#love that I'm back in my era of 'I don't know the answer to this what are you t- (suddenly does know)'

[cctinsleybaxter]

hold on who is winning between aroace milo truthers and gay milo truthers?

-Aroace milo truthers win on tumblr because there are "too many 'allogay'* headcanons." and sexuality in fandom must maintain osmotic equilibrium. we also get arguments about needing a second good guy aroace character like it's Noah's ark bc of this

-Gay milo wins metaphysically because Joseph heller had a crush on him

[insipid-drivel]

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.

[mercvry-glow]

you, me, and empty space between us

parings. jack abbot x doctor!reader

warnings. widower!jack, age gap as always (jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), jack literally talks reader off the ledge, undefined relationship but they're clearly in love and going through something, unspecified mental health issues, panic attacks, possible suicidal ideation, talks of losing people, bittersweet ending though.

notes. ever since we learned jack was a widower i've been cursed with angsty thoughts. I think this one is really hard as we see both the reader and jack struggle with each other. I love them your honor, and I'm really in my noah kahan loneliness era for this man. as always any feedback is appreciated and I love all of you!

wc. 2700+

You don’t know when it had become so hard to breathe.

It wasn’t after the first patient death, or even the fourth or fifth. That was just life in the Pitt, and you had grown accustomed to it long ago… at least that’s what you thought.

It certainly wasn’t when he had walked in—Jack Abbot, all swagger and scruff, fresh on shift while you were finishing yours. You truly don’t know when you came to love him as more than a mentor. Maybe it was in the quiet, exhausted nights on his couch, or the rare mornings when your coffee mugs clinked in place of words.

Never open, always tucked away.

And maybe that’s why it hits you like a punch to the chest—because it’s something so small, something that you have no business caring about.

A glint of gold as he reaches for his first chart of the night.

His wedding band.

Still there. Still shining. Still hers.

And your breath just… goes. Like someone pulled the air from your lungs and replaced it with something heavy and wet and cruel.

You don’t even remember walking to the lockers. Just the click of the door behind you, the fluorescent lights buzzing too loud, and the burn behind your eyes as your hands shook, held tight against your sides. Everything became too much all at once. 

God, you're so tired.

Tired of the codes and the screaming and the silence that follows. Tired of watching children and parents die and pretending you’re not breaking a little more each time. Tired of watching your friends break each and every day more and more as this job steals their youth like it’s doing to yours. Tired of giving your heart to a man who, no matter how gently he touches you, will never touch you like you’re loved by him.

Not like he touched her.

You don't even cry. Not at first. You just run up the stairs, heart hammering like it's trying to escape, destination both known and unknown to your frazzled brain. Then you do cry—loud, ugly, shoulder-shaking sobs that don't stop. Not even when someone passes. Not even when your pager buzzes again.

You make it up to the roof before anyone sees you.

The cold Pittsburgh wind bites at your cheeks, but at least here, you can breathe again. 

Kind of.

 You wrap your arms around yourself, eyes burning as you stare out over the city like it's supposed to give you some kind of answer.

But it doesn't.

It never does.

You’re not even sure how long you’ve been up here.

The city stretches out below, distant and indifferent—cars moving like blood cells in some great, uncaring artery. You’ve spent your whole life trying to keep things alive, and now, standing here, arms wrapped around yourself in the wind, you’re not sure how to keep yourself going.

It’s not just Jack.

 It’s everything.

You’re tired in your bones. In your soul, if that’s a thing people really have.

Tired of the endless codes that ring like alarms in your dreams. Tired of holding hands that go cold while families scream down the hall. Tired of smiling when you’re empty. Laughing when your throat aches from swallowing everything you can’t say.

Tired of being second. 

To a memory. 

To a career.

 To a system that chews you up and spits you back out with new scars and fewer tears left to give.

You love your job. God, you do. But lately it feels like it’s eating you alive. And no one sees it. No one wants to see it.  Because you're the one who keeps it together. The calm in the storm. The smile at the desk. The one who always says, “I’m fine. Go. I’ve got this.”

But you don’t.

You don’t got this. Not anymore

You’re drowning.

And Jack—Jack is just the wound you thought you could bandage, only to realize it was deeper than you ever let yourself admit.

You see the way he softens when he talks about her, the few times you got to hear. 

The weight in his voice when he says her name.

And you? You’re the comfort. The quiet. The body he falls into when his ghosts get too loud, too much to handle alone.

But not the one he chooses.

Never the one he chooses.

A sob claws its way up your throat, and this time you don’t stop it. You sink, knees scraped by the roof's edge, standing past the metal railing and let it all go—the grief, the love, the years of being almost enough in every aspect of your life.

You cry until you’re raw. Until your breath hitches like a broken record.

Until you feel like there’s nothing left inside you. 

And still, the world keeps turning. The city lights don’t flicker. The wind doesn’t pause.

You are so deeply, achingly alone.

And in this moment, you don't even want to be saved. You just want to rest. 

To be done. 

“You know,” comes a familiar voice behind you, easy and low, “if you wanted to get me alone on the rooftop , all you had to do was ask. I would’ve brought you coffee.”

You flinch. Just barely. But he sees it.

Jack steps closer, hands tucked in his cargo pockets like he’s just wandered up here on a whim, not after checking every paitent room and hallway trying to find you. There’s that half-smile tugging at his mouth, the one he uses like armor—dry wit and soft hazel eyes, his whole coping mechanism wrapped in a single expression.

But the smile falters when you don’t answer.

When he really looks at you.

You’re standing with your hands pulled to your chest, fingers white-knuckled in your scrubs, eyes red and swollen. Shoulders shaking just enough to make him stop in his tracks after realizing you’re past the guard rail. 

“Hey,” he says again, quieter this time. “What happened?”

You shake your head. A tiny, useless motion. You can't even bring yourself to look at him, back still turned.

He steps toward you, trying to search your face. “Talk to me. Did something happen with a patient? Was it that kid from earlier? Or—”

“No,” you whisper, barely audible. “It’s nothing.”

“That,” he says, voice a touch sharper, “is a lie. And a bad one, kid.”

You let out a bitter little laugh that turns into another sob. “Everything’s just… too much.”

Jack doesn’t speak right away. Just watches you, the tension in his jaw building slowly. “You’re scaring me,” he admits, quietly.

“Fuck,” you snap through the tears. “Now you actually see me?.”

That stuns him. You can sense it—how his shoulders tighten, how his eyes scanning like they’ve missed something right in front of them.

You wobble, or try to move—your knees tremble under you, and Jack moves instantly, hands ready to grab you. 

You pull away.

“I’m tired, Jack,” you say, voice breaking. “So goddamn tired. Of being here. Of being overworked. Of watching people die. Of pretending I don’t care that you still wear her ring when you’re in my bed.”

Silence slams between you.

He swallows hard, words clearly stuck in his throat.

“I know she meant everything to you,” you say, softer now. “And I would never try to take her place. But it’s killing me. Being your person… Being the one you come to… but never for.”

His mouth opens, then closes again.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And look, now I’m making my issues about you again. God, I’m tired of that too.”

Jack steps forward, hesitant, like he’s approaching something fragile. Or dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I didn’t want to make it real,” you whisper. “Because if I said it out loud, I’d have to admit that I’m not okay. That this job—this place—you—are breaking me.”

He’s quiet for a long time. The wind whistles around you both, cold and uncaring.

“I didn’t know,” he finally says. “I should’ve. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

You look up at him, exhausted and open and completely undone. “I don’t want you to say sorry. I just… I wanted to matter.”

“You do,” he says, quick and firm. “You matter to me,”

You shake your head again, biting back another sob.

He doesn’t try to touch you this time. He just stands there in the silence you’ve created, eyes on yours like they’re the only thing he sees now.

And maybe—for the first time—they are.

Jack exhales slowly, like he’s trying to steady his own heart before he reaches for yours.

“You wanna know something?” he says, his voice rough but quiet. “First week I met you, I thought you weren’t cut out for this. All business, too rigid, straight spine, soft. Honestly? Scared the hell out of me, I thought you’d be gone by the end of the week.”

You huff, tired, but something like a breath of a laugh escapes you.

“But then you stayed two hours after your shift because a twelve-year-old was afraid of needles,” he continues. “And I saw it. That heart of yours—the one you hide behind clipped words and all that damn competence. You care so much it hurts you.”

He pauses, lets that sink in. You turn your face slightly toward him, just enough for him to see your profile in the wind.

“I know you think nobody sees you,” Jack says. “That you’re just some extra in other people’s stories. But I see you. I always see you.”

Your lips part, but no words come.

“You’re the one holding the line when everyone else is cracking. You’re the one who stays up on nights like this, falling apart where no one can find you. But I found you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He steps forward again, slowly, cautiously. Like he’s giving you every chance to step back under the rails and hoping you don’t choose the other way down.

“I don’t wear this ring because I’m not over her,” he says, tugging at the band absently. “I wear it because she made me better. And you… you keep me better.”

That stops your breath cold.

“I never meant to make you feel like you were just something temporary,” he says. “You’re not. Not to me.”

“Then why not just say it?” you choke, voice trembling.

He looks at you like he wants to. Like the words are right there on his tongue—but something stops him. Not fear. Not doubt. Just the weight of everything this moment holds.

“I’m saying what I can,” he says instead. “Until I can say it all.”

He steps closer, right in front of you now, eyes searching yours.

“You matter, okay? Not just as my best resident. Not just as a damn good doctor. You matter to me. You’re not alone in this. Even if you feel like you are.”

Silence again. Heavy, but different this time.

“I don’t know what happens next,” he adds, quieter now. “But I know I don’t want to face it without you.”

You feel something give inside you—something that’s been clinging to the edge for weeks, maybe months. You don’t fall apart again, not this time. But you do lean forward. Just a little. Just enough.

Jack reaches out to touch you, wanting to pull you in. Standing right there on the other side of the guard rails, steady as gravity.

 Letting you decide.

You stand there for a second, barely breathing. His words echo in your chest, ringing against all the places that have been cracked and hollowed out.

You matter to me.

It shouldn't be enough. Not after all this. But somehow, it is. Or maybe it’s just enough to stop the bleeding.

Your shoulders slump as the tension you’ve carried finally starts to unwind. You don’t fall into him, not dramatically. You just… lean. Your forehead comes to rest against his chest, tentative, uncertain. But you stay there.

And Jack? He doesn’t hesitate.

His arms move around you with a kind of quiet reverence—gentle but solid, like he’s anchoring you to the hospital roof. One hand settles between your shoulder blades, the other against the back of your head, cradling you like he’s afraid you’ll break again.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmurs against your hair.

“I scared myself,” you whisper back, voice hoarse.

“You could’ve told me,” he says, not accusing—just brokenhearted.

“I didn’t know how,” you admit. “I thought if I said it out loud, I’d lose everything and never come back together.”

Jack pulls back just enough to look at you. His thumb brushes gently along your wind bitten cheeks, catching a stray tear you didn’t even feel fall.

“You are coming back together,” he says, firm but soft. “Right now. Piece by piece. You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

You nod, barely, like you’re still trying to believe him.

“I don’t need you to be okay all the time,” he continues. “You don’t have to be strong for anyone. You get to fall apart. You get to feel this.”

“But what if it doesn’t stop?” you whisper, voice cracking. “What if it just keeps coming?”

“Then we’ll face it together,” he says, without missing a beat. “Shift by shift. day by day. As long as it takes.”

Your eyes search his, and for once, there’s no hiding behind sarcasm or guarded silences. Just truth. And maybe something deeper behind it—something he’s still not quite ready to name, but it’s there. Burning steady like a soft fire.

You close your eyes, letting yourself rest in the warmth of him, in the safety of this rooftop moment.

And for the first time in weeks—maybe longer—you take a full, deep breath.

You both stand like that for a long time—no words, just breath and heartbeat and wind. The hum of the city below feels miles away, like a different world. Up here, it's just the two of you.

Eventually, Jack shifts a little, his arms still around you. His voice is soft, barely above the wind.

“Hey,” he says gently. “How about we get back on the safer side of the rail, yeah?”

You realize, with a sudden twist in your stomach, that you’re still on the wrong side. Still too close to the edge, with nothing but cold air and steel keeping you tethered.

You don’t move right away. Your fingers grip the rail, not because you want to jump—God, no—but because the world still feels unsteady. Like if you let go, you might float off into something you can't control.

Jack doesn’t rush you.

He stays with you, warm and steady at your side, hands never leaving you. “One step,” he says softly. “Just one. I’ve got you.”

You look at him, and there’s nothing performative in his expression. No pity. No fear. Just calm, unwavering care.

You nod once. Then slowly, carefully, you swing your leg over the first bar. He helps you the rest of the way, hands guiding you gently, like you’re something precious. When both feet land solidly on the rooftop again, you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until it finally releases in a shaky exhale.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Safe and sound. Mostly.”

You laugh, barely. “I must look like a mess.”

“You look like someone who’s been through hell,” Jack says. “And is still standing. That’s not a mess. That’s a goddamn miracle.”

You look up at him, eyes glassy, and something flickers between you. Quiet. Heavy. Unspoken.

His hand lifts slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, then lingering—fingertips grazing your jaw, gentle as rain. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

“Can I…” he starts, then stops, catching himself. “I’m not asking to fix it. I just—”

You answer by leaning in.

It’s not rushed. Not desperate. Just soft. Slow. Like an exhale. Like the kind of kiss that says I’m still here. I still want this.

His lips meet yours, warm and steady, one hand still at your waist, the other against your cheek. There’s no fire in it—not tonight. Just light. Just steady comfort.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing a little easier now.

“You sure about this?” you whisper.

Jack doesn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure.”

You nod. You believe him. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe in yourself again, too.

mercvry-glow 2025

[dilf-docs]

It Always Leads To You

dbf!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: it's been a year; now you're back. how can joel be so sure of those old summer feelings in your eyes when there's a new hand holding yours?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, toxic relationship, cheating and infidelity themes, mutual pinning, kinda dark!joel, smut, p. in v., pussy pronouns, oral (f. receiving), fingering, manhandling, lowkey forced creampie, ANGST, the taylor swift evermore (2020) references go wild, happy ending cause y'all weak asses voted for it and i love to keep my citizens happy!

word count: 5,199 words

side note: my joel miller era is alive and breathing after this tlou re-watch i'm doing my brother swears it's for him but it's mostly me and my fic/womanly reasons, yes we love gaslight girlkeep girlbossing in here gotta say, finding inspiration for this amidst my wattpad duties and christmas movie marathon was harder than i thought lol. was it worth the wait? please like, comment and reblog to let me know! it's based on this request (they're still open btw!)

part: I / II

Holidays linger like bad perfume.

Your eyes wander through the streets: the roads you've got to call home, the ones where you grew up. They're familiar, but so foreign, it's hard to believe they're the same ones where you scrapped your knees at ten and kissed Joel just last winter. It's as if both timelines, your life, feels more like two separate lives, miles apart.

"Hey, you okay?" tender, from the driver's seat; you're still getting used to the soft.

There's a reassuring smile your way, his hand finding yours to give it a squeeze. You notice his palm is the same size as yours. It fits perfectly, but there's a ghost of what it feels like to have it all wrapped up, looming over your itchy palm like all the yearning's a joke.

You nod. "Just tired. That's all"

He sighs. "If I wanted you to lie to me, I would've just asked"

"I'm not lying" you defend yourself as his pickup truck parks on the sidewalk.

He makes a funny face, and you laugh.

"I'm serious, Nick" your lips purse, a thing you do when you lie, yet he still hadn't noticed, like Joel. "Don't worry"

He doesn't look that convinced, so you take off your seat belt and grab his hand.

"C'mon. Mom and dad must be waiting for us"

"Hey" Nick calls you out.

"Yeah?"

"Who lives there?" and he's pointing behind you.

It's his. Joel's house.

"A friend of my dad's" you answer, dryly.

It was last december when you stood there in his porch, begging. It feels like time has stopped ever since, and you're still right where he left you.

"So will he be here?" Nick asks. "You know, since he knows your dad"

"Don't think so" you shrug, "he's got better things to do anyway. Bitter old man" comes out, with more venom than intended.

"Oh! Alright, sorry for asking"

You come back to your senses, realizing you've shared more than you should.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not that important; let's just go inside"

Your mom and dad greet you as soon as you cross the door. Last year, you'd basically fled away before New Year's, with a poor excuse and a broken heart. They both greet you as if nothing happened, although you're sure they remember your tear streamed face coming back from Joel's house, where it all ended.

As your mom corners Nick with kisses and embarrassing questions, your dad whispers to you:

"Joel asked what happened" you quirk and eyebrow, "wanted to know why you left"

"Eh, it's not important" you try to dismiss. "Definitely not as important for a guy like Joel to know"

"What is that supposed to mean?" your dad inquires. You often wonder if they knew.

"Nothing" you laugh nervously. "Listen, why don't you go and meet Nick, yeah? Did you know he likes fishing too?"

The distraction works with your dad; the same can't be said about you.

There's conversation flowing, but through the snow covered window, your eyes keep glancing back to his own. The view is dark, and you ponder if he's fled as well, the town plagued with memories too painful to reminisce.

You can still feel his hands roaming your body, the lust filled gaze that hid warmth. Every time he touches you, you have to remind you he isn't there: that the lips that kiss you, don't taste like his, that the hands that hold you, aren't big as his, and that the face that looks at you like they'll never choose another, is one you haven't learned to love yet.

Joel's memory cuts like thorns: they sink their teeth into your heart, that bleeds with that blood-colored sadness you're all too familiar with. He's poisoned you. But-- isn't it his love also the antidote for this disease he's gave you?

You abruptly stand up, plate half eaten.

"I-I need some air"

It's cold outside, but you don't care. All you want to do is sit on the porch, and drop some tears, something you can do inside too, but the fear of your muffled cries being able to be heard stops you.

You walk towards the stairs, to sit there like you do on summer days, yet there's now a difference: the snow. So you end up slipping, falling with your butt on the floor.

You yelp, embarrased although no one can see you.

"Need help?"

That you're wrong, apparently.

You don't even need to raise your view to know who that voice belongs to: you know it like a record, spinning in circles on your head.

He offers his strong hand your way, and although the cold wind hits your face, you're back to spring on the cabin: wet feet, bright sun and beating heart.

"I can get up myself" you reject his help, pushing the hand out. You keep avoiding his gaze, so you don't see how he's reacted, yet you hope he feels bad about it.

You walk up to the front door, and it takes you a while to realize he hasn't left yet. On top of that, it seems like he's following you. Just what you needed.

"What are you doing here?" you question, but your tone sounds like you're offended.

"Your folks invited me over" Joel answers, "Says they got a special guest"

"Yeah" this time, you do look back, finding him to be much closer than you thought he'd be. Yet you stand tall, defiant even. "It's my boyfriend"

You savour the way his expression falters, before the stoic façade takes over again.

"Boyfriend?" Joel scoffs, as if you just told the funniest joke ever.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" you bite back. "What? Think a pretty girl can't get a new man?"

