

It was small, the kind of place that made him feel like a caged animal, he sat on the couch because what the hell else was he supposed to do, and stared at the floor, picking at a thread on his jeans.

“So,” she started, sitting across from him, crossing her legs like this was just a normal conversation. “What brings you here today?”

 “Huh, what doesn’t?” he said before he could stop himself. He glanced up at her, half expecting her to kick him out right there.

But she didn’t, instead she simply nodded, like she got it, she’d heard worse. 

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s start with whatever feels the hardest.”

He leaned back, running a hand over his face. 

Where the fuck was he even supposed to start? His mom dying? His dad? The drugs, the fights, the hole he’d dug so deep he wasn’t sure he’d ever crawl out? Or maybe with you, with the way he’d pushed you away until you had no choice but to hate him?

“I don’t know,” he said finally. His eyes stayed glossed over on a spot on the carpet “I guess...uh, I should start with my mom, right? She died when I was fourteen. Leukemia.”

The therapist didn’t say anything, just nodded like she was giving him space to keep going. He hated the silence, how much it made him feel, but he kept going, because if he was going to do this shit right, he might as well not half-ass it.

““I’m sorry to hear that,” she said gently. “What do you remember most about her? What was she like?”

Rafe’s lips twitched, “She was… everything, y’know?” His throat felt sore, “I know everyone says that shit about their mom, but she really was. She was the one who kept everything together. When my dad was being—” 

He stopped short, his jaw twitching at how hard he bite his tongue.

“When he was being what?” the therapist prompted.

“When he was being him, she was the one who’d step in. She’d tell him to back off, that I was just a kid, or that I didn’t deserve whatever shit he was throwing at me that day. She was the only one who ever really had my back.”

“How did losing her affect your relationship with your dad?”

“It changed everything. When she got sick, it was like… I don’t know, like everything just fell apart. She was the glue, y’know? Without her, my dad just—he went full-on Ward Cameron.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he swallowed hard, “I remember the day she died,” he said after a long pause. “I thought I’d have more time. They kept saying it was bad, but I didn’t think it would happen that day. And then it did. Just like that.”

He rubbed his hands together, the motion frantic, restless. “I didn’t even cry. I just sat there, staring at the floor while my dad kept saying, ‘We’ll get through this. We’re Camerons. We don’t fall apart.’ And I was like, okay, I guess that’s what we’re doing then. Not falling apart. Just… moving forward.”

“What does that mean to you, ‘full-on Ward Cameron’?”

“It means he turned me into his fucking project.”

“Did he ever talk to you about what you were feeling? About how hard it was to lose her?” the therapist asked, her tone pointed.

“No,” Rafe said immediately,“My dad never wanted to talk about it. He acted like it was this... inconvenience. Yeah, he was sad, but he just buried it, wanted me to do the same.”

“What do you mean by that?” she prompted

Rafe let out a bitter laugh. 

“I’m the oldest, out of three. Not just the oldest— the only son. Wen she died, my dad decided I had to step up, be the man of the house. Take care of my sisters, keep everything running smoothly. Be his goddamn mini-me, like that was even possible. I was fourteen, but that shit didn’t matter. My dad expected me to bury all the shit I was feeling, I had to be twice as strong because I was the only man left.”

“How did that make you feel?” she asked, her tone measured but firm.

“How do you think it made me feel?” he snapped, his voice rising before he caught himself. He sighed, leaning forward again and dropping his head into his hands. “Shit, sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay,” she nodded, not the least bit fazed, “But I think it’s important to answer that question. How did it make you feel?”

“Like shit,” he admitted after a long pause. “I couldn’t do anything right. I was pissed at him for putting all of that on me, pissed at my sister for needing me, pissed at her for dying and leaving me with all this. And most of all, pissed at myself because no matter what I did, it was never enough. Not for him, not for me.”

“Do you think you could have stopped it?” the therapist asked softly.

Rafe’s head snapped up at that, but then he shook his head. “No,” he admitted, “I know I couldn’t, it wasn’t my fault. But it felt like it was, if I’d been better—smarter, stronger—she would’ve stayed. Or at least… she would’ve been proud of me for trying.”

He hasn't said it out loud since that night, with you.

She pursed her lips, as she took notes, “You should give yourself more credit, for how much you’ve survived.”

“Credit? For what? Being a fuck-up?”

She barely looked up from her notebook, changing the direction of her questions, “What do you think your mom would say to you now, if she could?” 

Rafe’s throat tightened, and he looked away, “I don’t know. Fuck, maybe... maybe she’d say she’s proud of me for being here. For trying to fix it, even if I should’ve done it years ago,” He paused, swallowing hard. “She probably would think I’m a fucking idiot, I pushed away the one person who actually fucking mattered.”

“Who’s that?” the therapist asked gently.

“My girlfriend,” He bit his tongue, the word stinging, “Ex-girlfriend now, I guess. After my dad died, I just—I started pushing her away. Picking fights over Ward, shutting her out when she tried to help me see the truth about him,” He swallowed hard, his throat burning. 

He hadn’t expected to feel this vulnerable, but now that he’d started talking about you, about what he’d ruined, it was hard to stop.

“She’s the one, y’know?” he muttered, his voice distant as though he was speaking to himself more than anyone else. “I fucked it all up.”

“What happened?”

Rafe let out a shaky breath.

“I was an asshole. I told her I didn’t need her, that she should just leave, like it wasn’t me who was the fuckin’problem. She did—she left, thought if I cut her loose or pushed her away, maybe I wouldn’t feel so fucking broken. Maybe if I wasn’t constantly looking at her and seeing everything I couldn’t be, I could... I don’t know. Get my shit together or some bullshit.” He rubbed his temples, frustration mounting “But then, like a fucking idiot, I started seeing someone else. All I could think about was how much it would hurt her if she found out. And it did.” His voice cracked, “It fucking destroyed her, I knew it would. That’s the worst part—I fucking knew, and I still let it happen, like the selfish piece of shit I am.”

He pressed his palms to his eyes, hoping it could block out the memory of you—your tear-streaked face.

“What do you think that relationship was about?”

His fists clenched again, “A distraction? I thought if I just... started fresh, started with someone who didn’t know all my baggage, someone who wouldn’t make me feel like I was constantly failing, I could just... forget. Forget everything. Forget her, forget my dad, forget how fucked up I was.”

“And did it help you forget?” she asked, her voice steady, but full of understanding.

“No,” He gritted out, “I couldn’t stop thinking about her, even when I was with someone else. Every time I closed my eyes, it was her face I saw. Her voice I heard in my head, telling me I could do better, be better. Shit, all I could do was prove her wrong.”

The therapist leaned forward slightly, her expression compassionate. “It sounds like she means a great deal to you.”

“Talking about her,” He paused, wincing as if he was in physical pain, “She’s just—fuck, man—she’s always in my head. It’s worse than talking about my parents, worse than remembering my mom dying or my dad. Because with them, it’s just... loss, y’know? Her? I had her, she was there. She loved me, and I ruined it.”

“What do you think she would say to you now, if she could hear this?” the therapist suggested, “You don’t have to think about it, if you don’t want to.”

Rafe’s breath hitched, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He chuckled, but it came out jagged “Shit, that sounded real fuckin’ pathetic, huh? I can’t even talk about her without losing my shit.”

“It’s not pathetic. Give it a try.”

“I don’t know,” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his noise, “That it’s too late? She’s done with me, and I deserve it. I think she’d still tell me to get my shit together and she’s proud of me for trying, even if I’m still the same fucked-up mess I was when she left, even if she hates me. That’s the kind of person she is.” His throat tightened again, and he looked away. “But even if she did, it doesn’t change the fact that I broke her heart.”

The therapist let the silence stretch for a moment before speaking again. “It’s clear that you’re carrying a lot of pain, not just from losing her, but from how you see yourself in all of this. Have you ever thought about what it might look like to forgive yourself?”

“Forgive myself?” Rafe repeated, his voice incredulous. He shook his head, scoffing. “I don’t even... know what that would look like, y’know?” His leg started bouncing again, the restless energy coursing through him. “How do you even do that? Is there, uh, like, a fucking manual or something for that shit?” His voice cracked on the last word, and he shook his head, “I keep replaying it. All the shit I said to her.”

The therapist didn’t say anything, just watched him, her expression poised. He hated that, how calm she was when he felt like he was losing it.

He huffed, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, yeah, maybe that’s why I’m here. I don’t even know where to fucking start. It’s just—fuck, it’s just a lot. Too much.”

“It’s a lot of guilt for just one person, Rafe,” she pointed out, “Your mom, your dad, your relationship. And I think you’re right—talking about it won’t change the past, but it might help you figure out how to move forward.”

He scoffed “Yeah, okay. Move forward. Sounds easy enough.”

“It’s not easy,” she admitted. “But it’s possible. You don’t have to figure it all out today, or even next month.” 

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“You’ve already started,” she pointed out. “You’re here.”

You’re here. 

Those two words rattled around in his skull. He was here, but why? To make himself feel better? To prove to himself—or you—that he could do this, could change? Did he even believe that?

He thought about the nights he spent pacing his room, phone in hand, your number glowing on the screen. He’d wanted to call, to apologize, to beg, but he couldn’t. What would he even say? 

Rafe let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping, his foot tapping out an uneven rhythm. He didn’t have it in him to argue, not anymore. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I’m here.”

He was there, sure, but the room still felt small, the air dirty, his own body too restless to sit still for another second. His hands clenched into fists against his thighs, his nails biting into the fabric of his levi’s.

“You say you’re a mess, but you’re here,” the therapist said after a moment, her tone even. “You’re talking about it, trying to figure out what went wrong and what you can do to make it right. That doesn’t sound like someone who’s given up.”

He wanted her to push, to give him a reason to bolt out of there, to justify why this whole thing was a stupid mistake. But she didn’t, she was waiting like she had all the time in the world.

“Why’s it gotta be like this, huh? Why does everything have to hurt so f-fucking much? Why can’t I just... be normal? Like everyone else?”

“Normal is a lot more complicated than it looks. What does ‘normal’ mean to you?”

He scoffed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know. Not waking up every day feeling like... like there’s this weight on my chest.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze firm but not invasive. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my life,” he scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s like... I can’t turn it off, y’know?” He gestured vaguely at himself, at the space around him. “It’s just there. Always.”

“You mentioned earlier that you feel like you’re not enough,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “Not enough for who?”

“For anyone,” he said immediately, then paused, his throat tightening. “For my dad, for my sisters... for her. I mean, shit, if I can’t even be enough for me, how the fuck am I supposed to be enough for anyone else?”

The therapist smiled faintly, not unkindly. “That’s what we’re here to understand.”

Two hours later and 300$ short, his phone buzzed on the passenger seat, the screen lighting up with two missed calls and a flood of texts. All from Topper. 

Rafe grabbed the phone, unlocking it with his thumb and scrolling through the messages.

Topper: “Bro. SOS.” “I think she hates me.” “Like, actually hates me.” “Call me back. This is a situation.”

He huffed out a breath, tossing the phone back onto the seat. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. Topper’s idea of a crisis was probably that your coffee order had foam when you wanted oat milk or some shit.

Rafe rubbed his temples knowing he wasn’t exactly in a position to play mediator. 

The last call came in five minutes ago, he muttered, “What the fuck did you do now?” and hit the call button.

Topper picked up on the first ring.

“Rafe!” Topper’s voice was a mess— frantic, breathless, like he’d just run a marathon. “Okay, okay, it’s official—she’s gonna kill me or us—”

“Top, what the fuck are you talking about?” He snapped, already annoyed.

“I—uh—Did you tell her I told you?” Topper stammered. “Because she blocked me, everywhere. She told me, ‘Never speak to me again,’ and blocked me! I’m dead. She’s gonna cut me off for good, man.”

Rafe bit the inside of his cheek, “I didn’t, but Sarah knows you know.”

“Why would you tell her?” Topper grumbled out, “You know she hates me too. She’s the enemy.”

“She’s my sister you fuckin’ idiot.”

