#maybe hes not quite as full of himself as he pretends

[prince-jjae]

Flesh & Rind.

Pairing; watermelon sorbet!yj × cherry jam!male reader

Genre; smut, pwp (porn w plot.) [nsfw, mdni.]

Synopsis; When moving to the quaint little region that was Strawberryland, Watermelon Sorbet Yeonjun had one thing on his mind: relaxation. Enter Cherry Jam, the most devastatingly attractive boy that Yeonjun had been ever-so-blessed to lay eyes on. Cherry was decidedly not part of his relaxation plans, yet with the help of a little magic (and some incredibly well-placed scones), Cherry might just worm his way into Yeonjun’s heart (and while he's at it, his pants, too.)

Warnings; extremely dubious consent, this is on the darker side so please proceed with caution. Stalking, Maneater!reader, Yeonjun is whipped, Reader pretends to be innocent, Yeonjun literally eats a treat left on his windowsill (DO NOT DO THIS). Yeonjun is a bit of an airhead. Reader is manipulative as SHIT.

Smut Warnings; Again, Dubcon. Come eating. Coercion(?). Accidental exhibitionism. Masturbation. Aphrodisiacs in the form of flavoured bodily fluids. Intoxication play if you squint. Switch!yj, Switch!reader. Meandom!reader. Bondage. Anal sex (obviously). Oral (m!rec, anally ofc). Fingering. Riding. Power play. Degradation/praise kink. Comeshots/Coming untouched.

WC; ~7.5k (oof.)

Jjae's comments; holy shit. big shoutout to my moots and fellow creators in this event. This has been a wild ride for all of us and im so glad i got to share this experience with so many writers ive spent months looking up to. i hope this is as fun to read as it was to write. happy holidays!

[masterlist.] [event materlist.]

It was because you were new to town, as was he. That was clearly the reason, otherwise he had no method of explanation as to why his eyes kept being drawn to you. You, with your fluffy pink hair, tumbling about your temples in gentle curls. Yes, it was because you were both new, novel and fresh to the town you now shared with plenty others, that's why you caught his eye.

No other reason.

Surely not because of the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, nor was it because of the way your eyes would sparkle upon helping one of your shared neighbors. No, there was no other explanation.

At first, he didn't think much of it. It was easy to ignore. You were easy to ignore. Not that Watermelon Sorbet Yeonjun thought himself rude. On the contrary, he considered himself to be quite nice. He was always described as a friend who would be there for you, someone who would bring warmth and safety to those he loved. Yet there was something about this pretty cherry boy, something about you, that sent alarm bells ringing in his head. A warning, loud and clear, to stay away. You didn't seem dangerous, not by any means. He figured you were such a gentle soul that you'd likely cry about the smallest things.

Oh, he could imagine that. Your bottom lip jutted out, trembling as fat tears gather along your lash line, threatening to spill down those bright pink ch- 

He shook the thoughts from his head violently. This whole town was full of innocent joys, fruit houses piled atop the rolling hills, filled with even sweeter tennants. That’s why he was here, to finally be somewhere quiet and nice, away from the unforgivingly loud Big Apple City. He was here to relax, maybe even make some money. He wasn’t here to get involved with someone as dangerously alluring as you. 

So he made a point to avoid you. Physically, anyway. He couldn’t deny himself the temptation of viewing you from across the room at gatherings, town meetings, seeing you across the stall from him at the weekly market. You always sat there so politely, cheeks a pretty pink as you gushed about your latest batch of jellies and jams. All variations of cherry, of course. And how cherry did suit you, Yeonjun thought. You were certainly just as pretty, and Yeonjun would wager you were just as sweet. 

He kept his distance, and it seemed to be working. You hadn’t said much beyond your cutesy greetings in passing, eyes shining bright with wonder and sparkling at him in a way that made his stomach twist. He would always nod, rather stiffly, before turning on his heel and making a quick exit whenever possible. He always missed the way you wilted, face hardening into something unrecognizable for a few small moments. Maybe if his eyes lingered on you for a second longer, if he had cast a glance over his shoulder as he left, he would have seen that facade drop.

– 

The first time he found one of your gifts was around two months after you two had moved into town. Two months of dancing around each other, with Yeonjun staring at you down the length of his nose whenever he thought you weren’t looking, two months of torture. It was a warm summer morning when he opened the shutters to his bedroom window only to find a scone, covered in the most delectable cherry jam he had ever seen. He hadn’t eaten yet, and although his mind screamed at him to not devour the treat, he inhaled it in the few seconds following his tongue darting out to wet his lips. If he had any better self-control, he might’ve tried to school his expression as he licked the sticky jam off of his plush lips, maybe even bite down the moan that bloomed in his chest upon savoring the taste on his tongue. 

Unfortunately, Yeonjun wasn't known for his self-control.

He understood now why you had the town wrapped around your finger, drawing crowds to your stall every week for your newest batches of sweet treats, jars decorated with ribbons and bows, just like their maker. He fully understood the draw to your business, especially if everything you made tasted this divine. 

The next time he found a gift was in much the same way, a still-warm scone dripping with jam, served neatly on a plate sat on his windowsill the very next day. And then the next day. And then the next. This continued for about a week, leading to Yeonjun waking up with a hunger he couldn’t describe every morning, drool pooling in his mouth long before he reached his window.

On the seventh day, the market finally rolled around. He needed more. Desperately. The sweet treats in the mornings weren’t enough to satiate his newfound sweet tooth. He needed one of your pretty jars. Hell, he would eat the sweet stickiness straight from the glass if need be. He was still wary of you, however, even as he approached your stall that morning after all was set up. There was still a decent amount of time before the earliest customers would wander through the market, perusing the many wares positioned along the street. 

You were already smiling up at him politely as he strolled up to your stall with practiced confidence. He missed the way your eyes raked over his form, and subsequently missed the tiny quirk of your lips as they tugged into the ghost of a smirk. The expression washed over with that same pretty smile he was familiar with, and you knew he was none the wiser when he opened his mouth. 

“Hi! Yeonjun, right?” You had beaten him to the punch, smooth voice ringing in his head like a melody of gentle bells, yet it did nothing to quell the violent churn in his stomach. His mouth paused, stuck doing gentle open and closed motions as he fumbled for his words. His brows furrowed as he promptly shut his mouth. This was most unlike him. Yeonjun was suave and collected, like a fox stalking through the world as if it was his runway. To be rendered speechless was something he was entirely unfamiliar with. You waited patiently, smile still easy and comforting as he gathered himself back together. 

“Yeah, that’s right..” He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, now that he really thought about it. He tilted his head, contemplating before finally opening his mouth again. Only a moment of hesitance was needed for you to interrupt him again.

“Here to snag a jar?” You queried, head tilted in the opposite way of his own, eyes twinkling in the same way that he had memorized, the visual long since burned into the back of his eyelids. He nodded, the movement stunted and jerky. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. He was never rendered this useless before in his life, and he was so thrown that he missed the way your eyes sharpened, hands reaching for something that lay at your feet behind your stall. “I have a special batch that I made just for you! Something new that only us newbies should share.”

Yeonjun’s brows furrowed, watching as you held up a jar much like your other ones, the only difference being the tiny watermelon and cherry charms attached to your decorative ribbons that wrapped around the glass. Something itched at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was your tone of voice, or maybe your choice in words that should have given him pause, yet he found it hard to focus. His eyes were locked on the jar, filled to the brim with the sweetness he had been craving for the past week. Like clockwork, drool pooled in his mouth embarrassingly fast, causing him to nearly choke on his own spit when he finally reached out and took the gift from you, muttering a hurried thanks as he fled back to the relative safety of his stall.

–

Yeonjun had never been one for sweets before, always more prone to craving savory or spicy meals. His old friends from the city used to poke fun at this little fact. Something about how his tasted contrasted so harshly to his fruity nature. Even the fruits (watermelon, naturally) he so lovingly tended to in his garden rarely tickled his fancy. Yeonjun wasn’t sure why this was all changing on a dime. He wasn’t sure how to explain the craving he had, a craving that was swallowing him whole and leaving him dizzy. Perhaps if he thought about it further, Yeonjun would find that the more he slathered that special jelly on his morning toast, scones, and muffins, the more intense his thirst grew. It bothered him greatly. He had never felt like this before. He found himself staring at you more often, now, not even trying to hide it. He was confused, yes, but he was equally hungry. A bone-deep kind of hunger that twisted around his brain and rendered his logical thoughts as useless as smoke in the wind. No longer did he reserve those glances for when you had your head turned. He was staring unabashedly now, sharp eyes boring into yours even when you met his gaze and gave him the most adorable eye-crinkling grin and excited wave. His newfound intensity didn’t seem to phase you in the slightest.

After weeks of this torture, this all-encompasing need swallowing him whole, it was you that finally did him in. He finally bent to those baser desires that he had shoved down when he first moved here, and now it was coming back to bite him. It was an innocent interaction by all accounts. You had scurried up to him while on the way to the newest town meeting, the breeze ruffling your curls to make them even more fluffy than usual. You seemed nearly out of breath, chest heaving with effort as if you had run a great distance to catch up to him. Perhaps you had, with how much longer his legs were than your own. You placed a steadying hand on his bicep, fingers curling into the muscle slightly. It was likely to give yourself a moment to catch your breath before greeting him, cheeks flushed and that smile pressing dimples into the blushing flesh. It was that visual, that touch, that look that ruined him. He ached, he felt the need deep in his soul, splintering his bones and ruining him from the inside like rot taking hold of sweet fruit flesh. He couldn't take it anymore. One final glance at those pretty pink cheeks and he had enough.

He found himself home far quicker than he usually would, the journey blurred and fuzzy in his mind. He didn’t care how he got home, anyway, he was more fussed about why he was home so early. It didn't take him long to stomp into his bedroom, jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached from the pressure, before he finally allowed that desire to consume him in the way he needed most. 

Legs splayed prettily, head thrown back, bright red hair framing an ethereal halo around his head atop the silk pillowcase. Yeonjun was the picture of sin, with his skin sparkling with sweat, a bead rolling down his temple and vanishing along his damp hairline. Not much could be heard in the watermelon house, other than his whines and groans, naturally. It wasn’t often that Yeonjun found himself in such a position, desperately canting his hips up into his waiting fist, the slide deliciously wet and noisy due to the way he was practically dribbling precome down his own length at the thoughts in his head. 

Oh, the thoughts in his head.. Filthy thoughts, really. Thoughts that should never see the light of day. Thoughts of claiming. Thoughts of animalistic, overwhelming claiming. Thoughts of pretty pink curls bouncing rhythmically, thoughts of those sparkling eyes swimming with tears of overstimulation, thoughts of those pretty lips singing his praises and begging, crying, pleading. 

His orgasm crushed through him embarrassingly fast. His head, stuffed with cotton, could think little else on anything aside from ruining that pretty cherry boy. That same cherry boy that smiled at him with such affection, that same cherry boy that gave him such sweet treats out of the kindness of his heart, that same cherry boy he was utterly defiling, entirely ruining in his head. 

He was blissfully unaware, as the sticky watermelon cream dripped over his fingertips and made a pool on his toned stomach, that he had forgotten to close his window. The opening left room for a gentle breeze that cooled his sweat-soaked skin, which he happily basked in. If he had opened his eyes, turned his head even a little, he would have caught it. 

A pair of sharp cherry eyes, grinning at him in devilish satisfaction.

–

It was the aftermath that Yeonjun wasn’t prepared for. He had allowed himself to fall into that temptation after he had spent so long denying himself. Now that the metaphorical dam had been broken, those foul thoughts plagued him constantly. As he watched you, they pressed into his mind entirely without his permission. 

You raised your hand at meetings, fingers slightly limp and curled in the air, and suddenly he couldn't think of anything better than seeing those fingers curl around his length. Would they look just as pretty decorated in that sweet watermelon sorbet? Perhaps it would look even better on your face, dripping over those pink curls and eyelashes, over your cheeks, nose, lips-

He adjusted himself in his chair, averting his eyes from your still-raised hand. 

He missed the smirk on those very same lips. Perhaps if he had seen it, he wouldn’t have been so surprised when you approached him as the others were making to leave. He was doing much the same, running his fingers through that bright red fringe as he stood from his seat. His back twinged, perhaps he had been slouching too much in an effort to hide the issue between his thighs. 

“Yeonjunnie!” Came your chipper voice, sending his eyes into a wide-set panic. Oh. You’d never called him that, before. He-

“Did you like that? Your cheeks turned all red!” If he listened any closer, he might have said you sounded smug, pleased with yourself and how easy it was to fluster him. Yeonjun had more pressing matters to concern himself with, however. He pressed his thighs together. 

“Anyway! I wanted to ask you something. Is that okay? Is now a good time?” Yeonjun could only manage to nod his head. If he tried speaking, he knew he would say something incredibly stupid (read: incredibly horny). You paid no mind to his lack of audible response, bright smile dimpling your cheeks as you continued on. Yeonjun noticed the way you talked, something so endearing that he couldn’t help but give you his full focus whenever you opened your pretty mouth. You spoke animatedly, hands moving about to emphasise your points and certain words. Yeonjun found himself smiling slightly as he watched you speak.

“I was wanting to try a new recipe, but I need an extra set of hands to make it the way I want to.. Do you think you could help me?” Yeonjuns brain faltered, stuttering to a stop. The feeling only compounded when you followed your invitation with a belated, slightly whiny, “Please, Jjunie?”

When you put it like that, did he really have a choice? 

That's how he found himself following after you like a lost puppy, all the way up to your front door. Your front door. God, how many times had he imagined himself behind this door, defiling you in the most depraved ways he could think of. And here you were, smile still tugging at your lips as you beckoned him through the threshold. Perhaps, once he passed through, he would explode into a puff of pure sin, like something from a corny horror film. He took a steadying breath, and walked through.

He didn't explode. That was a pleasant surprise. What was even more of a pleasant surprise was the way you promptly shoved him against the door, kissing all sense from his head. His hands flexed at his sides, shaking as he had no clue what to do with them. He was flailing, breath stuttering in his throat as you continued your onslaught against his pliant mouth. He felt you smirk, this time. Heard you chuckle. 

“God, you're easier than I thought.” Your voice sounded raw, darker in a way that sent him into a tailspin. No, this wasn’t you. The you that was licking back into his mouth with urgency was a far cry from that cheerful, playful innocence he was familiar with. No, you had become something else entirely. The you in his head was so much closer to the way you acted in public, but in this moment, everything suddenly and finally fell into place. 

All of it was just that, an act, and he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

Apparently growing bored of his lack of real reaction, you pulled back. You were panting, lips swollen and slick with spit, and the visual alone made him weak in the knees. Your mouth was set into a frown, something he had never seen on you. He found it intensely attractive. Just as you opened your mouth, complaint no doubt waiting on your tongue, he lunged forward. The kiss was desperate, messy, more tongue and teeth than any sweet press of lips. But this was you he was kissing. He now realised that there was nothing sweet about you. …Actually, that was a theory he most definitely wanted to test. 

He hiked you up with firm hands under your thighs, turning to press your back into the door instead. A chuckle bubbled past those swollen lips, head tossed back to make a gentle thunk against the wood.