"Never said I'd doubt'it" he clicks his tongue. "Y'a could get any man you'd want, sugar"

Ironically, the only man you want stands before you.

"Right" you chuckle dryly, "I think it's kind of funny of you to say that"

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a clash of emotions circling in his chocolate orbs.

"Y/n-"

"Don't" you stop him. Then sigh, defeated. "Let's just go inside"

As soon as you both arrive on the dinning room, your parents both greet Joel. Then, they introduce him to their guest, just as promised.

"Joel, this is Nick, y/n's boyfriend" your father speaks. "Nick, this is Joel, a dear old friend of mine"

Nick, as the gentleman he is, offers his hand. Joel accepts, but you can see the barely desguised displease behind his eyes.

"Wow, strong grip" Nick comments before joking, "you can let go now, I'm not going anywhere"

The hidden meaning of his words, whether intentional or not, hit Joel in the face. It's obvious by the way he backtracks, letting go of Nick's hand.

As you sit again, Nick leans to your side and whispers.

"Is this the guy who lives in the house across the street?" you nod. "Thought you'd said he had better plans. But, see? I told you: no plan's more important than coming to your house"

He's always making jokes, trying to make you smile, but it's done the opposite now. The food has gone cold long ago, yet you cut through the meat with a violence so palpable, even your mom tells you to slow down.

The nerve of Joel, showing up to your house like it's nothing, talking to you like he's unaware of his spell on you, acting like Nick is some sort of competition when he pulled out of the race himself a winter ago.

"So, Nick. How did you two meet?" your mom adresses him, eager to know details.

"It was at a party, actually, through mutual friends. Not a very spectacular story, that I know. What's funny is, she asked me what hour it was. And what did I say?"

"He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said: For you, I'm available any hour" you answer.

Your parents laugh, but Joel remains quiet. You wonder what he's thinking.

"You know" looking at Nick while cutting the steamed vegetables a little too agressive, "y/n actually hates parties"

"Joel" you warn through gritted teeth.

"Really? I didn't know that!" Nick seems so genuine, Joel can't help but hate him. He looks at you, concerned "You didn't tell me"

You can't believe he would rat you out like that. The appropiate word isn't hate, and you don't know how to describe it, but parties aren't really your environment; if you can, you'd choose to be anywhere else.

He'll pay for that.

"Joel" you seethe, an ugly smile painted in your features, "did you know Nick knows how to fish?"

It's a direct jab at him. He feels stupid for letting you get to him. The inferiority complex towards some random guy he just met, years younger, is actually laughable.

"I like-" Nick wants to add on that.

"Well" Joel interrupts, looking at you. "You never taught me like ya' were s'pposed to"

"You never cared to learn" you reply, acidic.

He sips his drink, trying to hide the smirk that's formed on his lips. You can't shut up, and he loves you've stayed the same.

"That means I've got some classes to take" Joel leans back on his chair, relaxed like he's won this round. "Just tell me when"

The tension cuts like the storm that's just formed outside.

"You should stay over, Joel" your dad offers when he takes a peak at the climate, "it's too dangerous outside"

Joel seems indestructible, like not even a snow blizzard could pierce through the rough old man. But he agrees, much to your dismay.

It's probably midnight already, and all you've done is toss around the bed. Nick peacefully snores next to you, and you envy how easily he falls asleep. You've always find it hard to sleep, the nighttime plagued with too many loud thoughts that fill the silence.

You get up carefully, heading downstairs for some water. You sip with tranquility when a noise jolts you from your sit.

The wooden floor creaks, making you aware you're not alone anymore.

"Can't sleep?"

You don't answer, seeing his sturdy figure emerge from the shadows until the dim moonlight shines over his aging features. Silence settles in. Outside, the wind howls, bumping against the windows with violence, like your heart does now against your chest.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"There's nothing to talk" cuts your response through the thick tension, the air suddenly suffocating.

You take another sip, but the tremble of your hand doesn't go unnoticed by Miller.

"Right" Joel sits next to you, on the kitchen island. "Won't even look at me, sugar? You've got eyes" his voice drops, "use 'em"

"What are you doing, Joel?" you ask looking at him, tears threatening to spill, making your bright eyes shimmer with pain.

He gets up abruptly, like he's woken up from a trance. He's seen his own pain on your eyes, and he hates it.

"Joel?" you ask again, demanding but softly.

He can't answer. Instead, he leaves.

"Goodnight, y/n" voice raw, many emotions boiling, hidden on the inside. It hurts.

If you hadn't changed, Joel too stayed the same.

A goddamn coward.

Two days have passed since, and now it's Christmas Eve.

You kneel, putting the presents under the tree. Normally, your parents would have much more people around for the holidays, but thanks to the storm, it's just them, Nick, Joel and you.

"I'm gonna miss Mrs. Stone's cookies" you pout, "I wish she could be here"

"It's a big loss for tonight" your dad sighs. "Next time, yeah? Christmas will come again faster than you think"

You nod, still absent as he walks away.

"Hey" Joel pops up behind, seemingly from nowhere.

"Hey" you reply, voice laced with tiredness just at the sight of him. How will you manage to survive until New Year's? You have no idea, the task harder if he's staying in the same house as you are.

"Put this in there, will ya'?"

He hands you a box, neatly wrapped up. What stands out the most is the silver bow on top. Your stomach drops: it's your favorite color.

"Y-yeah" you stammer. When the present falls in your hands, you notice it looks like Joel did it himself.

"Didn't know you were capable of nice things" you whisper. There's no anger in your voice, only loss.

"I'm trying" is what he says, before leaving you alone. Until then, you realize he had been touching you, the skin where his hand was on your shoulder burning.

Dinner goes by swiftly, conversation flowing easily courtesy of Nick and your father, who both have in common the love for talking. It may be your brain messing with you, but his eyes never leave you, fixated on your every move, savoring when your lips open and take a bite; when you lick them afterwards, salt in your mouth he'd love to take off in a movement of his tongue. The ghost of your lips haunts him, cruelly playing with his yearning now that he's got you across the table. It's a few centimeters, really, but it feels like you're miles away: and it's his fault. You're no longer his, and he's reminded of it every time your boyfriend kisses what he once had.

Now it's time to open the presents, and you excitedly raise your hand to go first.

"Alright, sweetheart. You know I can't deny you anything" your father beams, "go ahead. Choose any present you'd like to open first"

Joel's eyes are on you, and you know he's desperately waiting for you to open his first. Maybe partly in courage, maybe partly in fear, but you choose Nick's first: something safe to start with.

"That's mine!" he chirps, and Joel mockingly imitates his kid-like joy under his breath.

You unwrap the present, finding a small box inside.

"Please, don't be another box" you joke, and he laughs.

"You think that low of me? Please"

You keep unwrapping and find a bag. The bag has a small tag that reads: Gotcha.

"Nick! God, you're so corny" you tease as you open the bag. Inside, there's a velvet box, and by the looks of it, you can tell it's jewelry. You gasp, pulling out a silver charm tied to a silver thin chain: it's a marlin fish. "Nick..."

"I know. Marlin isn't your favorite fish, but that's all I could find" you get up, wrapping him on a tight hug. Aware you've got an audience, he leans and whispers "I knew fishing was special to you, because of your dad and childhood. Maybe now" he takes it from your hands, carefully putting it around your neck, "it can also be our special thing"

Joel sees the scene unfold in front of him, his grip tight on the cloth of his jeans until it's white. His jaw clenches at the affection display; all he sees is red.

"What about that one?" your mom points out Joel's present. A pit of nerves forms in your stomach. "I don't remember seeing it there"

Before you can grab it, your dad moves faster, examining the box on his hands.

"It's Joel's" he makes a pause, "for y/n"

You pretend to be shocked, and you can tell Nick tenses at your side.

"You didn't tell me you were close"

"Used to" you correct quickly, despite the knot on your throat. "Not anymore"

"He still got you a present, though"

You don't get to answer because your dad leaves the box on your lap.

"Open it" it's soft but feels threathing for some reason, "I'm curious"

Joel's resting hands tremble as much as yours while you open the present. You reveal the simple white box under the wrap, opening it up.

Your voice comes out shaky as you call his name. And he can see it: the muffled laughters on the shed, the warmth of the cabin's fire, the fogged up windows of his car, the bruises on your tits and that voice, so vulnerable, he can see you on his porch, saying those three words that terrified him so much, his solution was breaking your heart.

"What is it?" your dad asks.

"It's a scarf" the fabric tickles your fingers that wander through the loose strands.

You remember it all too well.

"Oh, it's vintage!" your mom comments when she sees the worn-out aspect.

But just as your affair with Joel, you keep the secret of it's real owner.

"It's perfect" you mutter, remembering better times: ones where he'd wrap the scarf colored as the leaves on the ground around your neck, covering bruises he'd just made while you joked you'd steal it, and Joel would say he'd just let you, that it looked better on you anyway.

You've forgotten the good, so used to thinking of Joel at your worst, like a punishment to endure and sink your shipwreck even deeper. You felt lost, replaying memories that seemed stuck on a loop. Since last december, all you've known is pain; creeping up through the cracks in your fleeting happiness, one you've tried to find to no avail. One day, past the curses and cries, maybe there'll be happiness. But as for now, that day seems terribly far.

As he sees your teary gaze, Joel often wonders were it went wrong. When did hurt was all you had for him in that gaze of yours he can't bare to look that long, not before he's reliving all those seasons by your side, replaying his footsteps on the snow, grass, water and fallen leaves, trying to find the one where it all went wrong. The torture he now wears like a second skin, his agony painted words addressed to the fire of a house that feels so empty and alone.

"We should continue" your dad speaks over the silence, "there are still many presents left"

The night moves slowly, and the scarf you've chosen to wear is now suffocating around your neck. But you can't take it off. This is the closest you've been to Joel on a year; it still smells like him. As the presents run out, you excuse yourself early to bed, only to wake up again in the middle of the night. You want to pee, so you exit your room and walk to the bathroom, your bare feet against the cold wood sending shivers down your spine that only seem to augment when you walk past his door, next to the bathroom. After being done, you splash some water on your face, as if that would make some sense get to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask yourself in the mirror. Your tired reflection stares back at you, in silence.

You open the door, ready to go back to bed when a hand covers your mouth and shoves you inside.

"Don't scream" your cries go muffled against his hand, the calloused digits pressing against your soft skin, "wanna wake 'em up?"

You shake your head, so he lets your mouth free.

"Joel" you call out, but he's facing the door, his back all you see. No sound can be heard, aside from his uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry" he says, and then you hear the small click of the door's lock.

"What the hell?"

This time, he faces you, but his movements are so quick you don't register his lips on yours until it's too late. He kisses you like a starved man who hasn't had a meal in years, eating you out while your body acts up on it's own, the urgency embarrasing even.

"No" you pull back. Your mind screams in guilt at how much you want this, and that's all you can hear aside from his ragged breaths.

"No?"

"It isn't fair"

"To lover boy out there?" he teases, "I know he ain't treating you right, or ya' wouldn't look me the way ya' do"

"Don't, Joel" your tone is icy, "Nick treats me better than you ever could"

He laughs, darkly. "You know I ain't meant that" he corners you against the sink, the material cold against your bare legs; you don't sleep with nothing but an oversized t-shirt, despite the weather.

"Riddle me this, sugar: if he treats you so well, why are you so fucking wet?"

Your heart beats so fast you fear you'll die. He gets closer, his hot breathe prickling against your ear.

"It takes a man to please a woman" he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, "and I ain't leaving my baby displeased"

His fingers pull down the panties until your clit is exposed.

"Look at 'er" he traces a teasing finger over the puffy skin, coated on your slick "missed me, didn't she? Gonna treat 'er so good, she won't ever feel lonely again"

He softly kisses your neck, the trepidation and regret tying your stomach in knots.

Joel teases your needy core with his finger.

"Tell you somethin', sugar" Joel finds it hard to hide his adoration, "I missed 'er too"

He stares into your eyes while pushing two rough fingers inside your cunt. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

"Need summ help?" he kisses you roughly, smirking when he feels your shaky breath against his lips. He pushes them in and out faster, making your walls squeeze tightly around his fingers.

"Did he ever have you comin' this fast? I'ont think so" he whispers against your neck. You whisper his name through labored breaths, making a smug smile adorn his features. "Good girl"

He proceeds to kneel down, despite the creak of his bones. You see him leave a trail of kisses down your thighs, your legs opening wider in response. His tongue gives rapid flickers against your sensitive bud, aware of the lack of time. He slurps the pulsing cunt, his head moving back and forth while he sucks, coating his moustache on your juices. Joel goes back to the quick movements, tongue knowing your spots and twisting fingers as aid, causing your back to arch.

"Fuck" you curse as you come, gripping the sink a bit too tight.

Joel then pulls away and places his fingers coated in your arousal in his mouth and licks them. He sees the obscene display in the fogged mirror, satisfied.

"Goodnight, sugar" Joel bids goodbye like it's nothing, kissing your lips that taste like you. "Still as sweet as ever"

It's New Year's Eve.

"You're leaving?" you sound so sad, Joel can't help but scoff. In the end, he'd stayed long after the storm had passed, your father arguing holidays weren't meant to be spent alone. So he stayed.

And now, Nick is leaving.

"I'm sorry" he apologizes for the millionth time, "but granny is sick. I don't know if she'll make it another year, so say the doctors. I would love to stay, really, but I have to be with her"

You understand, having lost your grandad years ago. But that doesn't mean you're okay with it: Nick leaving means a clear path for Joel, who didn't stop with him sleeping next room, and certainly won't now, despite not having interacted with you since he ate you out on the bathroom.

He pulls you into a long hug and a kiss that doesn't feel the same anymore. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah" you nod, "I'll miss you though"

"Well, I'll be all yours when you get back"

You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"See you, y/n. I love you"

Your lips purse after you utter those three words back.

Later at night, the house is filled with guests. The lively environment is restored, and you feel less confined to Joel's claws, so many faces to speak and distract yourself with, compared to Christmas and the past couple of days. You clutch the marlin charm tightly, mind busy wandering to places it shouldn't. Joel stares at you from across the room, eyes trained on you as he sips his drink calmly, like he's won; you don't know why he's keeping score if he already knows it. You wander off to the kitchen, and Joel follows you.

"You have to stop" you speak as soon as he enters, aware he would follow you.

"I ain't do shit"

You turn around, facing him. "Bullshit, Joel"

"Tell me, what'd I do?" he comes closer, and despite your erratic heart and fear, you stay still; challenging.

"You did this, Joel" his expression falters for a second, the weight of last december's crimes dawning on him. "Don't try to make me feel guilty"

"I ain't. That wasn't your fault" he sighs, breath dragging long like a cigarrette. "But this" he motions with his hands the reduced distance, "this it is"

Your breath hitches.

"We can't keep doing this, Joel. Nick doesn't deserve it"

He pins you against the counter with force, gripping the skin of your wrists until you're sure you'll get a bruise. Joel's eyes darken at the thought of your frail and soft body under his rough figure and belly, his strength and your weakness making the job of putting you under his will, so much easier.

"Don't say his name" he whispers, his breath laced with alcohol, "he ain't here anymore. Ain't nothing to stop me now, right, sugar?" Joel purrs as he steps towards you, taking your face in his hands before starting a heated kiss, making you stumble.

This was so wrong, but it felt so right, the missing pieces falling like dominoes.

He was your pain divine: you needed his hurt to bleed and feel alive again. Maybe the red of the blood and the blue of your sadness could paint your darkest grey skies with a happiness you've craved since you lost him.

"Tell me to stop" Joel whispers, tempting like a devil as he kisses down your neck, littering it with hickeys.

"Don't"

Next thing you know, you're excusing yourself upstairs and then Joel goes missing too, both inside of your bedroom.

Your dress was the first thing to go.

"Wear it for me?" you're about to answer, lips pursing, but he cuts you off, "and don't lie, sugar. Don't get too used to the bad girl schtick"

"I only wore this dress so you could take it off"

He kisses you desperately, legs wrapped around his waist while he carries you to bed, and the memories of your first flood you as he drops you down to your back, watching the way you bounce. He has you just like he wanted: moaning his name while he leaves tender kisses on the soft bare flesh.

"Joel-" you gasp. Despite the chatter downstairs and music, you try to remain low as he wraps his lips around your nipples. He then moves to your breasts, covering them with his kisses and hickeys. He hadn't touched a woman ever since you left, the feeling of the rosy innocent skin on his rough teeth making him loose all common sense, the real thing even better than what he would try to conjure when he fucked himself in the bathroom at the memory of you.

He groans when he feels your hands roaming over his back, nails digging on the scarred skin.

"Someone's eager" he teases, seeing your damp underwear. "Is this 'cause of me?" you don't answer, too busy removing the cloth, only for his strong fingers to grab you and stop you. "Don't be shy, answer baby. We got a whole new year, yeah?"

"I need you Joel" you whine, not laughing at the joke "cut the crap"

He pushes you gently back down to the bed. "So needy sugar, want me to help ya'?"

You eagerly nod, making him laugh. But there's no mock, only love behind the sound.

"Will you let this old man take care of ya', pretty baby? Just use your words, and I'll be all y'rs"

"Do it, Joel. Just do it"

You gasp as your folds begin to be prodded open by the fat head of Joel's cock. You curse, feeling him push in just the tip, the sweet burn of your walls welcoming his size making you grab his arms that stand at the sides of your body, caging you in.

His tummy pushes against your stomach as he adjusts himself, his weight sinking your body on the creaking matress.

"'S just the tip, ready for the whole thing?"

You needed him, all of him.

"Yes, Joel. I want you" You say and he pushes in slowly, feeling his cock fill up every empty space that craved for him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as his hips roll back pulling out about halfway before rocking back in. His sloppy thrusts pick up a familiar pace that makes you moan and beg for more, head falling against the sheets as his pace speds up until he's fucking you senseless.

Joel's brain goes blank at the sight of you creaming on his dick and the obscene sounds leaving your pretty mouth. Did he really give this up? He'd definitely go back in time and slap the fuck out of his past self, because there is simply nothing better than having you under him, screaming his name like that's all you can ever say.

"Does he fuck you like this, huh?" Joel angles his hips, resuming his brutal pace. Your body jolts with each snap. "Is he enough for you?"

"Yes" his stomach drops, dark eyes now hesitant, "but he isn't you"

He pushes himself back in, your eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.

"Tell me you'll leave him, y/n. Look me in the eyes and tell me who ya' really belong to"

Your eyes snap open at the possesiveness clashed with jealousy that drips from his sweat-soaked lips.

The confession falls easily, as meant to be. "Yours, Joel. Always was and will be"

He could cum just at the sight of your loving doe eyes.

Downstairs, the countdown begins, but in your room, all you can hear are his soft groans and your pathetic whimpers, and if the people would stop shouting, you could probably hear the squelch of your dripping cunt sucking in his girth with each thrust.