“Semantics.”

Rafe leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling of his truck. He wanted to hang up, but Topper’s desperation was almost pathetic enough to make him stick around

His friend fell silent for a moment. Then, quietly: “You think she’s gonna be okay? I mean, with everything?”

“I don’t know. But she’s strong. She’s gonna do what she needs to do—whether we’re in the picture or not.”

Topper swallowed audibly. “So… what do I do?”

Rafe sighed, “Give her space. Just… back off and let her come to you. If she even wants to.”

“It’s kinda crazy, right? Asking you for advice? For the longest time, you were public enemy number one. You, the big, bad ex who broke her heart.” Topper’s laugh was nervous, he knew he was pushing it but couldn’t stop himself. “Now she hates me more. Like, I dethroned you. That’s wild.”

 “Yeah, hilarious,” he muttered.

Topper either didn’t catch the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. “A real plot twist. I knew I’d screw up eventually, but I didn’t think I’d ever top your record.”

“Topper,” Rafe growled, “this isn’t a fuckin’ joke. You don’t even know the half of it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You mean, like… she really hates you, or…?”

Wow.

Rafe clicked his tongue in annoyance, “The fuck you think?”

"Wait, wait," Topper said quickly, his voice climbing. "You still haven’t asked her? Confirmed all this? What if I—what if I misunderstood or something?"

His eyes squeezed shut, as if the sheer force of Topper’s stupidity might give him an aneurysm. "Yeah, fuckin' genius. Because it’s so easy to ask someone who won’t even look at me, let alone talk to me."

"Okay, okay, fair," Topper admitted, “Your sister could’ help.”

“Again Top, be fucking serious.”

"Yeah, okay, nevermind. But what if it’s not true? What if I made things worse for no reason?"

"You did make things worse," Rafe snapped, his patience hanging by a thread. "You’re lucky she hasn’t shown up at your door to shoot you.”

"Not helping, dude," Topper muttered, then hesitated. "So… what’re you gonna do? I mean, if she won’t talk to you, if Sarah won’t fess up, how’re you gonna know for sure? What if she really is—y’know—and you’re just sitting here like a dumbass, waiting for a miracle?"

Rafe opened his eyes, staring blankly at the dashboard. Topper wasn’t wrong, but hearing it said out loud made his stomach burn, especially after he just spent a good fucking hour talking about you, pouring his feelings out to a stranger he paid for.

Was he wasting time—time you needed him to be stepping up?

"I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, okay? I want to know, but—she’s got every right to hate me, man. How am I supposed to just… show up and ask her something like that, huh?”

Topper exhaled loudly, his usual bravado replaced with uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Yeah, I guess you’re kinda in a lose-lose situation. Damn. That’s rough, bro."

"Thanks for the insight. Real helpful," Rafe grumbled, running a hand over his face.

“She’s blocking me, she’s not talking to you—you think she’s just gonna wake up one day and decide to make it easy for us? For you?"

Rafe sighed, "No. She’s not."

"So… what’s the move?"

Rafe stared out the windshield, his heart pounding in his chest. What was the move? He didn’t have an answer.

"Guess I’ll figure it out," he said finally, voice rough around the edges.

Topper hummed thoughtfully. "Well, uh, good luck with that. And, y’know, if you figure it out… let me know if I’m, like, still alive in her eyes or if I should start preparing for witness protection."

Rafe rubbed his forehead, trying to avoid the headache that was building behind his eyes. "You’re on your own there.”

"Fair," Topper said lightly, “Shit, this is depressing. We should go on a boat ride tomorrow.”

A boat day? He could almost hear the suggestion in Topper's voice: a desperate, half-hearted attempt to get away from it all.

"Yeah," Rafe hummed, "Maybe.”

"Seriously, though, it might help," Topper said, but he could tell the guy was genuinely losing it, "Get out on the water, clear our heads, get some space.”

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, staring at the dashboard “Space,” he repeated hollowly. Empty. "Yeah, I guess.”

Topper's voice came through again, sounding more serious "Just don't stay in your head too long, man. Don't get stuck there. You deserve a break too.”

Maybe the boat ride was the kind of distraction he needed to stop the spiral he’d been going down over the past few days. To stop thinking about all the things he couldn’t fix right now.

"Alrigh’, we’ll do the boat thing."

Topper, as if relieved that Rafe was playing along, responded with a chuckle. “Sweet. I’ll get the cooler ready. It’ll be good. I’ll try not to drive you completely insane.”

“Don’t make any promises,” He rolled his eyes, feeling the tension in his body soothe slightly, though it was still there—a bruise that hadn't healed.

The call ended shortly after, leaving him alone with his thoughts again.

He glanced at the phone, the notifications still lighting up with messages from Topper. He barely glanced at them, his mind turning instead to you, as always. To the things he should have said, the things he should have done. To the feeling of you slipping farther away, out of his reach, out of his life.

He didn’t know what the hell he was doing anymore, didn’t know how to fix any of this. 

He just knew that at least for a little while, he wouldn’t have to be alone with his thoughts.

You were at ponguelandia again for the night, it wasn’t exactly where you wanted to be, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?

Sarah had insisted, practically dragged you here after hearing about your “severe anemia” situation. Add the fact that carrying the baby could fuck up your health to the point where you’d be bedridden for the rest of your life (or worse), and it was a recipe for a meltdown. 

You couldn’t be alone right now, not after all that. Being around people was better than being alone. 

Her and John B were being everything you needed, so you’d put on a happy face and pretend you weren’t dying inside. They were doing their whole supportive couple thing, and it was almost everything you needed—if it weren’t also so annoyingly them. Could they be more in love? Probably not. It was nauseating in the best and worst way, watching the life you could’ve had with someone else if things had turned out differently.

Then there was Kie and JJ. They were around, too, in their usual JJ-and-Kie way: watching you, but not prying, holding back out of respect—or pity. They knew you’d passed out on the beach two weeks ago and that you were “sick,” but Sarah had spared them the details. Small blessings, you guessed.

You were trying your best to keep up the whole "everything’s fine" act, but it was getting exhausting. Sarah had been the one who knew the real story—about the anemia, the baby, the complications—and she was the only one who knew how much of a mess you were in.

You’d asked her not to tell any of them. That didn’t make the pretending any easier. All they knew was that you were feeling a little under the weather, run-down, nothing too serious. You didn’t want to tell them. They’d never understand, not in the way you needed him to. Not when the issue was...everything.

You were curled up on the couch in their messy living room, a blanket thrown over your legs, you were trying to hide under it. You were just tired of pretending you weren’t falling apart inside. But you could do it for Sarah, she deserved to have a normal night, one that wasn’t filled with you sobbing in her arms. 

John B was sitting on the other side of the couch, there was an awkward space between you two. Not in a bad way, just... you didn’t really know him. He and Rafe had a history, to say things were tense between them was an understatement. But you liked him for Sarah, he treated her right. 

That was more than you could say for a lot of people in her life, so... here you were.

Kie was sitting cross-legged on the armchair, holding a bottle of something that definitely wasn’t soda, while JJ sprawled across the floor by her feet. John B had his arm slung casually around Sarah, who was perched on the couch between you and him, her body half-turned toward you as if she were ready to intervene at a moment’s notice. 

Always watching, always waiting.

JJ tossed a pretzel at Kiara, which she caught without looking up.

“So, tomorrow’s the big day,” he announced, grinning like a kid.

Kie rolled her eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“To you,” he shot back, pointing dramatically. “To me? Monumental. Legendary. Historic.”

Sarah groaned. “He’s talking about the party,” she explained, bracing for your reaction.

“What party?” you asked, already regretting the question.

“Just a little thing at Poguelandia,” John B said casually, brushing popcorn crumbs off his jeans. “Bonfire, some drinks, a couple of people. Nothing crazy, it's promotional."

 “A couple of people? Dude, half the island’s gonna show up.”

John B shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “It’s not a party unless it’s packed.”

“Exactly,” JJ said, leaning back on his elbows. “You have to come. It’s gonna be sick.”

You made a face, “I’m not really in a party mood.”

Sarah turned to you immediately, her eyes wide and full of meaning. The look. The one that said, C’mon, you need this.

“It’d be fun,” she pouted, “You could use a little fun right now.”

“I’m fine,” you said, avoiding her eyes and focusing on the popcorn in your lap. “I don’t need a party to cheer me up.”

Kiara raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. Just a chill day. You won’t even have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.”

“And there’ll be drinks,” JJ added with a wink. “Or, you know, drink-adjacent options for those who can’t hang.”

For a second, your stomach almost dropped. Did he know? The way he said it—so casually—it almost felt like he did. It felt like he was teasing you in that obnoxious JJ way, but with an awareness that made you want to crawl out of your skin. But then logic kicked in.

They didn’t know. Not about the baby, at least. As far as they were concerned, you were just sick. Which, to be fair, you were. “Drink-adjacent” made sense because no one expected you to down shots when you could barely keep yourself upright most days.

Still, the comment made you uneasy, and your fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket.

“Right,” you grimaced, your voice stiff. “Because nothing says ‘party’ like seltzer water.”

“That’s the spirit. We’ll even get the fancy kind, with lime or whatever. Really roll out the red carpet for you.”

Kie snorted. “You’re so generous, JJ.”

“Hey, I’m a man of the people baby,” he said, throwing his hands up like he was defending his honor.

Sarah nudged you again, harder this time, and you glanced at her out of the corner of your eye. She was giving you that look again, the one that screamed, Just say yes already.

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” you muttered, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere closer to resigned.

“Nope,” she said brightly.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

JJ whooped, pumping a fist in the air like you’d just agreed to crown him king of the Pogues. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

“I didn’t say I was going. I said I’d think about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving you off like the details didn’t matter. “Thinking about it is basically saying yes.” JJ grinned at you, “But y’know,” he started, pointing a lazy finger in your direction, “it’s still kind of insane that you’re here. The literal kook of the kooks.”

You rolled your eyes, “And yet, here I am. Stuck with the pogues. Truly the highlight of my life.”

“Admit it. You love it. The... gritty charm.”

“Right,” you casted a skeptical glance around the room. “Because who wouldn’t love the charm of beer-stained furniture, half-empty snack bags, and... whatever that smell is?” You wrinkled your nose for effect, though you weren’t entirely joking.

The place was a dump.

John B chuckled from his corner of the couch, tossing a piece of popcorn at JJ. “She’s not wrong, man. This place barely qualifies as livable.”

“Livable?” JJ looked mock-offended, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “This is prime real estate! You kooks don’t appreciate the artistic chaos.”

Kiara looked up from her phone. “It’s chaos, all right.”

Sarah leaned toward you, her voice low and teasing. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s just salty you make this place look like a dump by comparison.”

“Please,” JJ cut in, leaning forward, “This place looks like a dump because it is a dump. But it’s our dump.” He grinned, flicking his eyes back to you. “And now, apparently, it’s yours too. Welcome to the family, kook princess.”

You snorted, unable to help yourself. “Don’t get used to it.”

JJ clutched his chest again. “Ouch. Cold. But fair.”

The truth was, you did think the place was terrible. 

Objectively, it was, you already knew that since last week.

The furniture didn’t match, the walls had stains you didn’t want to think too hard about, and everything felt sticky, even if it wasn’t. You were used to perfect beachfront properties with matching decor and staff that catered to your every whim. This? It was a wreck.

But at the same time, there was something about it that felt... alive. The chaos wasn’t just chaos—it was theirs. The mismatched furniture, the random surfboards propped in corners, the lived-in feel of a space that wasn’t trying to impress anyone. It made you hate it and love it all at once.

Your eyes flicked to Kie, who rolled hers at JJ but couldn’t hide her smile. He said something under his breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear, and she shoved his shoulder in mock annoyance. He grinned at her, that lazy grin he probably didn’t even realize he saved just for her. And she was trying so hard to look unimpressed, but her expression softened anyway, she couldn’t help herself.

Sarah caught you looking and smirked, nudging you. “Cute, right?” she whispered.