“Oh, you poor thing. Did I not make it clear yet?” Yeonjun’s vision swam, his brows tenting to gaze at you in bleary confusion. Clear? What was there to make clear? Did you not want this? Was he going too-

A hand in his hair, tugging harshly at the blood-red strands. A yelp pulled from his chest, making him arch to follow the pressure. Lips near his ear, hot breath brushing down his neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

“You aren’t in charge here.” Oh. 

Oh.

He didn’t even register that you had eased yourself back onto the floor, his head was too fuzzy with the thoughts you put into his head with those simple words. Months of daydreaming, fantasizing, and you tilted his world on its axis with one sentence. He wasn’t in charge. Oh, fuck. You were going to ruin him.

He vaguely heard your resounding giggle, sounding far too innocent given the context. Obviously you could see right through him, a thought that made him shiver down to his core. He wanted to tilt his head to follow the sound, but he found he couldn’t. Your hand was still in his hair, gripping at the roots with enough to make his scalp burn. You kept tugging him backwards, making him stumble after you down the hallway. His hands rushed to grab at your wrist, grasping blindly at your skin. He wasn’t even trying to pry you off, there wasn’t enough force in his hands to do that. No, the dawning realisation was starting to settle in his stomach like lava. He wanted this.

All too soon, your hands left their place in his hair, the drop in pressure pulling a desperate whine from him. You laughed at him. 

“Stay here.” You commanded. Your words left little room for argument, though he imagined he couldn’t have argued against you even if he wanted to. And he didn’t. He watched, eyebrows furrowed and a pout drawing at those pretty plush lips of his, as you sauntered into your own bedroom. You moved with all the lethal grace of a predator, all smooth lines and sharp promise in the aura around you. You exuded dominance, he didn’t know how he missed it before. It was all-encompassing, shrouding you in a thick layer of power that he couldn’t look away from. He was positively enraptured. 

You moved slowly, pulling at your clothes with all the leisure of someone who had all the time in the world. Perhaps you did. Perhaps you would make him wait forever, drool dripping down his chin at the very sight of you getting undressed and comfortable in the middle of your bed. You were a goddamn vision, sitting back prettily on your spread knees. His eyes followed a slow trail from your rosey knees, your flushed skin, the way the- Oh, fuck. Was that lace? Pretty white fabric decorated with little cherry patterns, innocent in a jarring juxtaposition against everything else about you. He swallowed thickly, eyes darting up to your face, his own pinched from restraint. You hadn’t invited him in yet.

As if reading his mind, your smirk grew sharper, cheshire. You slowly lifted your hand, watching in amusement as his eyes snapped to follow the action, and quirked a finger at him, beckoning him to the bed. 

And who was Yeonjun to say no to such a command? He moved to take a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side-

“No.” Your voice sliced through his thoughts. He froze in place, eyes snapping back up to meet yours in a panic. You laughed at him again, pointing your finger down to the ground. Your smirk dropped, expression schooled into bored indifference. “Crawl.”

Oh. Holy shit. Yeonjun dropped to his knees harshly, yet he barely registered the loud clack of the joints against the flooring. No, he was far too busy rushing to please you, crawling across the floor to your bed with such an eager expression that you giggled. There it was again, that innocence pulling at his mind, reminding him of all the times he imagined doing this to you, being in your position, and how wrong he was. He didn’t want that anymore, didn't want to be the one ruining you. Fuck, no, he wanted to be ruined. 

With that in mind, and his hands now resting on his thighs as he kneeled in front of your bed, he peered up at you with such a hopeful gaze. You tilted your head, regarding him with amusement dancing in your sharp cherry eyes for just a moment before you silently patted the bed beside you. The Watermelon Boy scrambled to obey, nearly stumbling over himself as he eased his way onto your sheets. The mattress felt so soft beneath him, akin to sinking into a vat of marshmallow fluff. He crawled closer to you, nearly whimpering when you finally reached out to touch him. 

Your fingers might as well have been scalding as you clutched his chin between your thumb and forefinger. You shifted his head around like that, smirking down the line of your nose at him. I did that before, he thought, but the image was too fuzzy to properly place. Focusing on you was much more important, especially with the way you used your thumb to wipe that trail of drool from the corner of his mouth, only to lick it off of your own finger. The subsequent shiver that wracked through Yeonjun was involuntary. He had never felt desire so strongly in his life. He wanted you so badly he could practically taste it. His tongue darted out to lick at his crimson lips, brushing against the pad of your thumb when you gripped at his chin again. 

“Poor melon. And here I thought you'd put up more of a fight.” You almost sounded disappointed, and Yeonjun couldn’t have that. He was far too high off of you to even try and push down the whine that your words drew from him. Not trusting his voice, he shook his head, vehemently disagreeing. He would never put up a fight with you. He knew it, the fact ringing deep within him, entwined with his watermelon DNA. He was yours. Yours to use, to play with, to claim. He wouldn't have it any other way. 

As if knowing this, as if expecting his answer, your smile returned. It was predatory again, and he watched as your eyes darkened when a particularly delicious thought entered your head. You nodded down to his clothes, then down to what little you still had on. Lace, his brain reminded him helpfully. He gulped, vision flicking down. Sure enough, said lace was struggling (and failing spectacularly) to keep your length contained. His jaw fell slack, body lurching into motion to pull his clothes from his body as if they scalded him. 

Only once the offending items had been sufficiently tossed to an unknown part of the room, did he finally go to complete the rest of your wordless command. He eased himself between your spread thighs, fingers digging experimentally into the plushness. He groaned, the feeling of your soft skin doing a number on his brain. He could hardly keep himself together, especially now that he had your crotch barely an inch in front of his nose. Fuck.

Lip caught between his teeth, Yeonjun positioned himself to nose against the patch of skin around your hip that peeked out over the delicate lace. His eyes flashed up to meet yours again, and he nearly melted into the bed once his gaze met your own. Hunger, power. That was how best to describe you at that moment. He felt small under your sharp eyes, which he supposed could be funny considering he was a decent bit taller than you, but he knew height wasn't the issue here. No, he was shockingly at home with this feeling of being lesser, of being below you, as if this was where he was supposed to be. Perhaps he was. 

With newfound confidence, he grasped the edge of the fabric between his teeth, letting his eyes flutter shut when you carded your fingers through his hair in approval. Then he tugged. 

If you had any issue with the sound of the lace ripping, you made no effort to show it. Perhaps you actually liked it, the way he ripped the remaining clothing off of you like an animal, like a-

“Good seedling.” Ah. It seems today was the day the Watermelon Boy found out a lot of new things about himself. The shiver that tugged down his spine should have been embarrassing, and he supposed it was, with the way his ears flushed red. And with the way you cooed down at him, he guessed it had also spread down his neck and over his collarbones, too. He stared up at you with bleary eyes, and that damn hand in his hair worked its magic again. Tugging his head roughly to the side, you sneered down at him. 

“Drop it.” Yeonjun’s jaw dropped open, allowing him to roll his tongue out of his mouth to make a show of releasing the torn fabric from the confines of his mouth. Your nails scratched at his scalp in reward. “That’s a good boy. Think you can put that mouth to good use for me?”

His breathing stuttered in his chest at the thought, but just when he swooped his head down to take you into his waiting mouth, you tugged his head back once again. “No, seedling. Not there.” 

Oh. You wanted him there? Fuck, yes, he could work with that. He hurried to reposition himself, wiggling further down on the bed to nose at your thigh, urging you to spread them apart more. You made no moves to comply with him, instead opting to continue scratching at his scalp with your nails. He huffed out a breath, but the sound came out a bit closer to a growl. He dug his fingers into the plush of your thighs again, dragging them apart himself to gain better access to do what you asked of him. He preened under your answering breathless laugh, squirming at your following words. 

“Eager little thing-- nng..”

You trailed off into a whimper when he finally pressed his tongue against your rim. You were right in your observation, he was eager from the get–go. Desperate to please. He could hardly believe this was happening, that after these months of denying himself, he eventually found himself between your thighs, splitting you open on his tongue. He wasted no time doing so, pushing the muscle into you with determined licks. Only when you were beginning to squirm did he dare to push further.

Your eyes flew open when a tinger tentatively pressed alongside the wet muscle, forcing you to choke on a moan in the process. Yeonjun had the nerve to grin against your entrance, feeling rather proud of himself for drawing such pretty noises from you. 

It didn’t take much longer for you to tug at his hair again, rolling your hips down onto his tongue. It seemed that using his was loosening yours, and filth spilled from your lips. 

“I wanted you like this for so fucking long, yknow..” You were practically purring the words down at him, and if he gathered up the courage to glance up at you, he would’ve seen the way your eyes darkened upon watching him fuck you with his tongue in earnest. He was trying so hard to please you, and you knew it. It made a thrill run through him in the most delicious way. Being used. Being useful. All for you. He hummed at you in response, prompting you to continue. The added vibration drew a beautiful moan from your parted mouth. You panted in between sentences, losing grasp on your words the longer his tongue and fingers worked into you, curling just right. 

“Thought about how long it would take to get you to cave to me. How much it would take to bring you to your knees– Ah!” With the way you tossed your head back, you were a goddamn vision. Not sin like Yeonjun had been, no. You were positively angelic. Pretty pink curls framing your face, which was slack from bliss. He found the right bundle of nerves, it seemed. He grinned against your entrance as he continued rubbing his fingers against that same spot, over and over and over– Until you pulled him away forcefully by his hair. He was sure he was going to be missing at least a few strands with the rough handling, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

You caught your breath, propped up on your elbow as you stared down at him. You seemed to have many thoughts swimming around in that pretty pink head of yours, but with the way your eyes changed into something far darker, Yeonjun assumed one had won over all the rest. 

“Lay down.” The speed at which he bent to your will should be scientifically studied. He had his back pressed against the sheets in mere moments, effectively trading spots with you. You tilted your head as you straddled him, and his hands instinctively reached to find purchase on your hips. They were promptly slapped away. He whined high in his throat at the denial, though you just smiled down at him, perhaps mockingly. 

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me, seedling.” You warned, voice saccharine and dripping with an unspoken threat. Or what? His mind supplied, unhelpfully. Your expression shifted into something hard, eyes narrowed into slits at him. Oh, shit. Did he say that out loud?

 “Brat.” You spat down at him. He shivered at the sudden harshness to your voice. You reached beyond him into your nightstand, pulling something out that he couldn't quite focus on. No, you were so close to him, face so near to his own. He leaned toward you instinctively, akin to a moth and its flame. He couldn't be bothered trying to keep up with whatever you were doing, too lost in watching your pretty face settled into a focused expression, tongue poking just barely from your lips as you worked. He didn’t mind this, splayed under you as you worked, did something above him that carried no weight in his brain, until– Ah. He couldn’t move his hands. He glanced up, eyes catching on a familiar set of charms and ribbons. Cherry and watermelon. You had restrained him with the very ribbons you decorated his special jars with, adorned with your respective fruity charms. Fuck, the symbolism was not lost on Yeonjun. He gave an experimental tug, to which there was no give. His mouth ran dry. 

He was so enraptured by this change, that he was once again oblivious to whatever you were doing above him, tugging and tugging just to watch the way the ribbon dug into his wrists with fascination. That was, until he felt something decidedly too cold. His head snapped down to gaze at you, only to be rendered absolutely awestruck. You were still perched prettily on his lap, leaned back onto one hand with your other fingers working into yourself just like his were only moments ago. 

“Fuck.” Eloquent as always, yet he had nothing else to say. You looked stunning, brows pinched as you stretched yourself out for him, your own eyes, when not scrunched closed, set right on his length. You were gauging how deep it would fit in you, he figured. The thought made him shudder, the thrill settling in his stomach hot and heavy. Fuck, if he didn’t get inside you soon, he was sure he would blow his load just from watching you toy with yourself. He wasn't even aware of himself squirming on the bed, whimpering at the visage of such an angel in his lap, spreading himself open just for the Watermelon Boy to fill. His gaze flickered up to your face again, only to find you already looking at him. Oh, God.

The coldness he felt had apparently been stray drips of lube, and he followed the trail of it down the line of your wrist. God, if the visual wasn’t enough, surely the sounds were. The filthy squelching rang through the room, accompanied by your soft groans, your eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips down harder onto your own fingers. Yeonjun’s ears burned from the embarrassment of it all, but you were entirely unphased, enjoying your pleasure to the fullest with little restraint. The Watermelon Boy found himself canting his hips upward, regardless of how futile the movements were. He just wanted to be closer, wanted to touch, wanted you to finally put him out of his misery and sink down onto him– 

Perhaps you were psychic. That's the only explanation he had for tonight, especially with the way you seemed to respond to his every desire promptly without him even needing to open his mouth. Either that, or he was painfully predictable. Likely the latter. Yeonjun barely even had time to brace himself before you did exactly what he craved, and suddenly the feeling of hot, wet, too much burned through him like a brand through flesh. His senses felt like they were whiting out, nerves fraying along the edges as he pathetically writhed on the bed below you. He couldn’t move much, with his hands still tied prettily above his head and his hips held down by your hands. You were deceptively strong, he realised with a start. You kept him perfectly pinned underneath yourself, and he felt much like a butterfly with its wings pinned out. He was exposed, raw, and being forced to take–

“That’s it, seedling. Take it.” Gods above, you were answering his every prayer before he even knew to utter them. He keened, head tossed back as he struggled to even his breathing out. It wasn't until you had fully bottomed out, ass pressed to him firmly that he could do anything other than follow your command. You felt far too good, the warm temptation of your entrance proving too much to keep himself from. He rolled his hips in little circles up into you, as if he couldn’t help himself. And really, he couldn’t. You couldn’t possibly expect him to keep it together when you were sat atop his lap, looking like the perfect picture of innocence whilst speared so thoroughly on his cock that a bulge protruded from your stomach. He let his head fall back to the pillows again, forcing himself to look away from the cherry angel on his lap lest he fall off the edge too quickly. 

His ears were buzzing, unable to make out whatever filth you had leaned down to mumble in his ear. He caught bits and pieces. Praise, mainly. He caught good fucking boy and taking me so well, and fuck, you couldn’t say things like that while still expecting him to keep himself together. The second phrase made him flush a much darker red, as if he was the one getting fucked by you and not the other way around. He chanced a glance back to where you were now steadily rolling your own hips to meet his movements. No, you were entirely right. He was taking you so well, taking your teasing, your tight wet heat wrapped around him to the point he couldn’t quite tell where he ended and you began. 

He felt like he was floating, somewhere high up above himself, feeling everything you were giving to him but blissed from the rest of the world. It had narrowed to just the two of you, locked in a dance of your design. You had brought him to this, you had rendered him into this pathetic pet, made by you, for you. God, the idea was so hot. Then you picked yourself up on his lap, leaving only the tip inside of you as you hovered. You trailed a sharp nail down his chest, making his breath stutter as he looked up at you hazily. 

