#mostly because there needs to be apologies on both ends

[otakuashels]

Satin Secrets

Prompt Request by @opulentshits

Here you go dear! I hope this is what you envisioned!

Prompt: Emmrich helping soothe Rook’s stiff left wrist not long after they started their romance. It’s late at night, both of them are relaxing on Emmrich’s bed before they go to sleep and he’s just massaging their wrist but accidentally let’s slip that he would be willing to do this forever for Rook. Little bit of angst maybe because Emmrich gets insecure but it ends well because Rook is fine with his confession and very happy.

The fade was quiet, calm even, the exact opposite of all tales told by templar and circle mages alike. Certainly it could be a tankerous space but not right now. Not amidst the  swell of cinnamon and sugar sweets accompanying the spiced caress of cardamom and nutmeg tea. Two steaming cups of tea next to a slice of cinnamon cake left half eaten on a plate.  A kiss of comfort as Rook lay sprawled across plum satin sheets, dozing slightly, licking a whisper of maple from the thumb of her free hand. Eyes sliding to her left she observed sleepily as Emmrich paid diligent attention to her left wrist. Emmrichs detail to attention had caught increased stiffness of her left wrist once more. It truly had not taken any real prodding on his end. An evening of quiet found them sequestered in the comforting privacy of his room.

The gold spectacles Emmrich wore while he read small handwriting and detailed work sat perched low on his nose. He lay on his right side beside her, propped on one elbow, his gaze focused not on her face but on the delicate structure of her forearm. His long fingers, skilled, learned, unmistakably sure moved with a quiet precision, tracing the muscle groups beneath her skin as though reading braille in the shape of her pain.

His thumb pressed gently along the inner line of her forearm, just below the bend of her elbow, seeking out tension like a craftsman testing for cracks in fine wood. When he found a knot of stiffness, he paused, applied just enough pressure to coax it loose, and moved on. Each movement was deliberate, methodical, done with the kind of reverence born from both knowledge and care.

She watched the way his fingers shifted, pressing, rotating, sweeping in small arcs toward her wrist. His palm supported the underside of her arm, stabilizing it with a tenderness that made her breath catch. As he reached the joint, his touch lightened, adjusting the angle with a soft lift, careful not to jolt or pull. He tested the rotation, the range of movement, the way one might test the hinges of a finely made door, not just for function, but for ease, for grace.

“You’ve been overcompensating,” he murmured, mostly to himself, as his thumb circled the tendons just below her palm. “This spot’s overworked. Probably from how you’ve been holding your blade.”

There was no judgment in his tone, only observation, only care.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

Her breathing slowed, almost imperceptibly, as the tension in her arm began to ease beneath his careful touch. Her fingers, which had been curled slightly toward her palm in unconscious defense, slowly unfurled, one by one, like petals relaxing into sunlight. A small exhale escaped her lips, soft and unguarded, as if her body had decided on its own to trust him. Her eyes stayed half-lidded, not closed, but drifting, focused somewhere far beyond the rafters above them, her thoughts suspended in the rhythm of his hands.

When his thumb found a particularly tender spot just beneath the swell of her wrist, she didn’t flinch. But he felt the way her hand twitched, the way her shoulder gave the barest shift, as though something inside her had momentarily pulled away, then, just as quickly, settled again. Leaned in. He didn’t comment. He only adjusted the pressure, easing his fingers back with a silent apology wrapped in motion. And she answered without words, by staying still, by letting him continue.

By letting him in. A sleepy smile remained on her lips as she watched. “You know, I don’t ever know what I did before you. I feel like I am becoming quite spoiled.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Emmrich looked up at her with a gentle expression “That is a better outcome than I could have hoped for.” His words were sincere, a smile responding to her soft laugh. He took in the image of Rook lounging amongst his sheets, his duvet creating a tumble of comfort around her. 

“Honestly, what am I going to do in the future?” her left cheek pressed into the pillow as she turned her head to face him more fully. 

“I would offer this service forever if you’d let me, permanently at your beck and call.” The words slipped free from Emmrichs lips before his thoughts could scan them. He froze, and the tension cut like a knife through the comfort.  

Rook's heart plummeted as she watched the panic sour Emmrichs features. His eyes darted around the room like a horse shifting behind the starting gate. “I-well,” his jaw clenched as he, out of character, fumbled desperately for words. “Well, I, that was terribly forward of me, I apologize, that was uncalled for.”

“Emmrich?’ Rook asked softly, all traces of sleep disappearing “What's wrong? Why are you so distressed?” she sat up, pulling her hand from his fingers which now started to tremble. Alarm bells ringing in her mind.

Emmrich sat up as well looking everywhere but at her.Emmrich sat up as well, spine taut like a wire drawn too tight. His hands braced against his knees, fingers clenching into white-knuckled fists. Still, he couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t bear to.

“It was a stupid thing to say,” he said quietly, too quietly, his voice splintering at the edges. “It wasn’t fair to you. I do this. I always do this. Say too much, feel too much, too soon, and then people… people look at me like I’ve grown an extra head, or like I’ve dropped them in a cage and locked the door.” His shoulders hunched further, folding in on himself like he could make the weight in his chest smaller just by compressing his body.

“I just” He laughed, but it was hollow, guttural, painful. “I can’t ever seem to pace myself like others. I don’t know how to just... drift. Float. Be casual.” He spat the word like it burned. “And the worst part is I know it. I see the look when it starts to go wrong. That flicker of discomfort. That moment they realize they didn’t sign up for someone like me. So I try not to say anything, not to be anything” hands trembling.

He finally turned his face toward her, eyes shining and broken glass with just one too many cracks. “But it still slips out. Like tonight. I open my mouth, and everything ruins itself.”

Rook didn’t speak yet, but he could feel the silence around her, searching.

“I don’t expect you to stay,” he said, almost too fast, a frantic whisper. “I wouldn’t blame you if you left right now. I mean, who says things like that? ‘Permanently at your beck and call’? Gods, I sound obsessed.” He swallowed, hard. “You deserve someone who’s not this... heavy. Not this desperate to be kept.”

He laughed again, shorter this time, bitterer. “It’s pathetic. I am pathetic.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face, harsh and self-punishing. “I’m sorry. You don’t need this. You didn’t ask for this. I just, fuck, I can’t shut it off. I try so hard and it’s never enough. I just wanted” his voice cracked. “I just wanted to matter.”

Emmrich's breath hitched as he tried to rein himself in, but the flood had already started. The dam had broken and now everything, everything he’d tried to keep buried was rising, black and choking, from the pit of his stomach.

“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” he whispered, his voice gone hoarse with self-loathing. “I felt it coming, and I still let it happen. Like a fucking child who can’t control himself. Like if I just give enough, offer enough, love enough” He cut himself off, teeth clenching so hard the muscle in his jaw twitched.

“But it’s always the same, isn’t it?” he breathed, hands now trembling violently in his lap. “I get carried away, and then they leave. Every time. And every time I think maybe if I’m just... less. Quieter. Easier to hold without it hurting. Maybe then someone’ll stay.”

His face twisted as he laughed again, sharp, wet, ugly. “But I can’t. I don’t know how to be less. I feel like my chest is like a wildfire, burning me from the inside out, and everyone else is just... lukewarm. Like they’ve figured out how to keep it all manageable, but II fucking scorch. And people don’t want to burn, Rook.”

His name for her was so soft it almost broke, almost an apology in itself.

“I see it happening every time. The moment they realize I want too much. That I’d die for them and it’s only been a few weeks. That I can’t sleep unless I know they’re safe. That I memorize the way they breathe just in case I need to recognize it in the dark. I see them recoil when they realize how deep it goes for me, how fast.” His voice cracked again, and this time the tears reached the surface.

“I swear I try to hide it, to hold back, but it spills out of me anyway. Like it did just now. And I know you heard it. I know you felt it. The weight of it. The need.” His chest rose and fell with shallow, frantic breaths. “It’s too much. I’m too much. You’re going to realize it any second now, and I just”

He clenched his fists again, so hard his knuckles went bloodless. “I don’t think I can survive it. Not again. I can’t do it again, Rook.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, and there was something in it, something so small and fragile it was barely human.

“I’d rather rip it out of me than watch it chase you away.”

His hands had gone slack, limp in his lap, like even they had given up trying to hold him together. His breath shook with every inhale now, pulled through clenched teeth like each one cost him something. His shoulders trembled.

“You’re not saying anything,” he said, barely audible. “That’s... that’s usually when it happens. That silence, like they’re just realizing what they’ve gotten into. That look of guilt, or pity. Or both.”

He finally looked at her, and it was a terrible thing, the kind of look that didn’t beg so much as brace for the hit. Eyes red-rimmed and shining with unshed grief he hadn’t earned yet but had already accepted. “I know what I am,” he said. “I know how I come off. Intense. Needy. Like I can’t exist unless someone’s there to anchor me.” He laughed, dry and sharp. “And the worst part is, I try not to be. I stay up at night going over every word I said, wondering if it was too much. Rehearsing what not to say the next day. Telling myself to be cooler, simpler, more normal.”

His voice dropped, ragged. “But then someone’s kind. Someone’s kind, and I forget. And it spills out. I start building a life around their presence before they’ve even decided to stay.”

He looked away again, eyes locked on some far point beyond the walls, as if he could disappear into it. “I don’t mean to. It’s not manipulation. It’s not a game. I, just my brain starts imagining little things. How their mornings look. How they liked their tea prepared. Their favorite bath salts. What they might need without asking. How to make the hard days easier. How I could fit myself around the edges of them like I’m meant to be there.”

He let out a slow, shaky breath, like it hurt just to admit it.

“It’s not about possession or control. It’s about devotion. It's about doing everything I can to be something good for someone. And I know it’s terrifying. I know it’s overwhelming. People don’t want someone who gets consumed like that. They want space. Mystery. Balance.”

He laughed again, this time softer, but no less bitter. “And I’m not balanced, Rook. I never have been. I don’t know how to do anything halfway.” He went quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely there. “And if that’s too much for you... I’ll understand. Just tell me now. Please. Don't make me wait for the slow fade. Don’t make me watch you unlearn the way you looked at me.”

The silence hung there for a moment. Not cold, not cruel but unbearable all the same. Emmrich sat in it, breathing like he’d run a mile through smoke, chest heaving, hands trembling. Then something shifted.

His eyes flicked up and caught the softness in Rook’s face, the stunned stillness that hadn’t yet turned away from him and it hit him. All at once. Like waking from a fever and finding himself naked in the street. “Oh Maker,” he whispered, voice flat and horrified. “What did I just do?” His whole body went rigid. His hands flew to his face like he could hide the words he'd thrown out into the air, like he could scrape them back out of existence.

“Shit. No,no, no, that’s not” He stood abruptly, as if the floor beneath him had burned him, stumbling back a step like he could outrun the moment. His palms pressed into his temples, hair gripped tight between his fingers. “I didn’t mean to say all that. I didn’t. Rook, I wasn’t trying to trap you in that mess, I wasn’t trying to dump all of that on you, I just,fuck.” he swore for the third time that evening.

His voice broke again, but this time not from grief. From shame. Raw and sour and clinging. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” His hands dropped, limp at his sides. “I talk like I’ve swallowed some goddamn tragic monologue and I can’t stop. I don’t know how to shut up when it matters. You were just trying to care and I turned it into some humiliating therapy session.”

He turned away from her fully, facing the far wall like it could absolve him. “That wasn’t fair to you. Any of it. You didn’t ask for my history or my hurricane of feelings or whatever the hell that was.” His throat bobbed. “And now I’ve made things weird. Great. Perfect. Textbook Emmrich.”

He wrapped his arms around himself, tight, like he was trying to disappear into his own ribs. “I ruined it, didn’t I? You were... you were looking at me like I was something good. And now I’m just... pathetic.”

Rook sat in silence as Emmrich spoke, patiently waiting. When he finally paused, she asked evenly, “Do I get to say something? Decide my own feelings? Or shall I let you decide them for me?”

She watched as his mouth opened, then closed again more than once before rising to her feet. Standing on his bed, she gained just enough height to look down at him. Her hands found the edges of his jaw, cradling his face like bookends on an invisible shelf. Not that he owned any. If he crammed one more volume onto the shelves downstairs, she was sure they’d collapse under the strain.

Her gaze locked onto his, steady and searching, like peering through a scrying glass, hunting for answers just out of mortal reach.

“Do I look like I’m running? Have I packed my clothes, my socks, my boots, and fled like a startled halla? Is my lip trembling like a child caught sneaking sweets before supper? Or like a little one crying for papa to banish the monsters beneath her bed? Have I flinched from your touch like someone burned by a too-hot supper plate? Or like someone who just tasted soured milk? Do you see any of that?”

Her voice was quiet but clear, her eyes still searching his face. And he was smart enough to know she wasn’t looking for an answer. She didn’t drop her hands. If anything, her grip softened, thumbs brushing just beneath his cheekbones in a slow, steady rhythm. The kind of touch meant to anchor, not to sway.

“You’re allowed to be afraid,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I am, too. Sometimes.” Her mouth tilted into something like an amused smile, but sincere. “But fear isn’t the same as regret. And I don’t regret this. Not you.” She leaned in just enough for her forehead to rest against his, the contact featherlight. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. Not your worth, not your past. I’m here because I chose to be. And I’ll stay... because I keep choosing you.”

She drew back, only slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes again. “So stop looking at me like I’m a story you’re bracing to watch end badly. I’m not a tragic chapter, Emmrich. I’m still writing this with you.” Rook stayed close, her fingers easing from his face only to fall to her sides, reluctant but measured. The air between them shifted still charged, but quieter now, like the hush of snow beginning to fall. She stepped down from the bed, her bare feet whispering against the floorboards as she moved past him, not away but just enough to breathe.

“I know you carry the worst-case endings in your pocket,” she said over her shoulder, gaze trailing over the balcony sticking out into the Fade.“Like stones. Like they’ll weigh you down just enough to keep you grounded. But careful that they don’t drown you beneath the water” She turned back to him, arms crossing loosely, not as a shield but a pause like punctuation between thoughts. “But I’m not here to be another one of those. Another weight.”

A moment passed. Two.

“I can’t promise I won’t get angry, or that I won’t say the wrong thing now and then. But I will stay when it matters. Even if that looks quiet. Even if I have to remind you more than once.” She met his eyes againsteady, warm, but never demanding. “You don’t have to hold your breath around me.”

For a heartbeat, Emmrich didn’t move. Just stood there, watching her like she was sunlight filtering through a storm he hadn’t realized he’d been walking through for years.Then, slowly, deliberately he stepped forward. No rush, no sudden motion, just a quiet gravity that pulled him toward her. His hand found her wrist first, gentle as if afraid she’d vanish. Then higher, fingers brushing the inside of her arm until his palm settled against her shoulder. His other hand came to rest at her waist, grounding them both.

Rook didn’t move away. She didn’t speak.

When he kissed her, it wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t claiming. It was careful. Like he was learning the shape of something sacred. Like he didn’t want to shatter it by wanting too much too fast. And she met him there, in that quiet kind of closeness. Her hand found the fabric at the front of his shirt and held on, not to pull him closer, but to keep herself from floating too far away.

It wasn’t a kiss that asked questions. It was a kiss that answered them.

Pulling back slightly and looking over her face Emmrich’s hand, warm and steady, lingered at her waist, fingers curling ever so slightly as if testing the reality of her, of this moment. His thumb brushed against the fabric of her shirt, catching the soft rise and fall of her breath. She felt it all in the narrowing space between them: the quiet tension, the unsaid things humming like a wire strung too tight.

Then he leaned in once more.

Not with urgency, but with reverence. His lips found hers with the gentleness of first snowfall, cool, slow, deliberate. The contact was barely there at first, a question asked in the language of touch. His breath mingled with hers, carrying the faintest trace of brown sugar and the chase of his cologne. 

His lips were warm, slightly chapped, like he’d spent too long worrying them with his teeth. The texture of them made her breath catch. She tilted her head just enough to deepen it, her hand rising to rest flat against his chest, feeling the stuttering rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm. He responded in kind not hungrily, but thoroughly, as if he were memorizing her mouth with the same patience he gave to turning a favorite page. His other hand slipped up her back, fingers splayed, and she could feel every point of contact like it sparked through her bones.

The kiss unfolded in layers. The brush of lips. The faint press and pull. The pause when they both inhaled through their noses at the same time, and then met again more certain now. His nose grazed hers. She felt the scrape of stubble along her jaw. And when she let out the quietest sigh against his mouth, he answered with the softest sound, somewhere low in his throat, like he hadn’t meant to make it.

It wasn’t about passion. Not yet. It was about being seen. Known. Chosen.

And when they finally parted, just barely, his forehead came to rest against hers again. The breath between them was a shared thing. No words. Just warmth.

And a silence that said: I’m still here and I will continue to do so.

[korracrat]

Microsoft shutting down Skype has me feeling weird, it makes me feel nostalgic but also glad that it’s being shutdown.

Back in the golden era of Tumblr (2012 to 2016ish) Skype was the go-to place to talk to mutuals as you couldn’t reblog asks and the messaging system wasn’t even present (if it existed back them we never would have had the masterpieces like the Sonic The Hedgehog debacle). You couldn’t make messaging threads like you can today and it was a hassle and not for the weak.

Anyway Skype was the best way to keep up and video chat. I spent so much time speaking with friends I met in fandoms, like this girl from Germany who had this cutest bird and was just as obsessed with Pabu as I was, a guy from Australia who said my Midwestern accent was too think and I also thought his was too thick, and another guy who was famous back in the day for only attending virtual fandom showings with a Batman mask on and cat ears and he actually took off the mask for me. And the original messages between me and my first ever girlfriend.

Most of the relationships didn’t end on good terms. They were important to me, but I was sick and lashed out often or the others were caught in the crosshairs. I am not saying this as a pity me or to excuse my behavior mind you. I am not completely healed but I’ve done a lot of work, especially over the past three years. I wish I could find them as I would like to apologize, but I also understand if everyone deactivated various social media to move on from people like me and the people they used to be.

I would love to go back and revisit those conversations. Same with my original Twitter. In the middle of one of my fights, I angrily changed my password to hand it off to someone else in the fandom and to carry the mantle as it had a large following at the time and just never got around to it. Now I can’t remember it.