After a few more erratic thrusts, you feel his warm cum fill you up. Joel was always obsessed with how his cum seeped out of you and around his cock. Without thinking, his rough fingers push deep in you, making you yelp as he makes sure he isn't wasting a drop behind.

The countdown ends, and fireworks erupt outside as your head rests on the crook of his sweat covered neck.

"I love ya', sugar" those words you thought you imagined that one time, now real, so goddamn real his voice quivers and eyes get tearful with grief, "'S okay if ya' don't say it. I just wanted you to hear 'em. 'M just tired of wastin' my time"

He wraps your lips with his with tenderness you had only dreamed of. There is still a lot to talk and heal, but this time, his arms hold you like a promise. And you let yourself believe it.

Y/n's New Years' purposes: 1. Break up with Nick 2. Try to explain this seasonal mess to mom and dad 3. At last, try to be happy

cr: divider by @kodaswrld / gif @tomshiddles

[weakformingyu]

Why does it feel so good? | B. C.

Bangchan x fem!reader

Genre: romance, smut, enemies(ish) to lovers

Summary: after that night, you can't stop thinking about Chan. Turns out he can't stop thinking about you either.

Words count: 2895

Warnings: part 2 to this ask, two idiots in love, piv, no protection(this is fiction!!), handjob, fingering, oral, I think that's all(I don't know if that's all, I forgot how to do this after so long without writing 😭)

A/N: here I'm, writing something after a thousand years. I don't know where this came from, I just felt the will to write a part 2 for this old ass ask. Anyways, I'm back in my Bangchan obsessed era. I absolutely did not proofread it, I may or may not proofread it later, bye.

THIS CONTENT IS INTENDED FOR 18+ PEOPLE ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Since that night, Chan has been avoiding you like the plague. That would have been great for you if you could actually stop thinking about him, which you can't. You can't forget how he whimpered and begged, you can't help but want more. You tried a few hookups, going on dates too but none of those felt like it made sense to you. It all felt wrong.

To Chan it was not much different, after that night, he kept bringing people over but it was not the same. It was louder, dirtier, like he wanted to prove something to himself, he wanted to prove that, that night, meant nothing to him. But as the days went by, he started feeling less and less interested in his hookups, thinking about you and how you were the one that started with the whole hatred thing. Now you had started something once more and hadn't ended it, leaving him to try and cope with the mess.

At last you finally got to move to your new apartment. Now, your brother would be able to have more freedom in his own home and you wouldn't have to see or hear Chan.

That would work perfectly, if you haven't been dreaming about him every single night too. These dreams made you feel pathetic, he was rough and sloppy, you felt humiliated every time you woke up wet, having to touch yourself while not being able to think about anything else other than him.

Once more, you open your eyes after one of those dreams. You look at the clock, it's almost time for you to get up anyways, this time you chose to take a cold shower rather than getting off to the thought of that man again.

You get your phone on your nightstand, looking at your messages just to find a text from your brother telling you that you forgot one of your boxes in his apartment. You look at the pile of boxes in the corner of the room, you didn't have the time to organize your things yet, it's not surprising that you didn't notice something was missing. You text him back, telling him you are going to go there after work to get the box.

The day at work is eventless, other than the sky getting darker within the hours, until it starts raining. When you are in the uber, going to your brother's, the rain is so strong it's barely possible to see a foot in front of you.

The distance between the sidewalk to the building’s entrance, is enough to leave you soaking wet. You get on the elevator, dripping all over the place and when you get to the apartment door, you stop yourself before pressing on the passcode. You remind yourself that you don't live there anymore, so you ring the doorbell like a normal person.

You just didn't expect that the person opening the door for you would be the man you were fighting so much to forget, rather than your brother.

“Where's Beom?” You ask after the shock of seeing him washes off.

“His girlfriend is sick, he went there to take care of her”, Chan answers. His eyes fall from your face to look at your body, absolutely drenched. He tries to ignore that you are wearing a dress shirt that is glued to your body, showing every curve, especially your breasts covered by the dark bra.

“I forgot a box here, he said it's in his room”, you feel your cheeks getting hot, burning before his intense stare.

“You should change”, he clears his throat, turning his back on you. “It's not good for you to stay too long in wet clothes. I'll get the box”

“I'm good”, you say. You don't have a spare change of clothes with you and it would absolutely kill you to stay in the same place as Chan for longer than necessary.

He sighs, shrugging and walking to your brother's room. You start calling your uber, but to make things better, no one's accepting. On the TV, the news is talking about the huge traffic and accidents that happened in the short time the storm is going on.

Chan puts the box in front of you, looking at the TV as well. He then walks to the sofa and plops down, changing the channel.

“I don't think I'll get home until the rain stops”, you sigh, “I'm gonna take a shower, I don't want to freeze to death while I wait”

“Suit yourself”, Chan says, without sparing you a glance.

It's weird to be in a situation like this with him, before, it wasn't like this. He'd make you mad or get mad at you, you two would be bickering or full on arguing, now it's awkward. It feels like there's something that needs to be said but no one wants to do it.

You go to your brother's room and go through his wardrobe, selecting a few clothes. Your bath doesn't take long, you feel restless knowing Chan is meters away from you. Rather than fear, you wish he would just open the door and take you.

You feel pathetic once more, thinking about those things. You put on a t-shirt and some shorts that barely keep still on your hips and go back to the living room.

Chan is watching a movie, the storm outside doesn't seem to have calmed down yet. You take a seat on the edge of the sofa, staying as far away as possible from him.

“It's cold, why didn't you get warmer clothes?” Chan asks, tossing the blanket he's using to you.

“I didn't want to make a mess of Beom’s wardrobe”, you shrug, “God knows what I may find there, I don't want to risk it”

Chan chuckles.

“He's not a freak, that I'm sure about”, Chan clarifies.

“Opposite to you, right?” It comes out of your mouth before you can even think about what the fuck you're saying. When Chan’s eyes land on you, you laugh nervously, but there's no sign of humor in his features. He seems mad, yeah, that's understatement.

“I was wondering when you were gonna bring that up”, he says, turning off the TV and turning his body to look at you.

“I don't know what you're talking about”, you say, looking anywhere but his face. Chan smiles, it's just like that time when you would feel so embarrassed to see him after listening to him fucking strangers all night.

“Do you feel embarrassed thinking about that night?” He asks, and you don't notice because you're not looking at him, but the man starts to get closer.

“You said to pretend it never happened”, you answer, clearing your throat.

“Yeah, but did you manage to do that?” He asks, shamelessly. That's when you notice how much closer his voice sounds, you look in his direction to see that he's right by your side.

“I did”

“Then, why are you red?”, he teases, making your face grow even more red.

“Stop that! You were the one that begged for me that night, you're the one that should be embarrassed”, you huff, feeling hot, but it's not with embarrassment.

“I don't have a reason to feel embarrassed, I don't mind begging if it gives me what I want”, he shrugs. Chan's hand comes closer to your face and he brushes your hair out of the way, tucking it behind your ear.

“Chan”, you warn him.

He clicks his tongue, smirking.

“I like it when you say my name”, his voice grows lower with every word, “would like it more if I could hear you moaning it”

Your hands are shaking with anticipation, your breath is hitching in your throat.

“We shouldn't”, it's all you can manage to spit out.

“Tell me to stop and I will”, he says, coming closer and you know he's going to kiss you. But you don't want him to stop and that's the whole problem, since the beginning, since that night, you wanted more of him even though you tried to deny it, you wanted to swallow him whole. You didn't even notice but with every passing day, your hatred for him grew weaker and with each dream you had about that night, the desire you had for him grew stronger.

When his plump lips meet yours, you feel like everything makes sense. Everytime you tried to date, it never worked out. How could it take so long for you to realize that you liked this man? That everytime he bought someone over it ate you inside and you had to build a wall masked as hatred so you wouldn't suffer so much.

Your hands fly to his neck, nails burying in his skin. His hands meet your hips, grabbing the waistband of your shorts to pull you down, hovering over you. He bites your bottom lip, only feeling satisfied when he rips a moan from you.

You're feeling lost, all the pent-up sexual frustration from the last month being released all at once. His cock is hard and he takes the opportunity to drag it over your cunt, making you sigh at the friction. When it's too hard to breathe, he pulls away, going down to your neck. He sucks on the skin, hard enough to leave a mark.

Chan pulls your shirt off, throwing it somewhere in the room, he looks at your breasts, mesmerized.

“Fuck”, he grabs both with his hands, squeezing them and teasing your nipple with his finger. He gets closer, sucking on one of your breasts while he plays with the other. The sounds that come out of your mouth are like music to his ears, he never thought he would feel so turned on by someone moaning like this.

You're desperate, rutting your pussy on his hard dick, looking for the least bit of stimulation. Chan understands it, he keeps going down, landing kisses on your belly, until he reaches your lower half. He takes off your shorts, so close you can feel his breath hitting the skin of your lower stomach.

He puts both of his hands on each side of your hips, stilling you. He gets closer to your pussy, licking a long stripe from between the lips till your clit, making you moan loudly. Chan chuckles, feeling his cock get harder, if that's even possible. He puts just one of his hands over your stomach to keep you still while his other hand goes down to your wet hole.

Chan puts in two fingers, making you moan while he licks and sucks your clit, he gives kisses to your cunt in the middle of it, making you go crazy. His fingers keep working hard inside you, making you squirm in his hands. It makes him extremely proud to see you in that situation, he could stay there forever.

When you least expect it, he puts in another finger, making you whimper and glare at him.

“I know you can take it, baby”, he smirks, “how can you take my cock if you can't take this much?” He pouts, making you groan. The feeling of his cock inside you, just makes you get wetter and he feels that.

Chan works faster with his fingers, he wants to see you coming all over his hand and mouth. He couldn't do this last time and he regretted it, so now he wants to leave you fucked out, with nothing on your mind other than him.

You start feeling the knot in your lower stomach, you can feel your orgasm getting closer and closer, your hands go to his hair, forcing his head against your pussy, you want more, you need more. The movements of his mouth get faster, making you shake while you reach your climax, and you let out a loud moan. Chan doesn't stop, he licks everything that comes out of you, all your juices and his fingers keep you whimpering, until you can't take it anymore. You make him stop, forcing his head away from your pussy. You breathe heavily, watching every movement of his.

Chan looks at you, pulling his fingers out of you and taking them to his mouth, licking them clean.

He moves back on top of you, holding your face and kissing you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue and that's the hottest thing he could do but you can't let him have all the fun, so you put your hands on his shoulder, pushing him off of you, making him fall back onto the sofa. Before he can say anything you're already straddling him. Your hand slides up to his hair, pulling the strands, making him groan and smile.

“What should I do with you?” You ask, while you grind on him. His hands go to your hips, forcing you down, so he can feel you better.

You're making a mess on his grey sweatpants, they were already wet with his precum but you're soaking him with your pussy. He doesn't wait for you to decide, he takes his shirt off and lets his hands wander until they find your ass, squeezing it. You're so hot, he doesn't get how he managed to not burst while eating you out.

You pull his sweatpants and underwear down and his hard cock slaps back on his stomach. You get on your knees between his legs, spit on his cock and use one of your hands to stroke him. Chan throws his head back, at the same time that he wants to watch you prettily jerking him off, he can't take how good you're making him feel.

A groan comes out when he feels your warm lips around him. Chan looks back at you, seeing your beautiful doe eyes staring at him, like you're not sucking him off like that. You bob your head, barely getting half of his cock in your mouth. You twirl your tongue around the head, making him whimper. Oh, it's so good to hear him like that, you almost forgot about it, how great it was to hear him beg.

You smile, letting go of his cock with a pop of your lips. Chan is scared by your mischievous smile but so turned on, you have no idea what you're doing to him. You go back to straddling him, your warm cunt dragging on his cock, soaking him with your juices.

“Fuck, you're so hot”, he groans, sliding his hand to grab on his cock, but you smile once more, shaking your head slowly.

“You said you don't mind begging, right?” You ask, biting on your bottom lip.

“Y/N”, he warns you, making you giggle.

“Come on, Channie”, you give a peck on his lips, “I know you liked it when I made you ask”

“Please”, he says through gritted teeth.

“You can do better than that”, you pout, grinding on his cock and making him hiss to the feeling. “We already talked about it. Beg.”

Chan looks deep into your eyes and contrary to your expectations, he smiles, biting on his bottom lip.

“Please, baby, let me fuck you”, he starts but you're not done with him. You slip his cock inside you, but keep still.

“Keep going”, you giggle.

“Fuck”, he curses, but it's so good inside you, he don't mind begging. He can't even think straight. “Please, move. Ride me, please. It's so good inside you, I can't take it, please”

You smile, proudly, starting to move. He grabs on your hip with one hand while the other plays with one of your breasts.

“You're such a good boy”, you tease, making his dick twitch inside you and his face grow hot and red. “You like that? Do you like it when I praise you?”

“Shit”, he hisses, groaning and moaning when you feel him filling you up, that also makes you moan, reaching your climax once more.

You're trembling and Chan is not much better, you drop the weight of your body over him, resting your head on his shoulder.

You don't know what to say, you don't know what to do. You're scared to look at him now and go back to being awkward. However, before you freak out completely, Chan clears his throat, making it impossible for you to keep in that position. You look at him and he smiles.

“Can I stop pretending I don't like you, now?” He sighs, seeing your confused face.

“What?” You ask.

“There's no turning back from this, y/n”, he answers. “I never thought I'd actually say this out loud, but I like you”

You feel your breath hitching in your throat, you can't speak.

“You know, I never thought I'd be into all this”, he keeps going, not expecting you to reciprocate his feelings. “I think I like it because it's you”

You feel a strange surge of happiness taking all over you, you can't help but smile.

“You're so lame”, you hide your face on his neck. “I like you too”, you whisper, making him chuckle.

Chan slides one of his arms around your waist and the other holds your ass as he gets up, carrying you.

“Where are you going?” You ask, hugging him so you can secure yourself.

“My room”, he smiles, “it's your time to beg now”

[yeahxsurexokay13]

not a lot going on at the moment, lando norris

previous

summary: there's not a lot going on after the dutch gp (mostly behind the scenes, but the fans are starting to catch on).

warnings: swearing and a few negative comments. also, i don't think the dates for august make much sense but they were mainly to show the passing of time.

a/n: second to last part ): hope you guys are still enjoying the story!!! as always, would love to know what you think <3

y/n.y/l ✓ 📍​ Circuit Zandvoort

Liked by jasmineharper, pietra.pilao and 801.001 others

y/n.y/l weekend well spent 🏎️❤️ thank you @/f1academy & @/charlottetilbury for having me!!!! xx

view all 509 comments

f1academy ✓ Loved having you with us! Your support means the world 🤩 ♥︎ by author

user10 okay but I missed her outfits in the paddock sm 😭

user1 girl just say you're the lucky charm and go

user2 I NEED LINKS TO EVERY SINGLE THING YOU WORE THIS WEEKEND. LIKE NOW.

y/n.y/l ✓ 🫡🫡 on it

user 3 let's go girlsssss!!! 🏎️🩷

user11 not to be that person but… do we think they talked??

iamrebeccad ✓ Gorgeous girl ❤️ ♥︎ by author

user4 come back every weekend pls xx

user13 he won DESPITE the distraction, not because of it. let's be real.

friend soooo when are we raiding your glam bag?

y/n.y/l ✓ 🙄 as soon as you come over I'm guessing

abbipulling ✓ Loved meeting you! ❤️​

y/n.y/l ✓ right back at you 😊 xx

user5 so lando wins the second she shows up after a month? yeah. there's something in the air.

user6 yn supporting f1 academy>>>

user12 it's giving attention seeking, not support. oops 🫢

user7 don't care what happened i'm just glad she's back

francisca.cgomes ✓ 😍 ♥︎ by author

user8 lando liked....... again... (we are so back!) (i hope)

user9 I thought we were done with the PR stunts?

29 July 2024

jasmineharper ✓ 📍Kapama River Lodge Reserve

Liked by francolapinto, lissiemackintosh and 308.299 others

jasmineharper out of office (emotionally and geographically) 🦓☀️⛺️🌿

view all 390 comments

user1 girl you are GLOWING in these ✨🤩

jasmineharper ✓ thank you lovely 🥰

user2 girlbossing your way through SA I see 🫡 ♥︎ by author

y/n.y/l ✓ come back home the kids miss you (I’m the kids)

jasmineharper ✓ judging by how long it’s taking you to answer my texts, i think the kids are very entertained rn

user3 be fr jaz what do you know 😭

user8 HELLOOOO WHAT DOES JAZ MEAN BY THAT 👀

user9 she's keeping busy… WITH WHO JAZ DROP THE NAME i can’t keep living like this

user10 is it hot in here or is it just the passive aggression

user4 You are STUNNING 😍 that last pic omg

user5 enjoy summer break!!! see you again in (exactly) 22 days😌😌😌

user6 gorgeous!!!😮‍💨

user7 u deserve this break and ten more just like it 😤😤 ♥︎ by author

3 August 2024

y/n.y/l ✓

Liked by maxfewtrell, haileybieber and 840.021 others

y/n.y/l bits and bops from august so far 🌞

👤 ethan.y/l, jasmineharper, friend1, friend2

view all 962 comments

user14 ollie content clears my skin ♥︎ by author

user1 ethan in his chef era?? hello??? while looking like a runway model too 🫦​🫦​

alexandrasaintmleux ✓ Miss you already❤️❤️❤️

user2 HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO OUR QUEEN JAZ 💌 ♥︎ by author

user3 y'all do not let that extremely cute ollie pic distract u from the soft launch on the last slide

user12 ethan cooking… did we survive the outcome?

y/n.y/l ✓ barely🙃

user4 august looks like it's treating you well!! love this dump 💖 ♥︎ by author

ethan.y/l I better get royalties for slide 5

y/n.y/l ✓ your payment is me not posting the video of you setting off the smoke alarm 👍🏼

user5 jaz with the birthday muffin 😭 queen didn't even get a cake

y/n.y/l ✓ less cleanup

user11 tell the leg at the beach I said hi

user6 ran here as soon as i got the notif you posted!! love the vibes!

user13 girl we are NOT fooled

user7 can we talk about ollie's little face in pic 3🥹🥹 give him a treat from me pls ♥︎ by author

user8 I will never know peace until I know who that leg belongs to

user9 it's probably just ethan lol you guys really do overanalyse every single little thing 😂

user10 we're not overanalysing if we're RIGHT

15 August 2024

next part

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

taglist: @sarx164 @willowpains @n3versatisfied @verogonewild @addzlibs @knivesdoingcartwheels @sky--wzlker @sheslikeacurse @sashisuslover @midnightbabylon @sunflowervol18 @itsselllaaa  @chezmardybum @quinquinquincy @seonaw @imagine-it-was-us @freyathehuntress @pandora108 @stylesmoonlight12 @azuramicah @emneedshelp @lorena-mv33

[two-white-butterflies]

for the plot

Description: You have a boyfriend, and the entire firm is trying to figure out who he is. One thing is for sure though: Mike Ross is good at hiding secrets from everyone except Rachel Zane.