“You were so much easier than I expected. Just a few scones and you were a fucking goner. Pathetic, really.” Then you dropped yourself down, full weight on his lap. He cried out, the noise wet and broken. His fingernails dug into his palms, hands aching to be able to grab onto you. He desperately wanted to hold, to pin you in place on his lap as he chased his pleasure like a dog, but– Wait. What was that you said? Scones? Yeonjun blinked as the questions piled up in his brain. You continued dragging yourself up his length until only the tip remained once more.

“You didn’t think that I gave those out of the kindness of my heart, did you? God, are you that stupid? And here I thought you knew what you were asking for when you ate them like an animal.” Yeonjun’s brain swam. He wasn’t sure where you were going with this, but the dread he felt like he should be feeling just.. Wasn’t there. That fact should worry him, shouldn’t it? He should be concerned about your sinister words, but instead of making him whimper in fear, he whimpered for a whole different reason. You outright laughed at him when you felt him twitch. You slammed yourself down his length again, punching out a half-laugh-half-moan from yourself as you did so. 

“Do you know where that yummy jam came from, seedling? Or are you too stupid to put that together, too?” Your words renewed that flame in his cheeks a thousand times over. Well, when you put it like that in this context, especially while bouncing on him like this, it didn’t take much to put it all together now. Fuck, how had he managed to be so stupid? All this time, you had been dosing his treats with yourself. Making him crave you, without ever even knowing it. Jesus, you were right. He was so fucking stupid. 

But maybe he liked it like that. 

He dug his heels into the mattress below him, using the leverage to fuck himself up into you. Hard. Your eyes went wide in surprise, moan catching in your throat and coming out choked and cracked around the edges. You were so surprised, in fact, that you made no move to stop him as he pounded up into you, desperately searching for release in your heat. With a few tiny adjustments, he found what he was looking for. With a loud, throaty cry, your back arched. A grin spread on Yeonjun’s face. You didn’t have to say it, but he thought it at the very same time the words tumbled from your lips, shaky and wrecked. 

There.

Now that he knew, now that he had all your dirty little tricks in context, he couldn’t help himself now. Yes, you may be in charge, you may own him now, but he wanted something in return. Something more than revenge. 

Something sweeter.

With renewed vigor, he continued slamming home, the sound of his pelvis meeting your ass nearly drowning out the moans that bubbled from your lips uncontrollably. He had the audacity to laugh, sounding breathless to his own ears. More, more, more– 

Snap.

Hands flew down to hold your hips in place before you could even register the sound of the Watermelon Boy’s restraints being broken. Fuck yes, this was exactly what he wanted. His fingers flexed, digging into the softness of your hips hard enough to leave behind marks in the shapes of his fingertips. 

“Want it, want it, want it–” He panted, drilling into you at a speed and force that had you tumbling. He felt your subsequent near-panic, your nails scratching down the hard lines of his chest and abdomen, searching for purchase. Your wails were music to his ears, but he couldn’t stop to cherish them any longer. No, he had a goal in mind. “Give it to me, give it to me.”

And give it to him, you did. With a cry of his name, sounding like sin incarnate, he finally got what he had been wanting all along. Sweet cherry jam, sticky and red, splattering all over his chest and stomach. He watched, enraptured as your orgasm took you, cock jerking pathetically in the space between you two as your back arched into a sweet curve. Yeonjun Licked his lips. His treat would have to wait a moment longer.

The way you clenched erratically around him as you came brought him right to the brink, but what did him in was the way you lifted your head to look at him through those messy pink cherry curls, digging your finger through the mess you made, and shoving those same fingers right into his mouth. The sweet-tart flavour he had spent ages craving exploded on his tongue, and he followed soon after. 

He didn’t know what kind of face he made, didn’t know what noises and filth tumbled from those red watermelon lips of his. He was far too busy with the way he pinned your hips down flush against his own, filling you up to the brim with his watermelon cream. He watched you tremble atop him, shuddering like a leaf at the feeling, that warmth spreading through your gut. And Oh, what a pretty picture you made, now you were not only stuffed full of his cock, but that sweet cream had distended your stomach even further, a pretty bulge resting in your lower stomach. He splayed a hand over it and pushed, relishing in the way you whimpered at the sudden pressure. He felt the way you leaked around him, his own watermelon cream making a mess of the sheets below.

When he finally had the mental presence to come back to himself, he found you once again already meeting his gaze. You had a habit of doing that, he noted, but the action only serves to make his chest warm with affection, the yearning he had built up after months of dancing around his favourite sweet cherry boy. He leaned into the touch when your hand cupped his cheek, wiping the seat from his hairline. You had such a fond, blissed out smile as your cherry eyes bored into his own, and he could only melt into it. 

If the nearby residents of Strawberryland heard the absolute filth that had taken place in Cherry Jam’s house that day, they didn’t say a word. Nor did they mention it when days later, There was a pretty jar of watermelon cherry jam, adorned with ribbons and charms, sitting innocently on the windowsill.

[cayleeuhithinknott]

matt knows how much you hate to see christmas end.

the christmas tree stands in the corner of the living room, twinkling softly with its white lights and a few stray strands of tinsel that somehow ended up there after all the decorating chaos. you’re sitting on the couch, staring at it like you’re saying goodbye to an old friend. matt’s on the floor by the tree, already halfway through unboxing ornaments, carefully placing them back in their little slots.

“you know we don’t have to do this right now,” he says, glancing back at you. his voice is gentle, but there’s a teasing edge to it. “we could just leave it up forever. make it a, uh…year-round christmas tree.”

you smile faintly, hugging your knees to your chest. “don’t tempt me.”

matt smirks, turning back to the tree and plucking off a glittery snowflake ornament. “seriously, though. if it’s making you sad, we can wait a few more days.”

you shake your head. “no, it’s fine. it’s just…” you trail off, shrugging. “i don’t know. it’s stupid. christmas is over, and now everything feels kind of… boring again.”

he pauses, looking at you over his shoulder. “boring? come on, we have so much exciting stuff coming up. like, uh…” he pretends to think, tapping his chin dramatically. “laundry day. cleaning the fridge. oh, and let’s not forget the thrilling saga of returning that sweater your aunt got you.”

you laugh despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “wow, can’t wait.”

he grins, clearly pleased with himself, and turns back to the tree. “see? i’m full of great ideas.”

but as he continues taking down ornaments, you can’t help but feel a pang of sadness. the cozy glow of the tree, the scent of pine, the warmth of the holidays—it’s all disappearing too quickly. you stand up and walk over to where matt’s sitting, grabbing an ornament and turning it over in your hands. it’s one of your favorites, a little ceramic reindeer with a chipped ear.

“remember when you dropped this last year?” you ask, holding it up.

he glances at it and groans. “don’t remind me. you acted like i’d broken a family heirloom.”

“well, it’s cute,” you say, placing it gently in the box. “it deserves to be treated with care.”

“noted,” he says, shooting you a playful look. “no more reckless ornament handling.”

you smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. matt notices, of course he does, and sets down the strand of lights he’s untangling.

“hey,” he says softly, nudging your knee with his. “what’s really going on?”

you shrug, sitting down next to him. “i don’t know. i just… i love christmas. it’s my favorite time of year. and now it’s over, and everything feels kind of empty.”

he watches you for a moment, then leans over and bumps your shoulder with his. “you know, it doesn’t have to feel empty. we can keep some of the christmas magic alive.”

you raise an eyebrow at him. “oh yeah? how?”

he grins, his eyes lighting up with that mischievous sparkle you’ve come to know so well. “well, for starters, we could leave the tree half-decorated just to annoy everyone who visits.”

“matt.”

“or,” he continues, ignoring your tone, “we could eat christmas cookies every day until, like, march. just drown our post-holiday sadness in sugar.”

“matt!”

“or,” he says, turning to face you fully now, “we could just look forward to next christmas. because you know it’s going to be even better than this year. we’ll get an even bigger tree, put up even more lights, and—get this—we’ll start watching christmas movies in october. we’ll go full christmas overload.”

you laugh, finally feeling the weight in your chest start to lift. “october, huh? that’s a little extreme, even for me.”

“oh, come on,” he says, grinning. “you know you’d love it.”

you shake your head, but the smile on your face doesn’t fade. “maybe. we’ll see.”

he leans back against the couch, looking up at the tree. “besides, christmas isn’t just a day, you know? it’s a vibe. and i’m pretty sure we can keep that vibe going as long as we want.”

you glance at him, your heart softening at the way he’s trying so hard to cheer you up. “you’re such a dork,” you say, nudging him lightly.

“but i’m your dork,” he shoots back, winking.

you roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the warmth spreading through your chest. somehow, matt always knows exactly what to say to make you feel better.

together, the two of you finish packing up the ornaments, working in comfortable silence with the occasional joke or playful jab breaking the quiet. when the tree is finally bare, matt stands up and stretches, offering you a hand to help you up.

“ready to drag this thing out to the curb?” he asks, nodding toward the tree.

you sigh, but there’s a smile on your face now. “yeah, i guess so.”

as you both wrestle the tree out the door, leaving a trail of pine needles in your wake, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. christmas may be over, but with matt by your side, you know there’s plenty to look forward to—this year, next year, and every year after that.

a/n: 2 posts in one day wow! i stole @strnilolover little sparkly divider sorry!!! anyway im sad christmas is over so im projecting it onto this😍

tags: @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @claireezz10 @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222

[problemswithbooks]

So, I recently watched Helluva Boss and as always I've been prusing the tags for it on tumblr to see what other people think about the story and characters.

Something that stuck out to me is when people say Striker is a hypocrite because he hates the Royals, puts down Blitz and Fizz for being with Royals, but he, himself, works for one. Also that his pitch he gave to Blitz about teaming up to take down Royals was all a lie.

Now, I'm not going to say he's not being a bit of a hypocrite, especially given how much he hates Royals. What I will say is that I understand why Striker wouldn't see it that way (besides the fact he has a seemingly desperate need to feel superior to other imps).

Striker wants to kill Royals--that is very clear. A huge hurtle to that goal is that they are immortal. The only thing that can kill them is Angelic Steel--something that is rare and expensive. Yes, Striker is supposedly a well known assassin, but it's doubtful he'd ever make enough money to afford Angelic Weapons without taking on extremely wealthy clients. The wealthiest would be those at the top.

We don't know if Striker has worked with Royals before. If we assume Stella was the first Royal he was hired by, that makes his choice to work with her make far more sense. Particularly when we take into account who her target is--her equally Royal husband.

Unless stated otherwise later, Stella must have provided Striker with his Angelic Weapons so he could kill Stolas. She doesn't just give him a single weapon, either. She gets him a sniper rifle, pistols, a knife and a rope so he can incapacitate Stolas and take his vast magic abilities away, rendering him helpless. On top of that, she is also paying him money.

Given Stella never brings up the fact he lost the sniper rifle, or demands he return the weapons she provides, this deal he's making, although hypocritical, is only a benefit for Striker. He's getting paid to kill someone he wants to anyway, and a new arsenal that gives him the capability to kill Royals afterward.

This is why I don't think his offer to Blitz was a lie. I think what he told Blitz is his long term goal/plan, and was simply offering Blitz to join him since he found Blitz to be somewhat equal to him after Blitz did so well in the harvest games. Once they killed Stolas, got Stella's money, they would turn around and start using those funds and weapons to kill more Royals.

The reason Striker doesn't see himself as on the same level as Blitz and Fizz with their relationships with Royals is because he sees himself as using Stella, where he perceives Blitz and Fizz as being used. It's true that Blitz gets similar benefits from his relationship with Stolas (if Striker even knows about Blitz using Stolas's spell book for his business, I can't recall) but given what Striker saw of their relationship, he would see Stolas using silly pet names despite Blitz disliking it and see that as Blitz debasing himself publicly for Stolas. Yes, Stella doesn't treat him with the upmost respect, but it's over the phone, without witnesses. Nor does he give her anything in return except a dead husband--someone he would have targeted anyway.

He sees Fizz as even worse because, to him, it appears Fizz has given up his own autonomy to live a cushy lifestyle. Yes, Fizz gains many benefits from being with Ozzie, but Striker views it as letting Ozzie take advantage of him, to let Ozzie treat him like a pet (which some people do, do to some imps). He doesn't know Ozzie loves Fizz--franky I don't think he'd believe a Royal could love an imp at all anyway.

Yes, he may work for a Royal, and take her orders, but he does so to pilfer more and more Angelic Weapons from her as well as take her money, all of which I'm sure he tells himself he will later use against her and the rest of the upper class. It's a business transaction that he actually holds all the cards in. Unlike Blitz and Fizz he doesn't have to publicly debase himself to get the benefits he seeks. At least that's how he sees things.

[lovebugism]

i feel like eddie doesn’t seem himself as “hot” but obviously you do. you’re on your way to a pool party and steve’s and he walks out in just swim trunks asking if he looks okay (they were thrifted and he’s just making sure they fit correctly okay 🥹). y’all barely even make it to steve’s because you can’t get over how GOOD this man looks.

you're so real for this anon. ty for requesting :D — the one where eddie munson has no idea how pretty he is (established relationship, hurt/comfort, cw for mentions of body insecurity and allusions to smut 18+ | 1.1k)

Eddie stands in the corner of your bedroom, before the full-length mirror propped against the wall, and pokes himself once in the stomach. The pale, pudgy skin there dips under his pointer finger before bouncing back in place. He can’t stop looking at his tummy, which sits just barely over the hem of his swim trunks. 

It’s hardly noticeable. Nothing anyone else would bother looking twice at. But to him, it’s so distressingly obvious that the sight alone makes his chest ache.

“Do these look okay?” Eddie mumbles absentmindedly, not looking back at you as he runs his ringed fingers under the elastic edge of the plain black shorts. The gesture is obviously an anxious one — like, if he does it enough times, maybe he can stretch it out a bit. (It hasn’t quite worked for him yet.)

Your silence is palpable and hardly encouraging. 

Eddie looks at you over his shoulder, deep brown eyes glimmering with melted chocolate and distant worry, half-hidden behind his wild curls. He finds you lying in the middle of your bed — with your head in your palms and your feet kicked up behind you — staring right at him.

Your eyes meet. You blink hard, face burning as your glazed-over gaze regains its life once more. “Hm?” you hum, then clear your throat.

Eddie’s lips quirk faintly upward. A mere flicker of a smile at your coyness. “I asked if these looked okay.”

You look him up and down to admire his form, (which you’d been doing the entire time, in truth, only now you’ve got the go-ahead for your unabashed leering.) 

Your boy is a tower of milky white quartz — full of lanky limbs, fading tattoos, and dustings of sparse hair. As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson was carved by Michaelangelo himself. A hand-crafted sculpture lost to time who somehow wormed his way into your heart and Forest Hills trailer park alike. 

Your eyes trail from his pretty face, to his long neck, to the black widow tattooed on his collarbone. They land finally on the happy trail below his belly button that disappears into his swim shorts. 

Your breath catches in your throat. You swallow hard and try to come up with something to say as your brain short-circuits.

“Yeah. Yeah, they look— they look great, Eds,” you stammer, rising from your lounged position on the bed to sit along the edge of it. You squeeze your thighs together when a dull throbbing settles suddenly between them. “Do they fit okay?”