All those memories gone. One by one. I don’t know if I truly want to look at those messages or if I want to go back in time and be the better person that I am today.

[revengesworn]

so i know i asked you all if i should post about the ending but in the end I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF, I'M SORRY, tr ending discussion under the cut

as a summary of my previous thoughts on the ending... my number one problem with it has always been the lack of an explanation for how mikey/takemichi managed to leap back in time together. to me, this makes it seem like they just got lucky that the leap worked at all, which ruins the theme of "you shouldn't take on your burdens alone/rely on your friends a little."

the reason it ruins it is because it comes across as like... mikey was right to push everyone away, because when he finally gave into his impulses and trusted takemichi like he told him to, he LITERALLY KILLED TAKEMICHI. and it was seemingly just luck that they both managed to go back??

i have, however, had thoughts since then which make the ending work a bit more for me personally. mostly, that the reason the curse was broken/they were able to go back was still ultimately a direct result of mikey deciding to trust takemichi/breaking the mindset of "i have to take everything on alone." specifically, in part because he trusted takemichi to save him and "gave into" the dark impulses, but mostly because in the moment takemichi was dying, he begged him to come back. basically he was asking takemichi for help; asking him to prove his beliefs right - that mikey should and can rely on others, and that it's okay to do so. basically i'm trying to help the ending to make thematic sense (to me), is the idea.

now... that's interpretation of the final leap is kind of a stretch. and not really stated or implied in canon, unfortunately. BUT i do think there's some symbolism to support it, like the heavy emphasis placed on mikey's tears that are implied to play a reason in why the leap worked (at least that's what it looked like to me??). mikey has been set up as a character who believes that crying is weakness, so seeing him openly cry represents the shedding of that belief/being willing to ask for help.

but anyway i've said all this before, so what are my new thoughts? well, not much tbh WHOOPS but in the past, i interpreted the dark impulses as being a result of not the curse on shinichiro/karma directly - the punishment for THAT was shinichiro's death at kazutora's hands. instead, mikey's DI are more a circumstantial result of him having been dead in the previous timeline.

and also in the past, i said that the DI appear due to his desire to not rely on others, and are therefore broken when he admits he needs help. i still hold to that, but now i also really like the idea of like... they also come about as a result of him believing he doesn't deserve to be saved, & that he can't be saved?? and therefore it's not just him admitting he needs help that breaks the curse - but also him admitting that he wants to be saved at all. maybe even coming to believe that he deserves it, or at least that he wants a future with everyone.

after all, he DID technically manage to save everyone (but himself) in the bonten timeline. it's not just that he needs help because he can't save everyone by himself. it's also that he needs help so that he can save himself, too, and that he deserves to be a part of that happy future he created for everyone as well.

does that... make sense?? at all?? lmao i feel like it's a meaningful distinction a bit, but idk if i phrased it in a way that makes that clear or that is indeed coherent at all. regardless though. those are my ending headcanons. but god i wish wakui implied all this a little more than what we got KSJFHDSKF

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend… 

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a pipe-dreaming wannabe sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed. 

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that. 

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation. 

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit. 

“I–we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.” 

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.” 

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm so great, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together. 

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[stellamarielu]

on the job

joel miller x female reader

summary: you and joel are forced to work together, but neither of you can get past the others stubborn attitude or contractor!joel and interior designer!reader fuck in a walk-in closet

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, pre outbreak!joel, he’s kind of a huge asshole sorry, teasing, degradation, dirty talk, slightly dubcon, fingering, use of nicknames such as princess sweetheart and good girl, finger sucking, unprotected p in v sex, rough sex, sex against a wall, kinda public sex bc it’s on a job site?? pull out game strong with this one

author’s note: based on this lovely request. i made joel a little mean bc it felt right but at the end of the day he will forever be babygirl. also, i know very little about both of these professions so i apologize for any inaccuracies in that department

You liked to think that you were easy to work with, always polite and mindful— pleasant even.

You mostly kept to yourself, especially when you were working on a project alongside others, however, not everyone shared your cooperative mindset.

In fact, you had worked with a multitude of assholes. Men who thought they held some kind of power over you, who flourished under the opportunity to demean and mock your job like theirs was more important, but none of them even held a candle to Joel Miller.

Your paths crossed when you were hired by a pretentious, middle-aged woman in Austin to help design the interior of her new home— a home that was still under construction.

To make yourself familiar with the layout, you visited the site multiple times in the weeks before construction was scheduled to finish.

It was always an easy and uneventful trip. You greeted the workers, took a few pictures, wrote down some dimensions and then you were gone in twenty minutes tops; but that all changed the day you met Joel. 

You waltzed into the house, waving to one of the men you had come to know from your previous visits and then you heard it, a deep berating voice targeted directly at you.

“Who the hell are you and why are you on my site without a fuckin’ hard hat?”

You stopped in your tracks as you were met with an unknown face. 

“Uh sorry. I’m working on an interior design project for the Johnson’s. They told me I was welcome to come check out the space if I needed anything.” You didn’t know why, but your voice was coming out in compliance, the tone hushed. 

The way this man approached you was incredibly entitled and unabashedly rude.

Normally you wouldn’t let some asshole like this get within two feet of you, let alone talk to you like that; but this guy had you questioning your morals for a split second. He was tall, and broad, and handsome. The southern drawl slipping from the smug curl of his lips and the flex of his biceps as his arms crossed over his chest, had your words stuttering.

“Well, until my job is finished, and the Johnson’s have the keys to their front door, I call the shots. And I don’t do well with unexpected visitors walkin’ around while my guys are trying to get work done.”

Your mouth nearly hung open at his words.

You’d barely said a word to him and he was coming at you with a disgustingly brash and assertive attitude. What the hell was his deal?

“Okay...” The word was drawn-out as it fell from your lips in annoyance.

“Well, it’s kind of funny, because this is probably the fifth time I’ve been here, and none of your guys seem to give a rats ass, so how about you let me do my job and I’ll let you do yours.” 

Finally, you had gotten past the stranger’s criminally good looks and stuck to your guns.

There was no way in hell you were going to let him reprimand you for doing your job. Afterall, you had every right to be here. 

“Yeah well, my guys will let you do whatever you want when you’re prancin’ around here in tight little dresses and high heels. You think they’re just bein’ nice for the hell of it?” 

His irritation was masked by amusement as he looked you up and down, dramatically raking his eyes over your body. 

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I’d really appreciate it if you could just drop the attitude and keep things professional.” The quality of your voice was stern, juxtaposing the way his eyes on your body had you suddenly feeling a rush of heat throughout your chest.

Anger.

The warmth was an angry fervor, definitely not one of lust or temptation. It was a burning irritation for the man standing in front of you, not a curious warmth for how his eyes clung to every curve of your body, taking his time drinking in any exposed skin.

His smile widened as he watched you falter under his stare. “I’ll drop my attitude when you drop yours sweetheart.”

“Listen, Mr-“

“Miller. Joel Miller.”

“Okay, Mr. Joel Miller. I have work to do, so I’m just going to walk past you, take a few notes and I’ll be out of your hair. Deal?” 

“Fine. But if I see you back here again you better be wearin’ a hard hat. Don’t need any trouble because you trip and hit your pretty little head.” He let his eyes wander down your body once more, his voice full of sarcasm.

“Yeah yeah, got it boss.” You scoffed as you pushed past his broad frame. You didn’t turn to look back, but you could practically feel his eyes burning into you as you swayed into the entry way, hoping it was the last time you’d ever have to speak to him.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

You ran into Joel a few more times, each meeting more infuriating and demeaning than the last. He always had a smart comment on his tongue or a mocking intention in his voice. 

Joel Miller had quickly become the bane of your existence; yet, for some reason there was a part of you, deep down, that always hoped to run into him when you went to scout out a new project for the house.   

Maybe because he was undeniably handsome, always walking around with a charming smirk on his lips and a devious glint in his big brown eyes. It was almost as if he were challenging you— seeing how far he could push you before you snapped. 

He continued to test your patience as you now stood in the giant walk-in closet off the primary bedroom.

You were trying to establish a color scheme sophisticated enough to fit Miss Johnson’s impossible to please pallet while Joel was making unnecessarily loud noises across the room.

He was far from graceful, the slamming and pounding of tools was all you could hear as he worked on one of the many intricate shoe shelves on the wall.

“I thought this side of the house was done.” You were speaking without looking in his direction, your eyes following the paint swatches on the wall. 

“Was.” Joel’s voice was gruff as he continued working.

“Until the queen decided she needed more storage for all her designer shit.” He was chuckling at his own words, side eyeing you from his spot kneeling on the floor. 

“You are genuinely the most unprofessional person I’ve ever met.” You dismissed his rude comment about the woman you were both employed by.

“That right?”

You refused to look at him, but you could hear the delight in his voice. 

“Absolutely.” Your response was curt, a quick and straight-forward delivery.

“Good.”

As if you couldn’t hate him more, the word leaving his lips had you turning your head sharply in his direction, an appalled expression plastered across your face. 

“God you get on my last nerve.”

“That right?” Again, his lips tugged into a smirk as he looked at you. 

You raised your brows in annoyance with a single nod of your head at his question.

“Good.” His voice was taunting as he watched you shake your head in frustration. 

You brought your eyes back to the wall in front of you, not giving Joel another second of your attention.

After a few seconds of silence his deep voice broke into the room. “You know, if you weren’t so uptight, maybe I’d ask you out for a drink sometime.” 

It took you a minute to register his words. Was he implying that he wanted to ask you on a date while insulting you at the same time? What a fucked-up, backhanded compliment; one that had your chest stirring with warmth.

“Well, I guess it’s too bad I’m such an high-strung bitch then.” Sarcasm dripped from your words as you kept your eyes trained ahead, your head spinning from Joel’s implicit interest. 

“I doubt you’d last one minute in the bar I’d take you to anyway.”

His comment had your head snapping back again. This time his eyes were already on you, waiting to see a reaction. 

“And why’s that?” Your voice cut through the room at his assumption. 

“Because it’s not exactly a five star establishment, and I think you’re just like all these pretentious fucks you work for.” He raised an eyebrow at you before turning back to the shelf in front of him, tending to a few finishing touches. 

“Always so put together, walking around here with your shoulders high.” He was nonchalant as he criticized you, hands busy taking measurements, not even paying an ounce of attention to the dirty look you were currently shooting at him from the other side of the room. 

“You think you’re better than everyone, but you’re just another pretty face with an overblown ego.”

There it was. The final blow that had your body tensing with anger.

You couldn’t believe that just a few seconds ago you were letting him flatter you, swooning under the smallest inkling of positivity he threw your way.

He was the worst kind of guy, the kind that built you up just to tear you down. The kind that wanted to make you feel worse about yourself so you would go running to him for a semblance of positive reinforcement.

Joel Miller liked the chase— thrived off being such a douchebag that women somehow ended up falling on their knees for him. But you, you weren’t going to be that woman. 

“Me? Talk about a massive-fucking-ego, take a look in the mirror Miller. You’re the one always making sure I know my place around here, acting like a fucking sociopath. It’s like you get off on being an asshole.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked directly at you, his expression unreadable, like your cruel words caused a switch in him to flip. 

“Maybe I do.”

“What?”

“Maybe I like gettin’ under your skin, watchin’ you get all flustered.” He spoke slowly, setting down his materials and standing to his feet.

“Think it’s kinda cute. You’re always tryin’ to act all big and bad, but I know I make you nervous. I can see it in the way you look at me.” He didn’t move, the smirk on his face causing your eyebrows to furrow in irritation. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, standing strong on your opinion that Joel was the world’s biggest asshole. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting his words get to you.

“You can stop wherever you’re going with this. I’m not here to play your little bullshit games, I’m here to do a job and get paid.”

“Who says you can’t have a little fun on the job?” His voice was laced with a deep seriousness as he set his tools down on one of the many shelves adorning the walls. You watched him over your shoulder but kept your back turned, your body still facing the wall.

“Turn around.” The command left his lips and you wanted to laugh at his attempt of authority but the sincerity in his voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“What? No-“

“C’mon sweetheart, I think we both know you like bein’ told what to do.” His voice cut you off, the signature smirk on his lips sending a buzz straight to your head.

You didn’t mean to, or maybe you did, but your body turned to face him, watching intently as he continued speaking. His broad frame emphatic as he stood across from you.

“I bet you like it, having someone boss you around. Makes you feel a little inferior.”

As the words left his lips he began walking toward you.

It was a casual stroll, not intense or threatening, yet you felt your pulse racing and your posture slumping at his advances.

“Oh please. You need a reality check Joel.” 

“Wanna give it to me princess?”

You kept the appearance of control as he continued moving forward, but internally you were fighting feelings of complete disarray.

You wanted to be offended— maybe even slap him across the face for his wildly inappropriate nickname and the implication of his words. But instead, you froze, his body now less than a foot away from yours and his words ringing in your ears. 

There was absolutely no denying the way his statement had your thighs clenching and your head spinning. Something in his delivery, smug and dirty with his eyes holding a perverted hunger and a promise of follow through, made you weak.

You kept your body from jolting when you felt the touch of his hand wrapping around your waist, finding purchase dangerously low on your back. 

“Bet you’ve never done anythin’ like this.” His voice was sturdy— rigid with power.

The weight of his hand was rough, his palm resting just above the curve of your ass. His touch was heavy yet temperate as he held you, softly pulling you’re your body further into his. 

“Lettin’ some guy you barely know put his hands all over you.”

You watched his eyes carefully, your lips parted but you couldn’t find any words to fill them. You weren’t sure if you wanted to tell him to stop or keep going. 

“Bet all the guys you hook up with are just as prim and proper as you. Can’t imagine that those dipshits graduating from UT with a business degree are fuckin’ you the right way.”

His other hand came to the small of your waist, the movement sending a faint gasp straight to your lips. Your reaction had Joel smirking, reinforcing his grip on your body.

“Probably don’t even know how to get you off.” 

“You’re disgusting.” Your voice was a whisper. The insult that you meant to hurl his way dissolved in a pitiful sigh at the way his fingertips were latching onto you.

“Am I? Bet you like that too.” This time he leaned in, causing his words to land directly in your ear, his breath warm on your neck.  

“Bet you want someone a little rough around the edges. Someone to fuck you real nice.” 

As he spoke, his fingers curled into your body. His grip on you constricting.

His frame pushed into yours, sending you shuffling backward until your back was met with the solid friction of the wall.

“Joel..” 

You were searching in your mind, trying to form an articulate sentence to explain why this was wrong; why you couldn’t be in this position with him.

But he had you trapped against the weight of his body— big and wide and rough.

Every single rational thought in your head dissipated, replaced by an instinctual need to have him fuck you against the wall of this ridiculously expensive closet.

He was right, you’d never done anything like this and the excitement of it— the risk, had your entire body burning with white-hot desire. 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” His hands were holding your hips, pressing you into the wall with his chest dangerously close to yours. 

“But I don’t think you want me to.” For a single second you could see an indication of honesty in his eyes as he looked you over, searching for any sign of distress on your face. And when he couldn’t find it, his stare narrowed and his hands held tighter, rotating your body in his grasp until your chest was pressed against the wall. 

“I think,” He leaned into you, your ass pushing against the bulge in his jeans as his hum landed on the skin right beneath your ear. 

“You want me to lift up this pretty little dress and fuck you nice and hard right here, against this wall.”

His hands found the hem of your dress, bringing it up just enough to bunch at your waist.

Your lower half was almost bare, the only clothing keeping your cunt from being fully exposed to him was the little black thong encasing the dripping mess that had now built up between your legs. It didn’t stop him from reaching between your bodies, pressing his thumb against your clothed entrance. 

“Fuck- you’re soaked princess.” The first word was a prolonged throaty groan, the rest of the sentence fumbling behind it. 

“How long you been thinkin�� bout this huh? Me touchin’ you, makin’ you beg for it.” He was having too much fun playing with you through your panties, his thumb threatening to dip into you even with the lace still covering your entrance.

He pushed against it, moving between your clothed folds and marveling at the wetness seeping through the material. 

“I’m not begging.” You managed to hiss out a response, turning your head to peer at him, your cheek nearly pressing against the wall. 

“Oh, so she’s always mouthy huh?” 

You watched the diabolical grin eat away at his face from the power trip of having you trapped under his weight.

You could talk-back all you wanted— be as bratty and uncooperative as possible, but it didn’t change the fact that he had you right where he wanted you. 

“Keep talkin’ baby, go on.” He innocently raised his brows at you, his voice taunting as the weight of his thumb danced between your legs.

“I Know you want this too. You act like you can’t stand me, but I see the way you look at me…” Your voice was quiet but strong as you held onto the last bit of composure you had left, using it to defy the man at your back.

You were trying your best not to lose your train of thought as you spoke. You wouldn’t give up the fight that easily, succumbing to his tempting words and lewd touches. You could tell Joel was used to getting his way and every muscle in your body ached to challenge him. 

“The way your eyes are glued to my ass every time I walk past you.” You glared over your shoulder as the words drifted off your lips in a gentle accusation. 

His dark chuckle filled the room as his eyes darted away from yours for a short second. Then his stare was back on you— more intense than before. The two of you watching each other, sitting in a pool of mutual revelation. 

You both knew it.

You knew since day one that there was a shared attraction, an unspoken sexual tension hidden behind rude words and unsavory exchanges.

What was happening now was just a detonation of built-up pressure that had been stewing for weeks; evident in the wetness at your core and the bulge in Joel’s jeans. 

“Anythin’ else you wanna say? Should probably get it all out before I have you all fucked-out on my cock.” His voice dropped to a low whisper as he hooked his thumb into your underwear, pulling the material to the side, not even bothering to take them off completely. 

A soft gasp slid from your lips at the cool air meeting your newly exposed center, the slick pooling at your entrance only adding to the airy sensation. 

“You’re so fucking arrogant.” 

The words barely left your lips when you felt his touch meet your core, his fingers spreading your arousal.

You had more to say to him, you wanted to tell him how annoying he was and how you had lost every ounce of decency by letting him talk to you this way, but the words were caught in your throat as he pushed two fingers into you. 

“Maybe I have good reason to be.” 

Your eyes were squeezed shut at the unexpected feeling of him filling you with his fingers, yet you could hear the smirk dripping in his voice.

“You ever think about that sweetheart?”