You gave her a half-smile, more honest this time. “Annoyingly so.”

JJ, oblivious to the exchange, flopped onto his back. “I don’t know why you all keep insulting my hospitality. If this was a five-star resort, it wouldn’t have vibes.”

“Yeah, vibes of a condemned building,” you grumbled back, unable to help yourself.

And when everyone laughed—Kie’s chuckle, Sarah’s giggle, JJ’s full-blown cackle—you hated yourself a little for loving it here, even as you pretended you didn’t.

Would things have been different if you hadn’t been born a Kook?

The thought hit you out of nowhere, unwelcomely, like it always did when you let your guard down. Would your family still be alive if you weren’t wrapped up in the trappings of wealth and privilege? If your dad hadn’t been able to afford that stupid private jet, if your mom hadn’t insisted on using it for every family trip, if your sister hadn’t tagged along on that one last flight...

It was a cruel, useless spiral of what-ifs that never went anywhere but still had you choking on guilt every time. Because it wasn’t just the money. It was the whole stupid kook world—the private schools, the country clubs, the constant need to show off and be better than everyone else. That world had shaped your family, pushed them into the roles they played, and it had been the death of them, literally and figuratively.

You wondered, not for the first time, if they would’ve been safer if you’d all been normal. Just some middle-class family driving to vacations in an old station wagon, complaining about rest-stop food and fighting over the radio. Maybe your parents wouldn’t have been so busy, and maybe your sister wouldn’t have been on that flight at all.

Your throat burned, and you blinked hard, trying to push the thoughts back where they belonged. The pogues were still talking, still laughing, completely unaware of the war blazing in your head.

“You’re lucky to be here, kook princess. You’re getting the real-life experience.”

You forced a weak smile, still staring at the popcorn. “The real-life experience.”

If this was real life, you thought bitterly, maybe you wouldn’t have so much to regret. Maybe you’d still have them. Maybe you’d even know who you were outside of the perfect, shiny bubble you’d grown up in—one that had popped so catastrophically you were still finding pieces of it in your skin.

Maybe if you hadn’t been born a kook, you wouldn’t have met Rafe when you were kids. You wouldn’t have been his best friend, wouldn’t have spent your whole childhood trailing after him, clinging to every crooked smile and reckless dare like they were proof that you mattered.

You wouldn’t have fallen in love with him at sixteen, back when you thought love meant him driving you to the beach in his dad’s truck, his hand on your thigh, telling you you were the only person who really got him. You wouldn’t have had your heart broken by him now, when he was with someone else. Your hand drifted to your stomach, a subconscious gesture that made your breath hitch. You wouldn’t be pregnant with his kid, either. Or sick.

You’d built this whole life around him without even realizing it.

Would it have been better? Not having Rafe at all?

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to imagine a version of your life where he’d never existed, where you didn’t have his name carved into your heart. Where you weren’t here now, still loving him. Where you weren’t pregnant and alone while he was somewhere else.

The truth—the awful, undeniable truth—was that you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

For all the ways he’d broken you, Rafe had been the one to hold you together when everything else fell apart, the one who pulled you out of bed when you couldn’t find the strength, who made you laugh when you thought you’d forgotten how.

If it weren’t for him, you didn’t know if you’d even be here now.

And you wouldn’t trade the sound of his laugh for anything in the world. Not the condescending biting one he used to throw around when he was being an ass, but the real one, the one that came out when he was caught off guard. 

Even if you hated him, you couldn’t regret him. Not all the way. Not enough to wish he’d never been in your life. Despite all of it—he’d been there when no one else was, that was enough to keep him tethered to your heart, even now, when you wished it wasn’t.

“Earth to princess,” Kiara's voice cut through your thoughts, bringing you back to the dimly lit room and the blanket over your legs. She waved a hand in front of your face, “You still with us, or are you planning your escape route?”

You forced a smile, “Just trying to figure out how I got roped into your weird little cult, that’s all.”

They laughed, the sound was bright enough to pull you out of your head, just for a moment. It wasn’t the same as Rafe’s laugh, but it was something. Right now, you’d take it.

When you woke up, the house was already buzzing. 

The pogues were up and at it, setting up for whatever party they had planned. You’d slept in, which wasn’t like you, but Sarah had all but forced you to stay in bed last night, insisting you needed the rest. She’d even made John B sleep on the couch so you could take his spot in their bed. You felt bad—guilty, really—you tried to tell her it wasn’t necessary, but Sarah was Sarah. Stubborn, loyal, annoyingly sweet Sarah.

The morning, however, had been nothing short of a disaster.

You barely made it out of bed before you were sprinting to the bathroom, dry-heaving over the toilet like you’d had one too many shots at a party the night before. Except, this wasn’t from partying—it was the fucking morning sickness. Thank God everyone else was outside setting up, or you’d have to deal with their questions.

You stayed in the bathroom longer than you wanted to, rinsing your mouth out and glaring at yourself in the mirror like your reflection was to blame for your misery. Your hair was a mess, your skin looked pale. You looked like shit.

To make matters worse, the house was painfully loud. Every noise from outside echoed through the shitty walls, stabbing into your head. The party. Where everyone would be drinking, laughing, and probably noticing that you were the only one sitting in a corner looking like you’d been hit by a train.

Groaning, you wiped your face with a cold washcloth. “Fuck,” you complained under your breath, glaring at yourself in the mirror. 

You grabbed the bottle of pre-natal vitamins from your bag, the ones that looked like horse pills, and twisted off the cap. The nausea was already crawling up your throat again, and the last thing you wanted was to shove a giant vitamin down your stomach.

You didn't have much of a choice. You needed it, not just for the baby, but because of the anemia. If you didn't stay on top of it, you’d end up worse than you felt now—and that was already a nightmare you were trying to avoid.

You stared at the pill in your hand, mentally preparing yourself.

“Just swallow it,” you muttered, willing yourself into doing it. It took a moment, but you finally threw it back. You chased it down with a sip of water, grimacing as it settled in your stomach. It felt like you were choking on a rock, and you had to fight to keep your stomach from revolting all over again.

For a while, you sat back on the edge of the bed, elbows on your knees, head in your hands, hating the lingering taste of bile in your mouth even after your oral hygiene.

You let yourself fall back, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily, pressing a hand to your stomach, not out of affection but frustration.

"I’m trying here, okay? Can you at least meet me halfway?" you muttered.

The distant noises and commotion from outside seeped in through the window, but it only made you feel more isolated. You reached for your phone, scrolling aimlessly through notifications you didn’t care about. A text from Sarah popped up: "Take your time. We’ve got it covered out here.”

You tossed the phone aside, rubbing your temples. You wished you could just stay here all day, curled up under the covers, but the thought of Sarah’s concerned face, of the inevitable questions and glances, made that impossible. You were tired of being a problem, tired of being the fragile one everyone tiptoed around.

You sighed, knowing there was no way you’d make it through this day without looking like total crap. You grabbed a hoodie from the back of the door, tossed your hair up into a bun, and made your way downstairs.

You found her in the kitchen, already pouring drinks and bossing JJ and Pope around. She spotted you lingering in the doorway and waved you off before you could say anything.

“Nope,” she shook her head, clicking her tongue at you like you were a misbehaving child. “Don’t even think about it. Go sit down. Rest. It’s gonna be a long day, and you need it, okay?”

You blinked at her, then at the mess around the house. Decorations were half-done outside, the tables and counter were an explosion of snacks, and JJ was currently trying to balance three folding chairs in one hand like a party trick. Kie was arguing with John B about where the cooler should go, and Sarah was somehow keeping it all from falling apart.

You leaned against the doorway, hand still on your stomach, glaring at her as she poured some sort of drink into a plastic cup. “You could’ve woken me up. I’m not completely useless.”

Sarah spun around, eyebrows raised and gave you a look that could kill. “Uh, no, you don’t get to complain. I let you sleep in because you need it, and I’m not about to let you overdo it, okay.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “I feel like a freeloader right now.”

“You’re not a freeloader,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. “You’re my sister. And you’ve been through... a lot. So just chill. We’ve got this.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re pregnant, which means you’re officially on my do-not-let-her-do-anything list. Now go sit your ass down before I make one of them carry you.”

“Don’t drag them into this,” you muttered, but you were already giving up the fight. Sarah was like a pit bull when she made up her mind, and there was no arguing with her. You nodded reluctantly, letting her win this one. It wasn’t like you had the energy to argue anyway.

Outside, the rest of the group was scattered around the yard, setting up for what promised to be a classic pogues-style party. Pope and Cleo had arrived at some point; Pope was trying to figure out how to hang a string of lights between two trees, while Cleo stood nearby, holding a roll of tape and offering sarcastic commentary.

“Maybe if you’d let me do it, we wouldn’t be out here for an hour,” Cleo teased, tilting her head.

“And maybe if you didn’t talk so much, I could concentrate, baby.”

JJ was dragging a cooler across the sand, muttering something about how “beer doesn’t carry itself,” while Kie followed behind him, laughing and tossing bags of chips into a pile on the picnic table.

Sarah joined you on the porch, a can of sparkling water in her hand. “See? We’ve got it under control,” she said, gesturing to the scene in front of you. “Now, sit down, relax, and enjoy the show.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about you? Aren’t you gonna take your own advice?”

Sarah grinned, “I’ll relax when the party starts. For now, my mission is to make sure you don’t lift a finger.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love me,” she replied, linking her arm through yours.

And she wasn’t wrong. As much as you hated being doted on, it was hard not to appreciate everything she’d been doing for you.

Cleo spotted you from across the yard and waved, her smile wide and warm. “Yo! You gonna come hang out or just stand there looking pretty?”

“Both,” JJ called out, smirking as he cracked open a beer.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. 

“I said pretty, rude boy. It doesn’t include your ass.”

“Cleo, you wound me. I thought we had something special.”

“Yeah, it’s called my patience, and it’s runnin’ real thin,” Cleo yelled back, smirking as she handed Pope the tape. “Here. Fix your mess before the whole damn tree comes down.”

Pope muttered something under his breath but took the tape anyway, climbing back onto the ladder. “You could’ve just done this yourself if you were so sure about it.”

“And rob you of the chance to prove me wrong? Never,” Cleo quipped, crossing her arms as she stepped back to watch him work.

The two of you headed toward the table where Kie was busy arranging snacks, her brows furrowed in concentration.

“How are we still out of guac?” She muttered, her tone more annoyed than concerned. “I swear I made enough to feed an army.”

“Your boyfriend happened,” Sarah said without missing a beat. “I saw him sneak off with a bowl earlier.”

Kie groaned, hands on her hips as she glared at the blonde boy, who was now lounging in a chair with his feet propped up on the cooler.

“You are a menace to society.”

“And yet, here I am, invited to all your parties,” JJ replied, raising his beer in a mock toast. 

Kie grabbed a chip and threw it at him, hitting him square in the forehead, "It's your party too, dick."

“Guys,” Pope called out from the ladder, sounding exasperated. “Can someone just hold the other end of the lights? I’m not trying to die out here.”

“I got it,” Cleo said, strolling over and grabbing the string of lights. “Don’t let go of that tape, or you’re on your own.”

Cleo had finally climbed up the ladder with Pope, muttering something sarcastic, only for him to pull her into a quick kiss that made her giggle.

It wasn’t long before everyone started getting ready for the party. It was only around 3:30, but you could tell everyone was in full-on prep mode, running around and grabbing last-minute things. You figured you should probably start getting ready, too, if you wanted to make it to the party without looking completely out of it.

You escaped, fully aware that Sarah would check on you soon if you didn’t start moving. Sitting on the bed, you scrolled aimlessly for outfit inspiration, but everything felt wrong—too tight, too flashy, or too… not you. You hadn’t exactly packed for a pogues-style party, and the thought of showing up in your worn-out jeans or one of John B’s oversized T-shirts made you shudder.

Sarah’s closet caught your eye, the door slightly ajar. A beacon of decent fashion that you knew was still hiding in there, despite her efforts to shed the kook label. She still had a few relics from her old life, buried beneath tie-dye and frayed denim.