Eddie, unaware of your blossoming desire, turns away. He looks back at his reflection, and his eyes fall immediately to his stomach. He runs his pointer fingers under the hem of the shorts and pretends it does something. Though, it doesn’t change how much of his torso is on display just now. Or how pale his lanky legs are after being hidden all summer season.

“I think so,” he murmurs with an unconvincing waver to his voice. He shifts his weight on his bare feet and caves. “I don’t know— I think I’m just gonna change.” 

You rise from the squeaking mattress. The oversized tee you’re using as a makeshift cover-up floods your smaller form. You catch the boy’s wrist before he can reach for the clothes he left in a pile on your floor. 

“You promised you weren’t gonna wear jeans!” you protest in a playful whine.

Eddie meets your pout with a more exaggerated one — brows twisted, nose scrunched, mouth snarled.  “I know, but I hate these,” he says with a louder whine.

“I don’t want you to get heat stroke and die,” you confess, mousy and obviously sarcastic, as you fall into the boy’s bare chest. 

You wrap both arms around his waist and rest your chin on his sternum, blinking up at him with pretty, glittering eyes. You can smell the floral shampoo in his hair from here, and the musky cologne on his neck you bought for him last Christmas.

Eddie cups your cheeks with softly calloused palms. “Good to know,” he quips with a lopsided smile that he then kisses you with. The crooked grin tastes faintly of nicotine and boy — a nostalgic feeling more than a real flavor.

“I’m serious, Eds,” you tell him with a stern glint in your eyes, chin bobbing against his chest with every word. “They look great on you, okay? Cross my heart.”

His chest sparkles at the compliment. Warms so much it starts to hurt all over again. 

And it’s not that he thinks you’re lying, he just wishes he believed you more. Or that he could see himself through your eyes or something. They always get so squishy around the edges when you look at him — with an adoration he doesn’t know he deserves.

“You’d tell me if I look like an idiot, though, right?” he wonders, half-joking.

“I tell you you look like an idiot all the time,” you deadpan, equally half-joking.

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fair enough,” the boy nods with a quiet chuckle.

“But I like these. Seriously. You should wear them,” you advise firmly and step back from him. Eddie mourns the warmth of your body when only your hands reach out to touch him. “And you can blame them for making us late…”

Eddie’s brows furrow at the mischievous lilt in your voice. “We don’t have to be at Steve’s for another, like, fifteen minutes,” he insists with a breathy laugh that gets caught in his throat when your hand dips under the hem of his swim trunks. “Oh?” he hums with a crooked smile.

You nod with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. The fuzzy hair of his happy trail tickles the soft skin of your fingertips. His skin is soft and warm and inviting. Your hand starts to ache with the longing to feel him completely.

Eddie forgets how to breathe when you cup his stiffening cock in your supple palm. His eyes go heavy as his pink mouth falls softly agape. “Oh…” he repeats, deeper and more far away this time.

You grin in the face of his distant pleasure, which you seem to give him with little effort now (like a total fucking minx.) Eddie’s chest twists at the roguish twinkle in your eye. He knows he’s surely in for it now, but he doesn’t mind it. He yearns for it, really.

He only hopes that Steve won’t mind either — when the two of you show up at his place a half hour or more late, mussed with an obvious pleasure and reeking of it just the same.

[xo100]

Wrapped in warmth - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: by @misspygmypie "obv with lando and reader, she's always cold and he always makes sure she's warm (like wrapping her up in a thick jacket on a rainy race day). Maybe best friends with underlying unresolved feelings? My fav trope lol!"

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1566

୨ৎ

The cool wind swept across the paddock, carrying with it the scent of damp asphalt. It was race day, but the usual energy buzzing through the grandstands was slightly dampened by the persistent drizzle that had started in the early morning and hadn’t let up since. Grey clouds hung low in the sky, casting a muted, heavy atmosphere over the track.

-

Lando Norris pulled the hood of his McLaren jacket tighter around his face as he jogged through the garage, his eyes scanning the small crowd near the pit wall. His race engineer was calling him over to discuss some final strategy adjustments, but Lando’s attention was only half there. He was looking for her.

It was almost second nature now. Whenever he arrived at the track, the first thing on his mind—after the car, of course—was to find where she was. And today, in this cold, miserable weather, he knew she’d be huddled somewhere, trying her best to act like she wasn’t freezing. She always did. Stubborn as she was, she hated admitting she was cold, even when she clearly was.

Sure enough, there she was, standing near the edge of the garage. She had a team hat pulled low over her head, but it wasn’t doing much to shield her from the biting wind. She was dressed in a light jacket—nowhere near enough for this weather—and had her arms wrapped tightly around herself, pretending like she was fine.

Lando sighed softly. He had known her long enough to recognize when she was putting on a brave face. They had been friends for years, ever since that awkward first encounter in the paddock back when he was still in F2. She had been working as a journalist back then, tasked with interviewing young up-and-coming drivers. But what was supposed to be a quick five-minute interview had turned into an hour-long conversation full of laughter, teasing, and a connection neither of them had quite anticipated.

From that day on, they’d been nearly inseparable. She followed his career closely, attending as many races as she could, while he supported her in her work, always sneaking off to catch up with her during the busy race weekends. They were best friends—undeniably close, and yet, there was something more between them. Something unspoken, simmering just beneath the surface, but neither had dared to voice it. There was too much at stake, too much to lose if they acknowledged the feelings they both tried so hard to ignore.

Lando glanced at her again, noticing the way she subtly shivered, even as she stood chatting with a few mechanics. He grinned to himself, his protective instincts kicking in. She could act tough all she wanted, but he wasn’t going to let her freeze.

Without hesitation, he crossed the garage and approached her from behind. “You know, you’re terrible at pretending you’re not cold,” he teased, his voice soft and playful as he gently draped one of his thick McLaren jackets over her shoulders.

She jumped slightly, startled by his sudden appearance, but relaxed as soon as she realized it was him. “Lando, I’m fine,” she protested, though her fingers were already reaching up to pull the jacket tighter around her body.

“Sure you are,” he replied with a knowing smirk, ignoring her weak attempt to push it off. “It’s freezing out here, and you’re acting like we’re on a tropical beach. You could at least try to take care of yourself for once.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue further, clearly grateful for the warmth. “You’re such a worrier, you know that?”

“Only because you’re impossible,” he shot back, nudging her gently with his shoulder. “If I didn’t look after you, you’d probably turn into an icicle by now.”

Despite her efforts to appear unbothered, her heart fluttered at his words, a familiar warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the jacket he’d given her. Lando had always been like this—caring in the subtlest ways, looking out for her even when she didn’t ask for it. And she couldn’t deny how much she loved that about him, even if it made navigating her feelings for him that much harder.

“Besides,” he added with a sly grin, “I can’t have my best friend turning into a popsicle before the race. Who else is going to be there to cheer me on?”

Her stomach did that annoying flip it always seemed to do when he called her his best friend. It was a label she cherished but also hated at times like this, when his easy affection made it painfully clear that he probably saw her as nothing more than that.

“Always so selfless,” she joked, hoping her voice didn’t betray the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. “But thanks. I guess I’ll keep it—for now.”

He laughed softly, the sound bright even against the grey day. “Good. Now, come on, I’ve got to get through a strategy meeting, but after that, I’m dragging you somewhere warm until the race starts. No arguments.”

Her laugh echoed his, though her heart was still lodged somewhere in her throat. Moments like these—where his kindness felt like something more than just friendship—they were becoming harder to shake off. Every touch, every teasing comment, every concerned glance… it made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, he felt something more, too.

But then reality would set in. Lando was focused on his career, on being the best driver he could be. The last thing he needed was complications—especially not the kind that could ruin their friendship. And so, she kept her feelings tucked away, hidden behind easy smiles and sarcastic remarks, not wanting to risk what they already had.

-

As the race drew closer, the drizzle had turned into a steady downpour, and the paddock was buzzing with talk of potential rain strategies. Everyone was scrambling to adjust to the wet conditions, but despite the chaos, Lando’s mind was still on her. The image of her standing there, bundled up in his jacket, stuck with him. He couldn’t help it—making sure she was okay had always been a priority, even if he never openly admitted it.

Lando knew that his feelings for her had grown far beyond friendship. Somewhere along the line, between the races, the late-night texts, and the endless teasing, his heart had gotten involved. He had fallen for her, completely and utterly, but fear kept him from acting on it. What if she didn’t feel the same? What if he ruined everything by admitting it?

The thought scared him more than any race ever had.

And yet, there were moments—like today, when she looked at him with that mix of amusement and gratitude—where he swore she felt something too. It was in the way her gaze lingered just a little too long, or the way she unconsciously leaned into him when he was close. Maybe he was imagining it, or maybe he was just too afraid to see what was right in front of him.

-

By the time the race had ended, the rain had let up, but the cold lingered in the air. The stands were still packed with fans, despite the weather, and Lando had just finished celebrating a respectable finish. Exhausted but happy, he made his way back to the garage, peeling off his gloves as he went.

As soon as he spotted her waiting for him near the pit wall, bundled up in his oversized jacket, a sense of calm washed over him. She was talking to one of the mechanics, laughing about something, but her eyes lit up when she saw him approaching.

“Congrats,” she greeted him with a grin, her voice warm despite the cold. “You didn’t win, but hey, at least you didn’t crash in the rain, so that’s something.”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes playfully. “Always so supportive,” he teased, though he appreciated the way she could joke with him, even after a tough race.

“Someone’s got to keep your ego in check,” she shot back, the familiar banter flowing easily between them.

Lando was about to respond when he noticed the way her cheeks were still slightly flushed from the cold, despite the thick jacket she was wearing. Without thinking, he reached out, gently tugging the jacket higher on her shoulders, making sure she was as warm as possible.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice suddenly softer, as if the weight of the moment had settled between them.

Their eyes met, and for a brief second, the world around them faded away. It was just the two of them, standing in the fading light, rain still dripping off the roof of the garage. There was something unspoken in the air, something that had been building for years.

Neither of them moved, but the space between them felt charged with all the things they hadn’t said, all the emotions they had tried to bury.

“Lando, I—“ she started, but before she could finish, one of the engineers called him over, breaking the moment.

He shot her an apologetic look, but the tension between them lingered, the words unsaid hanging in the air.

“Later,” he promised, his voice low and sincere.

She nodded, watching him walk away, her heart heavy with the weight of everything they hadn’t said.

And just like that, the moment passed.

But the feelings didn’t. They never did.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; my first request! I hope you enjoyed it and that this was what you had in mind! If not let me know so I can change things! Enjoy it, love!

[whateveriwant]

I know you already did the 141 boys when their wife gives birth (which was fantastic btw) but maybe if they missed the birth because of a mission or whatever else your brilliant mind can think of!

Don't give me compliments because then I'll follow you home like a cat and you'll never get rid of me 😖

Price

(This goes for all the men, really) but he's absolutely gutted to not be with you as you're giving birth

Honestly, if he had the choice, he would've rather lobbed off his own arm than miss such a momentous occasion in both your lives

It’s nothing less than the literal fate of the world that's keeping him from you, and he makes sure to reiterate that over and over again

The only thing that gives Price a bit of peace of mind when leaving you at a time like this is knowing you have a strong support system to help you through it

And boy oh boy does he put those friends and family members to use by having them constantly text him with every update imaginable

What time your water breaks, how far apart your contractions are, how much you've dilated, so on and so on. He wants to know it all

While he has to remain focused during the bulk of the mission, when he's able to, he's whipping out his phone to scroll through the literal hundreds of messages that await him

The updates are so plentiful and detailed that if he tries hard enough, he can almost pretend like he was right there beside you all along

And once he gets to the pictures of you holding your little one for the first time, well… he's not afraid to admit that he sheds a manly tear or two at the sight

Soap

He kicked up quite the storm at work when he realized he was going to be missing the birth of his child

He did everything in his power to try to get out of the mission – to try to get back to you – but, ultimately, he had no other choice than to go

But he's not just going to go gently into the night. No, he has a few tricks up his sleeve to make it as if he's still there with you in some capacity

Like Price, Soap takes comfort in leaving you with a huge support system to help while he's away

And also similarly, he's recruiting your loved ones (more so their phones) into letting him video chat with you whenever he gets the opportunity

(Does that mean he snuck his unauthorized smartphone into the middle of a battlefield? …. Yes. Yes, he did. .……....… Don't tell Price)

You'll be in the midst of a call with him and a bullet will fly right by his head and embed itself in the wall behind him

Of course, this has you incredibly concerned, worrying over how you're distracting him when he should be focused on his mission

But he assures you there's no need to fret, dear. He's perfectly safe and everything’s completely fine

(Oh, and just disregard that sound in the background, hun. No, it wasn't a bomb. Heavens, no! It was a… a… piano falling out a window)

Gaz

Even when he's away on mission during normal circumstances, he's calling home all the time to check in with you

But given your current state, now he's checking in twice as much as he usually does

Expect a minimum of three calls a day just to ensure things are still all hunky dory on your end

It's during one of these calls that your water breaks, and as you fly into a state of panic, forgetting everything you're supposed to do, Gaz has to calmly walk you through the steps of what you'd planned

He's able to talk you down and make sure you get yourself to the hospital in one piece, but then after that call, weirdly, you don't hear from him again

It's not until several hours later when you've already delivered your child that you're awoken by the feeling of someone beside your bed

You look to see who it is and it's none other than Gaz himself – still dressed in his full gear, covered in all sorts of dirt and grime, a hushed apology pouring from his mouth

He's so sorry he couldn't get there quick enough, beautiful. He left as soon as he could once he'd pulled a few strings with Price

But you don't even care about the excuse because you're quickly enveloping him in a hug. With tears in your eyes, you assure him it's alright. He's here now, and that's all that matters to you

Ghost

When he was informed he was being shipped off to a remote location less than a month before your due date, he was livid

No phone, no radio, no communication of any kind with the outside world and he was supposed to be okay with that? He very much wasn't

The higher-ups had to really hammer home the whole “safety of the world” thing to convince Ghost to go, and even when he did, he did so grudgingly

He finds that as he sits in this shoddy shack halfway across the planet from you, all he can do is keep a mental tally of everything he’s missing

Going with you to your final check ups, helping you pack your hospital bag, holding your hand as you begin to push, etc. etc. etc.

But what about things he might not know about? What if something's gone wrong while he's been away?

He can't let himself think on it too much because he'll end up putting his fist through the drywall, and he needs at least one good hand to hold his child with when he meets them for the first time

Seven weeks, four days, and nine hours after he shipped out, Ghost is on a plane back home

He doesn't stop to talk to anyone when he touches down at base (not even to report to his superiors). He just gets into his car and books it, not letting off the gas until he's parked outside your home again

And when he finally reaches the front door, an unexpected tremor passing through him as he grabs for the handle, he closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath, and walks inside, beginning the next chapter of his life

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

please do one where they were like in a secret relationship and one day reader went live for her fans and idk maybe Tom walked in and now the secret's out. It's up to you how you go abt it. Have a nice day!!

Caught in 4k || Tom Blyth x gf!reader

A/n: Anon you read my mind.... I had this idea sitting in my drafts for quite some time!

Warnings: none!