His words were impatient, the initial drive of his fingers into your entrance was rough, but now they slowly worked into you. His movements were careful— cautious even.

It was as if he wanted to take his time, watching your body and listening to the shaky breaths leave your lips.

His hand worked between your legs, searching for the exact technique that would send you spewing profanities and crumbling against the wall.  

He curled his fingertips at just the right spot, not too deep and not too forceful, just a gentle pulse that had an impulsive whimper pouring from your chest.

“Maybe I’m so arrogant because I know I’m good at what I do.” His words held a double meaning as he added a third finger to stroke your newfound sweet spot.

You almost yelped from the stretch, but you held it back as best you could, refusing to give him the gratification of your submission. 

The position he had you in; back arched and ass pushed out, made it almost embarrassingly easy for the addition of a third digit as he watched them to sink into you.

You couldn’t help but hum in approval as he stroked you repeatedly, rubbing against the inviting drawl of your walls. You tried not to lose yourself at his fingertips, knowing from the familiar coil of pleasure in your core that he could have you coming on his fingers at any given moment. 

“Thought you were gonna fuck me, huh?” Your voice was a string of moans as you tried your best to form a coherent sentence with his hand pushed between your bodies. 

As much as you didn’t want his movements to stop, you also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you finish when he’d barely even gotten his hands on you.

Knowing Joel, he would never let you live it down. He’d ride around on his metaphorical high horse and crown himself the king of female orgasms. So instead of letting him bring you to the precipice of release, you met him with a phrase of defiance. But your challenging words were really just a gateway to get what you wanted. You could put on a tough act, but at the end of the day Joel was right, you did want him to fuck you in way no one ever had— hungry and hard against the wall, right here in your client’s house.

In fact, the thought of it had taken over every fiber of your being. The anticipation of feeling him rail into you was clouding your judgement and coursing through your veins at an alarming speed. 

“Think you can take it?” His growl stuck in your ears as he pulled out of you. The lewd noises of his fingers plunging into the slick mess at your folds was quickly replaced by the sound of him fumbling with his belt buckle. 

“How d’you want it, huh baby? You the sentimental type? Want it nice and slow and deep? Or d’you just wanna be ruined? Want someone to be a little rough with ya?” He was asking, but you couldn’t help but note the rhetorical quality of his words as you heard the rustle of his jeans pushing down his thighs. 

“That’s sweet of you to give me choice, maybe you don’t like control as much as I thought- “

Your sarcastic remark was cut short at the abrupt stretch of Joel’s length slamming into you.

“Rough it is then.” His voice was a deep grunt echoing from behind you as he paused, giving you a split second to adjust before pulling back out and thrusting into you again. 

“Shit princess, didn’t think you’d be this fuckin’ tight.”

His voice swam with amusement and pleasure as he watched the way his dick fully disappeared into you with each thrust of his hips.

Hands pulled at your waist as you felt Joel drive deeper with every breathless groan floating off his lips. 

“Look at you, takin’ me like such a good girl.” The words weren’t sweet, instead they teased you, shooting out of his mouth with a mocking tenor. 

You couldn’t keep your body from reacting to his praise, albeit contemptuous, the words still held a deep truth about the situation unfolding against the wall of your shared employer’s closet. 

“Oh, you like that don’t ya? When I tell you what a good girl you are?” His voice was a broken growl of grunts and sighs as he fucked into you— vigorous and desperate.

His pace was unrelenting as he held onto your waist, pulling you back to meet him with every drive of his hips into yours. 

He let one of his hands travel up your body until he was reaching for your jaw, tilting your head up and back until your body was arched at a sinful angle.

“See, I knew you just needed a good fuck.” His groan was right in your ear now that he held your head close to his, the grip he had on your jaw was firm.

It was becoming impossible for you to keep quiet, the strength and depth of his thrusts were causing explicit moans to skate past yours lips.

The hand that Joel was using to hold your face was now maneuvering to your mouth in an effort to muffle the obscene sounds rolling off your tongue. Two of his fingers pushed at your lips, hooking into your mouth. 

“Knew that little attitude a’yours was all for show.”

You closed your lips around his digits as he railed into you, a guttural moan sliding up your throat and humming onto his fingers. 

“Fuck.” His fowl groan was a direct result of your soft mouth sucking around his fingers, mimicking the way you had his cock encased between your legs.

You invited his touch onto your tongue, swirling around his thick digits and sucking him in deeper, earning a prolonged sigh from Joel as he fucked into you even harder.

Each stroke of his cock had your body pressing further into the wall— his pace was mean and unyielding, like he had something to prove. 

With the hand not in your mouth, Joel reached around your body, his fingertips finding your clit and rubbing quick careless circles over the bundle of nerves.

Your body faltered under his touch, your knees slightly buckling, and if it weren’t for the weight of his body trapping you against the wall, you’d be a puddle on the floor. 

He slowed his pace slightly, taking his time to find that spot along your walls again. The one that he discovered just minutes ago when he was three fingers deep in your dripping cunt. 

Whines of approval vibrated against the pads of his fingertips still pressing down on your tongue. His hips began rocking into you at just the right angle— slow and deliberate, with the goal of feeling you coming undone on his cock. 

“That it baby? Right there?” Again, his words were a sadistic tease, but his voice gave way to pitiful throaty whines.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think with the way he was working you toward your release.

Everything felt so overwhelming, his unrelenting thrusts hitting you in the perfect place, his touch on your clit, rough and impatient and his fingers filling your mouth— all of it creating the perfect storm of inconceivable pleasure. 

A jolt of relief surged through your body as the pressure inside you snapped. You let yourself fall further into the wall as Joel’s name slipped from your mouth in a chant.

Hearing his name on your lips in such a distant and dazed voice, had Joel’s cock pulsing. Your walls were clenching from your climax, sucking him in deeper and he couldn’t handle the abundance of warmth enveloping him. 

Both of his hands came down to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as held tight.

His thrusts were merciless as he used you to reach his peak, chasing the familiar buildup of tension in his core as he drove into you at a startling pace. 

Then he pulled out abruptly. 

One hand on his cock, stroking just twice before spilling onto the skin of your lower back, the other pushing your dress further up your body to keep it from becoming a jizz painted mess. 

Silence filled the room.

Neither of you spoke as your hands pushed against the wall underneath your palms. You stayed pressed there, Joel’s body still behind you evident in the ragged breaths leaving his chest. 

Still no words were exchanged as you felt Joel take a step back, the warmth of his presence fading just slightly.

You dared to break your pleasure induced trance to look over your shoulder, only find him pulling his jeans back up his body and tightening his belt without even sparing you a glance.

You began to move until you were reminded of the thick warm mess resting on your back, keeping you from pulling your dress down.

Before you could do anything, Joel was back behind you, hooking his fingers into the waist band of your panties and tugging them down your legs. He stopped at your ankles to tap against your skin, prompting you to step out of them.

Once the lacy material was fully in his grasp, he brought them up to your lower back, using them to gather his spend. He cleaned his mess with the lacy material then pulled your dress back down to cover your lower half. A sticky residue was left on your backside as a plaguing reminder of what had just transpired between you. 

You turned to face him, watching as he crumpled up your ruined underwear and shoved it into his back pocket with a smirk on his face. 

“How about that drink? Could meet you tomorrow night, should be done here around five.” He was back across the room in an instant, gathering tools and not bothering to look in your direction.

His invitation was genuine, but his words lacked interest. 

“I’ll get these back to you then.” His hand came to rest on his back pocket, fingers tapping against the denim holding your used panties.

A self-righteous smile sat on his face as he shot you a look of pure deviance before his eyes were back on his hands as they worked to gather his materials. 

“Yeah, okay.” Your voice came out more flustered than you intended as you smoothed out your dress over your thighs.

Joel was heading for the closet door, tool bag clutched in his hand as he gave you one last gaze of victory.

“It’s a date.” The words were a grumble from his lips, the same ones that were busy parading a smug smile. 

Then he left you standing alone in the small room, your mind racing around itself and your legs still trembling.

A subtle grin rested on your face as you stared down at the floor, trying to find some sort of equilibrium before even attempting to move.

The giant walk-in closet still encasing a lingering heat of reckless choices as you prepared to go on with your day— business as usual.

my masterlist

[churipu]

YOU SLEEPING ON A COUCH AFTER AN ARGUMENT 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

featuring. gojo satoru, geto suguru, toji fushiguro x reader

note. i hv so many ideas right now apart from what i'm actually supposed to be focusing on, so...pls excuse me.

GOJO SATORU. arguments with gojo are a pain in the ass, he's petty and everything will be a mess. he's so stubborn that it actually baffles you sometimes — and he calls you rock head?

being a sorcerer is never an easy job. gojo wakes up every day, not knowing whether he'd die in a mission or get to live another day. so when you brought up your concerns about it to him, the male didn't take it lightly. things have been tight for him, and you're walking on eggshells for the past few days.

the slightest thing angered him, like how his sleeve got stuck on the door handle, or the way he curses out loudly when he stubs his toe on the coffee table. it puts him in a shitty mood, so when that happens, and you try to talk to him about his job.

gojo gets very pissy about it.

frankly, you understood where his anger comes from. and it was part of your fault to bother him the moment he came back from work exhausted, it was bound to happen so you weren't really blaming him at all from the projecting of his anger to you the night before — he didn't say hurtful things, gojo knew better than that. all he did was tell you to leave him alone and get out of his sight for the night.

and you did. sleeping alone on the couch, all sprawled out, an arm dangling on the edge; while a string of drool dribbled down the corner of your lips.

you seemed to not mind having to sleep on the couch (under your own want). but your boyfriend did, the moment he knew your bed time strikes — he came out of the room and eyed your sleeping form. guilt washing over him when all you did was care about his being and how dangerous the jujutsu world is.

gojo approaches you and gently carried you in his arms, an arm right under your bottom and his other arm around your waist. hoisting you up like a baby as your cheek leaned onto his shoulder, letting the drool blotch his shirt. he doesn't care at all.

the male tucks you in the bed, pulling the covers over you before slipping next to you, chest pressed to your back and an arm resting on your hip. gojo will never let you sleep a whole night on the couch, he will bring you to sleep with him and apologize the very next day for being such an ass.

he also, tried to make it up to you by cooking a classic english breakfast. which ended up in chaos — and you both decided to order take out instead.

GETO SUGURU. geto is usually calm and collected; he doesn't really get angry at anything. even if he does, he mostly keeps it to himself unless it really bothers him. but since humans have certain capacities to their own emotion — geto is not spared from being angry, no matter how calm he is.

after the death of amanai, you could feel him change. your geto. it was traumatizing for him, and you understood. always being there for him, never leaving him alone. the dark circles under his eyes were apparent, and it looked like he hasn't had a good night sleep for what seemed like . . . weeks, or months, if that's even possible.

geto appreciated your company, really. but sometimes, he also wanted to be left alone to dwell on his feelings. he didn't want to end up saying hurtful things to you because he was so angry at himself. but he did, and god was it horrible.

he was already feeling like shit before the argument— which if you see, wasn't really an argument at all. it was one-sided, geto was telling you off and you didn't say anything back. because you knew he didn't mean it. he almost desperately begged for you to leave him alone because your presence was "annoying" him and he couldn't stand it.

although geto said it in a heap of moment. he didn't mean it, and before he could say anything else, you tell him that you were going to be sleeping on the couch, so if he needed anything he was free to come to you.

geto didn't stop you. he was busy hating on himself for telling you that — and believe me when i say that he, right there, almost cried out of frustration.

he tossed and turned on his bed. where you were usually on too, beside him, holding his hand whilst he sleep. your hushed voice lulling him into a peaceful slumber; but you weren't there today, all because he told you to leave him alone. geto sat up, his eyelids heavy, but no matter how long he shut is, they always open back up.

with slow and heavy steps, he approaches you on the couch. and geto had always knew that you were a light sleeper, so his footsteps awoken you. seeing your eyes flutter open, geto slid on the couch, laying himself on top of you — head on your chest, arms clutching onto your shirt like he's desperate for your presence, and his legs intertwining with yours.

getos' hushed apologies were heard as he leaned into your warmth, and you told him that you were never angry. brushing his hair, massaging his scalp using your fingertips before lulling him to sleep, and geto did. almost immediately. and so did you.

he could never sleep without you. whether it being on the bed, the couch, or anywhere else — as long has you were with him, he will find the ability to drift off.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. is an ass. let's face it — he wouldn't give a fuck if you decided to sleep on the couch after an argument, at least for the first couple of hours. toji is a blunt man, and he's a sole believer that nobody could bear sleeping on the couch when there's a bed in the house.

but you were there to prove him wrong.

after an argument going south, he finds you grabbing your pillow and then seeking shelter on the couch. and he clicked his tongue in annoyance, knowing you'd come crawling back on the mattress after a few hours — because who'd choose the couch over the bed?

you. apparently.

he slept without a single care, thinking of words to say when you finally decided to come back on the bed. but when he woke up at three am, his arm searching to find your body, but realizing all he was catching was air — he finally realized that you weren't coming back onto the bed.

and it annoyed him. he was angry that you weren't there. and at three am? he was already wide awake, walking out of the room angrily. but his gaze softened when he saw you asleep, the constant flashing light from the television panning on your body; toji walks over, snatches the remote and turns the device off.

letting out a soft sigh, toji squats down, flicking your forehead. and the action was enough to make you grimace lightly in your sleep — although not enough to wake you up completely. the male chuckled and prepped an arm under the hollow under your knees, and an arm across your shoulder.

with ease he brought you into your shared room and he laid you down on the bed, covering your body with the blanket before he slips into his own portion of the bed. scooting closer to you as you instinctively nuzzled into his chest, seeking for comfort.

toji wouldn't admit that he was the one who brought you into the bed and would end up saying how you came crawling back at three am. you always find out the truth though, and toji tells you to forget about whatever he did because he won't be doing it again (he will).

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[pochaccoups]

beggin’ on his knees — kim mingyu

pairing — kim mingyu x f!reader

summary — mingyu looks good when he’s on his knees.

wc — 2k

warnings — nsfw content. minors dni. smut, established relationship, slight sub!mingyu (he’s a big puppy in this), oral (f receiving), fingering, creampie, not beta read sry

“Please?”

“No, Mingyu.”

“Pleaseee?”

“Mingyu, stop.”

“But… why not?”

“Because I’m still mad at you. No.”

You don’t spare your boyfriend a glance as he stands in the doorway, your gaze thoroughly fixed on your book—your book that you haven’t read a sentence of since he’d walked in.

“But you always let me eat you out before bed.”

You heave out a sigh, dragging a hand down your face in exasperation. “Well, right now I don’t want you to.”

A lie. You know damn well that letting him give you an orgasm or two would quell your infuriation at him, but you’re too stubborn. Mingyu is like a puppy—giving in to his sulking and pouting, however irresistible, only teaches him how to get his way. If you look up, you’re certain you’ll find a pair of pathetic, glistening eyes staring at you, and it’ll become so, so much harder for you to keep your foot down.

“But baby,” he says, so soft, in a way that personifies his affection for you. That one word in that tone of his is the first strike to your heart. “I can show you how sorry I am. Please?”

“Mingyu, I already-”

Finally he gets you to look at him when he beelines over to your side of the bed, takes your hand in both of his, and drops to his knees on the floor.

“Please, baby, I’m begging you. I need to taste you so bad.” He doesn’t hide the desperation in his voice, nor the pleading look in his stupid, round, pretty eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you for work. I’ll do better. I’ll make it up to you, I promise, and I’ll start with this. Please?”

It’s true that perhaps you’re being a little too cruel out of pettiness—you know his schedule is mostly out of his hands and how hectic things get for him. But there are times where things are in his hands, and still he ends up staying for drinks with the boys a little too long for your liking.

He looks fucking good like this though. In fact, your pussy throbs a little, seeing him like this for you—at your mercy. Despite the pinpricks of hurt he’d given you, you can’t find it in you to send him away.

“Fine,” you say, and he’s about to pounce on you until you stop him with a hand to his chest. “No, no. Stay there for me.”

Mingyu watches intently as you sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed so that he’s sat neatly in between them. Unable to wait any longer, he’s reaching for the top of your pyjama pants, tugging them down your legs so hastily you’d think he’s running out of time.

It’s a wonder how he has the control to not tear your underwear off and dive straight in—instead he’s pressing soft kisses that drip with apology all over your thighs, letting his giant hands warm your skin as they roam over your legs. It’s a view you wish you could imprint into your brain forever: your buff, six-foot-three boyfriend on his knees, worshipping you.

It’s only when your hips shift ever so slightly, when Mingyu senses the very first shred of impatience manifesting within you, does he settle his face right where you need him. He presses all the way up against your covered cunt, nudges at your clit with his nose and prods at your hole with his tongue, fabric be damned.

“You begged for this, at least do it right,” you scold, sounding a little more breathless than you’d like.

Mingyu smirks. Of course he does—you’re proving him right. His hands envelop yours as you shove your panties down your legs, and before they can even hit the floor, the wet warmth of his tongue is licking at your awaiting pussy.

You’re kind of stupid, you realise, because why on earth were you refusing this in the name of being petty? He’s sucking on your clit and you’re already whining his name, while his fingers sink into the fat of your thighs and pry your legs open even wider.

Mingyu lacks both mercy and shame when he gets his mouth on you. He becomes depravity in human form, sounds of him slurping and spitting filling the room as he becomes drunk on your taste. His tongue is everywhere, slipping up and down through your folds, playing with your clit until your eyes are rolling back and you’re grabbing fistfuls of his dark hair.

“Mingyu, f-fuck,” you sigh, your spine curling off the bed, your hips rutting against his face. “Need more.”

And Kim Mingyu will never fail to give you exactly what you want, so he circles your sticky, drooling hole with his finger and slides it inside you. And his fingers are so thick that just one alone makes you shiver as it curls up into your sweet spot, and combined with the nonstop lapping of his tongue at your clit, it’s no question why there’s heat pooling deep in your core.

Then he does stop, much to your dismay. Well, he only pulls his mouth an inch away so that he can ask you with his glistening, pouty lips, “does it feel good, baby?”

“Yes-fuck,” you gasp as his finger grazes repeatedly at the most sensitive patch inside you. “Be a good boy and put your big mouth to use though.”

He obeys you without a moment’s delay.