You’d teased her about it last week, calling her out for keeping a little piece of her former self tucked away. She’d rolled her eyes and said, “A girl’s gotta have options.”

Today, you needed those options.

You bypassed the flashier options in favor of something understated. Nestled between a linen sundress and a denim jacket was exactly what you needed: a simple, fitted black dress. It was sleeveless, with a subtle scoop neckline and a hemline that hit just above the knee. The fabric was soft and unassuming but hugged your frame just right, giving it a quietly polished look.

“This one,” you murmured, pulling it off the hanger. It wasn’t loud or overly attention-grabbing—more like the kind of dress that someone who didn’t need to try would wear. 

Elegant, minimal, perfect.

Sliding it on, you immediately felt the difference. It didn’t scream for attention, but it made you feel put together, which was exactly what you needed right now. You ran your hands over the fabric, smoothing out any wrinkles before stepping into a pair of nude sandals you’d found shoved in the back of the closet. Flat, simple, and mercifully easy to walk in.

Sarah popped her head in just as you were brushing your hair out into soft waves. “There she is,” she said, giving you a once-over. “God forbid you wear something ugly, huh?”

You tugged lightly at the hem of the dress. “I’m doing this closet justice.”

“You are. I forgot I even had that dress or I would've given it away."

“Thank God for that,” you replied, slipping on a simple gold bracelet you found on her dresser. “The pogues' style is great and all, but I have my limits.” You hadn’t even touched your makeup yet. With a sigh, you glanced at Sarah. “I’ll be ready in five.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t tease, already heading downstairs to check on the others. You glanced at the clock—it was almost party time, but you needed a few more minutes to look presentable.

You grabbed her makeup bag from her vanity and settled in front of the mirror. Starting with a light layer of foundation, you evened out your complexion. You weren’t trying to hide anything; you just needed to look less like you’d just rolled out of bed.

For the first time in what felt like years, you weren’t thinking about the baby. You weren’t worrying about keeping your secret from Rafe or everyone else around you. You weren’t wrapped up in the anxiety of it all. Instead, you were just doing something that felt simple, that belonged to your age—putting on makeup, getting ready for a party, like a normal twenty-year-old something woman.

This was the most normal you’d felt in months.

You’d been so consumed with everything pregnancy-related, trying to stay on top of your emotions while dealing with the fear of being found out. It was exhausting. You had forgotten what it felt like to be carefree, to be you—not just someone wrapped up in worry. There was something so familiar about it—the way the brush swept across your skin, the way you mixed your bronzer just right to highlight your cheekbones. It felt like the old you. Who knew this shit could be so therapeutic?

A soft sigh slipped from your lips. You needed more moments like this. Simple, easy moments where you didn’t have to think about the rest of the world. Just doing your makeup. Just getting dressed. Just being you—even for a little while.

When you made your way downstairs again, the mess had somehow multiplied. The house was alive with movement, and the sound of JJ yelling something unintelligible from the backyard. People had already started arriving—pogues, and a handful of kooks who never missed a good party. You spotted Sarah in the kitchen, pouring drinks into a massive punch bowl, looking entirely in her element.

You sidled up to Kie, who was setting out plates of food with military precision. “Hey, you need any help with this? Or anything, really?”

Kie glanced up, her brows shooting toward her hairline as she appraised you. “Is this the control freak in you?”

“Funny,” you deadpanned, leaning on the counter. “Seriously, though. Put me to work.”

She snorted, grabbing a handful of napkins and shoving them into your hands. “Fine. You can help set these out on the tables outside. But if Sarah catches you, this conversation didn’t happen.”

“Deal.” 

The yard looked like something out of a fever dream. String lights were half-strung between trees, chairs and tables were scattered everywhere. A cooler sat precariously close to tipping over, its contents already being raided by JJ, who was popping open another beer while Cleo scolded him for being “absolutely useless.”

You moved through the yard, laying out napkins and straightening plates, feeling some of the earlier tension and sleep deprivation ease from your back. It felt good to do something normal, something productive. By the time you circled back to the porch, Sarah was waiting for you, hands on her hips and a knowing look in her eyes. “I thought I told you to sit down.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Kie needed help. I’m fine.”

Sarah didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push it. Instead, she handed you a cup of water and gestured toward one of the chairs on the porch. “At least pretend you’re taking it easy, okay? You’re gonna need your energy when this party really gets going.”

You rolled your eyes but took the seat, sipping the drink as you watched the guests buzz around the yard. 

Cleo and Kiara were already in tears laughing as JJ dramatically narrated Pope’s “world record attempt,” complete with fake announcer voice. By the time Pope finally flipped upside down with his help, everyone was cheering loud enough to drown out the music blasting from the backyard speakers.

JJ was yelling something about “legendary keg stand form” as Pope balanced upside down on the keg, supported by Cleo and a very unenthused Kie.

It was hilarious watching his usually composed demeanor dissolve into giggles as beer dripped down his face, but even funnier was JJ hyping him up like this was the Olympics. “That’s my boy! New record! Somebody time this shit!”

You laughed, for once letting yourself enjoy the day. It felt good to be surrounded by fun, to not be caught up in your head for a change. Maybe Sarah had been right—you needed this.

For once, you were wiping tears of laughter from your eyes. It felt so good to do it too, to feel like you were part of something instead of just watching from the sidelines. You could breathe again.

Pope wobbled, barely lasting ten seconds before collapsing onto the grass. JJ threw his arms up like they’d just won the championship, shouting, “A legend was born tonight!”

You felt all the stress and heaviness you’d been dragging and moping around had finally been put on pause.

Then, subtle at first, a tickle at the back of your neck, a whisper of unease. You moved around on the railing, trying to shake it off. You glanced around, casually at first, scanning the crowd. Everyone seemed caught up in something—JJ was on his third keg stand attempt, Kie and Cleo were busy arguing over the playlist, and the rest of the partygoers were either dancing or clustered around the fire pit.

Nothing out of the ordinary. You tried to ignore it at first, brushing it off as your brain’s way of being a buzzkill. It had a way of doing that—ruining a perfectly good night with its tendency to overanalyze everything.  You were having a good time, and you weren’t about to let paranoia ruin it.

But then you spotted her, Sofia.

She was standing near the back door, lit by the string lights strung across the porch, holding a beer cup. And she was staring at you.

Not just a quick glance, not the way someone looks when they’re zoning out. No. This was…staring. Your stomach twisted. This couldn’t be about you, she was just drunk and in her feelings or whatever. But there was something about the way she looked—sad, almost heartbroken—that made you want to bolt home.

You turned away, feeling like you couldn’t breathe, the night wasn’t as fun anymore. Maybe she wasn’t even looking at you. Except, you couldn’t shake it. You drained the rest of your water and headed inside to refill it, telling yourself you needed a second to breathe.

But of course, the second you stepped into the kitchen, Sofia was there.

She was crying—full-on crying—her mascara smudged and her cheeks streaked with tears. She was drunk, that much was obvious, so drunk she had to grab the counter.

Jesus.

 “Uh…? Are you okay?”

You weren’t Sofia’s biggest fan.

She had the love of your life—the guy you’d once thought was it for you—and that alone made it impossible to feel anything but complicated about her. Add to that the fact that she was a pogue, and… you’d never been friends.

The last thing you wanted to do tonight was play therapist, especially not for her. But she was still a girl, drunk and crying in the middle of a party, and no matter how much history—or lack thereof—existed between you, there was no way you were going to leave her like that.

You sighed, setting your cup down on the counter, “Do you need to sit down? Water?”

She only sobbed harder. Okay, not helping, noted.

“Hey, sit down,” you murmured, guiding her to the bench by the window. She didn’t resist, collapsing onto it.

Her eyes glassy and red. She looked up at you like you were the last person she wanted to see, but also, somehow, the only one she needed.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice cracked. “I shouldn’t—this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You crouched down in front of her, arms resting on your knees as you tried to figure out what the hell she meant. “What wasn’t supposed to happen? Did someone do something to you?”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head hard enough to make her curls bounce. “No, it’s not like that. It’s just… it’s Rafe. He—” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands.

The second she said his name—Rafe—you already knew.

You didn’t know the details, didn’t need them, but you knew it was going to hurt like a bitch. That name always did.

Sofia’s voice cracked again, her words coming out between hiccuping breaths and slurred apologies, but you’d already braced yourself for whatever you were about to hear.

And yet, when she finally said it—he dumped me—it still felt like someone had thrown a bucket of water in your face.

What the fuck were you supposed to say to that?

"I’m not sure what you want me to do with this."

She flinched, her glassy eyes darting up to meet yours, but she didn’t say anything, just sniffled and stared at you like you had all the answers. You didn’t. Not for her.

"You’re upset, I get that," you continued, "But coming to me about Rafe? Really? What did you think was going to happen here?"

Her lip trembled, you thought she might start wailing again. "I—I didn’t plan this, okay? I just… I didn’t know who else to—"

On one hand, you felt bad for her.

How could you not? She was drunk, sobbing, in a way that felt painfully familiar. But on the other hand… what the fuck did she expect? She’d dated Rafe—your Rafe—knowing you were a six-year-long shadow she could never step out of.

She was with him knowing now she wanted you to what? Comfort her? Be her shoulder to cry on?

This wasn’t the time to be petty or mean, not when she was looking at you like you were the only person who could possibly understand.

You were.

“H-he dumped me,” she repeated, her voice cracking. “said… he said he’s not over you. That he c-can’t give me what I d-deserve because… because his heart’s still with you.”

You pursed your lips, a tangled knot of guilt, and something dangerously close to vindication swimming in your head.

Of course, it felt good to hear it—of course it did. But that didn’t make it easier to watch another girl fall apart in front of you because of him. As pathetic as it was, I knew what it felt like to be that girl.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back the snarky comment sitting on your tongue. As much as this whole thing screamed bad decision after bad decision, she was still here, crying her eyes out, and you weren’t heartless. Not entirely, anyway.

“I knew,” she whispered, “I knew he wasn’t over you. From the beginning. I thought I c-could… I don’t know. Change his mind?” She let out a choked sob. “I’m sittin' h-here, drunk and crying to you, of all people, because I d-didn’t li-isten to my gut when it told me to walk away. I’m sorry,” she blubbered, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her shirt. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. You probably hate me.”

You didn’t answer right away because, yeah, she wasn’t entirely wrong. You didn’t like her, that was for damn sure. But hate? Hate took too much energy.

You didn’t know what to say to that. Couldn’t say what you really thought—that she should’ve walked away, that no one could ever fill a space someone else left behind. So instead, you sat down beside her.

“I know it doesn’t help,” you said finally, “but it’s not your fault. Rafe… he’s complicated. He doesn’t know what he wants half the time, and even when he does, he’s too scared to hold on to it.”

She sniffed, looking at you through teary eyes. “He held on to you for years.”

“Yeah. And look how that turned out.”

"If this is how I feel now, I can’t even imagine what you went through."

You bit your lip. She honestly thought this was the time for some heartfelt apology? God, bless her heart—no, scratch that, bless her delusions. She was standing there, looking like a wet mess, telling you she couldn’t imagine how you felt? If only she knew.

You sighed, grabbing a towel from the counter and tossing it at her. "Here. Fix your face. You look like you’ve been crying in a frat basement."

She caught the towel, her cheeks burning as she dabbed at her ruined makeup. "I—thanks," Her voice shook as she continued her drunk ramble, "I didn’t know... I didn’t realize how bad it hurt you."

You took a breath, part of you wanting to snap at her, tell her it was too little, too late. You could’ve easily unleashed all the venom you’d kept inside for so long. But then, there was that little voice in your head—one that, surprisingly, wasn’t making fun of her. You couldn’t be that cruel, you weren’t heartless, no matter how complicated things had gotten.

Sofia, in this state—drunk, emotional—didn’t deserve that. 

"You need to get your shit together, stop letting your entire world revolve around him.” You could see her flinch at that last part, but you weren’t done yet.

How ironic.