Wc: 983

Divider by @pommecita

You stir in your sleep when you feel light kisses on your arm. "Good morning, love," He says, his morning voice making you smile as you turn around and place a kiss on his cheek, a smile adorning his lips. His arms wrap themselves around your waist as you both lay still, neither wanting to pull away from the embrace.

"I'm going to go for a shower," You say against his neck, his hands coming to your hips as he massages them. "Can I join?" His tone teasing as you consider the idea. "I fear if you do, we won't make it out of the bathroom for quite a bit," A smirk forms on his lips as you get out of bed, his hand still clinging to yours.

"I don't mind!" He calls out as you flip him off, not bothering to turn around as you shut the door behind you. After the calming shower, you wrap your body in a fluffy white towel as you squeeze out the excess water from your hair, letting it air dry.

You start to brush your teeth as you hear the bathroom door opening. Tom enters in only his boxers as he makes his way to you, arms wrapping around your towel cladded body as you lean back against him. You smile at him through the reflection you mouth frothy with the toothpaste as he smiles back at you.

You bend over to spit out the toothpaste as Tom pretends to fuck you from behind as laughs erupt from your mouth. You lean back up, slapping him across his chest as he smiles innocently at you. Going on your tippy toes, your arms loop around his neck and place a kiss on his lips, a few actually, as you both smile in between them.

"I feel like making pancakes, do you want blueberries or chocolate chips in yours?" You ask him whilst applying lip balm on your lips as he turns the shower on. "Chocolate chips please," He grins at you as give him a thumbs up and walk out picking out an outfit.

You pull back the curtains revealing dark clouds that littered across the sky of Brooklyn. You smile to yourself knowing today was going to full of cuddles and watching Harry Potter films with Tom. Walking down stairs, a thought plagued your mind.

You wanted to go live on Instagram as you felt as if it had been too long since the last time you did one. You leaned your phone up against a fruit bowl as you start the live. "Hey guys!" You smile as you watch thousands of people join in a matter of seconds.

You then continued to pull out the ingredients to make pancakes as you answer some of the questions that people asked. Tom walks down a few minutes later, wondering who you were talking to as your voice travelled upstairs.

He sees you in the kitchen, your back towards him as you talk about the weather. He decided to surprise you so he slowly walked up behind you and wraps his arms around you as you slightly jump. "Fucks sake, you scared me!" You sulked as Tom laughs, peppering the side of your face with kisses as your hands go up to his arms around your neck.

"Oh shit," You silently curse as you freeze, remembering you were still live on Instagram, "What?" He asks confused. You discreetly glance back and mentally face palm yourself as your phone was directly aimed at the two of you which meant that thousands of people witnessed it and most definitely concluded that you and Tom were together, which was very much the truth.

"I'm live on Insta," You whisper as you feel Tom physically pause as well, probably processing your words. He turns his head and makes eye contact with himself on your phone as he awkwardly chuckles. "Oh hey.." He trails off as you burst out laughing. "I'm going to go put a shirt on," Tom quickly says as he runs up stairs to get one.

You watch as comments blow up and you couldn't contain your smile. Everyone was going crazy as they flooded the comments with questions. You hear Tom walk back down, a shirt on his previously naked upper body as you hold out you hand and he takes is. "Well, guess it's out," He chuckles as the both of you read the comments.

Tom leans his hand against the counter as you rest your head on his arm. "Shit, I almost forgot the pancakes!" You panic as you go back to the stove and continue cooking the batter. You and Tom kept your relationship as private as you could, fans speculated that you were dating each other but nothing was confirmed, well until the live of course.

"How long have you two been together?" Tom reads out loud as you get plates for the two of you. "3 years now is it?" You say as Tom thinks about it, "Yeah, 4 years coming this September," he smiles. You come up beside him, resting your chin on your hands that were on the counter as you read through the comments, too immersed to notice that Tom was staring down at you with a huge smile on his face.

A comment mentioning how Tom is looking at you makes you look behind you, "What?" You shyly laugh as he says nothing, shaking his head. Tom takes over with making the pancakes and eventually they are done. "Well guys I'm going to end the live here and eat these pancakes with my wonderful boyfriend, bye!" You say as you end it.

You make eye contact with Tom as you both start laughing. He hugs you and kisses your forehead. "At least we don't have to keep hiding this in public anymore," He says as you agree with him.

[prentissluvr]

three seconds — sam winchester

for : 200+ followers event [ closed ] ➖⟢ pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : fluff ➖⟢ cw : light swearing, accidental cuddling, casual mention of marriage between sam and reader (it's just dean teasing tho lol), idiots friends to lovers, kissing, barely edited ➖⟢ wc : 1.2K prompt : sleeping in the same bed, as they’d often do, but one morning waking up cuddling

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

to be truthful, this isn’t the first time you’ve woken up with yours and sam’s limbs entangled with each other’s. it’s just far less common for his hand to be so gloriously attached to your waist or his face to be tucked all sweet and warm into your neck. your own hands are placed in his hair and on his broad shoulder blade.

waking up like this is heaven; first, in the moments before you can process exactly what is happening, and second, once you realize and can bask in the splendor of having him so intimately close and vulnerable with you. then it comes crashing down as you remember that this isn’t quite how it’s supposed to be, and that you’ll never, not for a moment, be able to get this feeling out of your head, your body.

which means every moment after you untangle yourself from him will be full of a pure, undying, taunting want, maybe even need, to have him like that again. such a feeling is a general inconvenience as one considers that sam is your best friend, that he and his brother are just about all you have, and that you’d rather die than lose them to the fact that you’re in love with him. so clearly, it’s better he never knows, it’s just that constantly thinking about cuddling with him tends to lead to you making heart eyes at him or your cheeks flushing hot when he looks at you a moment too long.

then there’s the realization that sam is still asleep, the steady rhythm of his breath tickling your neck is both comforting and terrifying all at once. what if he wakes and jerks away, uncomfortable with your proximity? should you push him away before he even realizes the position you’re in? it’s not as if sam doesn’t enjoy physical affection; he pretends he doesn’t, but you’re convinced that he’s a cuddlebug at heart. maybe that’s an overly cute way of putting it, but you can feel how much he loves hugs, how much he enjoys having his head in your lap when you get a rare movie night. you’re just worried that this is too much, too close for even him.

and yet, you’re feeling selfish, because what if you never get him like this again? so you close your eyes again and just revel in the way it feels to have the tip of his nose pressed to your neck and his forehead against your jaw. his hands on you, so steady and sure in his sleep. his hair, soft between your fingers and the muscle of his back under your palm. his leg, tucked between yours. just the weight of him, pressed against you all solid and real and almost immovable until he wakes.

you hear dean stir a few feet away and you pray he won’t be able to tell you’re not asleep. breath even and eyes still gently closed, you hear dean move about, mumbling to himself. he’s digging around in a bag, pulling something out. then you feel him move closer and you swear he’s hovering at the foot of the bed.

then you hear a click, like that of a camera shutter, and you realize dean’s taken a picture of the two of you like this. pictures of the three of you are rarer, and dean being the one to take it means it’s special. you suppose blackmail is special in its own way and beg to no one that dean didn’t hear your breath hitch as you realize this moment is now immortalized by a picture that dean’ll print out someday and shove in your faces to make fun.

then dean’s mumbling to himself again, now close and loud enough for you to make out his words. “these two,” he sighs, tone practically chastising as if he sees something glaringly obvious, but the both of you can’t seem to quite get there. “i swear, the heart eyes from across the room, the longing gazes. god, they’ll be the death of me.” 

he really, truly thinks you’re asleep. he talks like this when he doesn’t know you can hear him. though usually not about you and sam, not like this. “they’re both such idiots. idiots in love,” he laughs humorlessly to himself, then turns away, stuffing the camera back in the bag he dug it out from. “maybe i should lock them in a closet,” he considers, voice so low you can barely catch his words, “see who caves first. then they’ll probably only thank me for that or the puke-inducingly cute photo once they’re married, those ungrateful asses. kids these days.” he lets out a huff of breath as he heads to the bathroom, seemingly done with his ranting about … about what? you and sam being in love with each other? what the hell was he saying, married? you and sam? you have to hold back from letting out a lovesick sigh.

you’re so caught up turning dean’s words over in your mind that only sam’s hand lightly squeezing your side brings you back to the present. your eyes shoot open and you pull your hand out of his hair. sam parts from you, barely. how long has he been awake? you’re almost too scared to look at sam, who hasn’t even attempted to untangle himself from you. he’s still got his hand on your waist and his leg tucked between yours and your eyes catch his without you meaning to. it’s always like that; your eyes will wander until they find his face, every time. it’s habit, instinct, unavoidable.

he looks at you long, and something about his pretty eyes turned green from the morning light and the color of the sheets keeps you holding his gaze, taking him in as he does you.

when sam finally speaks, his voice is hushed, but there’s this barely contained joy to it, begging to be released. “think we should save him the trouble?” the playfulness in his voice tugs at the corner of your lips. when he sounds happy, you can’t help but feel that way.

“of?” you ask, thinking you know what he means, but wanting to be sure.

“of locking us in a closet. sounds like a bit of a hassle, if you ask me,” he smiles at you, and his words plus the sight of his dimples has got you grinning without restraint. you wonder again how long sam was awake, but completely without apprehension this time. all the two of you needed was a few playful words exchanged, and now you know. though you wouldn’t have without dean’s unwittingly overheard grumbles, so you supposed you will have to thank him after all.

“i don’t know,” you say with a false air of careful thinking, “seems like it could be fun, y’know? it’s been too long since we’ve played a good trick on dean, don’t you think?”

sam doesn’t have an answer for that because he’s been too busy staring at the way your lips move, still pulled into a smile as you talk. you take another good look at him and wonder, how in the world did i miss it? the way he looks at me?

if he doesn’t kiss you within three seconds flat, you’ll do it yourself. it takes him those three seconds exactly, and you move in such synch it’s possible that your lips meet right in the perfect middle of the barely-there space between you.

[mysicklove]

summary: Sukuna tries to teach Yuuji self-defense, but of course, he happens to forget how helpless the toddler is.

cw: mentions of death/kidnapping, reader gets called helpless

wc: 1.4k

a/n: i love them so much. its so fun to write this au!!

big brother au masterlist

When you walk into the living room, you can’t help but smile. Truly, was it a rarity to see Sukuna and Yuuji getting along nicely. Of course, Yuuji was always sweet, but Sukuna was a brat and found that hanging out with a four-year-old was not really his cup of tea. Or at least, that’s what he proclaims to you.

Yuuji throws a punch at his brother’s hand, brows furrowing in concentration. Sukuna sits on the floor, cross-legged, and in front of Yuuji, who was standing at his full height. The older sighs, “Well, that was pathetic. Harder.”

The boy nods, obviously trying to hold back a smile. He wanted to seem just as serious as Sukuna did, but it was hard for the toddler due to how smiley he always seemed to be. But he lets out a tiny huff and brings his fists up to his face. Then, he makes a little “Hii-ya!” noise and slams his fist into Sukuna’s open palm.

“Okay, this ain’t working. Fuck, how are we of the same bloodline? I was not this weak,” Sukuna complains to himself, pulling his hands down. 

You roll your eyes and step into the room. “Maybe because he is a four-year-old. Don’t think it’s his job to be strong,” You say, and Sukuna’s eyes flicker to you. A smile pulls at his lips, and the man begins to stand up from the floor to greet you. Yuuji beats him to it though, letting a high-pitched squeal in excitement before running over to you.

You grin at the noise, watching the boy waddle over to you with bright eyes. You crouch down to his level and greet him, ruffling his hair. Then you pinch at his cheeks, ignoring the whine of complaint from Yuuji. “You are way too cute to fight! Huh, no fighting for you. You just gotta stay this small forever!” You coo, peppering kisses to the boy’s cheeks and forehead. 

The boy lets out a fit of giggles and a “Noooo! Wanna be big like Kuna!”

You shake your head, a fake pout on your face. “But Sukuna isn’t cute at all,” You half-heartedly complain, sparing a glance at your lover.

He walks up to the two of you and picks up Yuuji by the back of his hood, causing the kid to squirm in the air. Sukuna pays no mind to it, instead looking toward you, who is standing back up. “Don’t lie,” He scolds, and you raise your eyebrows, “I am adorable.”

You chuckle at him, rolling your eyes, and he in return presses a quick kiss to your lips. His brother begins to whine in complaint, causing the older to roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, quit whining. I’ll put you down in a second, little pest, but you need actually to put in some effort to fight me.”

“Okay!” Yuuji exclaims, and Sukuna sighs. Yuuji was so agreeable. When Sukuna was that age, he was supposedly a brat who argued with everyone, or at least that is what he had heard. Yuuji was strangely different than him. He didn’t know if he minded it or not.

Sukuna puts the boy down and sits again on the floor. He glances at you, who is taking a seat on the couch. Your eyes seem to read, play nice. It makes Sukuna want to roll his eyes, but the kid distracts him again, his tiny hands placed on the knees of Sukuna’s sweatpants while he grins up at his brother. The little beast had no concept of personal space, and the older of the two swears he can feel his brother practically breathing on him.

Sukuna pushes the boy off, sending him falling on his backside. “Sukuna,” You warn, but he ignores you. Yuuji only frowns and gets back up again, climbing back over to the other.

“Pretend im a kidnapper,” Sukuna demands, straightening his back and moving closer, taunting the small boy. “I am a very bad man who is going to take you home with me and lock you in my–”

“Sukuna!” You interrupt before Yuuji could hear his brother’s unneeded explanation. Yuuji seemed to stare owlishly at his brother, a little nervous but mostly confused about what he was talking about.

The man grins at you and shrugs his shoulders. But he abides to your wish with a scoff. “...Do bad things to you,” He weakly finishes. “Now, defend yourself!” 

Yuuji’s hands go up into his mouth, tiny fingers playing with his lips, and he shakes his head with a giggle. “But big brother will protect me!”

Sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose, and you let out a small laugh. “I’m dead.” Yuuji’s face visibly falls. “The kidnapper killed me because you were too weak to defend yourself and save me. Now look, Y/N is all alone and helpless because of you.”

Your mouth opens in shock at the bluntness of it all. Yuujis eyes are wide, and he goes silent for a second. Then, his mouthline begins to wobble, and his eyes begin to water. “Kuna gone?”

Sukuna begins to backtrack, not wanting to deal with his brother’s tears. He stumbles toward the child, eyes wide. “It’s a hypothet–”

Yuuji’s scream sends you scrambling to your feet and over to the pair immediately. You grab Yuuji by the waste and swing him around, a huge, forced smile on your face. “And boom!” The force of it all startles the small boy, and he pauses his cries for a moment with owlish eyes while you continue to swing him around. “Y/N comes in and saves the day! And guess what, Sukuna was just sleeping!”

You place Yuuji on your side and help wipe his tears away. Only about two or three fell before you grabbed him, but still, his eyes seemed to be slightly puffy. The boy continues to sniffle, hands rubbing at his eyes. “Just sleeping?”

Before you could answer, Sukuna tears the boy from your arms. He holds him up in front of him by both of Yuuji’s underarms, causing the boy to dangle in the air. “I’m offended that you would think I would die so easily, brat.”