Mingyu drinks in all your noises—the wetness of his saliva mixed with your arousal, the squelch of his finger pressing into you, and your shaky, breathy moans that are a barely coherent mixture of curses and his name. It’s your high, and yet he’s chasing it, too.

He lives for the long, high-pitched whine you let out when he slips another finger inside. He’s pumping them in and out of you with such vigour that his bicep starts to bulge, and when you pull on his hair for dear life he feels his cock jump in his sweats. At the same time his mouth is ruthless as he practically makes out with your pussy, and you rock your hips absentmindedly until you’re riding his face, and fuck, you’re so hot that Mingyu thinks he might cum untouched.

“God, Gyu, just-just like that,” you keen, melting under his gaze that’s both concentrated and hazy. He’s drunk and he’s focused, tuned into your body and the way your walls clench around his fingers, telling him you’re almost there.

It takes just a few more thrusts of his fingers and swipes of his tongue before your moans reach a crescendo, and the heat in your stomach erupts with vengeance.

While your thighs tremble on his shoulders, Mingyu pulls his fingers out from your soaked heat and brings them straight to his mouth. He makes a show of sucking your juices off them, moaning like it’s essence from the sweetest fruit. To him it is.

“I’m hard now,” he says in a whisper.

“So?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at him. Him still kneeling; his fluffy hair a mess; his cheeks and chin drenched with your cum; his sweatpants a tent. It’s so pathetic it makes your pussy even wetter.

“Can I put it in? Please?”

You pretend to ponder it for a second—he just looks so cute when he’s desperate for pussy. Then you become aware of how empty you are, and give Mingyu his next command: “kiss me first.”

He’s up now, pinning you underneath him as he does exactly what you ask of him. His lips are sloppy against yours, his tongue weaving its way inside your mouth. He’s kissing you with such want that it’s messy, disgusting almost, but your boyfriend will sooner die than not put his entire soul into something.

His heavy cock prods against you, just as shameless and imposing as Mingyu himself. It’s sticky with precum and so hard that it’s practically throbbing with need, and you wish you were stronger than this but you need him stretching you out now.

“Fuck me, Mingyu,” you mumble against ravenous lips.

He slides home immediately, until his balls are warm against your ass. Then he hikes your legs up on his shoulders and starts to pound away at you like he has something to prove.

The sounds he makes when he gets inside you should be embarrassing to him, but they’re not. Much less to you—hearing him whimper like a clingy puppy in your ear makes you soak all over his cock. You know people look at him and his towering height and his bulging arms and they see strength, control, dominance, and what they’ll never know about is this—that your pussy reduces him to a desperate, whining mess.

Every snap of his hips has you gasping, sends you reaching for the sheets and his hair. Now that he’s finally inside you, he’s taking full advantage of it, because God forbid you think he’s slacking after begging with his heart and soul. No, no—he’ll show you how sorry he is, make up for every minute of your time that he’d wasted, and he’ll do it by fucking you into next week, filling you up (if you let him), and tending to you like you’re royalty after.

“Harder, baby,” you sigh, even though you know that word is dangerous territory with him, but his thrusts had slowed a little in his pondering about how sorry he was.

But oh, does he deliver. More than delivers. Mingyu leans forward, folds you even more in half until your thighs burn, but when his cock is buried so deep in your guts the pain becomes dull. He fucks into you with every ounce of muscle he has, leaning his weight on you so that every stroke breaches past your cervix and touches your soul itself.

Sweat beads on his forehead. His cheeks are lightly flushed; his toned, tanned skin gleaming. Your boyfriend looks divine as he ruins your cunt, as though this is what he was born to do: to please you. You want him to keep splitting you open, to stretch you out endlessly. You want his warm, sticky load inside you even more.

“H-hah, Gyu, baby…” you pant.

“Yeah? Feels good?” he asks, hissing as you clench down on him at the sound of his voice.

“Mm, love the way you fuck me,” you moan. “But I want your cum inside me.”

Your words make his hips stutter. He bites down on his bottom lip hard, willing himself to not cum then and there.

“Want you to cum first,” he whines through gritted teeth, and you near scream when his thumb finds your clit to rub at it, quick and precise in the way that you stand no chance against.

Only a few more hard strokes is all it takes for your orgasm to come hurtling towards you, tearing through your whole body and making you sob Mingyu’s name while his fingers and his hips never let up.

The way your walls clench and gush around his cock as you cum is ruthless. It’s a vice, selfish grip, one that entices him to his own climax, because there’s nothing that gets Kim Mingyu off more than making the love of his life cum.

“Cum for me, Gyu. Make me happy,” you whisper in the aftershock of your orgasm.

He gives you exactly what you want, driving himself impossibly deep inside you and giving a strangled moan as you milk every last drop of his seed out of him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whimpers, letting your legs fall from his shoulders as he collapses on top of you. Even when he’s dry, his cock twitches, still, and you think it’ll be a while before he pulls out of you.

You hum, warm and content. Your hand reaches for Mingyu’s hair, fingers brushing through it as he comes down. His face is buried in your neck, and his soft, warm breaths against your skin threaten to lull you to sleep.

Eventually he mutters out, “I’m sorry again.”

You can’t help but stifle a laugh. He’s good at grovelling, that’s for sure.

“You’re making dinner for the rest of the week,” you tell him. “And if you have a late schedule then you’re ordering me something. And if you do leave me hanging again I’ll kill you. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Do you still love me?”

“Yes, Mingyu, I love you.”

[minghaoes]

r: jealousy, jealousy | ot13 smau

pairing: ot13 x gn!reader (individual)

tags: jealous!svt, cheating allegations in jeonghan's (but like;; jokingly), nsfw-ish joke in jeonghans (don't even ask), jokes about dying in dk's and dino's

a/n: first time posting after *checks notes* about six months ?? here's my attempt at an apology: a jealous!seventeen smau one shot with some headcanons to match! don't forget to read the blurbs at the end of the post !! :)

join my taglist here ! | requests for smaus are open !

☆ choi seungcheol: cheol likes to think that he doesn't get jealous easily. he's secure in your relationship, after all. yet, when you're spending the day with one of your friends without replying to his texts as fast as you usually do, he can't help himself but feel a bit skittish at the thought of not having your attention on him - especially on a day off. he'll text you a little bit more than he usually does, updating you on what he's doing, and waiting for you to come back home as soon as you can.

☆ yoon jeonghan: if there's one thing jeonghan knows for sure, it's that you love him just as much as he loves you. there's no reason for him to be jealous in any capacity, but that doesn't mean that he won't pretend that he is. even if you're only leaving him to pick up snacks from the next best convenience store, he'll jokingly accuse you of going to see your secret lover behind his back - despite jeonghan being the one begging you to go out without him.

☆ hong jisoo: joshua is rarely jealous. he prides himself in being able to provide for you, in protecting you, and always making sure that your needs are met first and foremost. he's only ever feeling jealous whenever this sense of security for you comes from someone else instead of him. when he sees someone else offer you their jacket before he can, because he didn't notice right away that you were cold, he feels dejected; he's jealous that he wasn't first in line to assist you in times of need, no matter how trivial they may seem.

☆ wen junhui: jun is only jealous when he's overthinking. he feels a bit posessive of you and he doesn't mind admitting it when the situation allows it. when both of you decide to go out with your friends, jun is hesitant. he's not a fan of overcrowded space; overcrowded spaces with drunk men no less. yet, he doesn't want you to feel like he's holding you back in any way. so he let's you go out on your own, all while keeping an watching eye on you. and when some slightly tipsy guy approaches you, he doesn't interfere; but he cannot help himself and lets his jealousy slip, in the least dramatic way possible.

☆ kwon soonyoung: hoshi isn't jealous, he's only ... slightly territorial. he likes to be near you at all times and he enjoys physical touch a bit more than the average person. when his lips aren't on you, his hands are. he always yearns to be close to you, one way or another, preferably with his head buried in your neck. so when something someone else occupies his spot, he cannot help himself - and his jealous side is the cutest thing you've ever witnessed.

☆ jeon wonwoo: unlike what his mostly calm demeanor may suggest, wonwoo is the opposite of nonchalant. he can be very chalant, in fact, but only ever shows it when he's alone with you. when you're out together, wonwoo tends to be a little shy. he's not a fan of pda, nor does he think it's necessary for the both of you to show your love outright in public. that is, until someone else decides to flirt with you right in front of him. then, he'll do about everything to show the person in front of you that he's yours, even when it ends with you cooing at him.

☆ lee jihoon: similar, woozi doesn't need public affection to show you how much you mean to him. he always invites you out to wherever he's currently at, as quality time is one of his favoured love languages. body doubling while he's at the studio? you don't even have to ask. spotting each other at the gym? it was his idea. going out to eat together? his keys are already in his hand. so when you're focusing on someone else while he's trying to have his beloved quality time with you, he can't help himself but feel a little cranky in your presence.

☆ lee seokmin: seokmin's jealousy manifests itself openly. if his red ears aren't enough of an indicator, then the way he continuously touches you sure will be. he's gentle in his ways, his fingertips will barely graze the top of your thighs while you're focusing your attention elsewhere. he's almost shy in his affections, since he doesn't quite know yet how to approach this topic with you. he'll look at you with big eyes and a small pout on his lips, until your attention turns back to him for a brief moment. and he feels his face warm up even more.

☆ kim mingyu: mingyu might as well be named the most jealous seventeen member. don't misunderstand - like the others, he is very well aware of your affections for him. yet, this doesn't mean he's ready to willingly share you with anyone else, no matter who it is. he's a bit selfish in this way. and he loves you cooing over him too much to really feel too embarrassed to have been caught jealous. no matter who it is. (only maybe a little bit when you see him sideeye you cooing over his baby newphew instead of him.)

☆ xu minghao: minghao's jealous side is quiet. he doesn't like being jealous, because he logically speaking knows that there's nothing to be jealous of. he knows that you're just as devoted to him as he is to you. but it doesn't mean that his head is always where his heart is. whenever he can feel the little green monster rise inside his chest, he turns away from you. he needs to take a step to collect himself and his feelings, and you're with him to ease every last little worry he might has.

☆ boo seungkwan: seungkwan's jealousy manifests itself in a less ... gentle way. when he's jealous, he's insecure. he knows he's not the most ideal boyfriend one can have, considering his consistenly busy schedule and all, but he knows that he tries his best... usually. all of these rational thoughts leave his head the second he sees someone else talk to you. someone who's a bit taller than him, a bit more mature, a bit more everything he isn't. when seungkwan is jealous, he needs your reassurance and you never hesitate to give it to him.

☆ choi hansol: vernon is rarely ever actually jealous. he knows that there's no reason for him to and he trusts you too much to actually feel threatened by anything or anyone when it comes to your love. he's less jealous and more needy when he feels you slip away from him. when you're spending your days off with someone else instead of him, he can't help but miss you a lot. he's not jealous of the other person (no, really!) he just wants you to focus your attention on him and no one else (maybe a little jealous.)

☆ lee chan: as the youngest member of seventeen, chan is used to having all of the attention on him. he secretely loves being dotted on, loves having your attention on him, too. so when you're not looking after him for once, he can't help but feel a bit more clingy than he usually does. he's not a fan of you taking care of others the same way you do for him - in his mind, it's something that should be reserved for him and him only. he loves how big your heart is and how caring you are. yet, this doesn't stop him from feeling a certain way whenever you shower someone - or something - else with love the same way.

© minghaoes 2025.

[trashytracktales]

My love….i need some ANGST. Like make me cry….then make me wet 😱😅

IM SORRY ITS BEEN ONR OF THOSE DAYS and your posts always make the day better.

Final call | LN⁴

📞 summary ──── Lando thought that ending things was the right decision. But he never really let go. When one final, desperate call pulls her back into his orbit, old wounds resurface, anger and longing collide, and the lines between love and heartbreak blur.

📞 pairing ──── Lando Norris x (she/her) ex!reader

📞 rating ──── explicit

📞 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, mentions of drinking, Lando struggling with withdrawals from his usual life, drunken texts, heavy angst and arguments, swearing, heartbreak, power struggles between both characters, smut, fingering with teasing and edging, unprotected sex, praise, desperation, overwhelming pleasure leading to emotional vulnerability, begging, multiple orgasms, post-sex tenderness, crying (I need to touch some grass fr fr).

📞 word count ──── 12.8k

📞 date ──── Mar. 30, 2025

📞 a/n ──── Been working on this for over a month now. It feels like a fever dream, I have no words. Enjoy whatever this is and I apologize in advance 🤧

IT IS A random Saturday night during the winter break, and Lando would rather stay home. But he’s spent the last two months buried in the same routine; rinse and repeat. It’s been easier that way, keeping himself too busy to think, and too exhausted to feel anything else.

This time around, his friends have been quite insistent, pushing him to get out of his self-imposed isolation.

“Come on, mate,” said Max, his frustration evident in every word he uttered, even through the speaker, “One night won’t kill you. Everyone is expecting you to be there.”

“Why would they?” asked Lando, not particularly interested in Max’s answer.

“Because I told them you’ll come. Now, don’t make me a liar, and get your athletic physique up. I’ll get to yours in five.”

Lando tried to argue at first, but Max wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, eventually, after what felt like ages of back-and-forth, he caved, mostly out of morbid curiosity.

Now, standing in the dimly lit bar, surrounded by laughter and music, he wonders why he agreed, after all. When he’s not in the mood to party or to be around people in general, everything is suddenly way too loud, too annoying, and nothing satisfies him. The air is thick with a weird combination between spilled liquor and various perfumes, adding to his irritation.

Avoiding to make a scene, Lando shifts awkwardly, nursing a drink, half-listening to whatever story Connor is animatedly telling. He feels bad when he realizes that he hasn’t seen most of his friends since the breakup, but he knows they’ve only been giving him the space he needed, waiting for him to bounce back.

But Lando hasn’t. He’s just gotten better at pretending things are going the right way. Fake it until you make it, or whatever.

“Landooo,” Max says suddenly, nudging him out of his thoughts. “Look who I ran into!”

Lando turns and his eyes lock on her, her alluring presence catching him off guard.

“This is Eva,” Max continues, “An old friend of mine.”

He can’t help but think how effortlessly beautiful she is, all bright eyes and easy smiles, with the kind of confidence that makes people gravitate toward her instinctively.

“Hey,” the girl says, offering him a playful smirk. “I was starting to think you were just a figment of Max’s imagination.”

Lando forces a chuckle. “Yeah, well. I haven’t been… around much.”

Eva tilts her head, taking him in. “That’s a vague answer.”

Max claps a hand on Lando’s shoulder. “He’s just being mysterious. It’s part of his charm, you’ll see.”

Lando rolls his eyes, but plays along. He knows what Max is doing, but he doesn’t call him out on it.

Because maybe Max is right. Maybe he should try.

And so he does.

He engages in conversation, letting himself slip into the rhythm of it. Eva is funny and easy to talk to. She makes it effortless, steering their interaction in a way that keeps his mind from wandering. As the night progresses, they end up dancing, and hands are suddenly everywhere while the music envelops them like a protective dome.

At some point, he offers to buy her another drink, and she smiles, nodding at Lando’s initiative.

“I’d like that,” she admits, her eyes sparkling under her eyelashes.

They weave through the crowd toward the bar, and as they wait, she leans in a little closer. It’s subtle at first — a touch to his shoulder when she laughs, then her fingers grazing his bicep. Lando notices it, but he doesn’t react. Not until he feels her fingertips brush against his hand. At that, he looks down and sees the way her small hand lingers against his, making his chest tighten.

She’s watching him with anticipation in her expression, waiting for him to do something. Anything. To respond, to take her hand in his, to let this moment be what it’s supposed to be.

Lando closes his eyes for a fraction. Then he pulls his hand away. Eva’s face doesn’t fall, but something shifts in her eyes; the spark goes away, being replaced by something Lando can’t quite decipher. Confusion, perhaps? Understanding, maybe? Pity, for sure.

She nods, taking a step back, putting distance between them. “Right,” her voice is light, but unbothered. “Cheers for the drink, Lando. I should get back to my friends.”

Lando swallows, guilt gnawing at him. “Eva, it’s not that I don’t—”

She stops him with a tiny smile hanging in the corner of her mouth. “Don’t have to explain yourself to me, darling. It was fun meeting you, hope to see you around. Have a nice night.”

And with that, she’s gone.

He watches her disappear into the crowd, debating going after her or scanning the place to find someone else.

Finally, Lando turns back to the bar, giving his head a little shake.

Well, that went well.

He downs the rest of his drink in one go and signals for another. The liquid burns his throat, but it’s still not enough. He needs more, now that he’s alone. Just for tonight.

As Max said, it won’t kill him.

A few minutes later, Lando returns to his people with another drink in hand. He looks much more relaxed, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s still there, somewhere, lost among the lonely nights spent in his apartment, buried under the lies he told his friends just to be left alone.

Max spots him first and frowns, “Mate, where’s Eva?”

Lando shrugs, “I think she didn’t like my bucket hat.”

Max squints in his direction, clearly unimpressed. “You didn’t even try, did you?”

He did, but won’t bother explaining that to Max. It’s not the time nor the place and, taking a slow sip of his new drink, Lando doesn’t answer, ending the conversation there.

HIS PLACE IS drenched in darkness, exactly how he left it, when Lando stumbles in. He kicks off his shoes haphazardly, muttering a curse as one skids across the floor.

So, Max’s plan hadn’t helped; nothing ever does. He had laughed at all the right moments, sipped at overpriced drinks, and told himself he was having fun. But the ride home had been silent, his thoughts crashing against him like a lost boat against the waves in the middle of a storm.

His friend offered to stay over, but didn’t insist when Lando told him he was okay; two months of pretending he was.

Two months of convincing himself he made the right choice, that he needed space to figure out who he was outside of them. He told himself he needed to be alone and focus on his work, because the aftertaste of the last season still lingers. He wants to see his dream manifesting before his eyes, and he knows that comes with a set of sacrifices. He is ready, but how far is he willing to go? What else is he willing to give up?

Because all he’s done in her absence is slowly descending into madness.

With a defeated sigh, Lando collapses onto the couch. His head falls back against the cushions, just as his phone starts buzzing into his pocket. He doesn’t need to check it to know it isn’t her. She hasn’t reached out since the day she walked away, her face crumpling in defeat as she whispered, I can’t keep fighting for something you clearly don’t want.