"You’re better than this. You don’t need a guy—especially Rafe—to make you feel whole. I learned something, and you’re going to learn it too. Life doesn’t revolve around some guy’s bullshit feelings. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be, put yourself first, always. I’ve been there. You’ve got to live with the fact that he chose someone else. It doesn’t matter if you did everything right—sometimes, it’s just not enough."

There was a part of you that really felt sorry for her, the part that was human, not just jaded from all the pain. But there was also a voice in your head saying, You don’t owe her understanding.

Loving Rafe Cameron could feel like the best and worst thing at the same time.

You watch her carefully, making sure she’s soaking it in. "You deserve better than a guy who doesn't know how to value you. And don’t get me wrong, I get it. We’ve all been there. You can’t fix him."

Sofia was still sniffling and wiping her eyes, catching her breath, maybe even trying to piece things together. You felt like you had done something... good? Maybe not good, but at least you’d been the bigger person, showing her a bit of mercy.

Before she could answer, the door creaked, and you both turned to see your cousin standing there. Instantly, all alarm bells went off in your head, your eyes narrowing instantly, hands searching for something to throw at his face.

"Topper," you spit out, the name coming out like acid, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

ooop- y'all not ready for chapter 12 heheheh

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[eddies-ashtray]

♡ meet cute.

There’s this alcove out behind the school. It’s deserted and quiet, right around the corner from the outside door to the woodshop. You can normally count on it being empty, a shaded refuge when you need a break during the school day. A secret place to slip away to when things get to be too much.

Once, Daniel Adams was there throwing wood scraps in the dumpster just before the bell signalling the end of second period. But he didn’t disturb you, just went back inside without a second glance. Other than that, it always lacked a population. 

Until today. 

When you round the corner, you see the trade off clear as day; a small pouch of white powder transferred from a heavily ringed hand being swapped for a thick wad of cash. 

The guy receiving the pouch slips it into his jeans pocket before he sees you. Then his green eyes make contact with yours and he books it back down the alley before crashing through the door to the shop. Subtle.

The guy with the cash is left there alone, but seemingly unperturbed by his customers sudden exit. You imagine you might run away too, if you were buying ketamine right behind your school at 11am on a Tuesday. 

You recognize him before his curly head whips around to locate the source of alarm. What other guy at Hawkins High has chipped black nail polish and avoids barbershops? More importantly, who else sells drugs at your school? Eddie’s got that job dominated. 

“Shit.” Is all he says when he spots you there. His tone is flat, deadpan. 

You ignore him in favour of sitting cross-legged on the pavement, gravel crunching beneath your soles before you press your back against cold brick. 

You just want him to go away. To be alone. 

Staring down at your scuffed Chucks, you begin to pull at a loose thread at the bottom of your frayed pant leg, winding it around the tip of your index finger until it turns white, then unwinding it so the blood comes rushing back with warmth. 

When you hear his heavy footfalls, you think maybe your luck hasn’t run out and he might be leaving. But the crunching of gravel does not recede down the alleyway.

Black Doc Martens enter your vision. You stop pulling at the loose thread and stare at the boots for a second before your gaze meanders up to his face. 

“Please don’t tell anyone, alright?” Eddie’s tone is non-threatening and hopeful. 

“Wasn’t gonna.” You shrug, couldn’t care less about the drug habits of the people you go to school with. Or how they acquire said drugs. Who would you tell anyway? The cops? Fuck that. 

Despite the confirmation of your silence Eddie stays put, feet shuffling across gravel, rocks scraping beneath the thick soles. 

You avert your gaze, will your voice not to break when you say, “Will you please just go?” But it betrays you, cracking just slightly on the final syllable. As your teeth dig into your bottom lip, you hope he doesn’t notice. 

Eyes burning and staring intently at a triangle-shaped pebble, you hold your breath, think, don’t say it, don’t say it, please don’t say it. 

“Are you okay?” 

Fuck.

Unwillingly, your face crumples and you bury it in your hands, face warming from being watched as you break down. Tears stream down your face silently, thick and hot as they wet your palms and slide down your wrists. 

There’s the crunch of gravel again, but he isn’t walking away like you expected anyone might. Who’d want to stick around with a stranger having an emotional breakdown? 

But then you feel warmth at your side as he crouches down and leans against the wall beside you, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. 

Any remaining energy you had has been spent on your short exchange with him, so you have none left to plead with him anymore. But as the tears keep coming and your shoulders keep shaking, you find that you don’t mind his presence so much. He doesn’t touch you or invade your space in any way, doesn’t ask why you’re crying or try to stop it. 

Eddie just sits with you. Stares out at the swaying trees in the forest beyond the school and silently sits. Even though your skin isn’t touching it’s like he’s holding your hand. 

While you never bought into any of the rumours you’d heard whispered about him in the corridors, you were never completely sure of his kindness. Though now you see he wears his eccentricities as armour. It seems Eddie is softer than the tough iron of his armor would suggest. 

His motives now are clear: he doesn’t want to leave you alone in the state you’re in. Which is more kindness than anyone at this school has ever shown you. 

In actuality, it’s the most attention anyone at this school has ever shown you. Unlike Eddie, you’re mostly just ignored, left alone. Eddie isn’t going to let that happen now. 

The pair of you are probably quite the sight. And not just because you’re openly sobbing next to him. The Freak and the Loner Girl. If you were seen together you’re sure your bored peers would have some more rumours to spread. 

When your tears dry up and you’re left with a snotty nose and dry eyes, you look out at the forest in silence with him. Staring out blanky at the shedding foliage, your breathing slows and the wind whistles. The wind kissing your cheeks is strangely comforting. Or maybe it’s just Eddie. 

In your periphery, you see him shift as he pulls his ringed hand out of the pocket of his jacket. Eddie–who you’ve only just noticed smells really good, like leather and fresh rain–shoves his hand beneath the leather to dig around in an inside pocket. 

For one silly, brief moment you think he might be about to offer you a small pouch of white powder. 

Then he pulls his hand out. It’s a tissue. 

Eddie Munson is offering you a tissue. 

The metalhead keeps tissues in his jacket. And drugs. But also tissues. 

Looking from the tissue to him, Eddie gives you a soft reassuring smile. You take it from him gingerly. “Thank you.” 

Eddie nods shortly. “Yeah.”

“You, um, you didn’t have to sit with me,” you say once you’ve wiped your nose clean, looking at him fully for the first time since you broke down. His eyes are so dark. You’ve never been close enough to notice until now. 

“I know.” A beat of silence follows his sweet sincerity where all you can hear is the sound of the trees gently whooshing in the wind. “But I’ve seen you around. You’re alone a lot.” 

“Oh.” He’s seen you around? 

“You don’t deserve to be, by the way,” he adds quickly. “Especially not…now.” 

You look away with a small smile and a soft breath through your nose. Though his delivery is a little awkward, the sentiment causes warmth to flood your chest. 

“Right,” you reply, chuckling a little as you meet his eyes again. When he smiles this time, a dimple pops into his cheek. Pretty eyes and dimples?

Smacking his thighs resolutely, Eddie pushes himself up off the pavement to stand in front of you, offers you his hand. You stare up at him, your own hands twitching in your lap, buzzing with anticipation. 

“C’mon,” Eddie prompts, nodding his head to the side. “Let’s go.” 

“Where?” 

“Anywhere you wanna go.” 

Drawing your lip into your mouth, you chew on it contemplatively. 

You don’t have to think long about your answer. Why on Earth would you stay here and wallow when this sweet, kind boy with melted chocolate for eyes is offering you his hand?

[mangostarjam]

you've been touching him a lot since he got back.

itoshi sae doesn't do anything about it — doesn't dissuade you from tugging at his sleeve or sliding his jacket zipper back and forth while you talk. doesn't comment or bring your attention to it.

but he watches.

you've been around him a lot since his plane landed, making up for all the time he's spent abroad, as if your daily chat threads haven't been enough. most of the time it's just the two of you, the way it used to be. sometimes his brother is around, though thankfully it doesn't seem like you've gotten any closer to rin since sae left.

other times there's a group, mostly your friends, a mix of guys and girls who don't seem to know what to do with themselves around him. sae is used to this — fame brings strange things to light — but you treat him as you always have, except for the touching.

you don't touch anyone else.

it makes him think.

sae has his reasons. he's never let your relationship get past that line, drawn in the sand. he's a professional football player on the other side of the world, and you have a life here. you have friends (even though you still call him your best friend), you have a job (that you complain about all the time), you have family (that can't be bothered to ever congratulate you on anything).

it wouldn't be right — to make you leave. to take you away. not when he needs to focus on being the best in the world.

(he is the best in the world. all those years ago he showed the U-20 team in japan the difference between them, the way the most they could hope for was dating a gravure model. sae never cared about that aspect. he already had you.)

he lets you touch him, but he doesn't touch you back. he keeps you at arm's length — where you're safe.

and then you ask him to be your wingman.

someone else — touching you? kissing you? having you? unthinkable. sae steps out of the shower and barely dries off before pulling on his briefs and pants. steps into his room and there you are, sitting on his bed, looking good, if a little sad.

he considers telling you to get your passport updated and catches the way your eyes trail down his form. maybe this conversation would be easier if he's wearing a shirt — your gaze is too heated, too distracting. you probably think you're being sneaky, hiding your feelings as best as you can, but sae knows you.

and your casual touches are ocean waves washing that line in the sand away.

sae walks towards his closet when it happens again. your finger in his belt loop, stopping him in his tracks. "what?"

"you were ignoring me," you say. "i asked if my outfit is okay."

your outfit is more than okay. "i would have told you to change if it wasn't."

"if you're going to be my wingman, shouldn't you hype me up?" you huff.

sae feels his jaw clench at the reminder. "no," he says, and his tone comes out cold. you don't seem to notice, falling back on his bed and testing every bit of self control in his grasp. "this is a waste of time."

he goes to pull on a shirt before he does something drastic. you're saying something, but it hardly matters when his flight leaves if you'll be on the plane with him. you've covered your eyes with your forearm, so you miss the way he pauses at the foot of the bed, teal eyes drinking in your form splayed out so defenselessly.

sae climbs over you silently, knees nudging yours apart, hands planted on either side of your body. "this is a waste of time," he repeats, watching with amusement as you take in his position. a blush sweeps across your face, but you don't push him off. that's a good sign, at least.

"what, you think i'm not worth being a wingman for?" you ask. silly. you have no idea.

and then you reach for his belt loops again, as if that's a totally normal thing to do and not something that drives him a little nuts every time. sae prides himself on his control, though, so he doesn't lean down to kiss you just yet.

"tell me," sae says, "have you become this touchy with all your friends since i've been gone?"

"n-no?"

it's cute, how wide your eyes get. sae leans down a little closer. feels your breaths on his lips. still doesn't kiss you — yet. "then i won't be your wingman. you don't need one."

"why not?"

do you know how breathless you sound? sae considers his apartment in spain, how he'll need to make sure the bedroom doesn't share any walls with the neighbors. the way you sound is all for him and him alone.

"because you have a boyfriend, now."

(companion piece to this)

[motorsportbarbie13]

A Package Deal - Part 5

In which big things happen at Silverstone

Warnings: nothing but fluff, as per usual Pairing: Lando Norris x SingleMom!Reader Word Count: 2.8k words

A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - A Package Deal - Part 3 - A Package Deal - Part 4 Master List Don't miss my new project: Track Limits, the fully original sports romance set in the cut-throat world of Formula 1 (first part will be posted tomorrow, January 6th)

yourusername (private) posted

102 likes liked by landonorris, BFFSarah, stellasgrandpa, and others yourusername home race, best race BFFSarah cuties stellasgrandpa so much fun today with you. that man of yours is a keeper. >>>yourusername ❤️ love you dad >>>landonorris thanks for keeping my girls company today, sir! glad you had fun, would love to have you & stella at more races this year >>>BFFSarah 'my girls' i die

"Momma, it's hot." Stella whines, tugging on your hand as you walk towards the McLaren hospitality suite Sunday morning.