A smile begins to crawl up Yuuji’s face, but he shakes his head, and his voice holds a whine to it.  “Don’t. Don’t like it.”

Sukuna sighs before placing the boy on his hip. Yuuji seems to find comfort there, burying his head into his brother’s shirt. It was rare to be held by Sukuna, and Yuuji obviously wanted to soak up all the time he has up there. “Yeah, I don’t think I would like being dead either. Luckily, your brother is the strongest, so you won’t have to worry bout that, yeah?”

Yuuji nods into his brother’s side, grinning and possibly wiping snot onto Sukuna. You take this time also to add your say in the matter. “And I’m not helpless.” You glance at the man who was just remembering what he said in the moment.

“C’mon, maybe just a little?” He teases, and you step closer to the pair, fighting back a smile. But before you could retort another teasing bite, the boy interjects his opinion.

“Nuh-uh! Y/N saved us. You sleeping, Kuna!”

You fake gasp in realization of his words, and Yuuji’s eyes light up. “Oh my, you are so right, Yuuji! Don’t you think he is the helpless one?” You coax, and Yuuji seems to lean toward you at your excited tone.

He nods his head rapidly, not really knowing what he is agreeing to but just trying to mimic your actions. “Kuna helpless!”

Sukuna rolls his eyes at the two of you and pinches the boy’s cheek, looking down at his brother. “Says the one who had a whole breakdown over the word–”

“Sukuna.”

Sukuna takes a deep breath and glances at you and Yuuji’s big dark eyes. He shakes his head in defeat, “Yeah, guess I am, ain’t I?”

You crack a smile, and Yuuji squeals in delight, digging his tiny hands into his brother’s shirt. Sukuna ruffles the boy’s hair.

[capquinn]

how would quinn react to reader doing that prank about when he says “goodbye/goodnight i love you” and you don’t say “i love you” back just to mess with him

omg this guy avoids tiktok like it’s the plague so there is no doubt in my mind that he has absolutely no idea about this trend so he’d be SO confused and wouldn’t know what to do with himself except pout and stay close until he gets to the bottom as to why you hadn’t said it back 😭

Quinn’s brow furrowed the second the words left his mouth and yours didn’t follow.

“See you soon. I love you,” he had said, as casually as ever, tossing his backpack over one shoulder, leaning in for his usual goodbye kiss.

But instead of the automatic, almost musical "love you too," that always followed, there was… nothing. Just you, standing there, watching him with the faintest glimmer of mischief in your eyes. At first, he paused, waiting like you’d simply forgotten. Maybe you were distracted. Maybe you didn’t hear him. He glanced back at the door, then at you again, the crease between his brows deepening.

“You good?” he asked, his voice light but tinged with the slightest bit of uncertainty, like he wasn’t entirely sure if this was normal or if he’d just entered a parallel universe where you suddenly forgot how this whole goodbye thing worked.

“Yeah,” you said breezily, smiling just enough to make him squint.

“Okay,” he said, drawing the word out as he shifted his bag higher on his shoulder.

He moved toward the door, opening it halfway before pausing again. And you could see it — really see it now — the way his mind was spinning, trying to figure out what he’d done, if he’d done anything, and why you weren’t playing along.

He half-turned, his hand on the doorknob, giving you one last expectant look.

“You, uh…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice quieter now. “You sure everything’s okay?”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Yep.”

And that’s when the full force of Quinn’s what-the-hell-is-going-on face hit you. He didn’t look mad — not even close — but the confusion was written all over him. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again like he was about to ask a question but didn’t quite know how to phrase it. His hand fell from the door as he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You didn’t… You didn’t say it back,” he pointed out, almost cautiously, like maybe it wasn’t something you’d realised. “I said 'I love you.' You usually…” He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line as he waited for some kind of explanation, one that you weren’t giving because you were too busy pretending you had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. You tilted your head, your expression perfectly blank except for the big, wide eyes you fixed on him.

“Do I not say it enough?” he asked, softer this time, like the words came with a little sting. “Is that what this is?”

And now you felt guilty because, of course, he’d think this was some kind of message, like you were trying to make a point instead of just pulling a dumb prank for no reason other than your own entertainment.

“Quinn,” you started, the smile breaking through despite yourself.

But he cut you off, shaking his head slightly, the tiniest bit of exasperation creeping in.

“Because, like… I mean it every time. You know that, right?”

And now you couldn’t hold it in anymore. The laugh bubbled out, loud and sudden, and you reached for his hand, tugging him closer. “Oh my God, Quinn. I’m kidding. It’s a prank.”

His brow shot up. “A prank?”

“Yeah,” you said, still laughing as you slid your arms around his waist.

He huffed, but there was relief in it, his hands settling on your hips as he gave you a halfhearted glare.

“Not funny,” he muttered, though his lips were already twitching. “I was about to cancel my flight.”

“Sure you were,” you teased, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. He didn’t move, but you could feel the smallest twitch of a smile forming despite the way he was still obviously trying to stay mock-annoyed. “See? You’re too sweet. That’s why I had to mess with you.”

Quinn let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head like he was already filing this away as one of the countless pranks he’d endure over a lifetime with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice gruff but too soft to be anything but affectionate. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You couldn’t help it — you started laughing again, the sound spilling out as you tucked your face against his chest, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I love you,” you said through your laughter, your voice muffled.

His smile finally broke free, slow and warm and just so Quinn.

“I love you too,” he said, his tone soft now, steady, like those words were always going to be there no matter how much you tried to mess with him.

[willyoubemycherryy]

𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 (𝑭. 𝑻𝒊𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒂𝒓)

I’m still in love with him and he envelopes my every thought. I won’t apologize for it. Here’s my heart, it’s yours.

Contains: flirting, fleeting touches, denial of feelings, budding relationship, first meetings, mutual longing, sweet & fluffy, some sexual innuendos (this is written by me after all 0///<)

Basically a little background to how foresight reader and Fiyero met

⋆⁺₊❅.° *

⋆°. ⁺₊ ❅ . .

You were sad.

No- scratch that; you were more than just-run-of the-mill sad.

You are melancholy. Seemingly full of an almost listless longing.

That’s the first thing that came to Fiyero’s mind after finally seeing you, having caught his eye without those dark glasses of yours for the first time. That, and the fact that your face was quite fair in beauty. You had the type of beauty was best accompanied by snowfall, chilling and soft but also cozy and alluring. Large doe eyes and a constant frown on the loveliest heart-shaped he’s ever seen.

Why did you always seem so sad? Maybe he was overstepping, maybe you weren’t sad. He’d never spoken to you before thanks to your elusive nature so he probably just didn’t know you well enough to read your emotions. You were probably fine just naturally pouty, kitten-out-in-the-rain-faced.

Call it purely unbiased curiosity; his reason for going out of his way to speak to you.

Sticking with his usual method of approach, “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Disappointingly enough, I don’t think we’ve ever truly met. I’m Fiyero Tigelaar o-“, you cut him off as you finish for him.

“Of Winkie Country. Charmed.” Well, that was unexpected. The unenthusiastic sarcasm dripping from that last word giving him whiplash.

“My apologies but have we met?” The way you spoke to him as though you’d crossed paths before had him doubting himself. Even if you had, he knows for certain he’d remember you. The sound of your lilting voice brings him out of his budding internal crisis.

“Not in any future you’d remember.” Hmm. Cryptic too. He waits for you to say more but you don’t. Interesting. Most are always eager to engage conversation with him but you clearly are a girl of few words.

“I see. Are you always this…riveting?” You tilt your head to the side, ignoring his strong gaze, humming as you pretend to think.

“Depends on if you’re always so persistent.”

“Ooh la la. So, always then?” Cute. He was cute. Very.

“Mhmm. Wonderful observation by the way. You’re quite bright aren’t you?” You ask with a condescending nod of your head, false awe in your raised eyebrows.

Oh. He liked this game.

“Why yes..and I’m surprised you noticed my brightness with those dark glasses you always wear.” And for the first time in the conversation, you were speechless. Prompting him to continue,

“Why do you always wear those anyway?” You sputter for a few seconds as you try to come up with an answer that’s a more shallow version of the truth.

“B-because I need them..”

“Need them for what?

“My face, obviously.” The snark makes him smile, finding your prissiness absolutely endearing.

“But there’s nothing wrong with your face, darling.”

You will your cheeks not to warm and darken because of the way such a petname sounded from the lips of such an attractive man but it seems to not work very well from the way Fiyero smirks at you.

“How would you know what’s wrong with my face?”

“Because I’m looking right at it”, and unbeknownst to you, the two of you had moved quite close during your game of cat and mouse. Your close proximity dawns on you when you feel his warm hand brush your hair away from your face. Peering at you even closer, “and it’s exquisite.”

He-! Oz, you hated attractive people.

You lower your head, finding his direct attention overwhelming but surprisingly, allowing his closeness.

“…not my face exactly- my eyes.”

Oh your eyes, yeah. He’d noticed them.

“Besides their beauty, what about them?” Pompous, flirtatious, irritating pain in your a-

“Will you stop flirting with me?! I have foresight damnit! The glasses help dull my visions, so they’re less intense.” Oh. No wonder you looked so sad. Foresight. It was extremely rare, gracing only few in hundreds of thousands of generations. That was a heavy gift too, seeing all kinds of futures whether you could do something about them or not. Well now that he had somewhat a reason for your melancholy, he wanted now to see your smile.

“Even lovelier. It suites you. Light but full of depth.” You’re stunned into silence again because he doesn’t run for the hills at you practically being a bad omen and that he thought your gift was lovely, well suited to you.

Bashfully, you release a small hum before speaking.

“Thank you-“

“So have you seen me in your future then? I’m sure you’re in mine.”

Your eyes widen in shock before creasing as a smile breaks over your face and you suddenly start laughing. Laughing as though you hadn’t just killed him with the tinkling warm sound coming from your pretty smile. You eventually quiet to giggles but those only added to the longing Fiyero felt for you as he too felt himself smiling.

You couldn’t help it, he was cute so you should have expected the cheesy future pickup line but for some reason; be it his easygoing charming demeanor or those big eyes; it caught you off guard.

“Wow, I’ve definitely never heard that one. You’re actually a good time Fiyero”.

Oz the way his named sounded from your lips. Clearing his throat to regain some of his composure and feign as though he wasn’t already completely taken by you; he smiled, “Glad to show you one, I do aim to please.” Enjoying the way your smile widened, shaking your head with a light smack to his chest when he shot you a wink.

As he leaned more into your space, you made no room to move and neither did he. You were melancholy, yes…but you were plenty of something else too. He liked it more by the minute. Liked you.

“You know….you’re quite the treat yourself.” You scoff at that, rolling your eyes.

“I thought I told you to quit flirting with me.”

“Force of habit.”

“Oh? It’s a new condition of yours?”

“Not at all, but it’s harder to maintain with you.”

Oh. You change the subject back before you fluster too much.

“I can’t be a treat. Believe it or not, I’m not the sweetest around.” Fiyero quirks a brow at you.

“No?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was talking to you like that on purpose. All low and sweet. Ignoring the seemingly permanent warmth to your face, you awkwardly pat his broad shoulders as you move to put some space between you two before you end up putting a name to the type of growing tension you two have.

“Well, I’m off to go study and practice. Making your acquaintance was surprisingly…fun. Nice, I mean.” You’re being completely genuine and Fiyero doesn’t even try to stop the tender grin from coming. Cheeks dimpling as he looks down at you fondly.

“The pleasure is all mine”, he says warmly. Catching you off guard again as he takes your hand, bending down as he lifts it to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. Glancing up into your eyes before returning your hand to your side.

You don’t move for a second until he tilts his head with a grin, clearing his throat.

“Oh right! I need to- yes”, and then you’re hurrying off, heart pounding in your chest.

Fiyero watches you go, eager to see you again only it’s not the same as that longing he had earlier…

because he’s sure you feel the same.

[muletia]

First of all I LOVE your fics!! Thank you for feeding my delusions (like its totally normal to be obsessed with a robot)

I just keep imagining this scenario where the reader and optimus are kinda in the flirting stage, and she has to attend an office party, so after saving her ass from cons, he drops her off at the venue, and she has to change. She does that in the truck and checks herself in the mirror, and he compliments her. She then gives him a kiss on the dashboard and the hood and leaves. Ratchet notices that optimus is in a daze and asks why does he have red splotches on his face and chest (reader kissed him with red lipstick on).

What do you think his reaction would be like and if the kids notice its kiss marks

thank you <33 and dw i'm feeding my own delusions, no thoughts, head full of giant obsessed robots (let's pretend that opti knows what lipstick is for this, okay??)

word count: 730

He feels the warmth of your lips on his armor long after you’ve parted ways. You delivered your blows swiftly, yet precisely, and above all, skillfully—because Optimus cannot stop thinking about them. It was a small gesture, perhaps left by you in a rush of emotion when he directed a compliment your way, or maybe it was intentional, meant to torture him just a little, to leave a mark behind, ensuring he’d think of you constantly until your return. For him, however, the implications of your action were enormous, hinting at a quiet passion. And perhaps his fantasies seized control of him immediately, but he was convinced they meant far more than just a goodbye. They implied something else. Something closer, more intimate. Were you trying to tell him something? Prove something to him? As a leader, he needed to be certain at all times, but you were someone he could never quite figure out. How could someone so noble also torment him so much?

He drives into the base and transforms, though his thoughts remain with you—your warm lips, the boundless trust you showed him, the gentleness you displayed toward him. He vividly remembers the texture of your soft, warm lips against him. He’s even convinced they’re still there, infecting him with their heat, awakening desires he tries not to entertain. For they are unclean and unworthy of you, and, above all, unworthy of him.

"Optimus?"

But oh, how much he would give to once again be the center of your attention. For you to honor him with another kiss. It could be imprecise, unclear—it could leave him pondering its meaning for ages, as well as searching for the reason you chose to bestow it upon him in the first place. The pretext wouldn’t matter when it meant your focus was solely on him.

"Optimus?"

He returns to the real world. Ratchet greets him, clearly displeased that the leader of the Autobots was lost in thought instead of focusing on reality. In this case, Optimus is forced to push you to the back of his processor, though he is disheartened by the necessity. He wonders how long he can last—how long until you envelop him in your warmth again and he finds himself dissecting every gesture, every glance, wondering if this particular interaction was more romantic than the rest.

"My apologies, my friend. It seems I became lost in my thoughts."

"This has been happening more and more often lately. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Did something happen during your journey?"

Optimus arches a brow, surprised.

"No, I reached the base without any issues. Why do you ask?"

"This."

Ratchet points to a spot on his chassis, just beneath the left windshield, on the freshly polished red paint. Then, oh Primus, to his faceplate. Optimus doesn’t need a mirror to know what specifically the medic is pointing at. And for the first time in a very, very long time, he feels embarrassment creeping in, exposing a sliver of his emotions to the world.

He subtly turns his head and covers his mouth with his servo, for at this moment, he has no excuse for this situation.

“Ooooooh, I know what this is, I know!” Miko shouts, having been bored out of her mind just moments ago.

“Miko, calm down,” Jack scolds, noticing Optimus’s discomfort.