The memory of her face still haunts him, because he knows now, just as he knew then, that he should have fought harder. He wishes he had at least tried. Although he also knows it wouldn’t have been fair to either of them, because the mental state he was in at the time would’ve made everything worse for both of them.

Without thinking too much of it, his thumb finds her little icon, and before he can stop himself, Lando starts typing.

10:24 PM: Hey, you up?

10:24 PM: Sorry.

10:26 PM: Can we talk?

10:30 PM: You ever think about us?

10:35 PM: Forget I said anything.

10:39 PM: No, actually, don’t. You were everything. You ARE everything.

10:39 PM: I may be a little bit drunk, but I fucking miss you, baby…

10:41 PM: I don’t miss you because I’m drunk BTW. I just miss you.

10:41 PM: All the time.

10:45 PM: Was I ever enough for you? Like, in general… do you think we could’ve made it work?

10:47 PM: God, I hate you for making me question myself like this.

10:58 PM: I don’t hate you. I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about you.

11:59 PM: Remember when we went to Lake Como and got lost trying to find that little café? I think about that all the time. It started raining, and we both got sick, then we stayed in bed for a week.

11:08 PM: Are you happy?

11:10 PM: Please, say something.

11:10 PM: I know I ended this, but don’t ignore me.

11:10 PM: Please…

On the other side of the city, she’s sitting across from a man who could be plucked from a brochure for Monaco’s elite. His posture oozes confidence and he’s immaculate, from the tailored suit to his charm that has her smiling politely but distantly. He’s nothing like Lando, and she noticed that from the first date. That’s the reason why she agreed to go out again. And again.

Now, she’s four dates in, and she tries to convince herself she could get used to seeing this man as something more. But it’s not that easy when all he talks about is crypto currency and boats.

Suddenly, her phone starts buzzing, a succession of vibrations that she tries to ignore at first.

Once.

Twice.

Three-four-five-six-seven times.

When it keeps going, she excuses herself to glance at the screen, and her stomach twists as she sees his name. What freaks her out at first is that only now she realizes that she never changed his contact name, and LANDO ♥︎ now occupies both the entire size of her screen and her entire mind.

“Is everything okay?” her date asks, his voice cutting through her haze.

She blinks, confused, “I’m sorry, yeah,” she says, a wave of heat crawling up her chest and neck. “I forgot to put it on silent.”

A deep ache settles in between her lungs as she touches the icon to silent her phone. She wishes she could do that to her brain right now, because all of a sudden, her entire world starts spinning faster.

It’s the first time he’s reached out since he ended things. For her, this is monumental. But she shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t even be tempted to read whatever nonsense he keeps typing out. But then another message comes through, begging her not to ignore him, and something about the desperation in the rapid notifications makes her break.

“Excuse me,” the girl says quickly, pushing her chair back as she gets up, ready to head towards the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”

Somehow, she knew the quiet won’t last forever, but she kept hoping that Lando was happy, even without her. She hated him for a few hours after he broke up with her, but all the hatred faded away the next morning, when she woke up in an empty bed, trying her best to understand his decision.

She did, eventually. And she accepted it. More than that, she respected it, because she knew that Lando would do the same for her.

Rage.

She put in so much work, and now it’s all for nothing.

She exhales heavily, gripping the edge of the sink before finally, finally unlocking her phone, not so surprised to see more texts flooding the screen.

11:12 PM: I just wanna talk, I swear.

11:12 PM: Can I call you?

11:12 PM: Just once, please.

11:13 PM: I miss your voice.

Her heart breaks a little, but before she can overthink it, she presses that call button herself, and Lando picks up on the first ring. There’s silence at first. Nothing but his uneven breathing and the faint hum of the muted background noise.

Then, she hears his voice, rough and slightly slurred, “You called.”

She closes her eyes, trying her best to control her trembling hands. “Only to tell you to stop texting me, Lando. I am busy.”

A pause. Then a slow, shaky inhale, followed by Lando’s curiosity, “It’s almost midnight on a Saturday night, how busy are—” he stops himself as if realizing something obvious, his next words dripping in disappointment, “Oh, you’re busy,” he continues, but this time his voice changes to nonchalance. “What am I interrupting?”

She presses her lips in a thin line, bringing her fingers to her temple. “None of—”

“Are you with someone?”

Her throat tightens. “None of your business,” she finally manages to say.

His heavy breath crackles through the speaker. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She doesn’t confirm it. Doesn’t deny it. Just exhales slowly, wishing she would disintegrate into thin air before the conversation gets to an end.

To break her silence, Lando makes a noise, something caught between a bitter laugh and a sigh. “How boring is he? Be honest.”

The girl blinks, letting out a dry laugh. “Excuse me?”

“The guy you’re with,” says Lando, “How boring is he? Does he talk about taxes and golf? I bet he fucking sucks at golf.”

“Lando, how drunk—”

“Does he make you laugh?” his voice drops, softer now, but unsure. “Like I used to? God, I miss your laugh.”

She grips the sink tighter, warning him, “Stop that.”

Silence.

Then, in true Lando fashion, he blurts out something completely ridiculous, “And I miss you.”

Her stomach flips. Painfully.

He shouldn’t have this right. He broke up with her. He was the one who argued in detail why they should break up and stay that way. Him. But hearing his voice again, after all this time, she realizes how easy it is to fall back into it. Into everything they had.

“I do,” Lando insists, “I really fucking miss you, baby. Do you miss me?”

The words hit like a sucker punch.

Yes.

She bites her lip, willing herself not to break. “No,” she ends up saying.

“No,” he echoes. And for once, he sounds completely sober.

She swallows hard, forcing her voice to stay steady as she repeats, “I am busy. Goodbye, Lando.”

And before he can say anything else, before she lets herself feel too much and tell him the truth, she hangs up. With a heavy heart, she presses the phone against her chest, eyes shut, trying to breathe through the emotions crashing over her.

Breaking up with someone when you still love them is like throwing yourself into a bottomless pit. You don’t know when or if the fall will ever end, you have no idea whether or not you’ll be alone on the other side if it does end, and you certainly don’t know if you’ll make it there alive. They had their problems, of course. Everybody does. But for the first time in their relationship, Lando’s goals didn’t include her, and she had to make peace with it.

Inhaling deeply, she looks back at her reflection then she steels herself, smoothing her dress, and wiping at the corners of her eyes.

THE SECOND SHE hangs up, her words brand themselves into his brain, and for a while, he’s terrified that he’ll go mad, because they won’t stop replaying in his head like a broken record.

Goodbye, Lando. Goodbye, Lando. Goodbye, Lando.

Goodbye.

The finality of it slams into him, sucking the air from his lungs, and all the light from his eyes.

He can’t do anything but stand there, phone still pressed to his ear, as if maybe she’ll change her mind and call back. As if this is just a silly test, some cruel joke played by the universe to see how much more he can take before he completely breaks.

To his horror, the line stays dead, and the realization settles in too quickly for him to process, a dull ache spreading through his chest like poison ivy.

She didn’t even hesitate, didn’t soften, didn’t give him anything to hold onto. And maybe it’s better this way, but how easy is it to close the door on someone like that?

For the past two months, he told himself that if he ever needed her — really needed her — she’d be there for him. Because he knows her, and he knows that no matter how much time passed, no matter how many miles stretched between them, she’d still be his person.

But now, the truth is staring Lando in the face. And it looks like him. She’s gone for good, and he has no one to blame but himself.

His jaw clenches, his hold tightening around the phone so hard he might break it. The room feels too big, too empty, too goddamn quiet to the point it gets too much. With an angry exhale, Lando hurls his phone across the room, watching it smashing against the wall before clattering to the floor, the sound slicing through his ears like a gunshot.

With a deep sigh, he drags his hands down his face, fingers digging into his skin as if he can claw the frustration out of his body.

What did you expect? he asks himself. Then, he laughs. A dry laugh, deprived of real amusement.

At that time, space was what he needed, but she was never something Lando needed to escape. She was his anchor. His safe place. And now, she’s out with some other guy, probably smiling in that adorable way she does when she’s trying to be polite but isn’t actually interested.

Or maybe she is interested. Maybe she is moving on.

The thought nearly guts him.

Pushed by fear from behind, Lando forces himself to move, pacing the the living room while he runs a hand through his hair, irritation simmering beneath his skin like an annoying itch he can’t scratch. His heart is racing, thoughts spiraling faster than he can control. The only time he felt like this before was when his car slipped from his grasp back in 2021 at Spa. He knew he had to brace for impact, and knew his time was limited to do so. The difference now is that he can’t even brace himself, because the impact already took him by surprise.

This can’t be it.

After a moment, he crosses the room and picks up his phone. It has a little crack across the screen, but it’s still functional and, in his foolishness, he takes it as a sign to start typing again.

11:59 PM: Fuck your goodbye. You’re really just going to pretend like I don’t exist?

11:59 PM: After everything?

12:01 AM: Such a fucking liar.

12:01 AM: You can’t tell me you don’t feel anything. That you don’t miss me at all.

12:04 AM: I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you, alright? But I swear to god, I never stopped caring about you.

12:04 AM: Not for a second.

12:07 AM: It’s so stupid, but tell me to move on, and I will.

12:08 AM: Tell me you don’t love me anymore, and I’ll leave you alone.

12:48 AM: Please, don’t leave me like this…

12:48 AM: We can find a way, I know we can.

12:53 AM: No one will ever know you like I do, you know that, right?

12:53 AM: He doesn’t know how you hum when you’re nervous or how you always steal the blanket in your sleep, does he?

01:23 AM: Got it.

01:23 AM: If you ever meant what we promised, just know that this is my final call.

The moment he sends the last text, Lando knows he’s got only one chance to make it right. And maybe he took it too far this time, but he’s also at peace, knowing he did everything he could to catch her attention.

Their worst fight ever, before breaking up, nearly ended them right there and then. They were on the verge of walking away, but when all the anger settled and the silence stretched between them, they both realized neither wanted to lose the other. So, they needed a way to say it. A final chance to make things right.

A final call.

A desperate ‘I need you’. No games, no pretending. If one of them said it, the other showed up, no questions asked.

But the seconds turn into minutes, and the minutes turn into his darkest hour.

HER KNUCKLES ALMOST leave marks against Lando’s door from how aggressively she’s knocking. She is relentless, angry, and insistent, like she wants to break through it at all costs.

Behind the door, Lando frowns, pushing himself off the couch where he’d been slumped, after the realization hit him. But when he swings it open, his heart nearly flatlines.

She’s standing there, chest heaving and eyes wild with fury, with her tears still fresh on her face. Before he can say a word, she pushes him hard, forcing him a step back as she storms inside. The door slams shut behind her, the sound ringing through the silence of his empty apartment.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Lando?” her voice cracks, her chin trembling under the weight of her furious words. “Are you actually serious?”

Lando barely has time to react before she shoves him again, her palms pressing into his chest with all the force her adrenaline generates.

He stumbles back, blinking at her in shock.

“You’re such a coward!” she yells, “This is so unfair, you know?” her voice wavers, but her anger doesn’t falter. “You have no right to do this to me. None.”

Lando swallows hard, his mind scrambling to catch up. But too much is happening too quickly, and he doesn’t get the chance, before she interrupts him right when he’s about to speak.

“No. You’ve said enough, now I’m talking,” her breath is ragged while pointing a finger at her chest, her whole body shaking with rage as she glares up at him. “You don’t get to pull me in just to push me away. Again and again. You don’t get to decide when you love me and when you need space. And you sure as hell don’t get to use your last call just to make me drop everything for you. Because of course I will, and you know it!” she says, laughing at herself in disbelief. “That’s so fucking selfish, especially when I know you don’t even mean it, and you’re just too fucking pressed that I’m moving on without you.”

His stomach twists. “I do mean it.”

“Oh, really? Then why do you do this?” she asks, her voice breaking as she shoves him again, weaker this time. “Why? One second, you’re in love with me, and the next, you want to be left alone. And now you’re dragging me back in like I don’t have a choice, like I don’t have a life outside of you.”

Lando flinches, guilt settling deep in his bones. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“You don’t know what you want,” she accuses, her voice trembling in frustration. “Because if you did, you’d know how ridiculous you’re being right now. You can’t do this to people who love you, Lando. You can’t just… fuck with my peace like this just because you’ve had a rough night. I’ve had plenty of those myself!” she loses it, turning around only to take a break from seeing his face.

Her words hit Lando like a freight train, but she doesn’t even realize what she’s just said. She’s too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, too exhausted from holding herself together. But Lando heard her loud and clear: she still loves him.

He takes a step toward her, thinking that she’s done with pushing, but when she suddenly turns around, she starts hitting his chest again, enough to pour out all the anger, all the irritation, and all the heartbreak she’s been carrying like rocks in her pockets.

Lando just stands there, letting her, because he knows he deserves it.

Finally, she lets out a shaky breath, her hands falling limply against him. Her forehead presses into his chest as the fight drains from her completely, and a sob wracks through her. Instinctively, Lando’s arms move on their own, pulling her into his tight embrace.

He wraps himself around her, his grip firm but careful, like she might slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. Her tears soak into his shirt, and for the first time in months, the floor stopped moving under his feet, and Lando can breathe again.

They stay like that for a long time. No more words. No more yelling. Just the sound of their breathing, and their hearts beating in sync. Lando’s hand is gently moving up and down her back, and she hates how safe she feels with his scent enveloping her from every direction.

She doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually, she sniffles and pulls away just enough to wipe her cheeks.

Her fingers brush lightly against his damp shirt, letting out out a humorless laugh. “I probably ruined your stupid shirt. There’s make-up all over. Sorry.”

Lando shakes his head, his hands still resting on her waist. “That’s okay.”

She scoffs, stepping back to free herself from his embrace. Next time she looks up at him, her eyes are still glassy, but there’s something softer in them now. Then, quietly, she says, “He was boring, by the way.”

She walks past him without another word, heading straight for the couch, just like she did a thousand times before.

Lando turns to follow her, his mind slowly starting to catch up.

She’s here.

She came.

He hesitates for a moment before he enters her personal space again, watching as she sinks into the couch, exhaling silently as if she’s trying to steady herself. She rubs the mascara smudges beneath her eyes, and the sight twists something deep in his chest, realizing that he did this to her. Again. And he hates it. Hates knowing that he’s the reason she looks so lost, with puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Hates that she showed up at his door furious, but now she just looks tired. Most likely of him. Of their situation. Of running in circles that he’s designing with the sole purpose of torturing her.

Still, as Lando lowers himself onto the couch beside her, a strange sense of normalcy settles over him. They’ve sat like this countless times before, curled up together watching movies, falling asleep tangled in each other, making love, and sharing lazy conversations over takeout. He can still picture her lying here in one of his hoodies, laughing at some stupid joke he made, eyes bright and full of adoration. But tonight, the space between them is foreign, like a chasm neither of them knows how to cross.

He exhales, raking a hand through his curls. At least, her words sobered him up, his thoughts clearer than they’ve been in months.

“I met someone tonight,” Lando’s voice cuts through the silence.

Her heart drops in her stomach, but she turns her head to look at him. Her expression is unreadable, however, Lando can see the way her fingers tighten on her thighs, like she’s bracing herself.

He swallows. “If you need a reason why, this is it. Max introduced me to her,” his tone is quieter now, a bit uncertain. “I think he was trying to… I don’t know. Set me up, maybe.”

She nods once, a short, clipped motion. “And?”

“I tried,” he admits. “I really did. She was nice. We had a few drinks together.” Lando huffs out something that’s almost a laugh but lacks any real amusement. “I even thought that maybe it could work out. I hoped it would work out.”

She doesn’t say anything, but looks at him with empty eyes and dry lips.

Lando sighs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “But then she tried to hold my hand and…”

A beat of silence.

Another deep sigh.

He lifts his head just enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye before continuing, “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend,” he adds, voice faint, like the confession is physically weighing on him. “It felt so wrong.”

She turns her face away, staring at the opposite wall, her jaw clenched. She understands him, of course she does. Because that’s exactly what she was doing before her phone was flooded with his texts — pretending. Faking it. Settling for something that, deep down, was so utterly wrong.

Lando shakes his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

He watches her profile, trying his best to understand what’s going on inside her head, what she’s thinking, and if she’s warring with her own heart, just like he did for the past two months.

Finally, Lando leans back against the couch. His fingers drum restlessly against his knee when he starts speaking again, “Do you like him?”

She stiffens. “What?”

“The guy you were with tonight,” he says, studying her closely. “Do you like him?”

The girl rolls her eyes, pressing her lips together. “You are so incredibly stupid, Lando.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “I still want to hear you saying it.”

She hesitates, “I don’t know. He’s nice.”

It’s Lando’s turn to roll his eyes now, “Nice.”

She gives him a sharp look. “Yeah, nice. Like the girl you met? What is wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” he mutters. But when she keeps staring, he forces himself to continue, picking at the lint on his pants, only to avoid her piercing eyes. “It’s just… you never went for nice.”

Her expression flickers between annoyance and something else he can’t quite name.

“You don’t know me like that anymore,” she warns him.

Lando lets out a quiet breath, “People don’t change that easily,” he says it like he talks from experience. “I’d still be able to recognize you blindfolded.”

His words almost knock the wind out of her. She tilts her chin up, trying to hold onto her anger, but it’s slipping through her fingers like sand. Especially when he speaks so soflty, no bitter trace behind his voice. It’s just a fact.

“I don’t know about that,” she whispers.

“I do,” he says, getting closer to her side of the couch.

She takes a breath in, exhaling slowly. “You walked away, Lando. It was your choice. What changed?”

Instead of looking back at her, Lando’s picking now at the skin of his thumb with his nail, until he feels the blood under his fingertip. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“For who exactly?”

His chest tightens. “It was for you too,” he says in a defensive tone. “I couldn’t be what you needed. It took me years to finally be competitive, and I barely had time to breathe outside work, let alone be someone you could rely on. There was so much noise around me, I just couldn’t put you in second.”

She shakes her head, her expression caught between irritation and heartbreak. “You didn’t have to change anything for my comfort. I know what racing means to you. Knowing you were there was enough for me.”

He swallows, guilt pressing heavy against his ribs. “Not enough. I didn’t want to drag you down.”