"Baby, I know. Hospitality has aircon though, so let's get inside. Lando's there too and he wants to see you before he gets into the car."

Behind you, your dad and step mom follow along. It's the British Grand Prix weekend and instead of working this race, you're here as Lando's personal guest, along with your family. It's surreal, attending the race but not working. You felt insanely out of place in hospitality in your jeans and black tank top instead of your papaya and black team kit.

Stella scampers off ahead of you, heading straight to the giant orange building that sits behind the garages at Silverstone. She's been with you all weekend, having wanted to watch Lando during all three practice sessions and qualifying. It was her first time in the paddock this weekend and as you watched her take to the atmosphere like a fish you water, you were worried you'd never be able to get her away from here. There was something magical in it though, watching your baby come alive and fall in love with something for the first time in their life.

The glass sliding doors woosh open for you and Stella and you're rewarded with a wash of cool air instantly giving you relief from the hot British summer outside. The main room of the suite is a hub of activity. Several meetings going on all at once, employees coming and going, meals being served for guests. It was all a bit overwhelming but you'd been to a few races already this season and it was beginning to feel routine for you.

You check your phone and see that Lando returned your text, informing you he was just in his drivers room up on the second floor.

"Stella, Lando is up on the second floor in his room. Knock before you go in." You tell your daughter, knowing she's going to want to run to see your boyfriend as soon as she can. You watch as she runs away before turning back to your dad and step mom. "She's been hanging out there all weekend. She says it's her favorite place in the world."

Your dad looks a little surprised, "I don't think I've ever seen Stella that comfortable in a crowd or without one of us." He marvels.

You smile, having noticed the same thing. You follow after Stella as you respond to your dad. "She's been this little social butterfly all weekend, it's like this place is magic for her. She's barely left Lando's side."

Lando and Stella had developed such a special relationship over the last seven months and even though it was normal to you now, sometimes you still had to stop and wonder if this was really real. He picked her up from school on such a regular basis that Ms. Rose in the front office had stopped asking him for ID and stopped calling you to make sure he had permission to take Stella. There had been several times that Stella had made an appearance on one of Max F's streams while Lando raced online with him. Since Lando rarely streamed with video on, you had allowed Stella to 'help' Lando drive when her permitted it, which was whenever Stella asked. Because your little girl had your boyfriend wrapped around her little finger. For a little girl that had always been shy around men other than her own grandpa, Stella blossomed when Lando and her grew closer.

By the time you reach the top of the stairs, you can see that the door to Lando's room is thrown wide open and you just hope Stella had remembered to knock before barging in. You can hear her chatter float out of the door and when you round the corner, Stella is sat next to Lando on the leather couch that sits underneath the window.

“And then Momma made you walk fifteen miles in a heat wave just to see me?” Lando exclaims, barely covering up a laugh at Stella’s dramatics.

“Stella Rose!” You laugh, stopping in your tracks and propping your hands on your hips. “We walked across the track through the air conditioned tunnel from the hotel!”

“Gee, I wonder where she gets her dramatic streak from.” Mutters your dad from behind.

You spin, sound of indignation flying from your lips while everyone else dissolves into laughter.

“Ok, Lan and Stella already gang up on me enough, I can’t have you two choosing their side too!” You say though your own laughter.

Stella continues to chatter away as the four adults in the room listen raptly. This goes on for a while before a soft knock at the door interrupts a story Stella is telling about taking Rosco for a walk yesterday after quali. Everyone turns and you're very surprised to see Andrea standing in the doorway.

"I thought I'd find you here." The Team Principle says, smile playing on his lips. Since you'd been traveling a bit with the team and deployed your tire monitoring program full time a few races ago, Andrea and you had gotten a bit closer. You liked the man, with his gently demeanor and soft spot for your boyfriend.

"Hi Andrea!" Stella chirps from where she sits on Lando's lap. The two had met Friday morning and Stella had taken an immediate liking to the man.

"Hi Ms. Stella, how are you this morning?"

"Good, thank you!" Stella smiles and then goes back to chattering at Lando.

Seemingly dismissed by your daughter, Andrea chuckles and turns back to you. "I know you're not working today but can I steal you for a moment? It won't take long, I just want to chat about something."

Something twists in your stomach, anxiety rising to the surface. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Lando's ears perk up as he continues to listen to Stella talk. He keeps one eye on your daughter but his attention is clearly on you. "Oh, of course. Everything okay?" You can't possibly think of anything you'd left unfinished before leaving for the weekend on Thursday but you could have missed something.,

"Yes yes! Nothing to worry about. Just want to talk to you about something."

Your dad shoos you towards the door, telling you they'll watch Stella while you're busy. Nodding, you turn and follow Andrea out of Lando's room down the hall to where his office is. Anxiety settles in the pit of your stomach despite being assured that nothing is wrong.

Once in his office, Andrea shuts the door behind you and motions for you to sit down. The office is small, just enough room for a small desk and a few chairs. Andrea doesn't spend much time in here on race weekends but it's nice for him to have a quiet place to get away during these hectic days.

"Thank you for taking a few moments. Like I said, I know you're here as Lando's guest and not working but I wanted to get your thoughts on something Zak and I have been discussing for quite some time."

You nod, feeling a little better. It wasn't totally out of the ordinary that Andrea or one of the race engineers needs you randomly on a weekend, despite the program basically running itself now. "Of course, how can I help?"

Andrea tents his fingers in front of his face, resting his elbows on the desk in front of him. "Zak and I have been really impressed by you this season, that program you wrote has been essential in all of our finishes and wins so far."

You flush under the praise. "Thank you."

Andrea nods, "I don't know if you're aware but there's an opening on the strategy team." Your heart stops in your chest. You had heard rumors of one of the race strategists leaving the team to go over to Aston Martin a few weeks ago, but it had never been confirmed by the team anywhere publicly. "Zak and I have been taking our time looking for the replacement and we wanted to see if you'd be interested in the position. You have the data gathering and analysis skills down and that program you developed shows you know how to interpret the data in a way that is helpful to the team. We think you'd be an amazing asset to the strategy team."

For a few moments, you're totally speechless. You only have an undergraduate degree in computer science and data analytics, generally the strategists have degrees in engineering or aerodynamics, neither of which you have. "I...I'm flattered that you think so highly of me, Andrea."

"Then say you'll take the job." He says, grin spreading across his face. "There will be some more travel than your doing right now, but both Zak and I are willing to work with you on the schedule and make sure Stella is taken care of." He adds and you wonder if he was reading your mind in the moment because that was going to be your first question.

"Can I think about it? Run it by my dad and Stella's nanny?" You desperatly want to say yes, a spot on the strategy team something you'd wanted for a long time but had never thought you'd be able to manage.

"Of course! I don't expect an answer right away. Will you be in the office on Tuesday?"

"Yes, I was planning on it."

"Perfect. I'll have Zak's assistant put some time on your calendar for the three of us to sit down and discuss. Sound good?"

You nod, slightly overwhlemed at the decision you now have to make. Andrea has to get to the garage then so you wish him good today and slowly make your way back over to Lando's room.

The room is quiet when you wander in, eyes a bit glazed over from shock as the offer that Andrea just made you begins to sink in.

"Everything okay?" Lando's tone is laced with concern, drawing you out of your own world. He rises before taking your hands in his own. "Baby, you're shaking. What happened?"

"They want me to join the strategy team." You whisper weakly, eyes darting from the floor up to meet Lando's pretty greenish blue ones that you love so much.

"What? Babe! That's huge! I'm so proud of you!"

"I haven't said yes yet."

Lando leads you over to the couch and for the first time since you walked into his room you notice the quiet. "Where's Stella?" You ask as you sit down next to Lando who draws you close into his side.

"Your dad and stepmom took her to get some lunch and ice cream downstairs. Now, why haven't you accepted the offer yet, love? You talk all the time about how you wanted to make the move to doing more strategy and less analysis."

"It's a lot of travel, probably half the races instead of what I've been doing. I can't leave Stella that often."

Lando shakes his head, "You can't let that stop you, this is such an amazing opportunity." Lando knew that if he didn't help talk you into this, you'd pass up a once in a lifetime opportunity. "She adores Tilly and her and your dad have been doing so well too." Tilly was the nanny you had hired back in May after Miami and the two got along so well while you were traveling, sometimes you wondered if Stella loved her more than she loved you.

"Stella is getting older, she understands that you need to travel for work now." Lando continues, tangling your fingers up with his and giving them a squeeze. "She'll be fine, and she'll get to see her mom going out and working hard and living her dreams. When you're not working races and Stella isn't in school, you guys can travel with me. We can make this work, my love, I promise. You don't have to juggle this all alone anymore."

Tears sting at the back of your eyes at your boyfriend's encouragement. As you had walked back from Andrea's office you had been fully prepared to turn down the promotion, not feeling like you could manage the increase in travel and responsibilities but with Lando's encouragement, you were second guessing your decision already. "You think we could handle it?"

"Baby, there's not doubt in my mind that the three of us can handle whatever this crazy job throws at us." Lando pulls you further into his side, arm slipping around your shoulder as he leans in. He dusts a quick kiss on your lips before pressing another one to your temple. "We're a package deal now, remember? It'll all work out."

You draw in a deep breath before nodding, "Okay. Let's do it then."

"That's my girl." He praises, kissing you again as you sink further into his warmth.

"Momma! Lando won! Lando won the race!" Stella shouts over the pandemonium of the garage. Tears stream down your face as you watch your boyfriend pull into parc ferme after winning his home race, Oscar just behind him in P2. It had been a stressful race, the teammates had traded the lead a few times but in the end, Lando had the superior race pace and had pulled away from Oscar during the last quarter of the race.

It was the first time McLaren had won their home race in ages and everyone in the garage was emotional. The team spills out of the garage, racing over to the barriers to greet the two McLaren drivers. You slowly follow behind, Stella's hand firmly grasped in yours as you lead her over to watch Lando get out of the car.

The moment he's out and his helmet is off, Lando is looking for you. It wasn't his first win of the season but it was the first with you and Stella there to see him win. His entire family was here since it was his home race and the satisfaction and pride that swelled in his chest was almost too much to handle. He spots you at the back of the crowd and he knows you're back there because you don't want to wade deep into the crowd with Stella.

Not wanting to wait until after the race to see you, Lando rounds the barriers making a beeline straight for you. Behind him, a pair of camera's follow up and you're acutely aware of the fact you're about to be on live TV.

"There's my girls!" Lando shouts before scooping up Stella in his arms. "The prettiest good luck charms on the grid." He murmurs in your ear as he cuddles Stella on his other side. "I'm so fucking lucky."

You laugh into his neck, suddenly shy at the fact that your face is being shown on the huge video screens all over the track. Lando draws back before kissing you full on the mouth, much to Stella's dismay.

"Gross!" Stella squeals as she wiggles out of his arms, allowing Lando to fully take you in his arms now, giving you the biggest bear hug he can.

"I'm so proud of you." You sob, so happy you got to see him win his home race. You knew how much this meant to him and being able to witness in person with Stella made it that much more meaningful.

"I love you." Lando murmurs before letting you go. "I have post race stuff to do, media and all that but I'll meet you back in the drivers room as soon as I can, okay?"

You nod as you squeeze his hand. Stella launches herself into Lando's arms once again and he spins her around, head tipped back on a laugh. The cameras capture it all and if you had been watching it on TV, you would have heard every commentator losing their minds at how cute Lando's little family is.

Lando eventually puts Stella down after he hears Victor calling his name. There is so much to do after a win, especially one as big as winning his home race, but he doesn't want to leave you or Stella quite yet. Lando steals one last kiss from you, drops a kiss onto the top of Stella's head and finally jogs away, knowing he needs to get things taken care of after the win.