Part two of slowburn, but can be read as a standalone.

Pairing: harvey specter/reader

Warning: slightly oc harvey because trust me, he wouldn't date anyone during this era.

It was Monday morning when a bouquet of flowers was spotted on top of your office desk. Correction, you could barely see your office desk because all the interns and associates were gathered around your office like they were gawking at an animal inside a zoo enclosure. "What are all of you doing here?" You raised an eyebrow.

You suppose that some of the interns don't get paid - but the associates most definitely are - and they shouldn't be doing this during office hours. "Someone sent you some flowers," Phoebe points out as she shoved her way through the crowd.

The associates and interns alike opted to stare at the floor, prepared to hear you reprimand them (and in your defense, you don't reprimand them at all, but the circumstances were different this time), but you hold your tongue. A sigh escapes your mouth - typical Harvey, always showing off - you think to yourself while feeling a blush creep up your cheeks.

"Get back to work!" You ordered as the crowd dispersed, as if they weren't even there in the first place.

Everyone returned to their proper workstations, everyone except Phoebe who was quite adamant in following you inside of your office.

She tilts her head slightly.

"Aren't you going to tell me who sent you those flowers?" She asks. Your eyebrows merged. "My boyfriend, who else?" You answered plainly - a teasing smirk plastered on your lips as you settled on the desk. Donna has certainly been rubbing off Phoebe with her (caring) nosy abilities. It unnerves you how much those two know about the people in this office - they know eveything! Even what Jessica eats for breakfast (hyperbole).

You tapped your fingers impatiently on the desk, reaching for Harvey's small but toe-curlingly sweet note.

Happy Monday, my little duckling. I hope that this day treats you well - H. Reginald ;)

On your second date, you fell into a koi pond, and a few ducklings gathered around your body as if you were their mother, or part of their family, which is why Harvey has given you that nickname. The story sounds embarrassing, but that's the crazy thing about love: you can do the most embarrassing things, and they'd still be in love with you.

"What's it say?" Phoebe sits on the chair parallel to you, a bundle of files clutched near her chest, and you know that she only brought those files so she could have a reason to march inside of your office. A genuine smile ghosts your lips. She's already being such a good lawyer by asking you all these questions - it's obvious that she wants to know everything. And you will reiterate, she knows everything. Everything except who you're dating...

"Nothing to you," you placed the note inside of your pocket.

A whine escapes her mouth as she settles the files on your desk. There are at least twenty files already beginning to pile on your desk, and it's only Monday morning! Being a lawyer is such a boring job. "When are you going to tell me the name of your lover?" She emphasizes the word lover, knowing how much you hated that word.

"The day that you stop being so damn nosy," you rolled your eyes, a mischievous plan beginning to form in your mind. Phoebe and Donna always know the juicy workplace gossip, and they refuse to share it with you! Them not knowing the identity of your boyfriend makes your stomach giddy with mischievousness. This is basically their payback for not telling you about that thing with Harold Brink.

"I'm not nosy. I'm just curious and you told me that curiosity is the weapon of a good lawyer." She used your quote against you.

"A good lawyer also knows when to stop asking questions, so get the hell out of my office and get back to work!" You used your boyfriend's favorite catchphrase against her, a teasing smile still plastered on your lips as you hoped she wouldn't recognize your tone.

A few words of complaint exit her mouth, but she goes back to work nonetheless. Sorry Phoebe, let me have my fun, you'll find out soon enough anyway...

It was during lunchtime in the partner's lounge that you were able to meet your boyfriend. He was eating his favorite salad when you walked in with your warm moussaka, courtesy of Phoebe, who gave it to you in the hopes that you'd tell her who your boyfriend is.

"I thought your lunch break was at 12?" He pulled the empty chair beside him, leaving you ample space to sit down and open the metal lunchbox. "I eat my lunch when I want to eat my lunch," you answered with an eyeroll. "Whatever you say," he chuckles while reaching for his lunchbox to bring out a box of Chuckie, your favorite chocolate milk from the Asian supermarket.

Chuckie is perhaps mankind's greatest creation besides Milo.

"I saw your fridge filled with this, so I brought one for you," he whispered, and you gave him an appreciative smile. "Thank you!" You pressed a kiss to his lips. You've never seen Harvey act this way before - he always keeps his feelings hidden in his chest. He's an action guy more than a words guy, but you can see that he's trying to be both for you, and the thought of that warms your heart.

"Don't worry, I got it from your fridge." He says, and a gasp escapes your mouth. You hit his forearm lightly, and he releases a chuckle.

"I'm joking," he raises his hands in mock surrender. "I'd never steal anything from you." He emphasizes the word 'steal', which makes you frown because he has already stolen your heart (cheesy).

"Oh, by the way, thank you for the flowers. Phoebe has been asking me about you the entire day, but she doesn't actually know it's you." You giggled while taking a bite of your moussaka. "Donna has also been bugging me about your boyfriend, and I told her that I didn't know and didn't care if you were dating anyone." he informs.

Your eyes having a conversation of its own.

"It's so annoying how they know everything," you groaned endearingly. "So we have the same idea then?" He asks, aware that your minds work in the same way. It is part of the reason why he loves you with all of your heart - you are his intellectual equal. He likes the way that you are whole even without him, and you like him for that same reason, too. He doesn't make you perfect because you are already perfect. He just makes you feel more and vice versa.

"Try and drag this thing on because it is quite scary how much they already know about us then tell them who we're dating when the time is right?" You inquired, checking to see if he had the same idea.

"Exactly," He confirmed.

"Cool," you smiled.

"Cool," he repeated your phrase while taking a sip of your chocolate milk.

Wednesday noon.

You leaned on your office chair, popping your headphones on as you continued watching your third episode of the day. Normally, your weeks are filled with cramming and stress, but miraculously, there is nothing to do today. Well, maybe your motivation (Harvey) just makes you work a tad bit faster than before.

You lowered the brightness of your laptop.

If Jessica finds out how fast you finish these cases, she'd be very mad and impressed, but the thing is...she doesn't have to know.

You pretended to type away on your laptop, but truly, you're watching a Turkish drama that Harvey's sister-in-law recommended. You were about to reach the scene where Serkan Bolat finds out about his secret daughter, but your MS Teams begins ringing loudly, almost rendering you deaf because hello, you're wearing headphones.

Harvey Reginald Specter is calling you...

DONNA PAULSEN

"Hey, baby."

Donna hears a female voice from the other side of the intercom, specifically, Harvey's intercom. Her ears almost pulsed at the sound of a strangely familliar voice from the other side of the line, but the voice fades in the background when Harvey switches his intercom off. Donna's head went careening, her office chair spinning around so that she'd be facing Harvey's office.

She almost feels proud of him for going on a date after so long, but knowing him, he's not the type of person to commit, and knowing him, the only person he's ever been fond of is you, although he doesn't really say it out loud. To that thought, Donna's heart sinks to her stomach - right you had a boyfriend and Harvey has a fling.

At least both of you aren't married yet.

You still have time to date each other.

Donna's eyes narrowed, trying to read his lips, but Harvey, being clever and private, turned his office chair around so that he'd be staring at New York's skyline. His back was entirely facing Donna. She couldn't even see his face through the window's reflection.

Damn!

But thankfully, just as Donna was about to give up, Phoebe (her best friend in the whole wide world alongside Rachel) was strolling by. "Pst, Phebes!" Donna called out to her in a half-whisper, and the associate turned to look in her direction. "What?" She asked.

"I just heard Harvey talk to a woman on the phone. He even turned off his intercom, he never turns his intercom off! It must be serious." Donna added a personal opinion to the story that she was telling. A gasp escapes Phoebe's mouth. "Could it be (Your Name)?" Donna inquires - able to remember that you were also dating someone whom Phoebe speculates also works in the firm.

"Nope, she was on her laptop the last time I saw her, and her phone's literally charging in my cubicle." Phoebe shot the question down quick. "Damn, love is in the air in this office I guess." Donna thought to herself, and a giggle escaped the associate's lips.

"All this love and no boyfriends for us," the associate complained.

"I know, right?" Donna continued watching Harvey's figure.

"So, are you going to try and figure out who Harvey's dating?" Phoebe inquires, always the one to try and piece two and two together. Donna reminds herself that the associate worked as a detective for two years before going to law school.

Donna shakes her head. She knows her best friend like the back of her own hand. "I know how Harvey gets when it comes to his lovelife. If she's important, we'll know - if she's not, she'll be gone." Donna sighs, and Phoebe nods her head.

"I guess, plus, I feel like he'd get mad at us for trying to pry into his personal life like that..." She agrees.

"You're doing the same thing to (Your Name), for your information." Donna teases. "If she doesn't like me trying to know, she'll tell me, but I have a feeling that she's only hiding her boyfriend because she likes annoying me," Phoebe mumbles.

"Yeah, you do look a little cute when you're annoyed." Donna chuckled. "Whatever, Donna." Phoebe rolled her eyes.

MIKE ROSS

"I already prepared the restaurant you're going to, the flowers are ready, yes, I also booked a private room because I know how busy and loud La J'amie gets during Sundays." Mike Ross opened his mouth to speak, partly annoyed and confused as to why Harvey was treating him like he was his personal assistant.

"Good," Harvey replied while highlighting the mistakes in the contract that Mike Ross drafted. "Why are you making me do this, anyway? You have Donna," Mike pointed out.

Harvey's eyebrows merged together, personally offended. "Why am I making you do this? Because I'm the reason you work in this office?" Harvey rolled his eyes while handing the contract draft back to the associate. "Right," Mike stared off to the side.

He's thankful to Harvey for giving him this job, but sometimes he just wants to leave - because he knows that this isn't his place. He loves being a lawyer and all, but it feels wrong practicing when he doesn't have a law degree - when he has cheated his way through everything that he's pretending to have now.

But that's a problem for another day.

"When are you going to tell them that you're with each other?" Mike asks in a rather pressing tone because Rachel has been suspicious of him - mostly because he spends a lot of time outside and he no longer has free time to go on dates with her - because Harvey is making him plan everything that he's doing with you and it's horrible because Mike doesn't even have the reigns to anything. Harvey micromanages him with this date-related nonsense. Harvey doesn't even care about half of the work that Mike does in the lawfirm!

"That's for me to know and for you to find out, now get the hell out of my office and get back to work." Harvey commanded.

There were a million things that Harvey Specter loved about you, but what he loved the most was your ability to persuade and tell a story. You had a silver tongue, and you were an expert raconteur. Whereas he relied on his charm and his ability to see through everything, this union of yours proved to be divine as you covered his blind spots and he covered yours.

In the courtroom, both of you were formidable lawyers (which, you admit, sounds a bit like liars, but you've never lied, only partly obscured the truth). "You know, the funny thing is, I hate mergers and acquisitions." You confessed while tracing the imaginary lines of his chest. "That used to be your field," he scoffed.

Yep, because it's the field that brings in the most clients!

"I know, and it's so repetitive. If I were able to choose my specialty again, I'd go to family law." You mumbled, eyelids fluttering as you fought against your inevitable drowsiness. His hands slither down to your waist, pulling you closer and lifting the covers over your shoulder. "Please, you'd be too stressed there, all your hair would fall out." He mumbled while pressing a kiss to your temple.

"It's the most interesting specialty, please. You know how Anna Karenina said; All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." You remembered the quote from the time that your high school teacher forced you to read the book.

Harvey is silent for a second, perhaps, relating to the quote.

"Harvey?" You raised an eyebrow, suddenly remembering the story about his family. "When we have a family, if you want to have one, let's try to make everyone happy." He asks, as you burrowed deeper into the crook of his neck. "We'll have a happy family, Harvey. I promise," you gave him a smile.

"Good," he nods his head.

Perfect.

RACHEL ZANE

Rachel Zane's eyebrows merged together.

"It's a Saturday and you're going somewhere?" She inquired, watching as Mike hurried to wear his clothes.

"I'm sorry, it's Harvey." He reasoned, his voice apologetic.

"What is he making you do now?" She interrogated, a hand on her waist as she stared up at him. "Classified client interviews," Mike pressed a kiss to her forehead. She wants to believe him - Mike is not the type of person who lies just to get what he wants, but she's been cheated on before - she's been someone's mistress before.

All liars think everyone lies.

She feels guilt bubble in the bottom of her stomach. "I'll see you on Monday, then." She mumbles underneath her breath, watching as unease floods Mike's features. "I love you, okay." Mike repeats.

"I love you, too, Mike." She replies.

.

.

.

Rachel was about to put Mike's coat in the laundry, but her hands brushed past a few papers inside his coat pockets. She pulls each paper out, thankful that she thought to check his pockets before throwing them in the wash - these could be important - she thinks to herself as her hands danced over a thicker piece of parchment.

Reservation in La J'amie for two. Sunday 7:00pm. Private room.

"Private room?" Her eyebrows merged, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. Her previous thoughts echoed in her head. All liars think everyone lies. All cheaters think that everyone cheats.

Is Mike cheating on her?

She knows that she deserves it - she deserves losing this perfect dorky and nerd guy because she isn't entirely a perfect person. But, she promised to change a long time ago - and she has changed. She knows that karma doesn't care, though, but she hoped that karma would gloss over this man because she really, really loves him.

She loves Mike with all of her heart, without any doubts, and without asking for anything else in return. Rachel sank to the floor, her eyes trailing back and forth as she contemplated her next actions.

.

.

.

Thankfully, Phoebe was free - Donna was on a date.

"When you catch them together, we have to beat Mike up. Of course, we have to ask the girl if she knows, and if she does, I will drag her off the pavement!" Phoebe rambled with anger pulsing through her veins as if she were the one cheated on. "I'll assault them. I'll make sure their parents won't be able to recognize them -"

Phoebe's words are interrupted when they see a familiar car pull up the restaurant's driveway. Harvey Specter's car. A 1961 Black Jaguar E-Type - Rachel remembers from Mike's drunkish ramblings (mostly complaining about his boss).

He sees Harvey Specter step out of the vehicle, walking around the busy streets to open the left-side door - revealing you.

"Oh my god, they're dating each other," Phoebe mumbles out loud as Rachel pulls her towards a pole that is big enough to obscure their slender bodies. It isn't lost on the girls - the way that Harvey's hand curled around the small of your waist while guiding you inside the restaurant, there were basically hearts in both of your eyes, drunk at the sight of each other that you were unable to notice Phoebe (who was wearing a neon magenta coat) and Rachel.

"So, Mike isn't cheating on me. Harvey's just making him do restaurant reservations because he doesn't want you and Donna to know." Rachel says to herself. She's smart - very smart.

Phoebe releases a deep breath - good - because she wasn't exactly sure that she'd be able to drag Mike and his alleged mistress through the crowded streets of New York City. "You know that there's only one way to find out, right?" Phoebe raises an eyebrow while dragging Rachel inside of the restaurant.

Phoebe marches in the direction of the receptionist with a cadence that only a woman who could afford to eat there could. "Good evening, ma'am, may I take your name?" The receptionist looked around nervously; he was obviously new here.

"Ross. I have a reservation in the private room." Phobe announces with her chin held up high. Rachel is almost thankful that the other woman decided to wear a neon magenta coat for only someone rich could have the courage of wearing something as ugly as that.

"Sorry, ma'am. We don't have a reservation under the name Ross. We have one under the name Specter, though." The receptionist says with a forced smile. Rachel and Phoebe exchange a knowing look.

Rachel relaxes.

"I think that was in another restaurant, Phebes." Rachel suddenly blurts out, a wave of relief washing over her features and soul. "Oh, right, apologies for that, darling." Phoebe smiles while turning around to leave. The moment that both of the women stepped outside the restaurant, a happy shriek escaped Phoebe's lips.

"Oh my fucking god," she cheered. Happy to finally know the identity of your boyfriend - there was only one thing in Phoebe's mind, 'I told you so', that was the first thing she was going to tell Donna. Rachel forces a smile on her lips - her personal issues with infidelity were a conversation for another day. Today, she's going to be happy for you.

You tilted your head slightly, seeing a familiar magenta coat from your periphery. "Phoebe and Rachel are here." You pointed out, and Harvey twists his neck his eyes meeting those of Rachel and he gives a nod of confirmation.

You share a smile with your boyfriend and he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. "One thing is for sure, they know." You hummed.

"We'll deal with them tomorrow," he chuckled amusedly.

[in-class-daydreams]

Imagine your and ex-husband Gojo's son panicking because you'll be home in 10 minutes and he forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer.

Satoru leans against the kitchen counter. "You're so dead, kid."

"You think I don't know that?!" Sen cries, desperately trying to rip the frost-covered packaging off.

It's not often that you got sent off to do missions yourself nowadays. The most you do on a regular basis is consultations, admin work, and the occasional supervising, but this time?

This time, you've been gone for 36 hours and Satoru heard you had to exorcise a curse for the first time in months. Your ex-husband has seen you when you've gone six hours without a snack and sometimes a nap, and while he loves you, hangry you makes the strongest sorcerer of the modern era want to run and hide. He doesn't want to know what you'll do if you come home to frozen chicken when you specifically asked Sen to take it out and you sent a text and you asked Satoru to remind his son.

"Toss it in the microwave!" Satoru suggests. Sen reacts with a speed befitting his training and sets the microwave to HIGH for 10 minutes.

"Will that be good enough?" he asks his father.

"I mean, I never--"

They're interrupted by the front door opening.

"Sen! I'm home!" you call out. Sen and his father share a look of pure fear until you call out again. "I'm gonna go take a quick shower, then I'll be right out to work on dinner!"

Your words turn their twin looks of fear into looks of hope. Satoru smooths his hair back brushes imaginary dirt off his jacket.

His grin makes Sen's eye twitch. "Don't worry, son, you figure this out and I'll go distract your mom-- Ack!"

Sen yanks his father back by the collar. "Nice try," he says with a sneer. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Satoru understands immediately. He nods sagely. "If it ain't broke, don't fit it, I always say," he says and takes a step back.

Sen stops the microwave and puts space between him and it once he opens the door. He makes his hand sign with practiced ease and says, "Technique Amplification: Blue."

I've had zero inspiration or time to write or answer asks, so here's a blurb I had sitting in my drafts. Thank y'all for writing to me, and I'll try to find the inspo to post more <3

Click [here] to keep up with ex-husband Gojo and his estranged family | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[scarletttries]

Kiss It Better (Gun Woo Bloodhounds Request)

Pairing: Gun Woo (Bloodhounds) x F!Reader

Rating: Smut (Gender neutral pronouns throughout by AFAB for smut purposes)

Word Count: 4k ���💘💘💘

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone sending in lovely messages about my Bloodhounds content! Doing all the 'write a kiss' requests for Gun Woo has completely put me back in my Bloodhounds era so I wanted to write a more substantial smut request for everyone who's right there with me :) Enjoy and let me know if you want more!

Kiss It Better

It wasn't so much a knock at the door that drove you to your feet, as much as it was one loud bang. Like someone had slumped most of their weight against the door, and wasn't going to shift until you let them in. There was only one man who so routinely showed up to your little apartment that you barely had to peek through the peephole to confirm your suspicions.