Her lips part, a flash of disbelief crossing her face. “Do you even hear yourself?” she gestures wildly, “You were never dragging me down. I was so happy for you, Lando. Still am,” she blinks rapidly, trying to push down the emotion rising in her throat. “But you decided I was an inconvenience.”

Lando closes his eyes briefly, his fingers curling into fists. He knows she’s right. He knows. But back then, he had convinced himself that letting her go was the only way to keep her from ending up hating him. Now, she’s standing next to him, looking at him like she doesn’t know whether she wants to scream or sob.

“I’m sorry,” it’s all he can say. And then, “I just... missed you.”

Out of instinct, she makes herself smaller on the couch, raising her knees to her chest.

“I tried to act like I didn’t, but I was miserable,” Lando adds, “Everywhere I went, I was looking for you. Waiting for you.”

She closes her eyes, shaking her head again. “Spare me, won’t you?”

“I’m not saying this to change your mind,” he defends himself quickly. “I just need you to know. Because it was eating me alive.”

Her arms loosen around herself, her posture softening just a fraction. “Do you think I wasn’t miserable too?” her voice cracks on the last word. “You said I was pretending you didn’t exist. Do you really think I just walked away and simply forgot about you?”

Lando stares at her, taking in the way her lower lip trembles, the way her eyes are shining with new, unshed tears.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“Stupid, stupid,” she repeats.

She’s still mad at him. But she aches to be closer, to touch him, to bury her face in his chest and just breathe him in. Just for a moment. Just long enough to pretend that everything is okay again.

Cautious, Lando lifts a hand like he’s giving her time to pull away. But when she doesn’t, his fingers brush against her hair, gently tucking a loose strand behind her ear. His touch is light, barely there, but it still gives her chills. Then, without thinking too much of it, she leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut.

A tear slips down her cheek, and before she can wipe it away, Lando’s thumb does.

“I’m sorry.”

She lets out a quiet sob, and that’s all it takes for Lando to pull her into his arms without hesitation. She melts against him, fists gripping the fabric of his shirt, pressing her face back against his chest as she lets more tears out.

Lando buries his face in her hair, whispering all over again, as if that will make her believe him, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tears are threatening his eyes too, but he closes them before they can escape.

He feels the warmth of her breath against his collarbone and, once again, he’s terrified. He would rather her push him away, rather her scream at him, tell him she hates him, hurt him back. Because all this silence is unbearable. It swallows him whole, and tells him everything he’s too afraid to admit: that he drained her, emptied her out until there was nothing left to give.

He’s about to apologize again, but then he feels it in the way her fingers, still curled into the fabric of his shirt, twitch slightly, and the weight of her head is pressing deeper into his chest — she fell asleep. As soon as things went quiet, she slipped under, exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with the time of night and everything to do with him.

A lump forms in his throat as he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. He shifts carefully, moving just enough to lean back fully, making sure she’s as comfortable as possible. But unfortunately, sleep doesn’t come easy for him.

HER PALM RESTS against his cheek, the heat of his skin seeping into hers. Every exhale of hers tickles his jaw, and it feels like muscle memory, the way her body molds into his, the way he instinctively holds onto her even in sleep.

Lando doesn’t stir. He never does. He’s always been the type to sleep through anything — alarms, thunderstorms, and morning light flooding the room. Even now, he’s dead to the world, his lips slightly parted, his arm wrapped lazily around her waist.

But his phone vibrates on the coffee table, and that’s what wakes her up, the sound cutting through the stillness. She barely registers it at first, burying her face against his chest, but when it buzzes again and again, she groans softly.

Disoriented, her breath deepens as she takes in her surroundings: the familiar scent, the heavy weight of Lando’s arm, the warmth of his body against hers. And then, all of it crashes down on her. Last night. Every whispered apology, every push, every tear, every way she let herself slip back into him like she never left.

Suddenly, a wave of panic wakes her up for good and, covering her mouth with a trembling hand, she tries to muffle the sob that threatens to escape. She can’t cry again; she’s way too exhausted for that. But her body betrays her, stiffening next to him as his weight becomes suffocating.

Luckily, the continuous buzzing takes her out of it and, reluctantly, she finally reaches for Lando’s phone. The screen lights up with a crack across it, and lots of notifications. It’s 1:04 PM, and a text from an unsaved number catches her attention first:

Hey, Lando ;) This is Eva. Max gave me your number, said you weren’t feeling well last night. I’d like to see you again tonight if...

The rest of the message is cut off by the lock screen, so she lets the phone drop back against the glass of the table, swallowing past the tightness in her throat and slowly turns onto her side, facing him. Lando looks so peaceful like this. His curls are messy, his face slack with sleep, no frown decorating the smooth skin of his forehead. His eyebrows are a little fuzzy, so she gently styles them back into shape with her thumb.

She missed their lazy mornings more than anything. The way the concept of time never seemed to exist when they were wrapped up in each other, away from anything that could potentially come in between them.

Her hand is still weak as she presses her palm to Lando’s chest. His heartbeat thrums beneath her fingertips, steady, warm, alive. That’s why she came here in the first place: for him. And in the clear daylight, she realizes that the familiarity between them can’t be reversed. Last night was a lot, but she can’t let herself fall into it again, no matter how badly her body wants to stay curled into him.

She brings the same palm to her chest then, trying to put some distance, but Lando stirs instinctively. His arm pulls at her waist, his fingers twitching against the fabric of her dress, unwilling to let her go even in the hazy blur of waking up.

His body recognizes hers before his mind does; the warmth, the normalcy of having her there. Then, reality creeps in, dragging him back into consciousness. And with it comes the dull ache pressing against the inside of his skull, the dryness in his throat, the remnants of last night staining his entire body with exhaustion, guilt, and shame.

“I feel like shit,” he speaks against her shoulder, voice raspy from sleep. His head is pounding, his stomach unsettled, but her scent is the only thing guiding him to something steady. He breathes it in, eyes still closed, and continues, “I need a greasy burger for breakfast.”

“It’s past one,” she says quietly.

Lando groans, rolling onto his back, draping an arm over his eyes. He can feel her presence, but even though her body is so close to his, he starts to feel the tension. The distance. He realizes it the second she moves again, getting in a sitting position, ready to leave the bed. Leave him.

Lando’s eyes snap open, desperate to catch a glimpse of her, even as the sunlight nearly blinds him. Her hair is messy, hands resting against her lap. Her dress is all wrinckled and drapes over her frame, making her look small in a way that destroys him. Like she doesn’t belong to this moment, like she’s already halfway out the door.

“I should go,” she says the words that he was so afraid of, and it feels like a knife to his ribs.

“You should stay,” he insists. “We can get something to eat, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

She presses a palm against her forehead, realizing the gravity of the situation. Giving him false hope won’t help anyone.

“No, thank you. Falling asleep was already bad enough.”

Lando clears his throat before speaking again, slightly unsure, “Was it, though?” he asks and, in return, she shoots him a warning look. “I know, I’m sorry.”

However, she’s no longer angry with him. She exhausted the last of her strength last night, and now all that’s left is the bitter taste of what could have been.

“Is that the only thing you’ll say now?”

He licks his lips, throat still dry as if he drank sand. “Yes. Until you forgive me.”

It was meant to be lighthearted, a little joke, and a weak attempt at softening the weight pressing down on both of them. Based on past experiences, she always forgave him. So why should now be any different, right? But when she doesn’t react, when the silence only thickens, he realizes how fucking stupid that was.

She blinks once, twice. Her gaze flickers away, “Your final call,” she says quietly, “Did you do it because of that girl? You got scared because you liked her more than you thought you could?”

Lando’s heart stalls for a second, caught off guard by her inquire. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know what the hell I was doing. I mean, I was scared. But not of her,” he stops, thinking of it. The frown comes back, and it looks like the thought gives him a headache. “I was scared of falling back into something I couldn’t fix. Still am. You and me… we’re not easy, you know?” he lets out a small, bitter laugh, almost self-deprecating. “We’ve never been easy. And I’m just so tired of fucking things up.”

She doesn’t think much about her actions lately. She wasn’t thinking last night when she left her date in a rush, and she certainly isn’t thinking now, as she turns her body to face him.

“I don’t understand you anymore, Lando. The only thing I do understand is that you pushed me away just so you wouldn’t have to deal with me. Because you couldn’t handle me, is that right?”

Lando winces. The weight of her words hit him harder than any punch. “No, it’s not right. I just didn’t know how to fix… me,” he says it for the first time out loud, his voice breaking on the last part; surprisingly, it’s not making him as uncomfortable as he thought it would. “I didn’t want to lose you. Not like that.”

She scoffs, “And now what? You think one drunken night is enough to put you on the right track? You think you know what you want just because you’re afraid of losing something that’s no longer yours anyway?” the girl asks, watching as his facial expression changing in pain. “I’m sorry, Lando. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I need answers.”

His voice is barely a whisper as he replies, “The only answer I can give you is that I didn’t know how to be what you needed at the time. Is that so hard to believe?”

Her eyes fill with tears, but she blinks them away. “It is,” she agrees, “Because you never asked me what I needed. Not once. You just did what was best for you. And now…,” her voice trails off before moving her eyes on a random point on the floor, “You’re not showing me anything. You can say that all you want, but how do I know you won’t push me away again? I need to know you’re here, that you’re really here.”

Lando reaches for her then, almost instinctively, his hands determined as he cups her face. “I am here,” he whispers, leaning in, his breath shaky against her skin. “You’re just too stubborn to let me back in. And I get why,” he rushes to say as he feels her tensing under his touch. “But, please. Let me fix us. Please.”

Neither of them speak for a while after that. She’s so close to him now, she can hear both of their heartbeats, the weight of every single second hanging between them like lead from a strand of hair.

She is hesitant, but she pulls him in first, her lips barely brushing over his. Even though it’s a featherlight touch, her close proximity ignites something highly flammable in Lando. He stills, his breath caught in his throat, his hands curling into fists as if holding himself back, too afraid to take it any further too fast.

Just as he leans in, just as he starts to close the little gap, slowly, she pulls away. The loss of her, even for a second, makes his patience snap and, without giving her the chance to build another wall between them, he reaches out, fingers threading into her hair, pulling her back to him, this time with purpose.

She doesn’t resist — can’t, really.

His forehead presses against hers and neither of them move, trapped in the space between knowing and doing. His grip tightens against her jaw, thumb stroking over the edge of her cheek, his breath hot against her parted lips. The weight of everything that’s been left unsaid lingers in the air, and it’s suffocating. She exhales shakily, closing her eyes for a moment, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers splayed over his heart, feeling the way it pounds beneath her touch. And then, as if her body betrays every ounce of hesitation in her mind, she fists his shirt and pulls him back against her.

They crash together, and the world tilts within a second.

Their lips meet in a clash of want and desperation that knows no border of sanity. His hands are suddenly everywhere, cradling her face, threading through her hair, tracing the delicate curve of her spine. She presses into him, her nails scraping against the back of his neck, anchoring herself to him like she’s afraid he’ll slip away any minute. Like he’s going to change his mind again, and tell her to leave, because he needs to be alone.

But he won’t. He never will again. The taste of her floods his senses, familiar and intoxicating, making his body buzz with excitement as he deepens the kiss. He breathes her in, trying to make up for every second he’s spent without her.

She wants him, and she’s aware that things could go exponentially wrong after this, but she’s already broke the rules the moment she crossed his threshold last night. She shifts against him, pressing closer, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his chest. He stirs slightly, humming, his arms automatically locking around her, helping her sit on his lap.

Her lips brush against his jaw, trailing down the column of his throat. She’s barely even touching him, but she knows he feels it, because she hears the way his breathing stutters, the slight twitch of his fingers against her hip. She smiles, shifting again, innocent, except not at all, because her thigh suddenly drags over his, pressing just enough to feel the growing heat between them.

Lando lets out a sleepy grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “What the hell are you doing?” his aroused voice is exactly how she remembers, rough and deep, and able to send shivers down her spine.

She hums, pressing another kiss to his collarbone. “Nothing.”

Lando chuckles, his hand sliding to grab her waist, fingers lazy but firm. “No, I think you’re doing something.”

And, whatever she’s doing, she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause to think.

She lets out a dry laugh, edged with sadness and a hint of accusation, “Always making me ache, aren’t you?” she asks, pressing her lips against his ear, while positioning herself above him, helping Lando get rid of his shirt. Soon enough, her fingers are dragging down his stomach, nails grazing lightly at his abs. “It’s like it turns you on to see me in pain, isn’t it?” the girl sighs, brushing her hips against his in a way that makes him curse under his breath.

His fingers dig more into her waist, his patience thinning by the second. “You know that’s not true,” his voice sounds so angelic, that she actually believes him for a second because of it. “I’m sorry you can’t trust me anymore. But there’s nothing I hate more than to see you hurting because of me.”

She nods, giving him the impression that his words have the power to make her weak. In reality, she’s just curious to find out how sorry he really is.

“You’ve said that about a hundred times already,” the girl reminds him, “How bad, though?” she tries to push the limits, mostly to see if there are any, the words slipping from her lips like something delicate and filthy all at once. “Bad enough that you’ll drunk text me again? To see if I come running to you? Again? To say you’re sorry a hundred more times, hoping I’ll let you fuck me in whatever position you want, for as long as you want just because I feel for your sorry ass?”

His nostrils flare as he exhales in disapproval, “Stop that shit.”

“Why?” her voice sounds overly seductive, but somehow, he knows it’s just a trap. “Isn’t sex your answer to everything?”

There you go.

Lando’s jaw tenses as the words continue to leave her mouth, unforgiving, each one winding around his self-control like a vice. His fingers twitch on her waist, the weight of her straddling him making it impossible to think straight. She knows exactly what she’s doing, pushing, teasing and testing the waters of his restraint.

And fuck, it’s working.

Her dress has ridden up her thighs higher, exposing smooth, warm skin that begs to be touched, and his hands find their way there without permission, fingertips pressing into her like he wants to make sure he’s not just dreaming, and she’s actually there.

“Not trying to fuck my way back to you, if that’s what you mean,” Lando disagrees just as he lets his fingers drift higher, watching the way her breath becomes more uneven. “But won’t back down if it works, either. So what does that say about you? That we’re just the same?”

She puffs out a laugh, but there’s no humor behind it. Just a lot of tension, coiled so tight between them that something is bound to snap. Soon.

“We’re so not,” she argues, tilting her head slightly, her lips so close to his that he can taste her breath. “I actually have the balls to stay when things get tough.”

Her unfiltered comment it’s all it takes.

Lando moves in a blur, gripping her hips and flipping them over in one swift motion, pressing her into the couch as a surprised gasp leaves her lips. He hovers over her, his body fitting perfectly between her open thighs, hands braced on either side of her head. The sudden shift has her looking up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, and chest heaving in anticipation.

In this position, Lando looks at her like he’s trying to figure out what to do to her, aware that the changing in dynamics favors him. His hands find the hem of her dress, fingertips teasing the edge as he watches her reaction, giving her a chance to stop him — or to take back her words, whichever comes first. But she does neither. Instead, she lifts her hips, a silent plea, and that’s all the permission that Lando needs.

He peels the fabric up, savoring the way her body is revealed inch by inch. His mouth finds the newly exposed skin along her ribs with the speed of a man starved, trailing open-mouthed kisses up her torso, leaving a path of goosebumps in his wake. Lando can feel her shiver beneath him, her fingers tangling into his curls, tugging just enough to pull a string of sweet noises out of him.

“I won’t be able to stop if we—” he murmurs against her skin, a last sliver of hesitation buried underneath all the want.

She cuts him off by cupping his jaw, guiding his face up so he has no choice but to look at her. “I won’t ask you to,” she assures him, lifting her hips up once more to meet his, feeling how hard he is against her. The contact is like a drug she’s been deprived of for too long, and now that she has access to him again, her mouth starts moving before wiring to the rational side of her brain, “I wanna do laundry together later.”

Despite what he’s just said, Lando does stop, watching her intently. Because he knows that she means more than just laundry. For starters, it means she’s staying. It means she’s letting him try. It means the weight in his chest that’s been suffocating him for weeks finally lifts, replaced by something warm yet fragile, something he doesn’t dare break this time.

He has to swallow past the ache before pressing himself against her, letting her scent wrap around him like the most familiar kind of comfort.

“Yeah?” he finally whispers, like he’s afraid speaking too loudly might shatter whatever weak truce they’ve found between them.

She nods, a real smile appearing on her face, the first one in months, “Yeah,” she parrots, which urges Lando to plant another kiss on her lips, lazier this time. And she welcomes him.

Gradually, his grip consolidates around her, his teeth catching her bottom lip, and suddenly, the slow morning is anything but. Now he’s wired, wide awake, and so fucking hard.

Her hands work fast, pushing at the waistband of his pants with an urgency that makes Lando’s pulse hammer in his throat. He moves enough to help her, and then the fabric is gone, pooling somewhere on the floor, next to her dress and panties.

The feeling of skin on skin has the power to set him on fire, every inch of him hypersensitive as she drags her fingers down his stomach, nails scratching lightly against the ridges of muscle before wrapping around him for just a second, only to say hi. His breath catches, head tipping forward before he forces himself to look down at her.

“You’re a menace,” Lando points out. His voice is thick with desire as he rolls his hips against her once her hands move around his neck, dragging his length along the soft skin of her inner thigh, brushing lightly where she needs him most. He feels her shiver, her nails digging into his back for a fraction of a second before she exhales a breathy laugh.

“I had to adapt,” she says, her voice saccharine, but teasing, fingers biting into his shoulder blades.

“I can see that,” his tone is rough, but there’s something playful underneath it. He continues to move, this time with more intention, the tip of his cock catching against her slick heat.

She bites her lip, her free hand reaching up to pull him down on her and crash their lips together in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, too desperate to be anything but raw. He groans into her mouth, their breaths blending together, and she takes the moment to wrap her legs around his waist, locking him against her completely, the heat ever-growing.

The easiest thing in the world for Lando is to get lost in her warmth, her scent and the way his skin vibrates with every touch of her delicate palm.

The hardest thing in the world for Lando is to stop when every nerve in his body screams for more, just to make sure she wants this as much as he does, even though it risks snapping her back to reason, forcing her to push him away all over again.

“If you don’t—”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “I do.”