But Miko couldn’t care less.

“It's lipstick and the marks mean that boss bot has someone who really likes him.” She emphasizes "really" and giggles. The situation becomes even funnier as Ratchet rolls his optics.

“Ah yes, I forgot you were dropping [Name] off,” he sighs. “Just get together already, I beg of you.”

“It is not that simple,” Optimus clears his throat.

“Mhm, sure.”

Prime leaves the hangar, metaphorical tail between his legs, intent on erasing the evidence of his “crime.” He should have expected that your affections would eventually be noticed (they were, long ago), but he would have preferred for it not to happen under such humiliating circumstances.

He touches the spot Ratchet pointed to with a digit. He can still feel your lips there—their warmth, the sparks you shared with him. And if it were up to him, he would never get rid of your marks, the proof of belonging to you, of being yours alone. But the world around him was not ready for that.

[alchemistc]

Part One

Part Two

They make it past the second six months.

It's agonizing. It's wonderful. Tommy wants to scream.

"Why are you calling it your six month anniversary?" Hen asks, with a quirked brow, eyeing them both from across the twelve-top they'd scooped up (and modified under the careful scrutiny of the curmudgeonly bartender Joe) early.

Tommy's glad his hand is under the table. The nervous habit of running a thumb along the underside of his empty ring finger would be the kind of thing Hen notices.

"You don't just get a Mulligan on the first six."

It's been a year and a half since Tommy met Evan Buckley. Over, actually, since Evan had just gone a little insane instead of taking a step back to examine his feelings, at the start. It always makes Tommy wonder exactly how much he'd examined those first days with Eddie. He's heard the story, clips of it, bits and pieces scattered between everyone Evan knows, and he wonders if Evan will ever come to the conclusion that he'd had virtually the same reaction to Eddie, back at the beginning. It's settled, now. They are firm in their friendship, and any attraction that might be there isn't simmering under the surface waiting to blindside Tommy. But he wonders sometimes if Evan won't just bolt up in bed ten years from now to shake Tommy awake and tell him he'd had a crush on Eddie.

Ten years?

Christ.

If Evan ever knew how many times the future popped into his mind like a jump scare, he'd -

They're far past the deadline for annulment. At this point they're at "split the assets before you go". Can't quite talk your way out of a committed relationship six months post-marriage.

Neither one of them has brought it up, and Tommy is getting great at pretending like it's not a scythe shifting closer and closer every time the pendulum swings past him.

Evan tosses a balled up napkin at Hen and sticks out his tongue, and before she can do more than scowl there are five more people flooding through the door behind them to shout congratulations and drop into their seats to gossip.

---

Hiding it becomes a moot point. He's had it in his head this whole time that if it were to get out, it would definitely be Evan's fault.

The universe does enjoy a twist

He'd gotten a jumbled text from Evan mid-flight, and a more coherent one from Eddie when his captain asked him to turn the bird around and land, and he's a bundle of nerves as he spills through the barely open doors of the elevator and spots the rest of the 118 looking concerned off in the corner of the waiting room.

Eddie catches him first. Spots the look on his face and makes a valiant attempt to explain, to soothe his worry, but there's a nurse rounding a corner and all Tommy has gotten to this point is <Buck's being transported to Good Samaritan. He's stable but you should come.>

He's kind of an ass about it. He'll regret it later when she narrows her eyes and reminds him visiting hours have ended. He'll shoot back with the same shit he's gearing himself up for in this moment and they'll reach a detente.

"Evan Buckley. Do you have any new information?"

She eyes the flight suit he hadn't bothered to take off before booking it to his truck. Tilts her gaze behind him, to the 118, and maybe that's what does it. The idea that they're any more family than he is. "We'll inform family immediately with any updates."

Tommy can see Eddie wince out of the corner of his eye, but all he's thinking about is the hundreds of moments Evan's smile has left him breathless, all the promises they'd made each other that night with the neon lights of Vegas spurring them on.

"Seeing as I'm his husband, I'd like a full update. Now."

He regrets it the moment the words are out of his mouth. Not just because he's being a complete fucking dickhead about it, either.

The pendulum gets its first taste of blood and swings away again.

---

Evan grins at him. He's bruised and bandaged and high as a kite, and he's so fucking beautiful it nearly takes Tommy out at the knees. Thankfully he's already sitting.

Perched on a chair close enough to the bed that he's annoyed an orderly, a doctor, and two nurses, hand curled over Evan's in the bed, he's just finished confessing he can't keep a secret for shit and Evan is smiling at him.

The rest of the 118 is still waiting outside. He'd let Maddie go first, so it's likely Evan already knew this tidbit, but it doesn't hurt to be honest. Or so he's learning.

"You love me," Evan sing-songs.

Tommy sucks his lips behind his teeth to hide his grin. Blows out a breath. "So you're not upset?"

He looks - momentarily shifty. "Uh - don't be mad."

Tommy quirks a brow.

"It's - okay so you know how we have to update all our medical information every year for the insurance?" Tommy nods. Licks his lips. "Um."

The next sentence is a garbled rush. Tommy gets 'power' and 'just in case' and nothing else. "Say again?"

"I... Uh. I updated my forms."

That paperwork was due about two months after the Vegas trip.

"To... Just in case I was incapacitated, I wanted to make sure..."

"Evan," Tommy presses.

"You have, uh. Power of attorney. And you're listed as next of kin with Maddie. Just. Just in case."

It should freak the hell out of him. It should make him question everything they've been doing, with the open honesty crap, for the last eight months.

"I want a divorce," Tommy says, and then grimaces. "Shit, that's not what I - ." And Evan's grin gets wider. Like he knows. Like he understands. Like everything they've been building and breaking and rebuilding for the last almost two years has actually made him an expert at interpreting Tommy when he doesn't have the right words in the right order.

"Gonna need that ring you've got hidden in your moms music box," Evan says, and then someone is rapping impatiently at the door Tommy shut behind him as he practically shoved past Maddie to get to him. "I get to propose this time." Tommy bites back a choked laugh while half the 118 spill into the room to whisper-yell at them both.

[girllblogging777]

𝐼𝑅𝐼𝑆 — 𝑀𝐴𝑇𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑂 𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐷𝐿𝐸

↳ short mattheo riddle drabble based off the song “iris” by the goo goo dolls.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

and i’d give up forever to touch you

cause i know that you feel me somehow,

mattheo riddle never let himself feel anything other than hatred, until you came into his life. before you, he was just numb, nothing that pure rage and darkness. but with you, everything changed. he didn't need words or grand gestures, just being near you was enough to make him feel...something. it was like, for the first time, someone actually saw him. and the first time you touched him, when he let his guard down and let you in, something deep inside him shifted. you buried your face in his chest, and he froze, not knowing what to do. the only touch he’d ever known was violent and cruel, so he didn't know how to handle the soft, soothing way you held him. but once he gave in and wrapped his arms around you, he knew he’d give up everything for just one more second of this.

✩✩✩✩

you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be

and i don’t wanna go home right now

everyone else saw mattheo as nothing but trouble, like he was born bad. darkness seemed to follow him everywhere, and he figured that was just how it was supposed to be. hell had probably been his destiny from the moment he was born. but then you came along. you, with your golden heart and warm soul, gave him a taste of something pure, something he knew he didn’t deserve. somehow, he had found his way into your life, into your heart, and for the first time ever, he understood what “home” meant. he never had a real home before, no place or person to run back to. but now, you were becoming that for him. his safe place, his shelter.

✩✩✩✩

and all i can taste is this moment

and all i can breathe is your life

and sooner or later it’s over

i just don’t wanna miss you tonight

mattheo wasn’t stupid. letting you in gave him hope, but deep down, he knew the truth. no matter how much he tried, he’d never be good enough for you. the connection you shared felt like a temporary dream, something that could disappear at any second. he promised himself he wouldn’t let anyone see him weak, but you made that impossible. the closer he got to you, the more he feared what would happen when it all fell apart. that’s just how he was, doubting everything, second-guessing every feeling. because he’d always been broken, and he couldn’t imagine anyone seeing past that. but with you, he wanted to try, even if it meant risking everything. because he found himself missing you everytime you weren’t around.

✩✩✩✩

and i don’t want the world to see me

cause i don’t think that they’d understand

when everything’s made to be broken

i just want you to know who i am

mattheo never cared about what the world thought of him. everyone saw him as ruined, a lost cause. they couldn’t understand the storm inside him, the pieces that never fit together quite right. he knew he was broken, and he had grown to accept that. but you saw through the cracks, past the sharp edges, and somehow, you still wanted to know him. he didn’t want to hide from you, didn’t want to pretend to be someone he wasn’t, but he didn’t understand why you stuck with him even after seeing his dark side. for the first time, he wanted to be seen. not as the person everyone else thought he was, but as the person he really was, deep down. he just wanted you to know him, the real him, the one who was scared, vulnerable, and maybe even a little bit hopeful. because in a world full of chaos and brokenness, you made him feel like he could be someone else, just for a moment.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : i thought about this after making the moodboard the other day, iris is literally the theme song of my life and i listen to it 24/7. anyways my requests are open, please like/comment/reblog and tell me if you wanna be tagged !!!

@iris-qt @tateshifts @myunperfektstorys @yikesitslush @sp7-mr @shiftingwithmars @redeemingvillains @helendeath @larmesdevanille @fluffycookies22 @reys-letters @mattheosdior @sylviaonyx @fbvreadingblog @moonlightreader649 @jolly4holly @elsie-bells @bellatrix-lestrange5 @icantkeepmyplantsalive @dexoq

[hoesluvjude]

Future Plans || jude bellingham

Word count : 1k

Genre: fluff

Author's note:Enjoy;)

Masterlist

The couch was soft, the room dimly lit. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, a testament to the candle Jude had lit earlier. You’d spent the better part of the evening watching an old movie, but now, the TV was off, and the room was silent save for the occasional hum of traffic outside.

Jude was sprawled out comfortably, his legs stretched across the couch. You were draped over him, your head tucked under his chin, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms were wrapped around you, one hand lazily tracing circles on your back while the other rested on your hip. He always had this way of holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"You know," Jude began, a teasing edge in his voice, "I was thinking we should have ten kids."

You burst out laughing, the sound filling the quiet room. “Ten? Are you out of your mind?”

He grinned, clearly amused by your reaction. “Why not? Think about it—a whole football team! We could have family tournaments. And maybe an extra kid for the bench, just in case.”

You pushed yourself up slightly, giving him a mock-serious look. “Jude, do you have any idea how much chaos ten kids would be? The noise? The mess? The grocery bill?”

He chuckled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Okay, fine. Maybe not ten,” he said, but there was something in his tone that made you squint suspiciously at him.

“Wait,” you said slowly, “you’re not entirely joking, are you?”

Jude’s grin softened into something more thoughtful, and he shrugged, looking almost bashful. “Not really,” he admitted. “I mean, maybe not ten, but… I do love the idea of a big family. Coming home to a house full of laughter and love. Watching them grow up together, always having each other to lean on.”

You smiled at the thought, imagining a little one with Jude’s warm eyes and infectious smile. “They’d be lucky to have you as a dad,” you said softly.

He tilted your chin up with gentle fingers, his eyes locking onto yours. “And they’d be lucky to have you as a mom,” he said, his voice filled with so much conviction that it made your throat tighten.

He smiled at you, a little shy, and then tilted his head. “Okay, so maybe ten is a bit much. What about you? How many kids do you want?”

You leaned back against his chest, pretending to think. “Hmm… Two feels like a good number. But four could be fun, too. A nice mix of boys and girls, maybe.”

“Two or four?” Jude repeated, his hand resuming its gentle pattern on your back. “Okay, I could get on board with that. Two feels manageable, but four does sound kind of perfect, doesn’t it? A little pack of chaos, just enough to keep things exciting.”

You smiled at the thought, imagining a lively home filled with tiny feet running through the halls. “Yeah,” you said. “Two or four feels right. But let’s not lock anything in yet. We’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.”

Jude nodded, his expression softening as he gazed at you. “We’ll figure it all out together,” he said.

You fell into another comfortable silence, the kind that only happens when you’re with someone who feels like home. You could feel Jude’s chest rising and falling beneath you, the steady rhythm soothing in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

“So,” Jude said after a moment, his voice teasing again, “what do you think about matching family pajamas for the holidays? Too much?”

“Way too much,” you said, laughing. But even as you teased him, you couldn’t help but picture it—a future filled with warmth and love and the kind of moments you cherish forever.

“You know,” Jude said eventually, a playful lilt returning to his voice, “we could always practice.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “You’re incorrigible.”

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice softening. “I am.”

Jude’s expression turned tender again, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you always want to be.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words sink in, and snuggled closer to him. In that moment, there was nowhere else you’d rather be. Our future might still be unwritten, but with Jude by your side, you knew it was going to be beautiful.

“Do you think we’ll ever get tired of this?” you murmured, your voice muffled against his chest.

Jude chuckled, a soft, musical sound that made your heart flutter. “Tired of what? You using me as your personal pillow?”

You pinched his side lightly, and he let out a playful yelp. “I meant us, silly. Being like this. Together.”

His hand paused on your back for a moment, and then he tightened his hold on you, pulling you impossibly closer. “Never,” he said firmly. “I could spend forever like this and still not have enough of you.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, and your breath caught in your throat. The way he looked at you—like you were his entire world—was enough to make your heart feel like it was going to burst. His eyes were soft and warm, his lips curved into a small, boyish smile.

“Forever, huh?” you teased, though your voice was soft, your own smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

He nodded, his expression turning serious. “Yeah, forever. And after that, if I can.”

“What about marriage?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I think about it all the time,” he admitted. “Waking up next to you every day, calling you my wife, knowing that you’re mine and I’m yours forever. It’s... it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you buried your face in his chest to hide your smile. “You’re such a sap,” you teased, though your voice was thick with emotion.

He laughed again, the sound vibrating through you. “You love it,” he said confidently, and he wasn’t wrong.

You fell into a comfortable silence after that, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket. You could feel his fingers start tracing patterns again, this time on your arm, and it made you shiver in the best way.

[noira-l]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠

⋆ ★ '𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞' - 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

chapter summary: Megumi awkwardly asks Satoru for help with his first shave after weeks of hesitation. Despite the teasing, Satoru patiently guides him, creating an unexpected bonding moment between them.

warnings: fluff, father / son moment, slice of life, first shaving, hitting puberty, razors, a little cut (blood, just a tiny bit), teasing, Megumi is kinda awkward and Satoru is proud to be a father figure.

author's note: Oke! So! I haven't seen a fic like this anywhere (might be wrong, correct me if so), and I found the concept totally adorable and couldn't resist writing this as soon as the thought popped into my head. Hope you like interactions between them ;3

It had been a long couple of weeks for Megumi.

Every morning, he stared at the mirror, glaring at the small, stubborn patch of facial hair growing on his upper lip and chin.

At first, he tried to ignore it, thinking it might just be a phase, something that would disappear as quickly as it had appeared. But each day, it seemed to taunt him, getting thicker and darker. It was an undeniable sign that puberty, the inevitable storm he’d been trying to dodge, had arrived.