"Gun Woo!"

You answered warmly, unlatching the door and subconsciously swinging it wide enough for him to step inside even as you spoke at its threshold. You could see a bag in each of his hands, the reason he had had such trouble knocking, and a fresh pattern of bruises down his muscular arms. You frowned as your gaze followed the purple marks along his arms and up to his jaw, which immediately relaxed into a smile as your eyes met his.

"Good evening, I came to drop off your pay from Mr Oh, and my mother insisted I bring you some of her cooking in case you aren't eating well." Gun Woo bowed his head as he finished the explanation, extending both arms out towards you slowly. Your fingertips brushed over his as you took each bag from his hands, his calloused boxers' knuckles grazing against you with the slightest of sparks.

"Thank you Gun Woo, and please thank your mother for me." You replied warmly, wishing you could think of something else to say to keep him grinning at you a moment longer. As his arms drew back towards his sides you saw him flinch slightly, his eyes creasing shut for just a moment, the slightest wince flashing across his face. "Gun Woo, are you hurt?" He looked genuinely moved by your worry, quickly shaking his head in reassurance as he sighed out,

"I'm not hurt, don't worry. I just ache from training today, that's all." You had never seen the statuesque man show an ounce of discomfort, pushing through gruelling pain and conditions whenever the situation called for it, so you couldn't help but want to tend to him in the rare moment of vulnerability.

"Please will you come in? I want to help, I know what to do?" You knew Gun Woo wouldn't accept help unless you pleaded with him to, coaxing him through the door with a wave of your hand and giving him your hopeful expression. He seemed to weigh up your offer for a second, wincing in pain again as he moved to rub the back of his neck in thought and deciding the slight imposition would be worth it for not only his aching muscles, but his aching heart. The truth was Gun Woo was always volunteering to bring things to you, or finding reasons to stop by your little place. Seeing you was the highlight of his week every single week, your warm smile and welcoming home stirring up a longing inside him that he could barely contain as he took a few tentative steps through the door and cautiously removed his shoes.

He watched, full of curiosity, as you pulled one of the cushions off your couch and placed it carefully on the floor right in front of it.

"Sit. Please." You commanded sweetly, watching colour flush into Gun Woo's cheeks at being told what to do, the boxer hurrying towards you and settling cross-legged on the pillow, staring up at you in wonder. "You need to face the other way." You had to fight back a chuckle at his slight frown as he turned away from you, leaving you space to settle yourself on the sofa behind him, your legs framing his broad shoulders so you could shift yourself as close to his back as possible. "Now just relax." You sighed out softly as you lightly placed a hand on each of his shoulders, feeling him tense up immediately just as you expected. You let your hands sit motionless for a few seconds as you felt Gun Woo fight his every instinct to stay alert and tightly wound, his shoulders feeling heavy even under your light touch. But he didn't move away, or say anything to indicate you should stop, so you cautiously took it a little bit further. Using your thumbs to apply the slightest pressure you dragged your hands over his shoulders and down his back, framing his spine with your touch and being rewarded by hearing Gun Woo let out a sigh that reverberated through his whole being. You repeated the sweeping motion, adding a little more force with your fingertips this time, feeling the dense muscles slightly relax under your touch, his breath slowly easing out again as you moved. Your thumbs grazed over the back of his neck as they followed the shape of him, the man between your legs letting out a soft breathy moan at the contact that had his eyes darting open and his back bolting upright.

"You know you don't have to do this." He mumbled softly, already sounding disappointed by the thought you might take him up on the offer of stopping.

"I know Woo, but I want to. Does it feel nice?" Between the casual pet name and your fingers still brushing over his neck, Gun Woo's head was swimming. Having your hands rubbing over him felt a lot better than nice, every nerve in his body simultaneously setting alight and feeling more soothed than they had in years. He was worried if he tried to respond his voice would betray just how good you felt, so instead he settled for nodding his head and letting you continue your efforts.

Satisfied he was happy with his situation, you added a little more pressure, sweeping your hands over the full width of his shoulders, making sure to add soft circles with your thumbs as your fingers kneaded into his aching flesh. You had never touched someone so massive or so muscular, the feel of his every bulging muscle tangible even through his t-shirt, your fingers spread wide to try and soothe as much of him as possible. You heard his gentle sighs slip occasionally into soft moans as he settled into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut and lips falling open, gently parted to let out every sweet noise.

It wasn't only Gun Woo the massage was having an effect on, a tension forming inside you that made you wish you could squeeze your legs together instead of keeping your knees either side of his arms. He looked so gorgeous, finally relaxed for the first time you could remember, face at ease, his body swaying back towards you as if chasing your every touch. You couldn't imagine him letting himself be this close to anyone else, your heartbeat picking up as you let your little finger brush against the soft skin of his biceps as your hands trailed over his arms.

Gun Woo was as close to heaven as he could ever remember being, a warmth stirring in his gut he couldn't quite place, each little noise slipping through his lips without him being able to stop it. Even with his eyes closed all he could see was you, hardly able to believe this was really happening. He couldn't help but think how good your touch would feel on every part of him, how good it would feel to take your place and rub his strong hands all over you for as long as you'd let him.

You noticed just how much Gun Woo was enjoying your touch before he did, his light coloured sweatpants doing very little to obscure the substantial bulge growing between his legs. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, fighting back a whine at the thought of all of that fitting inside you, your core aching at the just the thought of climbing on top of him. Your caressing hands slowed enough for Gun Woo to come back to reality and realise what part of him had taken over throbbing the most now his muscles were relaxed. He looked up at you with wide eyes, infinitely apologetic and completely lost for words. He wished he was as charming as Woo Jin, that he could pass it off as a compliment and not make a big deal out of it. He was sure you'd like him more if he was better with his words. Luckily, you were used to how selectively he chose to speak, and had a much better response than he ever could have come up with,

"I can help with too, if you want Woo." The affectionate shortening of his name had his pulse quickening again, the slight smirk on your otherwise kind face drawing him in as you patted the sofa beside you. He used his arms to pull himself up onto the seat next to you, his muscles no longer crying out with so much else taking up his attention. He watched wide eyed as you placed one hand lightly over his, looking at him with pure sincerity, "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to, but - "

"I want to." He cut you off before he could overthink it, the words as terrifying as they were natural as they spilled from his lips, "I want to with you I mean. I just - I haven't before. I'm not sure what to do." He looked so bashful as he squeezed your hand hopefully, clinging to you in the hopes you wouldn't leave now that you knew this was all new to him. It was almost too endearing, this greek god of a man looking up at you with pleading eyes and such obvious desire growing between his thighs, your heart fluttering as you smiled and moved to straddle his lap. His thighs felt so warm and firm under yours, his chest grazing against yours with every heaving breath he took, hands hovering just beside you as if unable to cross some invisible boundary without your permission.

"You can touch me Gun Woo." You spoke softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to read how much of the expression on his face was fear and how much was lust. "Can I kiss you?"

He nodded quickly, head darting forwards to find your lips, not wanting to waste a single precious second of what was turning into the happiest night of his life. He was timid at first, each gentle peck leading to a slightly longer one, a little more pressure added each time as he got a taste for you. As one of his hands settled on the small of your back you took it a step further, scraping your nails over the back of his neck and feeling him moan into your kiss. With his lips parted your traced your tongue over his, feeling him tentatively respond by slipping his tongue between your lips, sending butterflies fluttering through your core. Thrilled by the sensation of exploring your kiss, he brought his free hand to cup your cheek, tilting your head slightly so he could be slightly more forceful, hungrily capturing your lips again and again like they might sustain him the rest of his life. His arm wrapped more tightly over your waist, pulling your hips closer to his and dragging your centre over his aching bulge. A deep groan erupted from his lips at the sensation, his head rolling back as you repeated the motion, grinding down against him with more pressure so you could feel him twitch in response. A strangled moan of your name escaped his lips and he lifted his head to watch you again, lips swollen from your kiss and eyes desperately pleading with you to use him however you liked.

You held the edge of his t-shirt and lifted it slightly, Gun Woo quickly taking the hint and tugging it over his head, flinging it aside in one smooth motion. You let your hands run down his chest, feeling his muscles flex beneath your touch, the sight of him threatening to take your quivering breath away. You rolled your hips again, this time bringing your lips to his neck, kissing and sucking as he let out needy whimpers each time your lips moved to a new spot. You tried adding a little pressure with your teeth, leaving a purple mark in the middle of chest that had him squirming in his seat. As your tongue traced over his nipple you could feel his thighs start to shake underneath you, the usually stoic man coming completely undone before you'd even gotten him fully undressed. Worried about where his body was heading, Gun Woo firmly gripped your hips, stopping your addictive movements and looking at you very seriously as he spoke,

"Can I touch you? Will you show me how?" He tripped over the words, building excitement and nerves getting the better of him as you nodded and planted another kiss squarely on his chest before climbing off his lap. You felt strangely exposed as you pulled your shorts down and let them fall to your feet, not because you thought Gun Woo was going to judge you, but because it made you realise just how wet you were from grinding against him. Your folds were glistening in the night air as you tugged your shirt over your head and let Gun Woo take in the full sight of you. His jaw hung slack as he drank in every inch of you, his lips trembling slightly as you straddled his hips again. This time the feel of his sweatpants against your sensitive pussy sent a shiver through your spine, Gun Woo watching every movement intently as he brought his hands to settle on your thighs. Waiting for your nod of encouragement, he let one hand drift higher, callous fingers tracing shapes on your inner thigh that had biting your lip in anticipation. Slowly he drew closer to your centre, one finger finally making contact with your glistening lips and slipping between them. From the slight smile on his face you thought he must have known what it meant that you were so wet already, his finger easily slipping inside you before withdrawing and tracing the outline of your folds. His every movement so was slow and curious, it was like blissful torture, each teasing moment of contact only building the anticipation fluttering inside you as he watched your face curiously for guidance. When his finger circled over your clit, you let out a needy moan, back arching slightly in a way that had your chest leaning towards him. He repeated the motion, pleased to hear the same noise slip from your lips, your chest bouncing slightly in place as your body jolted from the pleasure. He positioned his thumb over the sensitive spot, finding a steady rhythm of firm circles as two of his fingers slipped inside you.

"Right there Gun Woo!" You whined out as you felt the undeniable climb of the pressure inside you, wondering if there was anything this boy wasn't a natural at. Spurred on by hearing the way you said his name, Gun Woo pushed his fingers slightly deeper inside you massaging you walls and feeling the way your thighs started to shake in response, your pleas of encouragement dissolving quickly into panting moans. Eyes glued to the way your chest gently bounced in front of him, he latched his mouth onto one of your breasts, tongue flicking over one nipple and his free hand moved to knead and squeeze the other. It was so much delicious sensation all at once, every inch of your body sparkling with excitement as you felt the heat inside you reach its precipice, the steady rhythm of his fingers bringing you over the edge in a powerful wave of bliss that had you moaning out his name again and again. He could feel the clench of your walls around his fingers, not daring to stop or change his movements as you rode out of your pleasure, his hungry lips exploring your chest and dragging out your ecstacy, straight into another build up with no sign of slowing.

Gun Woo wished he could do this forever, feeling the reaction of your body to his touch and watching the effect he could have on you. He wanted to train at it like he did with boxing, until he was the best he could be, putting in as many hours as it took to make you feel as incredible as he felt right now. It was getting overwhelming riding his fingers as he pawed your chest, the pressure threatening to build inside you again at an almost intimidating pace.

"Woo," You whined out, the pet name only encouraging him to slip a third finger inside you and pump his wrist a little quicker, your head swimming as you tried to remember why you were going to interrupt him. Your hips rocked against his palm, grazing over his substantial bulge and pulling you back to your initial desperate need to feel him. "Gun Woo." You put your hand on his wrist and he paused his movements and withdrew his hand, frowning as needy whine spilled out of you as your building pleasure eased. "I want to feel you now." You watched the gears turn in his mind as he considered your words, at the same time slowly bringing his glistening fingers up to his lips and tentatively sucking one in a motion that almost finished you off entirely. Pleased with his action he slipped another finger between his lips, before replying, "Can I taste you more?"

You were sure you could feel yourself dripping from the question alone, thanking whatever fate had conspired to bring him to your home tonight and praying it wouldn't be the last time.

"We can try that another time." His face lit up at the suggestion of this happening again, your heart hammering at the thought of Gun Woo becoming even more of a regular visitor to your place. "But right now I want to feel you inside me." You ran your palm over the length of the outline threatening to burst through his pants, watching him squirm in response before you added, "If that's what you want."

Once again lost for words Gun Woo effortlessly lifted you from his lap and placed you back on the couch, pulling down his sweatpants which now had a wet patch glistening over his crotch, and stepping out of them to reveal himself to you. He looked almost self-conscious as you stared at his impressive length, core pulsing at the thought of feeling all of him inside you. Without thinking you licked your lips, giving Gun Woo just enough confidence to move closer, climbing over you until your back met the couch cushions, one arm framing your face as the other ran the leaking tip of his cock over your folds. He waited for you to nod again, leaning down to kiss you greedily before starting to push slightly inside you. You watched his face contort as he stopped almost immediately, eyes clenched shut, muscles tensing above you.

"Are you okay?" You asked softly, relieved when he quickly nodded, grunting out through an almost pained expression.

"You just feel so good. So soft and warm and perfect. And I -" He had to stop himself before he got carried away, and you couldn't help but feel even more turned on at how hard he was having to try not to cum the moment he entered you. You placed a cluster of soft kisses on his cheek, but otherwise stayed motionless until after a few moments he started to drive his hips forwards again. You knew it would feel different being with such a big man, but the way he filled you so completely, his body completely covering yours, it was incredible. Every sense was captivated by him form, his body engulfing yours as he drew closer. When he finally bottomed out inside you, he quickly withdrew, groaning out loud at the sensation as he pulled out of you, only to slam his hips against yours again. He had the control and strength of an athlete in his prime, every motion smooth and powerful and leaving you gasping for breath at the sheer intensity of it. Being with him was all consuming, every thought and breath crying out 'Gun Woo'. His lips couldn't get enough of yours, swallowing every whine and moan his thrusts drew from you, each noise just spurring him on to give you everything he had.

You could feel him straining for control as his snaked a hand over your hip to find your sensitive button again, strumming quick brushes over your clit in time with his hips, adding yet more overwhelming sensation. Your mind was crying out for him as his scent flooded your senses, and every inch of your skin was pressed against his, so wrapped up in his strong arms and yet feeling completely in control as his pleading eyes met yours.

"I'm -" He choked out in a desperate beg, your name quickly following it as his lips crashed down on yours. As his thighs started to clench you could feel the coil inside you start to quickly tighten again, the second release you were so close to reaching on his fingers coming fast and threatening to be even more overwhelming than the first. You tried to let him know how close you were, but when you wrapped your arms around his neck and looked into his desperate eyes, the tension inside you snapped and all you could do was cling to him as your whole body shook with the pleasurable relief. The feeling of your warm, wet walls squeezing his throbbing dick was by far the best thing Gun Woo had ever felt as he spilled inside you, hammering his hips into you again and again. Each shift of his hips only dragged more pleasure out inside of you, tipping him over the edge again as a fresh wave of bliss seemed to spill out of him, cumming more than he ever had when left alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that had been so frequently of you, and yet they hadn't even begun to do justice to the incredible ecstasy he felt as he all but collapsed on top of you, completely spent and even more in love than when he arrived.

You lifted one hand to brush the hair out of Gun Woo's face, heart melting at the gentle smile that had replaced his frantic look of desperation. He leant down to kiss you again, more sweetly this time, lust giving way to love, his affections clear as you leant up and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. He burst into a giggle at the gesture, using his leveraged position above you to pepper your face with kisses, loyally returning to your lips before too long. He was sure he would have had the best night ever even if you just kissed him tonight.

"You are amazing. Was I okay?" He breathed out in a warm laugh, unsure if the euphoria of the situation was typical of the afterglow, or if this felt as special to you as it did to him.

"You're amazing too, Gun Woo." You stroked his face in reassurance, hoping his first time with you wouldn't be the last. "Do your aches feel better now?" You teased, running your hand down the length of his spine and watching him nod fiercely, grin spread from cheek to cheek.

"I promise, I've never felt better."

***

If you enjoyed this please check out my Bloodhounds master list for more Gun Woo 💗

[thornypucks]

name and number | caitlin clark | 22

synopsis she wears your favorite name and number

warnings cheating on co**er I guess but I think that's it

words 1048

notes part of my '22' shorts-series (aka I love too many women that wear the number 22)

The red jersey was your favorite - the way it contrasted with Caitlin's skin and hair, her name and number in bold white letters on the bright material. But the best part was seeing it on the floor next to your clothes. It was early in the morning; your alarm showed the numbers 5 and 43, and you groaned, annoyed, before you noticed the jersey on the ground. It covered your bra and part of the jeans you had worn yesterday.

She wasn't supposed to take the jersey anywhere, but she had basically dragged you out of the stadium the second the buzzer had gone off, establishing their win. Now her clothes were on your floor, and she was in your bed - not in her boyfriend's, in yours. She shifted behind you, and you could feel her warm, naked body press against yours. One of her big hands made its way over your abdomen, settling on your right ribcage, right beneath your naked chest. Her fingers started caressing the spot you knew was bruised without even looking at it. You pushed your back into her, enjoying the warmth while it lasted.

You must have fallen asleep again because when you woke up for the second time, the warmth had disappeared, and the sun had just made its way over the horizon, coloring the sky and your room in a familiar bright orange. The missing warmth was like a punch in the gut, the sting only lessened by the fact that the red jersey was still on your floor. You could clearly read the name and the number on it. Only then did the sounds coming from your kitchen register in your brain.

You thought about putting on the jersey for a second but changed your mind and put on a shirt and a pair of panties of your own before making your way to the kitchen. Your naked feet slapped against the wooden floor, and Caitlin turned around. The sight made you stop in your tracks. You don't think she had ever been in your kitchen, much less making eggs while also only wearing panties and one of your shirts. It was a little smaller on her than it was on you, but you knew it was one of her favorites. You had bought it at the Eras Tour while she had stood two feet behind you holding your drinks. And now she was wearing it in your kitchen while making eggs with a spatula in her hand.

Her smile turned shy as she took in your figure. You could basically feel her eyes wandering over your body. You don't really know what to do with yourself, so you stay where you are, awkwardly standing in the middle of your kitchen while one of the most successful basketball players in the world eyes you up from the other side of the room. Not weird at all.

Caitlin's smile goes from shy to amused as she puts down the spatula next to the stove. She crosses the room with four long strides and wraps her arm around your waist. "Good morning," she mumbles out quickly before burying her head in the crook of your neck, pressing a kiss onto the sensitive skin there. You're frozen for a few seconds before you slowly reciprocate the gesture, wrapping your arms around her broader shoulders.