With that, his hand is already in motion, dragging down her stomach, pushing between her thighs. He finds her soaked, warm, and slick against his fingertips, and it makes him want to howl, knowing that he still has the same effect on her; if anything, the time spent apart only made her miss his touch more.

“Shit,” he slurs, pressing two fingers against her clit, moving them in torturous circles. “Missed seeing you this needy in the morning.”

She hums, thighs twitching. “Techincally, it’s not morning anymore.”

Lando shakes his head in disbelief, “That smart mouth,” his fingers slip lower, teasing at her entrance but never pushing in, just pressing there, feeling the way she opens up for him.

For a moment, his fingers stay right there to tease her, barely giving what she wants, what she’s silently begging for with the way her hips roll forward. Agonizingly slow, he pushes in, finding her so ready for him and so fucking tight, that Lando swears he could lose his mind just from feeling her in his hands.

The girl huffs out a breath, her frustration evident as she glares up at him, “Lando.”

“Yes, love?” he uses his fingers to press further just a little more, but never enough, feeling her walls hugging him impatiently.

She bites her lip, a flush creeping down her neck, and he knows she hates the way he’s making her ask for it.

Her voice is sharper next time she speaks, “You win. Now stop being a dick.”

Lando smirks, dipping down to press a kiss to her shoulder, dragging his teeth along her skin before pulling back to look at her. “I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully, fingers curling lightly inside her pussy, enough to make her whimper. “I kinda like seeing you like this.”

She narrows her eyes at him, but it’s ruined by the way she starts panting when he finally, finally, glides his fingers in and out, her body agreeing with everything he has to offer. His thumb presses against her clit, rubbing her wetness against it as he watches her fall apart, her hands clinging onto him for support.

“Fuck,” she cries, head tipping back, and Lando swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Yeah, fuck,” he agrees, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth, and then her jaw. Her back arches instantly, a moan spilling from her lips as her nails dig into his arms, while he’s going faster, agonizingly so, dragging his fingers in and out, feeling how her body fights to keep him in. “This what you needed?”

She quickly turns her head from side to side, fingernails scratching along the skin his shoulders. “More,” she whispers, already out of breath. “Wanna feel you.”

Lando pulls his fingers out, watching the way her slick clings to them in the rich color of the afternoon light. He blows out the breath of air he was holding, trapping her thighs in his grasp as he lines himself up, the tip of his cock dragging through the wetness pooling between her legs.

“Well, if that’s what you want, that’s what you get, baby. Wanna see you drip on it,” he muses, pressing just barely inside before pulling back out, coating himself in her slick. “See how much you missed me.”

She whines, hips jerking up.

The grin on Lando’s face widens. “There you go, you beauty.”

She meets his eyes, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from his kisses. Seeing her like that, squirming under him, throws Lando into a spiral. For now, he has no idea where this moment will take them. All he knows is that he wants to make the most of it, to memorize her body lines and the sound of her moans, because once the haze fades and clarity takes its place, anything is possible.

And that terrifies him.

Sinking into her feels like homecoming, and the sweet stretch is making both of them whine in unison, cling onto each other. He swears under his breath as her walls constrict around his length, her mouth falling open in a breathy gasp.

“Holy shit.”

She’s so full of him, just like she wanted, the feeling even better than she remembers.

Lando presses a kiss to her jaw, his hands holding her waist tight enough to leave faint marks behind. “Not letting you go ever again,” he says with his lips glued to her skin like he’s in a trance, voice strained as he fights to keep control of his own body.

She nods, barely able to realize what’s she agreeing on, mind buzzing with thoughts of him, him, only him. “Promise?”

Lando sighs, pulling out slowly, almost all the way before sinking back in. The sound alone — that lazy, wet, messy drag of his cock leaving her, again and again — enough to turn him into a savage man. He watches, entranced, as the evidence of how much she wants him spills down her slit, glistening and painting her inner thighs.

In answer to her plea, Lando links his pinky finger with hers, his hand covering hers entirely. “Promise you, baby. You’re fucking unreal,” he rasps.

Waiting for her was pure torture, but the thought that this can be over before it even properly begins, forces him to still inside her then pull out entirely, his cock, flushed and soaked, resting against her thigh, leaving more of their mess behind. He grips the base, stroking himself once, careful, watching as her empty cunt clenches in his absence, her body desperate to be filled again.

“I’m so glad I got drunk,” says Lando, tracing his fingertips through the wetness between her legs. He presses a long finger back inside her, for his own pleasure, only to feel how impatient she is.

She cries out, thighs snapping shut around his wrist, back arching off the couch. “Yeah, me too,” she blinks up to him, her sincerity spurring Lando on.

He adds another finger as a reward, fucking into her deeper, his other hand stroking his cock in time with her gasps.

“We were always gonna end up here, weren’t we?” asks Lando, his hand working her faster now, watching as she writhes beneath him.

She lets out a choked moan, but can’t answer, too busy rolling her hips against his movements.

“Me, apologizing,” Lando continues, sounding so out of breath, “While you moan my name. Like always, is that right?”

“Lan,” she warns.

“Juuust like that. Look at you,” he chuckles, watching the way her body responds, getting covered in a sweaty layer of goosebumps, and the way her thighs tremble. “As desperate as ever.”

She whimpers, pushing up onto her elbows, dazed and itching to see what he’s doing to her. And the sight makes her pulse race: Lando between her legs, his fingers moving inside her, fucking her with a contrasting gentle force, while his other hand works over his cock, slick and hard, ready to stretch her all over again.

His eyes flick up to hers, dark and hungry, lips parted as he watches her descending into despair, slowly but surely. He drags his fingers out, just to press them back in, firmly, watching her body tense, making her whine louder.

“That’s it, my sweet girl,” he praises, voice subdued and teasing. “Feel it,” his strokes on himself grow lazier, drawing out the moment. “Feel me.”

She nods frantically, her thighs so close to give up from so much shaking. “Not… enough.”

Lando mewls, biting his lip as he watches her squirm, his patience hanging by a thread. “No?” he asks amused, pulling his fingers out and lining himself up again. “Let’s do something about it then. Show you how sorry I am, hm?”

He pushes back inside without any warning in one fluid motion, and the sensation wrecks both of them at the same time. She’s always so fucking tight, but soaked enough that there’s no resistance, just the messy slide of him stretching her open with every inch.

“Shit,” his voice is barely a sound, more like a guttural groan as he bottoms out, his hands finding their way back home, on her hips.

The heat of her, the way she pulses around him, has his heart racing relentlessly, and their sounds fill the living room every time they move together. Lando grits his teeth, withdrawing just halfway before thrusting back in, harder each time.

She gasps, her body craving him, like she can’t get enough. “More.”

He snarls, pace picking up, his hips snapping against hers, skin meeting skin in a rhythm that’s almost punishing. “More?” Lando asks in amazement, “You fucking take everything I give you, and you still want more?”

She nods, dragging her hands down his back, nails leaving marks that burn, but it only spurs him on, thankful she gives him something he could feel for hours after they’re done.

“Always more,” she whimpers, legs wrapping weakly around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she yammers. “Feels so. Good,” she chokes on the last word, lifting her hips in desperation.

Lando is close to sobbing at this point, slamming into her, his control unraveling by the second. “Good girl. Gonna make you come so fucking hard you’ll feel me every time you blink.”

Her whines break into cries as he fucks her harder, each thrust hitting the exact spot inside her where she needs him most. His hand slips between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing her in messy circles, just to see her fall prey to the pleasure that only he can give her.

“Yes,” she nods, her body keep moving on its own to meet his. “Yes, I’m so close. Don’t stop!”

He is far too hypnotized by the way she loses it under him, demanding more and more with each passing second. Lando’s hands move then to encircle her waist, squeezing gently before sliding higher up her ribs, and finally to her breasts. They don’t rest there for too long, though, as she grabs his wrists and moves them around her neck, pulling his face right above hers. Her legs tighten tighter around him, and her palm cups his ass cheeks, pressing him deeper into her.

“That bad?” he asks her, and all she can do is nod again, speechless. “Come on, then. Wanna feel you drench my—"

Lando can’t even finish his sentence as her moans get louder, a blinding pleasure tearing through her in waves, over and over again, too intense to hold back. She cries out, back arching, body shaking she squirts, soaking both of them.

“Ah, shit. Shit shit shit!” Lando’s voice is wrecked, his hips stuttering as he watches her welcoming the euphoria.

The sight, the feel of her pulsing around him, squeezing him so tight has the power to destroy him. He barely manages a few more thrusts before he breaks, burying himself deep, groaning as he spills inside her, warmth flooding her walls. His body shudders against hers, muscles tensing, pleasure rolling through him in waves just as endless as hers. His hands are holding on to her like she’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. And right now, she is.

For them, the time stops. They just breathe each other in, their bodies locked together, still vibrating. He can feel everything, from the soft rise and fall of her chest to the tiny aftershocks still making her pussy throb around him, pulling him deeper even though he’s already buried to the hilt. It makes Lando gasp softly, dragging his lips lazily over her jaw.

His fingers brush along her side once they manage to catch their breaths. “You okay?” Lando’s voice is low, lightly dipped in concern at her sudden silence.

She nods weakly, eyes snapping open, a satisfied little hum escaping her lips. “Okay,” she breathes out, lovingly tracing her fingers along his spine.

Lando smiles mischievously, “Okay.”

Before she can register what he’s doing, he grabs one of her legs and pulls it up, resting it over his shoulder, changing the angle entirely.

“The fuck?” her inquire is startled, but it quickly turns into something else the moment he starts moving, the new position making everything tighter, deeper. Heaven.

His grin is downright devilish. “Not done,” he informs her matter-of-factlty.

To that, Lando’s hands settle firmly back on her hips, pinning her in place before he draws back and thrusts into her measured at first, the kind of stroke that leaves her breathless.

Somehow, the finish line turns into a brand new start, and all she can do is brace for it.

“Oh, my—Lando!” her stomach twists, fingers grasping at nothing, forced to cling to the cushions because she can’t reach him like this. The position keeps her wide open for him, helpless, unable to do anything but take it.

Lando hums, his grip tightening. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Spread wider for me,” he instructs. “Can you give me one more?”

She whimpers, barely able to think, let alone answer, as he starts pounding into her, his rhythm relentless. Every thrust knocks the breath from her lungs, her body struggling to keep up with the sheer intensity of it, but somehow excited and so willing to push the limits.

“Please,” it’s both a cry and a plea, but she doesn’t even know what she’s begging for.

“Obsessed with those pretty noises. Just take it, baby,” he breathes, driving into her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

His grip shifts then, spreading her even wider, forcing her open until there’s nowhere for her to run. His pace slows just for a fraction, not out of mercy, but because he wants to feel every inch of her hugging him, wants her to feel how deep he is, how there’s no part of her he isn’t claiming.

And then he sees it.

Right there, in the soft plane of her lower stomach. Every time he pushes in, there’s a faint, tantalizing bulge, proof of just how deep he goes; his brain short-circuits. The sight of it has him helpless, hunger twisting tight in his gut, making his cock twitch inside her.

“Fucking hell,” his voice is nothing but raw, shattered arousal. He can’t help himself, instinctively bringing his wide palm to press down on it, applying the slightest pressure, feeling himself inside her from the outside.

“Fuck’s sake, Lando,” her moans turn high, her body jerking as if there is no such thing as too much pleasure.

“You feel that, baby?” Lando’s eyes are wild, rolling his hips a bit slower now, pushing so far inside her that she swears she can feel him in her throat. “Feel how fucking deep I am?”

She nods, tears beading in the corners of her eyes, her hands clawing harder at the sheets because it’s too much.

His forehead falls forward, resting on hers. “Forgive me.”

A simple — yet not really — plea, wrapped in something devastatingly tender. It makes her stomach flip, makes her heart ache in a way that feels too big for her body. She clenches around him involuntarily, and he groans, his grip on her hips tightening.

Her leg slides down his waist, hands instantly flying around his back, pulling him impossibly closer, her lips brushing against his jaw as she nods. “Please, Lando…”

“I need you,” he says, “Need you by my side when I win. Need you by my side when I fuck up. When I’m flying so high it feels like I’ll never come down.”

The sweat blends with the smell and the desperation behind his confession, and somehow, the moment feels endless, even though both of them know it quickly approaches the end.

“Need you when it gets too loud, when I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just noise. Need you when I wake up, and when I go to sleep. Just… need my pretty girl that knows me better than anyone,” he praises, pressing his palm firmer against her stomach, feeling the way she squeezes him from the inside. “Need to fuck you like this every day, baby. To be the one that drives you mad. Please. Please, forgive me.”

His words send a shockwave through her, a moan ripping from her throat. Lando hisses, thrusting deep again, watching the way his cock bulges against his palm, and the way her body welcomes him with no resistance.

He is right there, balancing on the knife’s edge of pleasure, and it’s almost infuriating. His whole body shakes with the effort of holding back, but he can’t tear his eyes away from where they’re joined. The sight has his stomach tensing, his cock throbbing inside her. The slick glide, the way she clenches around him every time he grinds in deep, and the way her body drags him back in with every pull out it’s fucking unbearable.

“Baby, I can’t—” she drags him deeper into the heat of her release, her weak arms pulling him impossibly closer as if she’ll disintegrate without him.

That does it for Lando, shattering whatever control he has left. His rhythm stutters, his thrusts turning erratic as the pressure in his spine explodes.

“Fuck” he groans as his release bursts inside her, hot and thick, flooding her walls. His hips jerk against her as wave after wave crashes through him, his cock pulsing with every sharp, overwhelming aftershock.

But even as his body shudders with euphoria, even as his breath stutters against her throat, his hips keep moving.

“I’m sorry. So fucking sorry,” he rasps, pressing into her with hard grinds, still spilling inside her, his body demanding more. “Fucking hell, I can’t stop.”

She gasps, over-sensitive but still achingly wet for him, her body responding to every push, every deep roll of his hips.

“I know, I know,” she says, wrapping herself around him.

“Yes? Just a little more,” he begs, “Please, just let me feel you a little longer.”

His movements slow eventually, each thrust turning sluggish, drawn out, until he can’t physically move anymore. The last of his pleasure drains from him, leaving his body heavy, and utterly spent. Finally, he collapses on top of her, his face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing ragged, skin covered in a generous layer of sweat. His natural scent sends her home in an instant, and all she wants right now is for time to freeze in place.

She doesn’t say anything, just exhales softly and presses a kiss to his temple, then another to his cheek, her lips brushing over his damp skin. She moves tenderly, kissing his jaw, his eyelids, the bridge of his nose. He’s still inside her, still holding onto her like she’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

People talk about the quiet before the storm, but the quiet after is much more terrifying. It gives you time to see the destruction it left behind, and there’s nothing you can do but watch. She has always hated feeling powerless, and it’s only when she tilts her head, pressing her lips to his forehead, that she feels it. A warm, wet drop against her collarbone. Then another.

Her fingers still where they were stroking through his curls. “Lando?” she whispers, pulling back just enough to look at him, hoping that her suspicions will not come true. But that’s when she sees the raw emotion in his eyes, the way his brows are furrowed, the silent tears slipping down his cheeks.

He looks almost startled, like he hadn’t even realized he was crying. His chest rises and falls unevenly, his lips parting slightly as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

She cups his face instinctively, her thumb catching a tear before it can fall, just like he did last night. “Lan…” she speaks a bit louder this time, “Look at me.”

He shakes his head in response, his hands gripping her waist like he’s afraid she’ll disappear again, this time for more than two months.

Lando presses his forehead to hers, closing his eyes, feeling more tears running down his cheeks, “Tell me it’s not too late for us,” he pleads, pulling back to finally meet her gaze. “Tell me I haven’t fucked this up beyond repair.”

Beneath the surface, the pain still lingers. But much deeper down, their bond is still knotted tightly, and even though the rope is taut, ready to snap at any small gust of wind, the fact that she’s still in his arms is enough for the rope to become the binder that holds them together. She can’t name the feeling without giving him everything all at once. Instead, she just brushes her nose against his.

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

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© trashy track tales, 2025

[celestialowlbear]

⋆ ☀︎ ⋆ Halsin, Gale, & Astarion NSFW Headcanons ⋆ ☀︎ ⋆

Pairings: Halsin x You, Gale x You, Astarion x You

Summary: Their favorite positions with you. 😌

Warnings: NSFW, 18+. GN reader/you/Tav. Sex, praise, kissing, romantic. Soft Astarion. Established relationship with reader/Tav.

A/N: I’m sick at home and had thots. I apologize for any mistakes, haha. Just some soft smut for these men. Thanks for reading!

Halsin 🌱

Halsin doesn’t mind any position as long as you are thoroughly pleasured. But…

Halsin does love it when you ride him when he’s flat on his back.

Whether it’s in a bed, a grassy field, your bedroll, the soft banks of a river…Halsin will have you like this anywhere.

To see you in control of your pleasure and taking what you need…he goes feral.

Halsin also loves feeling up your body while you do so, squeezing and caressing and worshiping with his giant hands as he watches you bounce on his cock…he could have you like this for hours.

Not one single inch of your body is left untouched.

Feeling the softness of your ass or breasts (if you have them) under his palms, tracing his hands over your hips and thighs, murmuring praises as he does so.

You can still lean down and kiss him passionately, swallowing one another’s grunts and moans and loving sentiments.

Halsin knows he still has a little power, matching his thrusts with yours, pushing up into you, and increasing your pleasure.

Your reaction is always immediate as he fucks up into you like it was his task given to him by the Oak Father himself.

Witnessing your head thrown back in ecstasy, your lips parted and eyes heavy with lust as you gaze down at him with intense love…sometimes that’ll end him right then and there.

Gale 🔮

Missionary King. Hear me out.

It’s the intimacy of it all, being so close to you, faces millimeters apart, relishing the soft gasps of his name in time with his thrusts.

He can kiss you, entwine his hands with yours above your head, whisper sweetness in your ear, and sense your entire body under his.

Gale loves when your legs wrap around his waist, wordlessly encouraging him to take you faster and deeper, or how your hands grasp and tangle in his hair or dig into his back.

He can take in every expression of pleasure, how stunning you look, how much love is in your eyes even amid intense coupling.

You capture every expression of his, too. The way his hair hangs around his face, his powerful thrusts precise just like his touches, and his breathless “I love yous” between desperate kisses.