Hours later, after all the champagne is washed off and Stella is tucked into bed in the second bedroom of your suite for the weekend, Lando and you tumble into bed together, celebrating one of his biggest wins of the year in the best way possible.

landonorris posted:

508,903 likes liked by yourusername, mclaren, BFFsarah, and others landonorris home race, best race. great race this weekend with my girls here for good luck. yourusername ❤️ so proud of you my love! >>>user992 couple goals fr >>>user334 how does it feel to be god's favorite?! user0299 oh my GODDDD Lando running over to her and Stella after the race and calling them his girls on live tv??? Straight out of a Taylor Swift song. >>>user1221 god, I've seen what you've done for others

tag list: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland @chlmtfilms @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @chelseyyouraverageluigi @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx

[kumasakka]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❝ 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐘 ! ❞

⋆.˚ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. isagi yoichi x reader , bachira meguru x reader , itoshi rin x reader .

⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. the moment he realized that he has the biggest crush on you.

⋆.˚ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. ~2.2k words . 0.7-0.8k words each.

⋆.˚ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. drabble for each on. fluff. f!reader. spoiler - free ! safe for minors ! crappy writing. isagi, bachira and rin may seem ooc.

ISAGI YOICHI. when he misunderstood something on valentine's day—

　HE realizes that he has the biggest crush on you when you walked towards him on valentine's day with a beautiful decorated, red box in your hands. Actually it was like a normal day for him—considering that he didn't receive any chocolate.

Well it's not like he minded anyway. Again, valentine's day was always just like another day in school. Yeah but that was until he saw you at the end of the day in all your glory with chocolate in your hand, a bright smile on your lips.

The sun itself shone down on the school, capturing your beauty just right, reminding him of those typical romance movies you never stop talking about. Nonetheless, was that chocolate in your hand? Is that box... for him?

Did you actually like him? He thought the rumors were fake? You never gave any signs that you were crushing on him so he never gave those rumors much thought. And now it seems like he should've prepared for this day!

Nevermind, he can give you tenfold back on white day. The only thing he should do is remain calm and sort his messed up thoughts. At the end, he couldn't help but flush as you stood infront of him, your hand with the box stretched out for him.

"Ah, [n-name]..!" he stuttered.

"Here, 'chi." you paused for a moment, making his heart beat even faster, "a boy confessed to me and gave me chocolate. But I don't feel like eating them, so I'm giving it to you."

It came crashing down. The colors of his face drained. His soul almost flew out of his body. "You okay?" you questioned, a little concerned about the state your friend was in. "Hey, wanna go to the nurse office real quick?! Don't die, Yoichi!"

"I-It's alright... I'm alright..." he blurted out to less your worries, "sure... I'll take those chocolates..."

Even though he assured you he was fine while accepting the box, you were still concerned about his dire state. But you eventually figured out why he was so shocked after forcing him to spill out what his problem was.

"Pfft— You're so silly!" you laughed your ass off, slapping his back firmly which made him yelp out in pain. Not that it really hurt, he was just being dramatic. You think. "Quit being dramatic."

"Hey, you slapped my back! And it did hurt..."

You still think your slap wasn't that painful after he scooted further away from you. "Stop exaggerating." you deadpanned before standing up from the bench, surprising him slightly by the abrupt movement. "Wait here."

With that, you left. Wow, did you really take your leave after slapping his back? Was he actually exaggerating? His back still hurts though. "Did I really just mess up my chance?" he asked himself, his breath hitched, "is she mad?"

Okay, please tell Isagi Yoichi he did not lose his bestfriend since primary school over something that petty. Well, he did thought you had a crush on him. But he would've accepted! Wait, he would've dated you? His best friend? What.

"Calm down and stop overthinking. She will come back." he muttered under his breath, hiding his face in his hands as he bent forward to support his elbows on top of his knees. "after all, she demanded that I should wait. I'm a bit distressed, that's all."

Maybe he should ask you out instead of the other way around. Yeah, maybe he should shoot his shot. You wouldn't reject him, would you? "Maybe I am delusional." he huffed, the blush slowly crept up to his cheeks.

All of a sudden—he felt something cold against his neck that resulted in him flinching. It was too cold for his liking. "Ah, cold!" he immediately sprang up from the bench as a reflex and took a few steps away.

Only to see you behind the seat with a confused expression.

"[name], stop scaring me! This isn't the first time I told you to quit!"

"What were you mumbling to yourself?" you huffed before throwing him something to his direction.

Isagi didn't had time to react but was fast enough to catch the box you had thrown. "Is that chocolate?" he blinked for a moment, not being able to tear his eyes away from the velvet box. This little box was prettier than the other one.

"Yeah. Thought it might cheer you up." you opened the can of cold soda you brought with you. "It's valentine's day, so a little present from your dearest friend won't hurt."

Taking in the sight infront of him, he felt how his face slightly heated up. "Thanks." was this a confession? Was this the confession he needed to be called delusional now? The box was really pretty. Even though it's bought.

"Make sure to pay back tenfold on white day, yes?" you teased him.

"Of course." he answered.

You were surprised by his beaming smile, not expecting this kind of response. So you returned his smile.

After that day, he saw you in an entirely different light. And you did so too.

After all, you're the funniest and prettiest! You're also the one who talked with him without hesitation on your first day of school even though your friends warned you about his weird behaviour. But you shrugged your shoulders with a playful smile.

BACHIRA MEGURU. when he took in the sincerity in your eyes—

　BACHIRA liked you. Not the romantic like-like, rather the plantonic like-like as a friend. But he somehow liked you more than a friend, less than a lover. Something inbetween probably. Again, not that he cares though.

You've been pretty good friends since then, always sitting next to him during most of the classes. And he's also the first one who gets asked by you if you wanna team up for the next school project—warning, he never does one thing to.

The only thing he'd do while you're doing the project is yap, yap and yap. You're doing the whole work. But he does help you if you need opinion or anything else. "Can you hand me the glue?" or "Scissors." or "What do you think? Is the text too small?"

Fast forward—you've grown to be pretty good friends. Silly jokes and banters never came to an end, the laughs were light and pleasant to the ears, shared hugs were warm and cuddly. People assumed you were a couple to be honest.

"Why did the crab cross the road? It didn’t—it used the sidewalk." he mimicked the tongs of a crab, arousing a laugh out of you.

"You're so silly, Meguru!" you laughed.

The jokes would've reminded someone of a dad joke, but for you, it was a first-class joke from the best comedian. Your shoulders slightly shook before you tried to calm yourself down, your aura beamed brightly like his as you smiled.

"Never stop being funny."

"Yes, ma'am!" he grinned, folding his arms on the table, "I had a joke about paper today, but it was tearable!"

One thing Bachira loved was that you shared a humor, laughing at the dumbest jokes together was like a dream for him. "You're so cute!" you squealed, grabbing his surprise soft cheeks. "Your cheeks are the best, man! Ahh!"

Not to mention, whenever you came close, he would notice the twinkle in your eyes—a twinkle that allowed him to believe your unmatched kindness and sincerity were genuine. Genuine for him and him alone.

People do say, eyes are the window of the owner's heart and soul. And Bachira always decided which person had good or bad intentions through their eyes. They were either carrying hatred in them or sincerity like you.

To be frank, he can see a person's heart the clearest through their eyes. And sometimes, when you're talking about things you love, he can't help but stare into your eyes the entire time and admire how they began to shine.

Unfortunately, he's unable to listen what you were saying, making you repeat things very often. Just like right now. "—guru? Meguru, are you zoning out again?" you asked, a little concerned about his attention span.

"What did you say?" he chimed in with a innocent smile, looking like a baby chick that was chirping.

"Ah nevermind!" you huffed, crossing your arms.

It's then when he realized he was being oblivious to his feelings all the time. Did he ever notice how pretty you are up close? Is this what people call crush? If it is, Bachira thinks he fell real deep for you. Like he has he biggest crush on you.

His grin faded for a second staring at your eyes that were filled with worry. "You okay?" you asked, touching his shoulder gently. Wow, he just fell in love with your eyes—they were genuine. Of course. We're talking about you.

"[name]..." he paused to jump on top of you, latching himself onto you, "I love you so much!"

"H-Hey, we're faLING!" you lost your balance.

And yet, he didn't let go.

Rin is also the one who thinks, wow how did she do this? Like, bringing him to the cinema to watch some damn romance movie. He would've rather watched the new horror movie that's out, but you wouldn't quit whining about the new lovey-dovey movie.

ITOSHI RIN. when he caught himself imagining a future with you—

　RIN thinks you're delusional. You're always talking about your dream man and then giggle like a highschool girl, ignoring the fact that you currently are a highschool girl. You were a bit— scratch that, you were delusional with those standards.

Sitting next to next each other, his eyes bore itself into the big screen that displayed some tragic scene. What a typical story. What a tragic scene. He cannot sit there anymore, the seat felt itchy and his mind drifted away.

Not long until he'll fall asleep. He can't though, not after hearing a quiet sob from his right. His eyes wandered to the side, only for them to land on your face—covered with tears as you sobbed like always when something sad happend.

You looked like the actress on the movie who also was crying because their love was impossible, forbidden love. "Quit crying like a baby." he whispered to not disturb other people, handing over a handkerchief for you.

"Thanks..." you mumbled and wiped your tears away.

“Wait for me, my lady...”

Rin continued to watch how the knight was giving the lady a handkerchief, his personal one he spent hours one to craft and decorate. "Once we'll see each other again, you can give it back. But I prefer you'd keep it." the knight swept her hair behind her hair.

"Please come back quickly." she plead.

"I will. That's a promise."

Suddenly, he felt someone lightly shaking his shoulder. It was you, giving him back his handkerchief. "Keep it." he paused. Just like in the movie. Did he catch himself locked in because of that movie? "Err..." he trailed off, knitting his eyebrows in confusion.

"Here." seems like you didn't hear it. "Or should I wash it before returning it?"

Quietly, he took back his handkerchief while shaking his head. "It's fine..." he grumbled under his breath, gripping onto the piece of cloth. His cheeks heated up because of the embarrassment he just said. He was not the knight in the movie.

But he secretly wouldn't mind if you're the lady. He also wouldn't mind, seeing you in the crowd of people, cheering his name during a match. He wouldn't mind if you kissed him for every goal he scored. He wouldn't—you infected him.

Did... did Rin just imagined you as a couple? You must have infected him with those thoughts. It's your fault. But he was wondering what kind of wedding dress would suit you perfectly. He could already hear the bells ringing—shit.

He deadpanned before hiding the upper part of his face with his hand. What is he thinking about? He was already imagining you two during your wedding. You would've looked beautiful though—and he said you were delusional!

"Rin, can I get my drink?" your voice snapped him out of your mind, asking for his drink. Why the heck does he have your drink?

"Huh?" he furrowed his eyebrows, giving you a drink—not seeing there was acutally a second drink.

"It's the wrong one... Did you buy sprite?" you returned the drink. "Rin, you gave me your drink."

Shoot.

"Sorry." he apologized, giving you the other one. Shit. Did you share an indirect kiss? He was drinking out of that one earlier! His face heated up because of... embarrassment? He is being lukewarm as fuck.

"Hope you don't mind that I drank out of your cup..." you whispered.

"I don't." he answered without hesitation.

The only thing he minds is that he caught himself slacking. "I'm going to the bathroom." he excused himself, standing up and quickly made his way out of here as you watched him in concern. Since when was the cinema so hot?

No Rin. You just realized that you had the biggest crush on [name].

"Did I do something wrong?" you muttered before returning to the movie. "Nevermind, it's an Itoshi we're talking about. He can deal with it."

At the end of all Rin knew—your love wouldn't be impossible.

© 2024 kumasakka — do not plagiarize , copy , modify , translate our work !

a/n's — frame lock here I come !!!

[angryonabus]

grocery bags: a hard-hitting investigative report

Every week I come home from grocery shopping and say two things to my wife:

"L and I were super normal and appropriate at the grocery store this week! Everybody noticed and commented on how normal and appropriate we were!" AND

"If I live one hundred thousand years, I will never understand the mind of a supermarket bagger."

The first one is self-explanatory; the second is because the baggers at our grocery store invariably pack our bags in ways that defy all logic.

...my logic, at least. But life is a rich tapestry! Maybe I'm an outlier in my preferences! Thus: a poll.