"I'm confused," is apparently the first solid sentence your brain can form, making Caitlin chuckle against your skin before lifting her head so she can look at you. Mischief dances in her brown eyes, but there is something else today - something more serious, more solid.

"I didn't mean to confuse you with my pancakes," she answers honestly. "Quite the opposite actually." She takes one of your hands that had dropped down to her collar and pulls you into the kitchen.

"That doesn't make me any less confused, Cait. Quite the opposite actually," you quietly mock her words, half hoping she hears them, half hoping she doesn't. The look she gives you tells you that she did indeed hear your words, and that she's not very impressed by them. Before you can say anything else, Caitlin lifts you up in one fluid motion and sets you down on the kitchen counter, establishing her place between your legs. Her hands land on your thighs while her hips press into you.

"See, I wanted to make this romantic breakfast for you. And I wanted us to have a good time. And then I wanted to get all serious and get out my best apologetic look for being a bitch the past few months. And then I would have told you that I finally broke up with my boyfriend... well, ex-boyfriend, and that I've been waiting to be back in town for weeks. But you just had to ruin it, didn't you?"

Caitlin's smile is crooked, her hands are warm, and her eyes are more serious but at the same time softer than they have ever been. Your heart feels like it's going to jump out of your chest, right into her waiting hands. You slowly raise your hands to her neck, playing with the short pieces of hair that didn't quite make it into her ponytail. Cait's smile deepens as she recognizes one of your nervous habits.

"What does that mean?" You swallow the 'for us' - uncertain, insecure, scared. Before, rejection had been about her boyfriend. It had hurt, but it had been a reason that had nothing to do with you. It wasn't because you weren't enough. But it was like Caitlin could see, like she could see you coming apart at the seams. She wrapped her arm around you, holding you so no more pieces could shift out of place. She looked you in the eyes when she whispered, "It means I want you." Your heart soared. "It means I need you. Here, in my home, at my games, everywhere I go." She pressed a kiss right to the spot where your pulse was pushing too fast against your neck before whispering into the skin, "It means I want you wearing my name and number on your back."

[slushycoookie]

Lack of Patience (18+) ~ Ryomen Sukuna x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Content: True Form! Sukuna. Modern era. Reader has a nipple piercing and Sukuna is very impatient. The man has tiger tendencies. Vaginal fingering. Oral sex (Male receiving). P in V. Minors DNI!

A/N: This was supposed to be a flash fic and then...that didn't happen so enjoy!

“Ah, fuck!”

Your face scrunches up when your nipple grazes the refrigerator handle. A rush of pleasurable pain flows through your body as you freeze to get yourself together. And to see if there's footsteps.

You were influenced by your friends to follow through on a nipple piercing you talked about for years. You wanted to get it done, but there were a lot of factors. The needle, the healing process, the jewlery. There’s a lot that came with an intimate piercing. Your friends weren’t buying it, hence why you randomly got it done one day.

You also didn't tell Sukuna.

Not because you were afraid of what he was going to say about it. It's because you know what he's going to do once he sees it. Grab all on you with his gigantic hands. Fiddle with it like it's a toy. All while having this sadistic smirk that you love so much.

You've been doing your best to hide it from him, even if that means missing out on his famous baths, but it's worth it for your husband not to find out yet.

“Wife.” He calls from the other room, “You exclaimed.”

“I'm fine!” You quickly say, maneuvering so you don't hit your nipple a second time. “I just knocked my finger against the door.”

That wasn't a good enough answer when heavy footsteps occur. You scramble to act natural by drinking the lemonade you grabbed when your gigantic man comes in the kitchen.

“Let me see your finger.”

“No.” You hold your hand close to your chest, “I'm fine. Go back to the living room.”

“You are a clumsy oaf. I will not allow you to injure yourself.”

“What did you just call me? I just said I’m-”

Sukuna doesn’t take no for an answer when he grabs your hand to examine it. He squints at the sight of your uninjured finger. “You did not damage it.”

“You don’t listen.” You snatch your hand away, “I told you I’m fine.”

He grunts, but doesn’t move away. The hard stare from him makes you break eye contact, going back to sipping on your drink.

“What?”

“You are hiding something from me.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You hardly fake an injury. If it’s to capture my attention, you already have it. There’s no need to go to such extremes.” Sukuna folds his arms, muscles practically bulging against the black t-shirt. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You start chewing on your straw, “Nothing.”

“You know better than to lie to me.”

It’s that harmless threat that makes your knees buckle. You weren’t sure how you were going to keep hiding your piercing for much longer. You were running out of ideas.

“If I show you, you can’t touch.”

Sukuna’s brows furrow in confusion, “I do not understand.”

“Just promise me.”

“Fine. I will not touch.”

You ignore his exaggerating huff when you pull away from the counter. Sukuna’s eyes flicker with intrigue when you pull up your baggy shirt right above your breasts. To see the new addition on your body.

“You have decorated your nipple with jewelry.”

“It’s just a simple barbell for now, but yes.”

“And you thought to hide this from me?”

Your lips pursed, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Elaborate.” You motion to the fact that he hasn’t taken his eyes off of the piercing. Plus, his hands are flexing during each minute he remains on you. “You say this as if I cannot control myself.”

“Then why are you coming closer?”

You step back when Sukuna takes two steps forward. He huffs, having the audacity to be annoyed at your caution. “I wish to examine up close.”

“You can when I’m properly healed.”

“And how long will that take?”

“A while. Some people say six weeks. Others say a few months.”

Sukuna throws his arms up, “Let me use my technique to heal you.”

“No! I don’t want to use jujutsu for something as simple as this.” You put your shirt back down and with it your husband became more whiny. “Let this heal naturally, please.”

“You’re being impossible.”

“You’re being impatient.”

“I can’t revel in my wife’s new decoration?”

“Not if you’re acting like this.”

You grab your glass, going back to the living room to finish watching TV. Sukuna moves to appear in front of you, stopping you in your tracks.

“Let me see it again.”

“You know what it looks like. And you’re gonna touch it as soon as I pull up my shirt.”

“I will not. Don’t be difficult.”

“Sukuna-”

“I wish to see it again.”

“What did I just say?”

“I heard what you said, now let me see-”

“Okay!” You settle your drink down on the counter, some of it splashing on your hand. “No sex. Not until my piercing heals enough for you to touch.”

You might as well told him to jump off a cliff. The incredulous look on his face changes into disdain. Yeah, you just forbade the King of Curses from getting any. There is some power to being his wife.

Although, you’re sure you’ve made things worse. Because Sukuna wouldn’t stop bugging you about it.

Whenever you’re around in your home, he’s not too far away. Eying you, pacing the room like a tiger waiting to strike. His imposing frame, dark, red eyes never leaving you. If you weren’t married to him, this might have scared you a little.

Your piercing is all that he wants to talk about. If it hurt, why you didn’t let him come with you when you got it done, how often you have to clean it, etc. You know he was born in the Heian era, but he’s acting like he’s never seen a piercing before.

You lost count at how many times Sukuna has demanded you to show him again. With the straightest face in the world. Sometimes you ignore him and go back to doing what you were doing. Other times, you indulge him.

Your eyes never leave his face when you pull up your shirt. All four red eyes on your jewelry like cat staring at something it wants. With his arms close to his sides.

“The taste must be metallic.” He guesses.

“Did you forget about my metal allergy?” You suck your teeth when he doesn't respond, “Why are you imagining how it would taste?”

“You have denied intercourse from me until you heal. I want to have this.”

You shook your head, “Fine. It might taste like metal. They gave me surgical steel.”

You angle your breast for him to get all sides, as if he wanted to see the inner workings of it.

“Why did you not get the other done? It's asymmetrical.”

“I wasn't sure how I'd react with this one…”

Sukuna still doesn't leave your breast, not until you were tired of holding up your shirt.

“How long until I can touch?”

“Two more weeks.”

And what a long two weeks it was. For Sukuna. His constant moaning and grunting annoyed you to no end.

You didn’t realize you hit the two week mark when you woke up one morning, slowly climbing out of your bed and to your bathroom. Where you were met with the torso of your man. Your face directly against his pectorals.

“It’s time.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“It has been six weeks.”

You yawn, “Oh yeah. I guess you can touch now.” Sukuna pulls up your shirt which makes you squeal in surprise. “Baby, wait! You want to do this right now?”

“Yes.” He reaches for you again, but you put your hands up in protest.

“Hold on, can I go pee first?”

Sukuna narrows his eyes, “No.”

“I gotta pee!”

“Make it quick!”

You run to the bathroom, quickly doing what you had to do while Sukuna just stares at you. He already informed you he washed his hands so all you needed to do is show him your piercing. Right after you brush your teeth.

“What are you doing?”

“Brushing my teeth-hey!”

He wraps his strong arms around you, “You are testing my patience. Do that later.”

“Morning breath!”

“Who cares?”

You do, but you couldn’t escape the hold your husband had on you sitting on the bed with him, your back against his chest. Sukuna took off your shirt immediately and graced himself with the sight of your breasts. The heart beat in your chest was hard to ignore, even as you rested your hand on his knee.

“Be gentle, please.”

“I will.”

To test the waters, he thumbs your nipple. You try not to immediately melt in his warm touch. He slides along your nipple to the bar bell, causing you to take a deep breath. You ignore the goosebumps on your skin as he continues, moving your jewelry a bit.

His touch combined with your increased sensitivity felt addicting. You were so close to becoming putty in his hands, all because of a few rubs to your nipple. Knowing Sukuna, he was probably looking serious. As if he was planning the next attack in the middle of a battle.

“Ah!”

You push against him at the pinch to your nipple. A hand squeezes your other breast, beckoning your thighs to spread for him. Enough to where his hand snaked down your stomach and under the waistband of your panties.

That slick motherfucker.

“Kuna…” You start to protest, ready to remove yourself from his hold. The no sex rule was also impacting you, but you thought your mind was strong enough to resist. Sukuna’s calloused finger to your clit made any reason fly out the window.

The grip on his knee got tighter and you're panting along his neck. You notice a smirk on his face at how you’re affected by his touch.

“Feels good?”

That low tone in his face makes you croon, combined with his slow circles on your clit. Sukuna is also still figuring out the best way to give you maximum pleasure with your piercing. When he slides the barbell back and forth, a tingling sensation surrounds you. Your toes curl and your eyes shut.

“Don’t…” You don’t want him to stop. Not when your breaths get heavy and your face starts feeling hot. Plus, something hard was pressed against your back. You knew what that was.

A groan escapes Sukuna when he put two fingers inside you, witnessing how soaked you were. He nudges into your head, his own breaths synching up with yours. He’s got your entire, pierced breast pooled in his palm. The action of him gently thumbing it, pinching it was just sending you to the edge.

Sukuna has you locked in, so you couldn’t escape even if you tried. But you wait for the inevitable. For you to experience ecstasy unlike these few past weeks. That doesn’t come.

Right when you’re about to reach your peak, Sukuna pulls away. He’s licking his fingers while your eyes shoot open.

“What the hell? Why did you stop?”

“You said no intercourse.”

You scoff, going to stand, your legs shaking a little. “Since when do you listen to me?”

“Since now.”

His legs are spread, enough for you to see the giant tents in his pants. You roll your eyes and decide not to argue with him even further.

“You’re an ass.”

You can hear Sukuna’s laughter on the other side of the bathroom as you finish up your morning routine.

Now, he’s pissed you off.

There’s a few more months until his tongue can make contact with your nipple, but you want to make this situation unbearable. Sukuna has helped you clean your piercing, lifted up your shirt when he wants to see it, but you got rid of that.

He glares at you already cleaning your piercing when it’s time. All of your shirts have been tucked in to prevent him from lifting them. No more shared showers or baths. Anything to drive your husband wild.

At first, you can see the vein on his forehead, the annoyed look in those eyes when he sees what you’re doing. But after a few weeks, he becomes stagnant. No attempts to raise your shirt or see your breast in the shower. No demands for him to see it randomly in the estate. The silence was unnerving. Sukuna was lowering your guard before striking, ready to ruin you the way he wants.

Yet, it doesn’t come.

You stopped worrying about him pouncing on you three weeks later. The married life you two contained went back to normal. He still annoyed you, but about other things. It was almost as if he dropped the thought of you having that piercing at all.

It’s exactly why when you’re set up to watch a movie one day, a thought occurred to check the calendar. Sukuna was preparing his nightly routine in the shower so you wanted to kill some time. Your stomach dropped when you realized it’s been three months. Sure, not enough adequate time for your piercing to fully heal, but enough to try and do things.

Was he expecting this? He was the one that suggested a movie night, while you wear the pink, silk pjs he picked out for you. And he had this look in his eye that you couldn’t decode.

You should run, but that would entice your husband even further. He likes the chase. You can be brave and prepare for his approach. Or you can turn the tables.

That flowy pink top is gone and tossed away. You recline on the couch when heavy footsteps resonate in your ears. Sukuna locks eyes with you, hair damp, only wearing pj shorts that does little to hide his aroused state.

“Took you long enough.”

You’re sitting up on your knees as he comes closer. “You’re talking about me but…someone was in a hurry.” Even his skin was damp as you trace a finger down his abs. Sukuna’s breath hitched when you tug on his waistband, not pulling down his shorts just yet.

“The thought of me messing with you to get what I want made me make haste.”

He grips the back of your head to tilt your head up. Your lips part at the kiss you two share. His tongue damn near in the back of your throat, showing how much he needed you after these excruciating months. You can’t help but moan under him as a sign that you felt the same.

When you part, you immediately pull down his shorts. Those cocks springing free, already a little red and leaking. You don’t miss a beat when you lick any cum remaining from his tips. Sukuna doesn’t remove that hand from your head when you lick up one of his shafts. Your hands stroke the other, directly along your nipple piercing. The cool jewelry graze his cock while droplets of his seed stain your chest.

“Wife…” He swallows, taking shallow breaths to keep steady. “You are toying with me.”

Sukuna lets out a choked groan when you take him in your mouth. Your lips pursed around his thick shaft as you slowly sucked. The scent of his sea salt body wash makes your thighs clench together. Your hands deliberately matching the pace of your mouth. Your moans vibrating against his cock.

You don’t miss the death grip Sukuna has on you. If you wanted to part from him, you can’t, but you have no reason to. His pleasure filled face gives you everything you need to keep going. The slight jolt he gives when your barbell touches any part of his cock, especially the tip. You couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

Sukuna doesn’t try to hide how much he’s pleased. He’s moaning to the stars with every stroke and suck you conduct. You deny him sex for a quarter of a year, of course he’s glad to have you once again.

Your hands get sticky from all of the pre cum. It helps you stroke a little faster, ignoring the slow pace from your mouth. Sukuna pushes against you, wanting your mouth to match your hands again. You don’t bother teasing and accept his demand. Soon, your husband is no stranger to showing you that he likes what you’re doing.

You take him fully in your mouth, his pubic hairs brushing along your nose. Sukuna shudders, knees buckling when you continue. The slight gag combined with the sticky, wet sound of your strokes became too much for him to bear. He’s now chasing his own high, making your mouth match the pace he wants. It’s not until your jewelry connects with the underside of his shaft that he comes.

A roar fills the living room. You swallow his seed, your chest getting stained with it. Your upper body is coated when he parts from you, eyes on his cum decorating your breasts, practically dripping off it. He gazes at it with hunger, which makes your core flutter.

“I will go with you next time when you get the other one done.”

He plants himself back down on the couch. Before you agree to his statement, Sukuna puts you on his lap and latches on to your breast. You put your head back when his tongue swirls around the barbell, removing any remnants of cum and replacing it with his saliva. You grip his hair, lifting up your hips so he can remove your shorts too.

You’re grinding your hips against him. His large hands plant on your ass cheeks, but still doesn’t leave your breast. Sukuna sighs along your mound, licking and sucking to his heart’s desire. You don’t even want to think about how thoroughly you should clean your piercing once you’re done.

“Sukie…” You coo, “Does it taste like metal?”

He grunts, releasing your breast with a small pop, “And my semen.”

You let out a short laugh before he picks you up and lowers you on one of his shafts. Where he then proceeds to do all the work. Bouncing you up and down on him while he never leaves your tits. Especially the pierced one. He even leans forward to taste it again as you cry above him with his rough thrusts.

Sukuna doesn’t let go when you climax, your walls squeezing around his shaft. Not even when he released a strangled moan at his second orgasm. He doesn’t let go while he fills you up and stains your back. It’s not until you’re covering his face with kisses that he lets go. Only to give you another kiss. A slower, yet passionate one that makes you melt in his arms.

“I want to clean it for you.” He states, gazing at you with an emotion you know too well.

“Okay.” You rub your nose along his own, “It’s the least you can do.”

Tags: @ammrry

[blueschevy]

Scared of loving you…

pairing: dean winchester x reader

prompt: "I don't want to love her. I don't like what that means for me."

"What do you think it means?"

"It means I have something to lose again, and I'm not strong enough for that anymore."

warnings: none, just pure tooth rotting fluff, lots of fluff, a little bit of angst if you squint

notes: Set in season 10, so during the moc!dean era, but we don’t get to see a lot of moc!dean just some of the effects, I don’t know what else to say hahah

I saw a picture of the tumblr post about this prompt on Pinterest and loved it. So I immediately had to write about. Long story short: credits for the prompt go to @promptsforthestrugglingauthor

This is my first ever fanfic posted, so bear with me please. Also English isn’t my first language, sorry for any mistakes. Feedback is GREATLY appreciated!! Now enjoy!

The bunker was quiet. Too quiet.

Dean sat at the war room table, a whiskey glass in hand, half-empty but untouched for the last twenty minutes. The Mark of Cain burned under his skin, a constant reminder of what he was becoming. What he already was.

And then there was you.

The hunter they’d met on a case in South Dakota months ago. The one who was too smart, too stubborn, too damn good for a world like this. The one who had somehow, against all odds, wormed her way into his life, into his thoughts. Into his heart.

He hated it. Hated what it meant.

Sam sat across from him, watching, waiting. Dean could feel his brother’s eyes on him, the way he always did when he knew something was wrong.

“She’s not a problem, you know,” Sam finally said, breaking the silence.

Dean let out a rough exhale, shaking his head. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Sam frowned. “Dean—”

“I don’t want to love her.” His voice was quiet but firm, like he was trying to convince himself more than Sam. His fingers curled tightly around the glass, jaw clenching. “I don’t like what that means for me.”

Sam leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “What do you mean?”

Dean swallowed hard, staring at the dark amber liquid in his glass. His voice was quieter when he answered. “It means I have something to lose again, and I’m not strong enough for that anymore.”

Sam sighed, his expression softening. “Dean…”

Dean shook his head. “You don’t get it, man. You didn’t see what I did. What the Mark was and still is doing to me” His throat tightened, but he forced the words out anyway. “I liked it, Sammy. I liked the kill, the power. What happens if I go back to that? If she—” He broke off, running a hand over his face.

Sam sat back, considering. “You think pushing her away is gonna stop you from losing her?”

Dean let out a bitter laugh. “If she’s not in my life, she can’t be a casualty of it.”