Megumi wasn’t one for asking for help, especially with personal things like this. He liked his independence, his ability to figure things out on his own.

But this?

Shaving?

This was unfamiliar territory, and though he hated to admit it, he needed guidance. He had stared at the razor his guardian had left out on the bathroom counter for a few days, feeling its weight in his hand as he practiced slow, cautious strokes in the air, too nervous to actually try it on his face. The thought of cutting himself was embarrassing enough. The last thing he needed was to walk around with a face full of tiny nicks and razor burns.

After much internal debate, he came to an uncomfortable conclusion: the only person who could help him with this was Satoru Gojo.

That realization didn’t sit well with Megumi. Of all the people to turn to, it had to be him.

Satoru was playful, unpredictable, and never missed an opportunity to tease Megumi about anything remotely personal. The idea of standing in front of a mirror with Satoru beside him, cracking jokes and treating it like some kind of bonding experience, made Megumi cringe. But, as much as he wanted to avoid it, he didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t ask Satoru, he’d have to figure it out himself - and that was a gamble Megumi wasn’t willing to take.

So, he waited.

He waited through the days when Satoru went on missions, or came home so late that he didn't manage to reach him, waited through the long silences when the house seemed even emptier without him. When Satoru was finally home at his normal evening time, Megumi knew he was out of time. He had run out of excuses.

Tonight was the night.

With a mix of reluctance and awkwardness, black haired one found himself standing outside the bathroom door, his hand hovering over it.

Inside, the sound of running water splashed against the sink. Satoru had disappeared into the bathroom minutes earlier, likely getting ready for bed after a long day. Megumi shifted on his feet, internally debating whether to knock or to just turn around and pretend like none of this mattered.

But the patchy mustache on his face wouldn’t let him ignore reality any longer.

He raised his hand to knock, hesitated, then finally let out a quiet tap against the door, barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of water. For a brief second, Megumi hoped maybe Satoru hadn’t heard it, and he could walk away. Maybe he could figure this out some other time, when it didn’t feel quite so embarrassing.

The hope didn’t last long.

There was a pause before the door swung open.

Satoru stood there, relaxed as usual, with a long shirt on and a towel slung over his shoulder. His white hair was still damp from the shower, with a few strands falling sloppily across his forehead. A small smile appeared on his face when he saw Megumi standing with her hands clumsily folded, trying to look indifferent.

"Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite brooding teenager." Satoru greeted, leaning casually against the doorframe, he mischief in his voice unmistakable "What’s up?"

Megumi shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the floor before looking up at Satoru with a faint scowl.

"I, uh… I need your help with something."

Satoru raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued "My help? With what exactly?" his grin widened as if sensing the awkwardness radiating off the kid "Come on, spill it. What’s the big deal?"

Eyes lowered to the floor, a faint scowl replacing any response. Megumi let out a frustrated breath, clearly uncomfortable "I… I need to learn how to shave."

For a second, there was silence. Then, predictably, Satoru's grin morphed into a wide, amused smile.

"Oh, this is amazing." he said, unable to contain his laughter "You, Megumi Fushiguro, the kid who broods his way through everything, needs my help with shaving? Oh, this is great. Really great."

Megumi rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest "I knew this was a mistake." he grumbled, turning as if to walk away "Forget it, I’ll figure it out myself."

But before Megumi could take a step, Satoru reached out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back toward the bathroom.

"No, no, wait, don’t be like that. I’m just messing with you!" he said, though the smirk hadn’t left his face "Come on, let’s do this. It'll be fun."

Megumi frowned, but he didn’t resist as Satoru ushered him into the bathroom.

The space was bright and the counter was cluttered with Satoru's various personal care products, though half of them looked like they hadn't been touched in months. The smell of shower gel was in the air. The older one crossed his arms, looking far too pleased with himself as he eyed the younger one’s face with exaggerated seriousness.

"Alright, kiddo, let’s start by taking a look." the older said with exaggerated seriousness, leaning in to inspect Megumi's face "Ah yes, a fine crop of peach fuzz, right here." he teased, poking lightly at his upper lip.

Fushiguro scowled, batting his hand away "It’s not that bad."

"Relax, it’s a rite of passage." Gojo replied, turning to rummage through the cabinet "Ah, here we go! Shaving cream, razor, aftershave… hmm, now do I trust you with a razor, or do I need to call in a professional?"

"Just get on with it." Megumi glared at him, exasperated.

Satoru chuckled, but didn’t push it further. He grabbed one of many razors in a multipack from the cabinet and handed it to Fushiguro with a grin.

Black haired stood in front of the bathroom mirror, now smeared with a bit of condensation from Gojo's recent shower. The weight of the razor in his hand felt strangely significant, like it was a test of maturity that he wasn’t quite ready for.

Awkwardness lingered, thick and undeniable. Satoru stood beside him, fiddling with his own razor as if this were a casual activity they did every day, his usual playful smirk tugging at his lips.

"So! Just like there are many cursed techniques..." he began, his voice dramatic "... there are also many techniques for shaving. Some are more efficient than others, but today, I’m going to reveal to you my own secret shaving technique."

He turned the faucet on, letting the water warm up before grabbing a washcloth and handing it to Megumi "Okay, first, wet your face with warm water. Opens up the pores or whatever."

He followed Satoru’s instructions, wetting his face, though he still looked like he wasn’t entirely convinced this was necessary.

White haired one then shook the can of shaving cream dramatically before squeezed some into his palm and handing it to kid next to him "Now, the magic foam. Lather it up."

Fushiguro did as he was told, applying shaving cream to his face while Satoru stood beside him, doing exactly the same thing as he did.

"Don’t go too heavy. Just enough to cover your face, but not so much that you can’t see what you’re doing." he spread the foam evenly across his own face, demonstrating as he spoke "See? A nice, thin layer. You wanna feel the razor, not get lost in a mountain of foam."

He felt so awkward, like he was painting his face, but Gojo was watching him with a surprising amount of patience.

"Not bad, not bad." Satoru said, nodding approvingly "But don’t forget the neck, unless you’re planning on walking around with half your face looking clean and the other half looking like a scruffy mess."

"Can you be serious for once?" Megumi muttered, focusing on spreading the cream evenly to his neck as well, trying to remember all the steps Satoru had demonstrated earlier.

Satoru just grinned wider.

"Where’s the fun in that? Alright, now for the tricky part. The razor. You wanna go with the grain, not against it, or else you’ll end up with cuts and looking like you’ve been attacked by an army of tiny knives. That's funny, I had a situation like that in real life!"

Gojo demonstrated by making movements in the air, not yet applying a piece of plastic to his face. Megumi tried to feel with his hand how he should turn the tool, so that it would go as smoothly as the older one next to him.

"Always go slow. If you rush, you’ll look like you’ve been in a fight with a cat and lost. Here’s the trick." Satoru said, lifting the razor and positioning it carefully against his neck.

"Start with the neck. It’s the easiest place to mess up, but also the easiest place to correct." Satoru explained, his tone suddenly more serious, as though he was giving instructions for something far more important than shaving "Just avoid too much pressure on Adam's apple and move slowly."

Megumi watched intently as Gojo carefully and precisely glided the razor down his neck, avoiding the sensitive area with practiced ease. Fushiguro, feeling a little more confident, brought the razor up to his own neck and mimicked the movements.

"Like this?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concentration as he worked alongside the white haired one, both of them standing side by side in front of the mirror.

"Exactly. Nice and steady." Satoru said, casting a sidelong glance at the younger one "Not bad, kid. Now, once you’ve got the neck down, you can move on to more complicated terrain." he watched as Megumi did a few strokes across his neck, he waited patiently for him to finish.

Satoru finished shaving his neck with ease "Don’t forget to rinse the blade after a couple of strokes." he did just that, risning the razor in boiling hot water. Then turned his attention to his chin. He lifted the razor, positioning it just below his lower lip.

"Now we move on to the chin. Gotta be careful here too, or you’ll end up looking like you lost a fight to a particularly angry porcupine."

Fushiguro followed suit, doing his best to replicate the careful movements his guardian was demonstrating. The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, both razor-clad hands gliding across their skin.

It felt oddly… normal. Like this was something they did all the time, though it was far from their usual interactions.

"You know, I wasn’t really blessed with much facial hair. Genetics didn’t think I needed a full beard to complement my already perfect looks. But who knows, Megumi - you might end up with more to shave than I do."

Fushiguro huffed, concentrating on his strokes "Yeah, lucky me."

Satoru’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he continued to shave "Maybe you’ll be able to pull off that rugged look, huh? The ladies love that. But me, well, everything went into my other attributes." he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Can you just focus?" he nearly nicked himself.

Gojo chuckled "That’s what I should told you, you need to stay focused. Look at that - you’re getting distracted."

Black haired one glanced down and saw that he’d missed a spot on his chin. He muttered something under his breath, but quickly corrected his mistake, his movements now a little more cautious.

Gojo finished faster than him, completely avoiding the cheek area, as he mentioned he had absolutely nothing to shave there, so he washed his face straight away, wiping it with a towel.

Fushiguro, on the other hand, had a few randomly distributed hairs in different areas that he managed to shave off quickly, starting to catch on to how he should direct the blade to get the best effect.

"You know..." his guardian said, leaning against the counter "... you’ll be doing this more and more. Puberty’s a relentless thing. Before you know it, you’ll be shaving almost every day."

Megumi sighed "Great. Just what I wanted."

He was almost finished, but just as he reached a particularly tricky spot, the razor snagged slightly, catching on his skin. He stuttered in his movement, flinching slightly as the blade nicked him.

"Hold up." Satoru said immediately, catching the motion out of the corner of his eye "I told you. You’re not fighting a curse here, no need to rush."

Megumi frowned, frustrated with himself, dabbing at the small cut "Yeah, yeah. I’m fine."

Gojo gave him a knowing smile, though it was softer this time "Just a small nick, no big deal. Happens to everyone the first time."

"Even you?" Fushiguro asked, though there was a hint of skepticism in his tone.

"Especially me. You should’ve seen my first shave. Looked like I went head-to-head with a blender." a wide grin appeared on the pale face.

"I doubt that."

The last bit of cream disappeared from the young teenager's face. He turned on the tap and rinsed off the rest of the little white lines that remained on his face. The towel absorbed the drops of water that ran down his neck.

He glanced at himself in the mirror. Instantly better. Although he reproached himself for the little scratch, Megumi was genuinely pleased with the effect he had achieved. Finally he wouldn't have to be embarrassed at school about how he looked.

Satoru, standing beside him, seemed far too proud.

"Look at that! Clean as a whistle." he said, examining his face with exaggerated approval "Not bad for your first time. But we’re not done yet."

"Huh? What now?" Fushiguro groaned internally, shooting his guardian a sideways glance.

He didn't understand a bit, after all he had just finished, what does this annoying type still want from him? It's enough that he feels stupid sitting here with him anyway, asking him for help.

"The grand finale." Satoru announced, picking up a small bottle of aftershave from the counter. He wiggled the bottle in front of the teen's face like it was some kind of treasure "Aftershave cream!"

"What’s it for?"

Gojo uncapped the bottle, squeezing a small dollop of the aftershave cream onto his palm "It’s for soothing the skin after you’ve shaved, kid. Makes sure you don’t end up with razor burn. Plus, it smells nice - very sophisticated, like you’re someone important."

Megumi raised an eyebrow, unconvinced "You sure it’s not just another way for you to mess with me?"

Satoru gave a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "You wound me, Megumi. This is the real deal. You’ll thank me later."

He rubbed the aftershave cream between his hands and then gently applied it to his own face, patting it onto his freshly shaven skin with practiced ease.

"You don’t need too much, just a little to cover the areas you shaved. Trust me, it’s important. Otherwise, your face will feel like it’s on fire later."

Fushiguro eyed the bottle warily but took it from Gojo’s hand. He squeezed a small amount into his palm, hesitating for a moment before rubbing it between his hands and awkwardly patting it onto his face like the older one had done.

"Don't rub it in like you're washing your face." the older one said, grinning as he observed his technique "Just tap it on. Light touch. Gotta treat your skin like it's worth something."

Megumi muttered something under his breath, but adjusted his approach, patting the aftershave onto his cheeks and chin. The cooling sensation spread across his skin, soothing the slight irritation left from the razor.

"See?" Satoru said, giving a nod of approval "Nice and smooth. And now you smell like a responsible young adult."

"It’s... strong." black haired couldn’t help, but wrinkle his nose at the scent

White haired laughed, clapping Megumi on the shoulder.

"Yeah, but it fades pretty quickly. Besides, it’s part of the process. Get used to it - you’ll be doing this more and more."

Megumi wiped his hands on a towel, his face still tingling slightly from the aftershave. He looked in the mirror, taking in the results of his first proper shave. He looked good, like his normal self he was used to.

Satoru stood beside him, admiring his own reflection with a satisfied grin.

"Now you’re officially a man. Or at least, a step closer to it."

There was no respond to that, just flicker in younger eyes, as if he realised something.

Satoru grabbed the aftershave bottle and put it back on the counter, then turned to Megumi with a grin.

"Next time, we’ll get into the more advanced stuff. Maybe I’ll even teach you about beard shaping."

"I’m never growing a beard." Fushiguro shot him a flat look.

Gojo chuckled in respond.

"That’s what they all say. Just wait until it sneaks up on you."

The teen shook his head, already done with the conversation, but despite himself, he felt a small sense of relief. This whole shaving thing wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be, and Satoru - teasing aside - had actually been helpful. Weirdly enough, it was kind of nice having him around for things like this.

"Alright, shaving master..." Satoru said, throwing his arm around his shoulders as they left the bathroom "...let’s go show off that baby face to the world. And remember, every time you shave, think of it as another step toward adulthood."

"Pretty sure it’s just a step toward more chores." he snorted in respond.

Gojo grinned "Exactly! You’re getting it."

Megumi, now freshly shaved stood at the door of his bedroom, watching as his guardian stretch his arms above his head with a satisfied grin.

"Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?" Satoru asked, still clearly pleased with himself as he prepared to head to your shared bedroom.

Fushiguro shifted his weight from foot to foot, his eyes flicking down to the floor as he cleared his throat.

"Yeah, it was… fine." he muttered, glancing up briefly before looking away again.

There was a pause, then he added, barely audible "Thanks for the help."

Satoru turned toward him, his grin softening into something more genuine. He walked over to Megumi and gave him a playful pat on the shoulder, though his tone had a rare warmth to it "Anytime, kid. And hey - don't be embarrassed. You did good."

Megumi's face flushed slightly, and he gave a small nod before opening the door "Good night, Gojo."

Satoru smirked, watching him go.

"Good night, Megumi." he called after him, amusement dancing in his voice.

As Satoru lay back on the bed, a quiet sense of softness washed over him.

He hadn’t expected Megumi asking for help with something as simple as shaving to hit him like this. For all the teasing and playful banter, there was something deeper - Megumi was growing up and Satoru felt like he was more than just a protector, guardian or teacher.

He was part of that growth.

And he couldn't be more proud.

© noira-l 2024 | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or redistirbute my work without permission

tl: @kalopsia-flaneur