CAVEATS:

You are buying enough groceries that they won't all fit in a single bag; you must use multiple bags.

You have enough bags of the type you prefer (paper, plastic, reusable), so 'not having enough bags' is not a concern.

Bags will be packed with reasonable consideration for keeping everything functional (e.g. nobody is packing a bag of chips at the bottom of a bag of canned goods.)

[pearlymel]

Absolute Zeal

Sum. It was finally your turn to take care of your boyfriend, until everything twists around and you both end up a mess.

Warnings. NSFW, smut, fem reader, whiney zayne yes, unprotected sex, rough sex kinda, fluff. 2.2k words.

Notes. my exams are not stopping me (yet) from releasing yet another feral zayne.

Your boyfriend was absolutely out of it.

It wasn't long before Zayne noticed the effects of the chocolate, a slow warmth coursing through his veins, a slight sluggishness creeping into his movements.

He grinned lazily at you as you helped him outside, a slight wobble to his step. You were struggling, sure. But you kept up the tough act.

The cool air outside seemed to help clear his head a bit, but he was still far from sober, "my hero," he said, his voice still slightly slurred, "taking me home in my... slightly tipsy state. You're too kind.”

“Mhm, careful as you get in.” you instruct and Zayne obliges as he stumbled into the taxi, slumping against the back seat, trying to steady himself.

His gaze remained fixed on you as you climbed into the taxi after him. His eyes roamed over your face, “thank you," he murmured, "for taking care of me tonight.”

A hand smoothens to his cheek, up to his hair to comb it with your fingers before you tilt your head to peck his cheek, your hand encouraging him to rest on your shoulder.

He closed his eyes, a contented sigh escaping him, feeling safe and cared for in your presence.

…

“wake up, honey.” you whisper into Zayne's ear to wake him up from his light slumber. His eyes blinking slowly to get back to his senses.

He leaned against you heavily, allowing you to guide him out of the taxi, a quiet murmur of thanks escaping him.

The taxi driver watched the whole interaction silently after you payed him. ah, the young. "I miss my wife." He sighed to himself before driving off.

Meanwhile, you were pitifully watching Zayne entering the wrong passcode to his own home.

His fingers fumbled against the keypad as he tried to input his passcode, his normally steady hands betraying his current inebriated state. He let out a frustrated grunt, his brows furrowing in concentration as he tried again.

"Just... need to get this thing right..."

"Let the person who actually remembers the passcode of your home to enter it." you successfully entered the passcode, the lock clicking open with a satisfying sound.

Zayne let himself be led onto the plush couch by you after taking off his coat for more movement, a deep sigh escaping him as though he were sinking into heaven itself.

He let his eyes close briefly, revelling in the comfort of the soft cushions. He cracked one eye open lazily, a soft chuckle escaping him as he watched you fuss over his coat, gently removing it and draping it on the back of a nearby chair.

And with a gentle tug, he pulled you down onto the couch with him, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

You frown, “i should go get the hangover medicine—”

But his arm tightened around your waist in protest, pulling you closer to him before you could move. "No need," he shook his head, his voice huskier now. "Stay with me," he whispered, his voice low, filled with a yearning that went beyond simple physical attraction.

"After i get the medicine, hm? You'll regret it later," though he seemed too insistent. You couldn't budge, even when he was drunk, his strength was impressive.

Zayne groaned softly, his grip on you unrelenting. He rested his head on your shoulder, his face nuzzling against your neck, "later,"

"how much more?" you ask, your fingers tracing his jawline to sort of soothe him.

He drew in a slow, steady breath, his body relaxing against you. "Just a moment more like this."

Zayne leaned into your touch, his head slightly tilting as though seeking more of your caress. His arm around your waist remained securely wrapped, holding you close, holding you like you were a precious treasure, something to be cherished.

You continue caressing his skin, moving down to his messed up buttons and tie, making him flutter his eyes shut.

Despite the alcohol, a part of him was still very much aware, very much receptive to your touch. The way you undressed him, unbuttoning his shirt to help him breathe better, felt like a gentle, loving caress.

This is no good. “On a second thought, I'll just shower," he said, attempting to smooth out his disheveled hair. "A shower will help clear my head.” Zayne stood up after taking his arms away from your body, a bit unsteady on his feet, but adamant to make it to the shower on his own. He staggered slightly, leaning against the nearest wall for support.

…

You head to Zayne's study room in the meantime to explore it a bit out of curiosity while the shower is running in the background. Your fingertips brushed over the snowman displayed on the desk neatly which makes your lips curve.

It was not long after until you hear him in the living room, opening his laptop to answer an urgent call. Listening to him speak a few words. Even in this state, Dr Zayne is working hard.

Once the call ends, you show yourself from your hiding spot, “Even Dr Zayne's showers are hurried.” you comment in amusement.

Zayne's lips quirked into a wry smile as he acknowledged your observation. "In my profession, efficiency is key," he replied, “but," he added, his tone softening slightly as he drew closer, "I can assure you, I wasn't rushing for anyone else but you." He reached out to tenderly cup your cheek, his touch gentle but firm.

“It seems that.. The shower did not clear your head.”

"I suppose," he murmured, "you're quite intoxicating even without the alcohol.”

Zayne's next sudden advance caught you by surprise.

The unexpected aggression of pulling your arm towards him made you gasp. But as his lips pressed hard against yours, a surprised sound escaping your lips before you clung to him tightly, your arms wrapping around his neck as you returned the kiss, matching his hunger with your own.

Your fingers tangled in his hair while his hands cupped your cheeks, pushing you back until you were stumbling against his desk where he caught you in time to prevent you from completely losing your balance.

His glasses steamed slightly with each gasping breath. He looked down at you once your lips part, his eyes darkening until your fingers nudged at his glasses which tipped them over slightly, yet Zayne impatiently brushed aside your hand's attempt to fix his glasses and instead took his glasses off in one swift motion.

Hot.

His lips sought yours once more, his kiss hungrier, more urgent than before as he pushed you back against his desk. The sound of books and papers scattering echoed and falling with a loud thud that you couldn't seem to care about for now.

His lips traced a path down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin there, and your chew slightly on your lower lip. His teeth nip along your collarbone, his tongue soothing the slight sting, then repeating the action again and again.

This won't do.

"… You're drunk," you bluntly state, trying to stand from the desk to walk towards the drawer, "I'm getting the hangover medicine—"

His hands darted out to grab your wrists, gently yet firmly, preventing you from moving any further, “please." His grip on your wrists remained steady, his thumbs stroking the insides of your wrists as he leaned against your chest as if you just rejected him.

“I never let myself touch alcohol,” he breathed heavily, and that's when you recognize the slight snowflakes surrounding you both.

“But for you, I broke that rule. Because of you, everything is spiraling out of control...”

…

Zayne kicked open his bedroom door, the force of it slamming against the wall and bouncing back slightly. Without breaking the heated kiss, he carried you to his king-sized bed, the plush comforter and silken sheets welcoming as he lays you down gently.

His hands were almost shaking when he pulled your top off and tossed it carelessly to the floor. His fingertips traced the swell of your breasts, the delicate curves, before cupping them gently.

He dipped his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat before he's almost whimpering while rubbing his cheek against your cleavage, the warmth seeping through your skin and it's impossibly hard to stop the soft moans when his fingertips brush mindlessly along your nipples.

You were both almost a panting mess when his hands slid down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he ground his own against yours. Even through the fabric of his pants, you could feel the evidence of his arousal, the hard length of him pressing and rubbing against your clothed cunt with such hurry.

"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded, his voice low, almost raspy before he's kissing you messily, all tongue and teeth clashing together combined with his quiet whines when he continues rutting into you.

His body shifts, an arm extending towards the drawer but you stop himself from taking anything out, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers together instead.

He feels dizzy, and his hand squeezes yours before his other hand reaches for a pillow to place underneath your hips.

comfort comes first before he starts pounding into you.

Everything was gone. your panties, his belt and boxers all discarded away from his sight while he whispers your name as he grips his shaft to push his already leaking tip into your cunt to take whole.

“O-oh zayne—” A long, drawn-out moan spilled from your lips as Zayne filled you completely, stretching you around his hard, throbbing length. Your back arched off the bed, pressing your chest flush against his own, fingers digging into the muscular expanse of his back.

He was feral. He began to move, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in, setting a rough, fast paced.

The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust, and your eyes roll all the way back as whines combined with his heavy breaths and whimpers fill the air.

“A-ah, fuck, honey—” was all you managed to spill out before he's thrusting into you harder when he felt every clench and flutter around his aching cock, the velvet heat driving him to new heights of ecstasy.

“Zayne, zayne, zayne!” you chant in repeat breathlessly, his lips tries to connect with yours when he also feels his impending release drawing too close.

“Y-your zayne is here—” he practically breathes out as he manages to peck your lips, “Mmhn c-coming—” Zayne tries to muffle his whines against your skin when his hips jerked erratically as he emptied himself inside you, wave after wave of searing hot seed spilling into you.

The feeling of Zayne's thick, pulsing cock throbbing and twitching within you made you cum instantly. Your walls clamped down around him like a vice as you rode out your shared climax, hips continuing to rock slowly into you before coming to a halt.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of your shared breaths, the rustle of sheets, the soft thump of his heart against yours.

…

You woke up in Zayne's bed, wrapped in his arms, a soft, contented sigh escaping you as you shifted slightly, feeling his warmth against your back.

The sunlight streamed in through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. As you turned to face him, you see zayne breathe peacefully, and it brings a faint smile to your face.

He looked younger, almost boyish in sleep, his lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks.

His eyelashes are really long. you think, fingertips brushing over his eyelids delicately.

Zayne's eyelids soon fluttered at the light touch of your fingers, and a low, appreciative hum escaped him. He leaned into your touch, seeking more of your warmth and comfort.

Slowly, his eyes opened, a sleepy, warm look in them as he regarded you with a slow, drowsy smile. "Good morning, love,"

[dark-and-kawaii]

Nanami Kento, the one who entwines his fingers with yours as his cock fucks you at a punishing pace.

The man who’s cock is so large it feels like it’s crushing your womb, and each time you whimper his hand gives yours a reassuring squeeze before kissing away the tears that escape your eyes.

Nanami Kento, a gentleman through and through- even during the throes of passion.

Who is so handsome with his tousled blond hair and the most alluring eyes you have ever seen. The one with the strong jaw that clenches with every thrust.

Nanami Kento, whose breath hitches as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and bites his lip when your walls clench around him so nicely. Your ever loving, attentive, Nanami, who tries desperately to hold back so many noises because he wants to hear yours. 

The man who when he can't hold back, whispers your name against your lips, moans it in your ear and makes you see stars, calling to you over and over as if you're his only anchor to this world.

Nanami Kento, whose hips are unyielding, driving his cock into you over and over and over again. He is relentless, his stamina god like, and the only thing that keeps you grounded is the feeling of his sweaty skin against  yours- his lips ghosting over yours and his cock stretching your pussy so wide you can’t help but wonder if it’ll ever return to normal.

Who pulls out seconds before cumming so he can paint your pretty tummy with his cum- stroking himself through his orgasm, watching as he paints you like a canvas, admiring the masterpiece that is you with his lips slightly parted. 

Nanami Kento, the man who leans over you afterwards- his cum dripping down your stomach and onto the bed as he presses a tender kiss to your lips and tells you how beautiful you are. The same man who always pulls you to his chest- his strong arm wrapping around you while whispering sweet nothings in your ear, never caring if his own spunk ends up on him too. 

Who cradles you in his arms- his embrace a sanctuary where you always sleep safely… where you always feel cherished and time seems to stand still. His breath tickling the nape of your neck as he inhales your scent, committing to memory before drifting off to sleep. His lips curved with a beautiful smile, his features softened by pure contentment.

You can see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch- an undeniable warmth, and taste it from his lips… This is a man who has never truly known love until now.

Nanami Kento, who doesn’t just fuck you, but instead makes love to you as if each moment were a precious farewell- as if each night would be his last. Pouring his heart into every fleeting second.