“That’s crap and you know it.” Sam shook his head. “She already cares about you. You already care about her. That’s not gonna change just because you pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Dean exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers against his temple like he could push the feelings out of his head. It wasn’t that easy. It never was.

And deep down, he knew Sam was right.

You were already a part of his life. A part of him. And no matter how much he tried to fight it, you weren’t going anywhere.

And maybe… maybe he didn’t want you to.

-

Dean didn’t sleep that night.

Instead, he sat in his room, staring at the ceiling, the Mark of Cain pulsing beneath his skin like it had a heartbeat of its own.

You.

He didn’t want to think about you, but you were there anyway. In the way you called him out on his bullshit, in the way you hands were steady on a shotgun but gentle when you patched up his wounds. In the way you saw right through him, past the walls and the deflections and the darkness curling inside him.

And that was the problem.

He couldn’t afford to have someone like you. Someone good. Someone who would look at him with wide, worried eyes if you ever saw just how deep the rot went.

He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling through his nose.

This was the right thing. Keeping you at arm’s length. Because the alternative?

The alternative was worse.

A knock at his door made his muscles tense. For a second, he thought about ignoring it. But then your voice came through, quiet, steady.

“Dean?”

His stomach clenched.

Shit.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, forcing himself to his feet. He hesitated—just don’t answer it, just let her go—but his hand was already wrapping around the doorknob, like muscle memory.

He cracked the door open just enough to see you.

You stood there, arms crossed, eyebrows pulled together in that way that meant you knew something was wrong. You were in an old sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants, but you still looked—hell, he didn’t even want to think the word.

“What’s up?” he asked, voice rough from lack of sleep.

Your lips pressed together. “You tell me.”

Dean let out a slow breath, leaning against the doorframe. “Nothin’ to tell.”

You tilted your head, searching his face. He hated how well you could read him. “Sam said you were in your head tonight.”

Dean scoffed. “Sam needs to quit running his mouth.”

Your expression didn’t change. “Dean.”

Damn it.

He should shut the door. Should make some excuse, send you away. But instead, he found himself stepping back, opening the door a little wider.

You hesitated, but then you moved past him, into his room.

You didn’t sit. Just stood there, arms still crossed, watching him.

Dean closed the door, leaning back against it, arms mirroring yours.

After a beat, you sighed. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on,” you said, voice softer now. “But I can see it, Dean. Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

His chest ached.

You didn’t get it. You couldn’t get it.

“That’s the thing, sweetheart,” he said, forcing a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I do.”

Your eyes didn’t leave his. You weren’t buying the act. “Why?”

He hesitated. Then—because maybe part of him wanted you to understand, because maybe part of him was just tired—he exhaled.

“Because if I let myself have this—” He gestured vaguely between you. “—if I let myself have you, then it’s just another way for me to loose. To loose you. And I’ve lost too much already.”

Your expression didn’t waver. “You think pushing me away is gonna keep me safe?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

You took a step forward. He should move. He didn’t.

“Dean, you don’t get to decide that.” Your voice was firm now, unwavering. “I know what this life is. I know what it takes from us. But I also know what it gives.”

His jaw clenched. “And what’s that?”

You reached out—hesitated for half a second—then placed a hand over his, warm and steady.

“Each other.”

Dean’s breath hitched.

Something in him cracked, deep and quiet, like ice breaking under pressure.

You were right here. Right in front of him. Wanting to be here. And maybe—just maybe—he wanted that, too.

Dean’s throat felt tight, like he couldn’t swallow past the lump forming there. Your hand was warm against his, grounding in a way he didn’t know he needed.

He should pull away. Should make some smartass comment, throw up the walls that had kept him breathing this long.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a slow, shuddering breath and turned his hand just enough to curl his fingers around yours. It was barely a movement, barely a decision, but you noticed. He saw it in the flicker of something soft in your eyes, the way you squeezed his fingers in silent understanding.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice rough, raw.

You didn’t flinch. “Do what?”

Dean swallowed. “Want someone like this. Let someone in like this.” He glanced down at your joined hands, like the sight alone could burn him. “Not anymore.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then you said, “Then let’s figure it out together.”

His chest ached.

He wanted to believe that was possible. Wanted to believe there was a version of this where he could have you without losing you, without you becoming another name carved into his bones.

But the mark was still there. The darkness was still inside him, whispering in the back of his mind, reminding him that he wasn’t safe. That he was a loaded gun with no safety.

“I’m not a good bet,” he murmured.

Your expression didn’t waver. “Good thing I’m not a gambler.”

Dean huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head. “You should be running in the other direction.”

“Maybe.” You tilted your head. “But I’m not.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you—the steady determination in your eyes, the way you were standing firm even as you gave him space to run if he wanted to.

And for the first time in a long time, Dean wasn’t sure he did want to run.

The weight of everything pressed down on him—the mark, the past, the fear clawing at the edges of his ribs—but you were still there. Still standing. Still holding his hand.

Dean let out a slow breath.

Maybe he could figure this out. Maybe he didn’t have to be alone in the dark.

Maybe—just maybe—he could let himself have this.

Even if it scared the hell out of him.

And maybe that was what undid him.

His fingers tightened around yours, hesitant but certain, like he was anchoring himself to the moment. To you.

Your breath hitched just slightly, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you shifted closer—not enough to be overwhelming, just enough that he could feel your warmth, your presence. It should have been suffocating, but it wasn’t. It was steady. It was real.

Dean swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “You really think this is a good idea?” His voice was rough, edged with something unspoken.

Your lips twitched, a small, knowing smile. “Nope.”

Dean blinked. “Wow. Great pep talk, sweetheart.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “It’s terrifying,” you admitted. “But I think the best things usually are.”

His chest ached, something heavy settling behind his ribs.

You were right.

Again.

And damn it, part of him hated that.

The other part? The part that was exhausted from running, from pushing everyone away, from pretending he didn’t want something more?

That part wanted to believe you.

Dean exhaled sharply, his free hand scrubbing over his face before dropping to his side. “This is gonna be a disaster,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Probably.”

He huffed. “You’re not supposed to agree with me.”

You just shrugged. “Then stop being right all the time.”

Dean’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile there and gone in an instant. And maybe it was reckless, maybe it was stupid, but he let his hand drift up, fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it.

You stilled, eyes flicking to his, waiting.

Dean swallowed. He didn’t know what he was doing, what he was supposed to do. But when you didn’t move away, when you stayed right there, close enough to touch, he let himself breathe you in.

“Just… tell me when to stop,” he murmured.

Your gaze softened. “Dean.”

His throat tightened.

Then, so quiet he almost didn’t hear it, you whispered, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Something in him cracked wide open.

Dean didn’t think. Didn’t second-guess. He just moved.

His fingers slid up your arm, along the curve of your shoulder, until they found your jaw. His thumb brushed over your cheek, a slow, tentative touch.

You leaned into him, just barely, like you were giving him permission.

Dean’s breath stuttered.

And then—hesitant, unsure, but real—he kissed you.

It wasn’t desperate or demanding. It was careful, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he wasn’t gentle enough.

You made a soft, surprised noise against his lips, and that sound alone nearly undid him.

You tasted like warmth, like something he didn’t deserve but wanted anyway.

And when you kissed him back—slow, lingering, certain—Dean realized something terrifying.

Maybe, for the first time in a long time…

He had something worth fighting for again.

You sighed into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his Henley like you were afraid he might pull away. But Dean had no intention of doing that. Not now. Not when he’d finally let himself have this, when you were kissing him back like you’d been waiting just as long.

He deepened the kiss just slightly, tilting his head to slot against you more easily. It was still gentle, still careful, but there was something more now—something that felt like giving in.

Your hands slid up his chest, slow and deliberate, before settling at the base of his neck. Your fingers brushed against the short hairs there, sending a shiver down his spine.

Dean exhaled against your lips, his own hands skimming along your waist before settling on the small of your back. You fit against him so perfectly, like you’d always been meant to be there.

When you pulled back just a fraction, Dean nearly followed, but you didn’t go far. Your noses brushed, breaths mingling in the space between you.

You smiled, soft and a little dazed. “You okay?”

Dean huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, you just kissed me. Pretty sure I’m supposed to be asking you that.”

Your fingers toyed with the hairs at the back of his neck, your touch warm and steady. “I think I’m good.”

Dean’s heart thudded, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “Yeah?”

You hummed in agreement, your forehead resting against his.

Dean closed his eyes for a second, just breathing you in, letting himself be in this moment. No running, no pushing away. Just this.

Then, because he couldn’t not, he nudged your nose with his, his lips brushing over yours in the barest ghost of a kiss. It wasn’t desperate, wasn’t rushed. Just soft.

Your breath hitched, and you leaned into him again, pressing another lingering kiss to his lips—slower this time, sweeter. Like you had all the time in the world.

Dean groaned quietly, his hands slipping under the hem of your sweatshirt to rest against the warm skin of your back. He felt you shiver, felt the way your fingers curled a little tighter against him.

You kissed again, and again, each one more lingering than the last.

Dean wasn’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, lips brushing, noses nudging, fingers tracing. Time didn’t seem to matter.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to rest your head against his shoulder. Dean exhaled, his arms looping around you fully, holding you against him.

You sighed, fingers trailing absently along his spine. “So… what now?”

Dean huffed. “Hell if I know.”

You laughed, the sound soft and good, and Dean felt something loosen in his chest.

He pressed a kiss to your hair, lingering there for a moment before murmuring, “But I think I wanna figure it out.”

You squeezed him gently. “Me too.”

Dean closed his eyes, letting himself have this—have you.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just surviving.

He was living.

-

Dean wasn’t used to this.

The warmth of someone pressed against him. The quiet weight of another person just being there without expectation, without pressure.

But you were here, curled up against his side, and for once, he wasn’t thinking about how to push you away.

You had stayed.

After you kissed and talked in low murmurs, after he admitted—really admitted—that he wanted to figure this out, you had just stayed.

Now, you were draped half over him, one of your legs hooked over his, your head resting on his chest. Dean had one arm wrapped around you, fingers tracing slow circles against the small of your back. The other lay limp at his side, relaxed for the first time in what felt like years.

You let out a sleepy hum, fingers trailing lightly over his chest. “Y’know… I never thought this would happen.”

Dean smirked, shifting slightly beneath you. “What, you in my bed? Sweetheart, I had a feeling you’d cave eventually.”

You scoffed, lifting your head just enough to shoot him a look. “Cocky bastard.”

Dean chuckled, letting his fingers drift up your spine, teasing. “You love it.”

You huffed but didn’t pull away. “I tolerate it.”

Dean grinned. “Sure, sweetheart.”

You didn’t argue. Just sighed and nestled closer, your fingers moving absently over his arm, tracing shapes against his skin.

He closed his eyes for a second, soaking it in—the warmth of you, the way you fit so perfectly against him, the quiet ease between you.

For the first time in a long time, the mark wasn’t screaming at him.

Your fingers drifted lower, skimming over the fabric of his sleeve, right where the mark of cain lay beneath his skin.

Dean tensed instinctively, expecting the usual flare of heat, the uncomfortable itch that never seemed to fade.

But then—

You traced the edge of the mark through his sleeve, slow and deliberate.

And the burn eased.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

You froze, tilting your head to look at him. “You okay?”

He swallowed, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I just—” He hesitated, then exhaled. “Do that again.”

You blinked but obeyed, your fingers moving over the mark again, following its shape through the fabric.

The relief was instant. Like you were cooling an old wound, soothing something raw and restless inside him.

Dean let out a shaky breath, his grip on you tightening just slightly.

You frowned. “Dean…”

He forced himself to look at you.

You searched his face, your own unreadable. “Does it hurt?”

Dean shook his head. “No. It—it actually helps.”

Your expression softened. “Yeah?”

Dean nodded, licking his lips. “Yeah.”

You were quiet for a second, then—gently, carefully—you tugged at his sleeve. “Can I…?”

Dean hesitated. He never let anyone touch it. Not really. Not like this.

But you weren’t just anyone. He trusted you.

So, he swallowed and gave a small nod.

You pushed his sleeve up just enough to expose the dark lines of the mark. Dean braced himself for the usual pulse of power, the itch, the heat.

But when your fingers traced over it, bare skin against bare skin—

The itch vanished.

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, eyes slipping shut.

Your touch was light, barely there, tracing each line and curve like you were learning it, memorizing it. But it wasn’t clinical, wasn’t hesitant. It was soothing.

Dean exhaled, the tension bleeding out of him.

You smiled, voice barely above a whisper. “Feels good?”

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, cracking one eye open. “Never thought I’d hear that about this damn thing.”

Your lips twitched. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Dean smirked, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah. You really are.”

You kept tracing the mark in slow, lazy patterns, your fingers gentle, methodical. Dean just let you, basking in the strange, unfamiliar relief of it.

At some point, your fingers slowed, your breathing evening out.

Dean glanced down and realized you were half-asleep, your head still resting against his chest, your hand curled loosely over his arm.

His throat tightened.

Carefully, he reached down and tangled his fingers with yours, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You hummed sleepily, squeezing his hand in return.

Dean smiled.

For the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t feel like a ticking time bomb.

For the first time in a long time, he felt at peace.

And it was all because of you.

[hettyoon]

❥︎ Characters; Rafayel, Xavier Game; Love and deepspace

❥︎ Genre; fluff !! Prompt; 𝙃𝙊𝙒 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙔 𝙒𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙐𝙋 || established relationship || 2nd pov

❥︎ Warnings; none !!

❥︎ Notes; this is either going to be a new start for my writing era or I'm going to post this and dip for another year or two, we'll see. (also only rafayel chibi this post cause I haven't had the time to draw xavier <\3)

MAIN M.LIST

❥︎ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋;

Your chest rose and fell steadily with each breath, eyes closed, head cradled by the soft material of your pillow. This was, undoubtedly, the most peaceful moments of your morning, and you lay there in your slumber undisturbed—until a soft, hairy something brushed against your face. It tickled your nose, making you abruptly turn your head to the side. Your hands shot up, rubbing the itching trail left behind by the unwelcome touch. Slowly, you opened your eyes, wanting to uncover the culprit behind your less-than-pleasant awakening.

Of course, that being said, you already knew who it would be. There was only one person who would come into your room unannounced this early in the morning.

A groan escaped your lips as your gaze locked onto the set of pink eyes looking right back at you. "Rafayel! What was that for? And what did you just place on my face right now."

The purple haired man, who was sitting on the drawer right next to your bedside, crossed his hands while lifting his brow at you, as if offended by your words. "Don't look at me like that, you're the one who told me you had an important meeting today, and yet here you are still asleep in your bed at 10am. Do you know how many times I tried calling you before I came here?" He huffed out the last part as if annoyed by the matter, although you knew it was all an act.

"Rafayel, the meeting doesn't even start until 1pm, what are you talking about?" You had a strong feeling he was just using it as an excuse to come see you, but you spared the man the embarrassment of saying that out loud. Plus you thought it was kind of cute of him to do so. Not that there was any need for him to hear that though, his ego is already big enough as it is.

"Details, details." He waved off your words with his hands.

You sighed, simply uses to his antics at this point. Well, it was about time you woke up anyways, but still, "You didn't answer my initial question."

"Oh, you're talking about this?" A small white feather was revealed from between his fingers. "I thought it would be useful for waking you up. I called out your name multiple times and you didn't answer, you have quite the thick sleep."

"Where did you even get that fro– you know what, nevermind. I don't even want to know." Using your feet you kicked the blankets off from your body, sitting up to stretch your body and get yourself ready for the day. "I was just exhausted because of yesterday's mission, I'm not usually that tired."

Rafayel let out a smug grin at your reply, as if he'd been waiting for those exact words to escape your mouth. "I know. Which is why I got us these." He reached out behind him and pulled out two colourful tickets.

Well that you definitely did not see coming. You couldn't believe your eyes, is that really what you were seeing in his hands? "Rafayel, are those for the resort I mentioned to you the other day?" The shock was very evident in your tone and you could practically feel the pride radiating off him. Honestly, you didn't even know how he had heard you talking about that resort the other day. You were just chilling on his couch while he was painting, scrolling through your feed and simply commented out loud on how sweet it looked, it wasn't even a real conversation. You didn't think he would remember, let alone buy you both tickets for it!

It then dawned on you what you had planned upcoming for you these next days and your happiness faltered a bit. "That's really sweet of you Rafayel. I don't even know how you remembered that, but I still have a bunch of meetings and missions I am supposed to take on this week and–"

"Nuh uh uh." Before you could even finish your sentence Rafayel moved to stand right next to you and placed his finger on top of your mouth to seal it shut. "Don't worry your head about all of that, I already got it all sorted out." One of his eyes closed as he shot a wink at you with a grin on his face.

"Sorted out...what do you mean?"

"I asked your captain to let you off for this week, of course. And since you were always so hard working and the wanderer attacks have been on the low lately, she didn't have any problems with that. I made sure to book us the best room too so you can sleep as much as you like when we get there."

Your eyes slightly teared up at his words and at the lengths your lover would go to pull off these sweet surprises for you. "Thank you Rafayel, truly." You wrapped your hands around him in a tight hug, hiding you face between the crook of his neck to conceal your happy tears. "I love you so much."

His hands instantly wrapped around your body returning the hug back even tighter. "Of course, anything for you. And I love you too."

❥︎ 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑;

"My love."

Your mind was drifting away in a dreamless sleep when you heard the sound of a faint voice calling out to you right beside your head. A few seconds passed before you then heard it again, "My love." Which made you begrudgingly peel your eyes open with a groan to lock eyes with your lover who was plopped down on the floor of your room, leaning on the edge of your bed to make himself eye level with you.

His eyes seem to light up at your physical response to his calls and a soft smile grows on his face. "Ah good, you're awake finally."

"Xavier," The tiredness still lingering around your voice, you let out a small yawn while one of your hands reached out to cup his cheek in you hands, your thumb going back and forth in gentle gestures along soft skin beneath it. "How long have you been here?" Both you and Xavier had keys to each other's apartment, so it wasn't much of a surprise to see him in your room first thing in the morning. Usually, though, it was the other way around, with you being the one to wake him from his nightly rest.

The guy tilted his head seemingly in thought, taking a quick glance at the digital clock sitting on your desk that had the time displayed in glowing white numbers. "Hmm, I've been trying to wake you up for the past 20 minutes, I think?"

Your hand dropped from his face as you shot up from your bed. "20 minutes?! Oh my god, Xavier why didn't you just shake me awake or something." Was he really here calling out to you for that long? Listen you knew you were exhausted from yesterday's mission and the extensive paperwork that followed but not to this extent!

Xavier didn't really seem to bat an eye at your look of surprise and simply continued on with his words. "Well, I tried to wake you up at first but you looked so peaceful in your sleep I didn't want to disturb you. I tried to go make something for us to have as breakfast in the kitchen but I couldn't figure out how to turn on your stove so." He scratched his cheek sheepishly at the end of his sentance but you inwardly let out a sigh of relief. Oh you were so thankful he did not figure out how to turn on that stove of yours. God knows what kind of explosion you would've woken up to if he did.

Nevertheless, you still chuckled at his silliness. Plus your heart couldn't help but warm up at the sweet gesture, even if he didn’t get to fufill it. "Thank you, Xavier. But next time you can just leave the cooking to me, okay? You know what, now that you mention it I'm in the mood for some pancakes, how about I make us some?"

Xavier rose up from his place on the floor and made himself comfortable next to you on your bed. His hand lifted up to comb through the strands of your hair trying to tame the pieces of bed hair that you acquired from your slumber. "That sounds amazing, love." You felt the warmth of his body get closer as he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on the corner of your eye. A little quirk of his that he likes to do a lot.

Your eye crinkled at the gesture and you dropped your head to rest it on his shoulder after he pulled away, nuzzling into the wooly fabric of his jumper. "Next time you should be more firm with waking me up. I don't mind, you know. Plus I feel bad for having you wait for me to wake up like that."

You could feel the white haired man shake his head in disagreement at your words. "It's okay, you deserve the rest anyways, and your presence alone is enough for me." His voice a soft tone as a loving kiss found its way to the top of your head. You cuddled even deeper into his side, placing a kiss of your own onto the clothing against his shoulder. Truly, what did you do to deserve someone as sweet as him in your life.

Although unbeknownst to you, your lover was having the exact same thought as you in that exact moment.

❥︎ As always, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated <33

Hetty

[yjhzies]

“Cheers to youth.” — YJH

⸝⸝୭ ˚. fluff . comfort . angst

⋆ pairings : jeonghan x gn!reader ⋆ warning : reader being scolded by their boss, crying (there shouldn't be any more, lmk! <3) ⋆ wc : 0.8k [✉️] · Always portrayed as "perfect" feels like a nightmare now. But with Jeonghan, everything will be fine.

⋆ - note : got scolded by the teacher for no valid reason and my inner writer came out ^^ (ty ig and welcome to depression era) | trying angst for the first time, I think I'm going insane :( stay safe jeonghannie 🌷

"Love?" Your boyfriend's voice was soft, and everything you needed to hear after a disastrous day at work.

You gripped your phone tighter and gathered the courage to respond.

"Hm, hannie,"

"Are you almost off work? Do you want me to pick you up?"

"I'm almost done with work, it's okay, I'm fine." Your voice breaks with the words 'I'm fine', because you were clearly not. But, he didn't have to know.

You, who is known as the 'Perfect' one in your workplace, were feeling like a failure. Not that you liked the way people labelled you as 'perfect', but you did want to meet the expectations of your boss. You've always had this habit - feeling the need to meet people's expectations, afraid of disappointing others. This, something you have had since school days, was becoming a nightmare.

Your boss was rumoured to have had a break up; something that is completely none of your business - you knew. So when he lashed out at you, simply because of his gloomy mood, you were in disbelief.

"I heard you've been focusing on everything except for work? I remember the time you were considered as the perfect manager, but now? I doubt that. You've been lacking behind everything. From doing the files to arranging the meetings properly. If you keep doing this, I doubt you'll be here in my company for long."

Those words haunted your mind, and it kept repeating. For no reason. You knew you did nothing wrong, you knew you were not in the wrong here.

But words hurt so much.

Especially when you're trying your best.

Especially when you feel you've done enough, and you hear this.

"Are you sure?" Jeonghan asked, worried because you have had to stay at work for long, and it was unusual.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Silence soon followed, and you took a heavy breath to stop the tear threatening to roll down your cheeks.

"Are you really, baby?" He asked softly. As if he knew everything despite not knowing anything.

You didn't expect that question. All the tears you had held back finally escaped your glossy eyes, and you broke down. Right in the middle of a bus stand, but thankfully, no one was there.

"Baby?" Jeonghan felt a surge of panic wash over him. The sounds of your muffled sobs echoed in his ears through the phone.

The last thing Jeonghan wanted was you crying all alone.

You slowly lowered your hand, the phone in your hand dropping to the floor as you continued weeping. There was no one around to help you. To ask if you were okay.

"Please, baby," he softly pleaded. You were there alone. All by yourself. "Please answer me."

He grabbed his car keys, opened the location tracking app that you both agreed to use in emergencies and rushed out of his apartment. The drive was gonna take at least 20 minutes, but he couldn't care less.

All he knew right now was that he had to be by your side.

"I'll be there, don't worry, okay?" He tried to calm you down, despite panicking himself.

Everything faded into the background, as you finally let all the feelings burst out in the form of tears. All the taunting you had endured throughout the day was driving you insane.

It wasn't your fault. You did nothing.

You don't know when time passed by, and Jeonghan's car pulled up on the road - but you felt a hint of relief at the sight of him.

He got out of the car in a hurry, running up to the bus stop where you stood. Very slowly, you turn your gaze on him and he catches a glimpse of you - puffy eyed, cheeks red with warmth, tremors still coursing through your body, dried tears that were being replaced by fresh ones.

"Hannie..." You choked out, sobbing.

Without wasting a second, he threw his arms around your torso, engulfing you in a warm hug. He rested one of his hands on the back of your head, caressing it, as he wrapped his other arm around your waist protectively.

You've never felt so secure and safe in someone's embrace before.

You closed your eyes, placing your hands on either side of his shoulders, and began sobbing again. But this time, you knew Jeonghan was there to protect you.

"Shh, I'm here, it's all gonna be okay." His voice was barely above a whisper, as if those words were only meant to be heard by you. So soft, so loving, and it conveyed so many emotions to you.

He felt like home. Like the warm hug and kiss you crave after a long tiring day at work. Like the cold, but relaxing drop of rain on your skin.

"I'm- I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, don't be, please."

You're grateful. So grateful that you both don't have to know the reason to simply be by their side. The reason can be unknown, or known later, but what matters is that you're there for each other.

– taglist : @gyubakeries @k1eev @haowrld @armycarat2612

[check out masterlist - pinned post to be added to the taglist!]

[slytherin-princess-x]

Bound by decree: love is a dangerous game

Mattheo x reader

Summary: An arranged marriage but they’re enemies

A/n: it’s a long one today guys

The parchment felt like a death sentence in my trembling hands—crisp, official, and utterly final. I stared at the ornate script, the words swimming before my eyes: *"By decree of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and the Ministry of Magic, a binding betrothal is hereby established between…"* My stomach churned. I already knew the name; it had been the hushed whisper in the corridors, the grim topic of conversation amongst the Slytherins. *"...Miss Y/N L/N and Mr. Mattheo Gaunt Riddle."*

Year Seven was supposed to be exciting. The final exams, Quidditch tryouts, maybe even a stolen kiss or two behind the greenhouses. Instead, it was starting with shackles. Arranged marriages were archaic—relics of a bygone era—but here we were, being dragged back into it for the sake of pureblood lineage. As if my family's ancient bloodline wasn't pristine enough.

The cause of my imminent doom was leaning against the wall across the Slytherin common room, a picture of indolent indifference. Mattheo Riddle. Dark hair perpetually mussed, eyes like chips of obsidian, and a smirk that promised nothing but trouble. He exuded an aura of dangerous charisma that made most students scurry out of his path. But me? I was now legally bound to him. The irony tasted bitter on my tongue.

"Well, well," Mattheo drawled, pushing off the wall and strolling toward me. His voice was a smooth, velvety threat. "Looks like we're stuck with each other, L/N."

I crumpled the parchment in my fist. "Stuck is an understatement, Riddle. This is a bloody nightmare."

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound that grated on my nerves. "Don't pretend you're not flattered. Who wouldn't want to be betrothed to me?"

"Oh, I can think of a few," I snapped, my eyes blazing. "Anyone with a functioning brain and a desire to, you know, choose who they spend their life with."

His smirk widened, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Such spirit. I'm almost… impressed."

The "almost" hung in the air, thick with sarcasm. That was our dynamic in a nutshell—a constant sparring match, a battle of wills fueled by mutual disdain. He reveled in my frustration, while I seethed under his arrogant gaze.

The engagement was a public spectacle. Announcements at breakfast, pointed glances in the corridors, and the ever-present whisper of our names linked together. It was suffocating. And the worst part? Mattheo seemed to enjoy it. He’d drape an arm possessively around my shoulders during meals, his touch sending shivers of disgust down my spine. He’d answer questions about our "future" with infuriatingly vague pronouncements, leaving me to grit my teeth and plaster on a fake smile.

My attempts at a normal Year Seven were thwarted at every turn. Gryffindor boys who’d dared to flirt with me suddenly found themselves on the receiving end of Mattheo’s icy glare and a few well-placed hexes. Even my closest friends grew hesitant, the air around me now tainted by Mattheo’s presence.

"He's like a bloody Dementor," my friend Clara muttered one afternoon, as we watched Mattheo lean against a tree, his gaze fixed on me. "Sucking all the joy out of the air."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Tell me about it. I can't even look at another boy without him glaring holes into their skull."

The enforced proximity did offer a twisted kind of insight, though. I saw glimpses of Mattheo away from the public eye. The way his brow furrowed in concentration during Potions, the almost imperceptible twitch of his lip when he read a particularly clever passage in a Transfiguration textbook. These moments were fleeting, quickly masked by his usual sardonic demeanor, but they were there.

One evening, stuck in the library together to “study”—a thinly veiled excuse for our parents to see us interacting amicably—I found myself staring at him. He was engrossed in a heavy tome, his features softened in the lamplight. For the first time, I saw past the arrogance and the threats, and caught a glimpse of… something else. A weariness, perhaps? Or maybe just boredom.

He looked up, catching my gaze. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by a neutral expression that was almost unsettling in its unfamiliarity.

"Problem, L/N?"

I quickly averted my eyes, a blush creeping up my neck. "No. No problem."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension. It was different from our usual animosity, charged with something… more.

As the year progressed, our interactions, while still laced with sarcasm and barbed comments, began to shift. We argued about house points with a shared competitiveness. We found an odd sort of camaraderie in our mutual disdain for certain professors. During a particularly grueling detention scrubbing cauldrons, Mattheo surprised me by sharing a mumbled joke that actually made me laugh.

The Yule Ball arrived like a looming deadline. I had dreaded the thought of being seen on Mattheo’s arm. But as he stood before me in his dress robes, a certain unfamiliar nervousness in his eyes, something shifted within me. He was undeniably handsome, and for the first time, the thought didn’t fill me with immediate revulsion.

Our dance was stiff and awkward at first, but as the music softened and we found a rhythm, a strange sort of understanding passed between us. His hand on my back was firm, his gaze surprisingly steady.

"You look… tolerable," he muttered, his voice barely audible above the music.

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. "And you're not entirely unbearable yourself, Riddle."

It was a minuscule crack in the wall of our mutual animosity, but it was there.

The turning point, perhaps inevitably, came during a late-night study session in the deserted astronomy tower. We were arguing, as usual, about some obscure Charms theory. Our voices echoed in the stillness, the tension crackling between us.

"You're being deliberately obtuse," I accused, frustration bubbling over.

"And you're being willfully ignorant," Mattheo retorted, his eyes flashing.

We were close—too close. Our anger was a palpable force. And then, something shifted. The anger seemed to dissipate, replaced by a different kind of intensity. His gaze lingered on my lips, and for the first time, I didn’t want to look away.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle. "You know," he said, his voice low and husky, "you're not what I expected."

My heart hammered in my chest. "And what did you expect?" I whispered, my breath catching in my throat.

His gaze searched mine, a flicker of something vulnerable in his dark eyes. "A simpering pureblood princess, eager to please."

"And what did you get?" I challenged, my voice barely a breath.

A slow smile spread across his face, a genuine smile that reached his eyes and banished the usual shadows. "Someone who challenges me. Someone who isn’t afraid."

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t a gentle, tentative kiss. It was fierce, possessive, filled with a pent-up energy that mirrored the animosity that had simmered between us for months. And surprisingly, I kissed him back, my own frustrations and grudges melting away in the heat of the moment.

The world didn’t magically transform. We were still betrothed, still bound by an archaic agreement. But as we stood there, breathless and slightly shaken, in the silence of the astronomy tower, something had undeniably changed. The hatred hadn’t vanished entirely, but a new emotion had taken root—a complicated tangle of resentment and reluctant attraction.

The arranged marriage was still a cage, but now, maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be quite so lonely. The year still stretched before us, filled with uncertainty and the weight of our forced union. But for the first time since that dreaded parchment arrived, I felt a flicker of something akin to hope. Perhaps, against all odds, this nightmare could turn into something else entirely. The enemies were still there, but maybe, beneath the surface, lovers were beginning to bloom.

Taglist: @yootvi @redeemingvillains @littlemadamred @smut-anarchy

[miniimight]

Hellooo! Could you please write for the boys where the reader is sick but doesn't tell them bcs she doesn't wanna bother them?? I love your your blog sm 💙💙

HIDING YOUR SICKNESS ! reader doesn't wanna bother her boyfriend

with izuku, bakugo, rody + fem!reader (pro hero era)

notes thanks for the request anon !!

you: hey i don't think i can make our date tonight... i'm sorry, something came up

he frowned when he got the text. he pinched the bridge of his nose and his overthinking kicked in. you'd been distancing yourself a lot recently... between you spending all your time at someone else's place, having to postpone dates, and his hero work, you barely got to see each other.

he was worried. he pressed the call button and waited for you to pick up.

IZUKU

"hello? y/n?"

you folded from the concern in his voice. he was always going to be worried about you, no matter what you tried to do.

"izuku..." you rasped and you could tell he was taken aback.

"what's wrong, honey?" he said softly. "you don't sound too good..."

you bit your lip. oh, what the hell. he was going to find out anyway. "i'm just a little sick, that's all. i can handle—"

"sick?!" izuku exclaimed and you shied away from his volume. "my love, you should have told me."

"no, it's really okay—"

"how long have you felt this way? is this why you've been postponing our dates? where are you right now?" he ignored your protests and rambled on with more questions for a bit. you weakly answered them all.

"okay, sweetheart, i'm on my way." you could hear him huffing as you assumed he leapt across rooftops. "stay on call..."

a burden was lifted off your shoulders, and the relief made you fall asleep right then and there.

later—though how much later, you didn't know—you blinked the sleep out of your eyes. groaning, you stretched your arms and propped your body up with your elbows.

"oh, you're awake. lay down, love."

you tuned into izuku's voice, squinting through your daze. he was sitting at your bedside, a wet rag in his hand. he shushed you when you tried to ask him all your questions, gently laying the rag across your forehead and kissing your heated cheek.

"you had a fever, honey." izuku hummed, pulling the chair closer to the bed and leaning over the side. "you shouldn't have been under all those stuffy blankets."

you frowned and looked around. the windows were open, the curtains flowing as fresh air filtered in. it was true, you did feel a little less suffocated.

you pursed your lips, feeling guilty. "i'm sorry."

he was absolutely bewildered. "what could you possibly be sorry for?"

you sniffed, rubbing your eyes. "you were at work, right? and..."

izuku softened, stroking your temples with understanding. "it's never an issue for me to take care of you, love. don't be sad. just relax and let me handle everything, okay? i'm here now, to take care of you."

BAKUGO

"where are you and why have you been avoiding my calls?"

you pressed your lips into a thin line. straight to the point, as usual. "i'm... i'm staying at a friend's for the time being." you tried to speak evenly, without any tiredness.

you heard bakugo sigh deeply. "what's the matter, baby? and don't think about hidin' anything from me."

you groaned internally, letting your head drop against the mattress. you mumbled.

"what was that?"

you flared up, heat overwhelming your body. "i'm sick! okay?! i'm so sick right now."

he didn't respond.

you sighed. "i didn't want you to catch anything or worry about it. i can handle it and i'll be back in no time."

he scoffed. "fuck that. i'm coming to get you."

"kat, really—?!"

"yes, really!" you heard faint explosions in the background. "seriously, thinking you can recover on your own when you can't even speak properly." he chuckled.

you wanted to retort, but your throat burned. hmph, you thought. you let yourself drift asleep, feeling comforted.

later, you woke up in his bed to the sound of clanking pots in the kitchen. brows furrowed, you groaned as you stretched, your body buzzing after you let yourself drop into the plush mattress once more.

bakugo peeked into the room. "you're up. good. you need to eat." with an apron on, he placed an assortment of dishes in front of you; soup, fruits, and some cough drops for later.

you sat up a little, startled when his hand pressed against your forehead.

"you have a fever." he shook his head, disappointed. "you probably made it a little worse, isolating yourself under all those sheets. you were overheated when i got you."

you pouted, taking a sip of water.

he craned his neck to meet your eyes, thinking you'd be relieved being home and in his care. you clearly had something on your mind. "baby..." he held your hand. "jus' tell me what's on your mind."

you met his eyes briefly before looking away. "i... didn't want you to miss work for this."

"this matters more than paperwork." he rolled his eyes, a soft smile on his face. he squeezed your hands. "just eat up and rest up. i'll handle everything else."

RODY

"y/n?"

"nope!" his little sister, lala, chirped. "it's me!"

during his last layover, he hadn't been getting much of a response from you. he trusted you with everything, but he was worried. now that he was back in otheon, he was ready to figure out what the hell was going on.

he chuckled at his sister. you must've given her your phone to play her favorite game. "hey, lala. where's y/n, do you know?"

"she's sleeping now." rody could hear her breathing as she pattered over to where he assumed you were laying down. "sleeping like a log."

"yeah?" rody responded, deep in thought. it wasn't like you to sleep while looking after his siblings, so he knew something was wrong. "what was she doing before she fell asleep?"

"uhhh... she made lunch for us?" lala sniffed. "i feel bad, though."

rody's eyebrows creased, tugging a suitcase behind him as he unconsciously walked faster. "why's that?"

"she's got a mask on, and she doesn't want us too close to her..." lala sighed. "and she's burning up."

rody put the pieces together. he raced to the carpark and zoomed on home, bursting through the door.

the loud noise startled you out of your slumber, sitting upright. the abrupt motion made you dizzy and you groaned. lala pat your shoulder, concerned.

rody dropped his suitcase to the ground, kneeling at your side. slipping off his gloves, he pressed his hand to the side of your neck.

"seriously, babe, you should've told me when you started feeling off." he frowned, bustling about to grab you the things you needed. "i could've left any time."

your eyes were glassy when you looked at him, and he felt his heart twisting. "m'sorry," you mumbled from behind the mask. "i didn't want to bother you..."

he scoffed and pulled the mask off your face, squishing your cheeks. he looked you square in the eye. though he was scolding you, he was so soft and gently. "you never bother me. all i think about is you, lala, and roro. i want to know everything you're feeling, no matter what."

you smiled, looking lopsided as your face was still in his hands. "okay."

he grinned and kissed you.

"ugh!" you recoiled, scooching away from him. "rody! you'll get sick!"

he crossed his arms, smiling. "and? we can be in that boat together."

you rolled your eyes. "oh my god."

"aw, don't be like that, baby." rody cuddled up next to you, peppering you with affection. "come on, let me take care of you."

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3