Gale prefers taking you in the comforts of your shared bed in his tower in Waterdeep, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have you laid out on his desk, or perhaps in the study in front of the fireplace if the moment is right.

In exceptionally passionate moments, he’ll hook your legs over his shoulders to drive into you and make you see stars, usually bringing you both to your end quickly with the intensity of your devotion.

In this position he can wholly worship you like the god(dess) you are to him.

Astarion 🌙

Astarion enjoys being with you in the confines of your bedroom with no distractions.

Just you and him, only focusing on exploring one another’s bodies and becoming comfortable with your newfound intimacy.

Astarion loves beckoning you to his lap while he sits against the headboard of the bed.

He prefers you riding his cock like this, at least until you orgasm first, and maybe he’ll switch up positions.

He likes it mostly because it gives him full access to your neck and chest, but there’s another reason.

Astarion might not admit it out loud (maybe later into your relationship) but he loves just…being able to hold you in such an intimate moment as well.

Astarion will wrap his arms around you and lavish your neck, kissing and nipping and inhaling your scent, leaving love bites as he goes.

Tasting you and feeling you like this makes it all real to him, knowing your connection was real, and that your connection was more than purely physical.

It was real love, and it made his heart want to burst out of his chest.

He can nibble at your chest or just bury his face into your soft skin and get fully lost in everything that is you.

Of course that doesn’t mean his hands won’t wander, cradling the back of your head and giving your ass a hearty squeeze when the moment calls for it.

You never miss the quiet gasp that leaves his lips when you lightly tug at the curls of his hair and kiss him deeply, or the gentle smile that graces his lips when you are both finished and spent, watching you fall asleep in his arms.

-ˏˋ⋆ Thanks for reading, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! ⋆ˊˎ-

*Banner made by me. Photos taken from BG3 wiki*

[miserycanary]

TAKE IT OR LEAVE HIM ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & reader

synopsis: Ghost forgets your birthday

tag: slight slight angst

Hectic doesn’t begin to describe Ghost’s schedule, yet you accepted him with open arms. He needs to cut your dinner short because he’s needed back at the base? You nod with a smile full of understanding. He forgets a few chores and groceries because he’s piled up with tasks? You kiss his forehead and tell him it’s fine, and you just work around it and rush during your office breaks to do those tasks on your own. You’re exhausted from being held back at the office because the client changed their mind during the finalization, but you come home to a pile of dirty dishes and no dinner? You say you understand, washing up and going to bed while feeling your stomach grumble and waking up to wash the previous night’s dishes just to lessen Ghost’s worries.

You had no problem bending backwards just to accommodate him. You entered the relationship knowing about his schedule, so… were you really in any position to complain? 

A few insignificant tasks and miniscule adjustments to your schedule were nothing; never once uttered a complaint because you understood. Why? Because Ghost always finds a way to make it up to you. Sending bouquets when you close a big deal, treating you to a fancy restaurant during your birthday (though he’s mostly never there to celebrate until the end), and gifting you branded things during your anniversaries… so, it was all okay….. ?

Yes, it’s fine if he never shows up for your dinner date because of work. 

Yes, it’s fine that you spend most nights alone. 

Yes, you can clean the house, shop for groceries, do the laundry, and cook for the both of you. 

It was all okay. You were okay with it. You accepted it. You understood. You can do it. You’re fine. It’s all worth it. It’s not worth any trouble. It’s fine—

You snap back and all thoughts stop rushing into your head. Your phone blares an alarm with the words, ‘DATE NIGHT’, flashing on the screen. Right, it’s your birthday and Ghost promised he’d finally make it this time. So, you wore the prettiest dress, applied the most gorgeous (and time-consuming) makeup, and put on the cutest heels (your feet are getting blisters) because you wanted to spend this night with the man you love most on your Earth… who wasn’t by your side right now, but it’s fine. 

The waiter approaches the table, asking you for what seems to be the 6th time that night if your company is coming because they’re about to close. Giving up, you offer an apologetic smile and gather your things. The walk out the restaurant was embarrassing to say the least. Harsh winter air greets your face, your legs and arms trembling as you try to seek warmth from the take-out bag. You didn’t bring a jacket because, well, you thought Ghost would be there with you, but it’s fine.

The apartment door clicks open and a dark hallway awaits you. ‘Ah, he’s not here yet,’ you think to yourself, a pang of disappointment piercing your heart that raised its hope for one night. With a wince and a pained gasp, your heels come undone. Muted footsteps along the wooden floorboards as you strip out your clothes and wash up. You resign the night with your lover nowhere to be found— once again, but it’s fine. 

Morning dawn cracks through your curtains with a familiar arm around your waist and familiar dip on the mattress. You blink your sleepiness away, taking in every detail of your Simon’s face in the morning. Like he has a third sense, he wakes and stares back at you. First smiles of the day are shared between you two but you expected more. Nothing too grand. Maybe an apology and a greeting? Yet the day goes by with receiving neither, but it’s fine. Maybe the next day’s the charm? 

Nothing.

Irritation towards your lover is a rare occurrence with your endless patience and never-ending understanding of his situation. You still held hopes that maybe he’d finally realize his slip-up, but what did you come home to? Dirty dishes. A pile of them. 

“Ah, sweetheart. You’re home,” he kisses your cheek and presses your waist close to him like usual. The scent of whiskey and cigar lingers on his clothes— a scent you usually adore but now only fuels your anger. “Si, what’s this?” you ask, trying to keep your frustration at bay as you point to the sink. “What? Oh, noticed ‘ya didn’t make dinner so I ate what’s ever left,” he answers cooly like there’s nothing wrong.

“... do you mean you ate my lunch for tomorrow?” 

“That yours? Sorry, baby. ‘Ya can jus’ make another one, and one for me.”

You pull away, slapping his face with tears rushing down your face. Ghost looks at you with shock and confusion which angers you further. How can he not realize why you’re mad?

“Woah, woah. What’s wrong, doll?”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT. Oh, my fucking God, Simon. You’re really asking me that?” you run your fingers through your hair, screaming at his face and throwing your purse at him. “What’s wrong?? You tell me! I slave away at this goddamn house. I go to bed with my bones feeling like weights because I keep cleaning after your mess, but it’s fine! Because you were busy, I understood.”

Tension builds in the air as everything you’ve held back poured out of you. “I never complained because I told you I was fine with your schedule when we first started dating. I fucking bend my body backwards and did everything for you LIKE A MAID. And you have the audacity to ask me what’s wrong? You don’t even ask me how my day went. Asking me to cook for you like I’m just a housekeeper? YOU DON’T EVEN DO ANYTHING FOR ME.” You stomp over to his face, glaring with hatred as you spat out your next words. “Just a fucking reminder that I am your girlfriend. I am not here to clean up after you.”

“Did I ask you to?” he snaps back, returning the same vile stare. “You’re whining about working around the house like I asked you to. Let’s be clear that I never forced you to do these shits around the house.”

“You didn’t have to! You just kept piling up dishes and clothes, leaving a messy trail behind you because you know you expect me to do it for you!”

“And did those come for free? I buy you everything you want on anniversaries and birthdays. You act as if you come for cheap,” he scoffs.

"WELL, GUESS WHAT? YOU FUCKING FORGOT IT THIS YEAR,” you finally confess through sobs. Realization dawns upon your lover, evident on the way his face drops. He tries to approach you but you step back.

“I waited for you like a fool because you promised. I-.. I.. had to tell the waiter 5 times that you were coming because they were on the verge of throwing me out. Did you know how embarrassing it was for me? I… I know I shouldn’t have kept my hopes up but I wanted to believe in you, but.. I’m tired.”

Silence blankets you both as every emotion rushes through your heart. Your throat felt raw and your head was getting heavy from all the crying.

“I’m done, Ghost. I’m tired," you whisper. Those words were simple but Ghost knew what lies underneath. You weren't tired of what you did for him. You were tired of him.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: woah, angst again? Anyone surprised? This request has been sitting on my inbox for a while but I have enough free time to answer them, so here we are. I will make a König version if this gets attention. 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[digitald0rk]

SPOILED ROTTEN.

pairing — mark grayson x gn!reader. [ established relationship ]

synopsis — in which you spoil your boyfriend mark with a well deserved warm bath and lots of love ♡ after he comes home tired from a mission, filled with doubts.

warnings — slight cursing. angsty? as in nolan continues to haunt him and his doubts, so mentions of blood. also gets kinda suggestive, mention of reader getting wet because im ovulating okay 0_o mark being babygirl as usual.

w.c — 2.1 k.

a/n — TYSM FOR THE SUPPORT ON MY PREVIOUS POST OMG BSJHJMPS. ALSO THAT FINALE WAS SO GOOD! and i have a final in an hour LOCK INN. again, english is not my first language so apologies for mistakes in advance :D

knock.

knock.

a knock on your window? at this hour? well you know who that is, your beloved boyfriend, the one and only mark grayson or well invincible, invinciboy if you feel like being a little shit :]

as soon as you slide your window open he's on you immediately, almost knocking you down onto the ground as he clings onto you for dear life. his face in your neck and arms wrapped around you tightly almost as if he's afraid.

"baby?" you ask, concerned but slightly amused.

you're met with silence.

so you try again. "love?" a little less amused this time.

he doesn't say anything, breathing you in as he buries his head further into the crook of your neck, as if trying to fuse his body with yours.

then it hits you, ah the fight on the tv.

you can practically feel the tension radiating off of him, he's all tense. you know he's hurt, both physically and mentally. mostly mentally.

he was once again forced into a situation where he had to hurt someone again, badly. he had no other choice, it's not his fault.

"sweetheart, you know it's not your fault right?"

you hear him sigh, he nuzzles his head against your shoulder like a cat, the action making your heart flutter.

you can't help yourself but kiss his forehead, cupping his face gently like you're the viltrumite here, not him, like you'll break him if you're not careful enough, like he's the most precious thing in the whole world, screw that in the whole universe.

and to you he is indeed the most precious thing in the whole universe.

you look into his warm brown eyes which look so unsure, unsure of himself and it breaks your heart. your thumbs lightly stroke his cheekbones while you press sweet soothing kisses all over his pretty face, hoping to take away some of his pain.

your onslaught of kisses and affection does bring a soft smile on his face, he's holding back a giggle as you keep peppering kisses on his face, showing no mercy.

his eyes seem a little brighter now, which is progress!

playfully nuzzling your nose against his, his face still in your hands, you kiss the tip of his nose, laughing when his nose scrunches a little in reaction, god he's so adorable.

"i love you invincib-" you start cheekily.

"don't." he warns with a knowing look, a small smile still adorning his lips. he knows you too well.

"-boy" you're never gonna let that go, are you?

"oh fuck off" he lightly shoves at your shoulder, feigning offense before pulling you in for a kiss.

"love you too dumbass" the banter's back, he's already feeling so much better. how do you do it? he honestly doesn't know.

a few kisses and sweet words later, you're running him a bath. he can't say no to you, you both know this. plus he could really use a nice warm bath right now, he needs to relax his tense muscles.

you put in his favorite scented bathbombs and make sure the temperature is just right before telling him to get in.

he lets out a small bashful chuckle at your whistle when he strips out of his clothes, making a show of flexing his muscles somewhat cockily and almost ends up falling face first on the cold wet marble of your bathroom floor.

he's such a dork.

you can see the way his muscles relax under the hot water once he gets in, the way his face is all blissed out is actually really cute or maybe you're just crazy whipped for mark grayson, a bit of both maybe.

you sit on the edge of the tub, watching him almost doze off, he must be really tired.

gently carding your fingers through his hair, you can't help but admire him.

"my beautiful boy" you whisper, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

the little flustered giggle he lets out has become one of your favorite sounds ever since you've started dating him.

his pupils turn into hearts when you offer to wash his hair for him, you're so sweet, a literal angel.

he doesn't deserve you.

he's killed people.

he has blood on his hands.

he has a part of his father in him.

as you lather your favorite shampoo and work it through your boyfriend's hair, feeling giddy at the thought of his hair smelling like yours, you can't help but think he's being awfully quiet. it seems even the soothing sensation of you massaging his head oh so gently like that isn't enough to drown out the voices.

he's usually rambling about something, well it's either you or seance dog usually but still.

he's overthinking again, you're sure if you close your eyes and focus hard enough you could almost hear it.

"markus sebastian grayson." you say in a playfully serious tone, squishing his cheeks and leaning in a little to peck his now puckered lips because of you smushing his face with your hands, "stop thinking for a bit baby."

"what if i turn out like my father" he doesn't hold back, voice cracking a little.

"mark-"

"no, you don't understan- what if i end up like him? god what if i end up hurting you-"

a beat of silence passes before you speak.

"what if you don't? "

that gets him to stop, mouth agape, his gaze on you. he forgets what he was going to say and the way you're washing his hair, rinsing the shampoo out, your nails softly raking against his scalp just right, the way you put a protective hand against his forehead so none of the shampoo goes in his eyes, it does nothing to him to remember what he was going to say.

"you are not your father", you press a kiss to his forehead.

"just because you're his son doesn't make you him", then a kiss to his cheek.

"you are not undeserving of love because of something your father did, not you", then your lips brush against the spot between his eyebrows, easing the tension between them.

"your father's action have nothing to do with you, my love", you press small kisses to his shoulder, his neck, his chest, over his beating heart.

you hear him suck a shaky breath in at the action, his shoulders slightly shaking, the unshed tears releasing without warning in the form of a small sniffle, it rips your heart in two :(

"because you are you, you are still mark grayson no matter what."

you are going to be the death of him.

your lips gently brush against his before pressing firmly against his soft lips, hoping to convey more with a tender kiss than your words ever will, knowing they don't do your feelings for him justice. your lips move in tandem with his, he pulls you close by the back of your neck, your hands resting on his chest and neither of you want to pull away from this moment.

his grip on you is desperate, the kiss feels searing on your lips, your heart is pounding against your chest, convinced it's gonna beat right out.

you refuse to let go of him, hands sliding slowly up and down his body, almost reverently.

it's intoxicating and dizzying, you feel like you're floating with the way he's kissing you, like an inch of space is going to kill him.

when you do manage to get your gears working, eyes opening up a little, you gently wipe his tears, pulling away only slightly to breathe because you don't want to die- actually, on second thought, that's not a terrible way to go out.

"no- please-" he begs, don't leave him please. he's chasing your lips and slipping his tongue in your mouth, he needs this.

he needs you.

soft moans are muffled between your mouths, his hands are everywhere, everything's too much yet not enough at the same time, his touch leaves a trail of fire behind that leaves you wanting more.

and of course, he ends up "accidentally" pulling you in the bathtub with him.

"mark!" you let out a small squeal, followed by a small laugh from him.

"sorry babe" oh he sounds real sorry alright.

your attention falls on the small, thin string of saliva, still connecting both of your mouths, your heavy lidded eyes lock with his, he's all flushed, lips swollen and shiny.

"that was hot" he sheepishly admits, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, all bashful like you aren't literally going crazy because of him. and now he's looking at you like you've hung the stars and the moon in the sky.

yeah, you're wet and not from the water i'll tell you that.

but that can wait, this night is all about pampering your beloved alien boy!

you see him open and close his mouth a couple times. words fail him, so instead, he grabs your hand and places a kiss to each of your knuckles one by one, a silent confession of the affection and love he holds for you that is downright overwhelming.

his eyes never leave yours, the whole thing feels raw and intensely intimate, no words are exchanged but rather they are felt, the unconditional acceptance from you and his immense gratitude, need no words.

"thank you" the sincerity in his voice is undeniable and so is the look of love in his eyes, that's reserved only for you.

you roll your eyes fondly when he playfully smears some of the bubbles from the bath onto your nose, typical mark behavior right there.

once he's all clean, both emotionally and physically for the night you help him out of the tub after getting yourself out first, trying and failing miserably not to stare at him. more like gawking but oh well that's his fault for looking like that okay.

he drys himself with the towel you gave him, wrapping it around his waist once he's done.

because of his earlier mischievousnes, you also had to change out of your wet pyjamas into new dry ones. his ass is not sorry about that, the annoying little smirk is proof.

the domesticity of it all however warms your heart, the way he's in nothing but a towel around his waist while you're in your pjs, brushing teeth together and giggling over dumb stuff, oh how you wish it could always be like this.

that little glint in his eyes is back again and you couldn't be more happy.

you even help him dry his hair with your trusty hairdryer, sitting him down on your bed as you work it skillfully through his soft hair which now smells like your shampoo, the blissful expression on his face is enough to make you melt right then and there. laughing when he shakes his head like a puppy, he's not beating the puppy boy allegations anytime soon. not that he minds as long as you're the one teasing him about it.

and he may or may not have a thing for you calling him that but you don't have to know that, well atleast yet.

he slips into a pair of sweatpants and boxers he left at your place awhile ago, picking you up easily and tackling you to your bed.

now it's his turn to return the affection, or well as sleepily as one can.

he kisses you like there's no tomorrow, like you're the only thing keeping him sane and alive, which wouldn't be too far from the truth.

good luck trying to tuck him in bed, he's so stubborn, "babe i'm not sleepy!" he says, he almost slept on your shoulder like a baby a minute ago. this fucker.

he's only doing this because he wants to spend more time with you, he still feels guilty, he knows he puts being a superhero over everything else, meaning he barely gets to send time with his beautiful partner.

however all those thoughts are out the window the second you trails kisses down his neck, his eyes flutter shut and he sighs, clearly pleased.

and when you do manage to tuck his ass in bed, a kiss to his forehead and countless "i love you's" are exchanged between you both, he rests his head on your chest and listens to your heartbeat, a firm reminder that you're here and all his to cherish.

he almost lets out a small moan when your nails gently scratch at his scalp and lightly at his nape, he loves when you play with his hair, nuzzling against your comfortable chest. he's in heaven.

soon enough he surrenders himself to sleep and to you, one last kiss right over where your heart is beating which belongs to him and him only, the action making your breath hitch and chest tighten with affection and before you know it, he's out like a light.

he's so grateful to have you. he knows he doesn't deserve you, eventhough you say otherwise but he'll be damned if he ever lets you go.

you're all his.

and he's all yours <3

and yes, he will drool all over your chest like a baby so good luck with that :3

© digitald0rk 2025. please do not steal / repost any of my work! thank you for reading :] want more? click here ★

[cvntydazai]

bad arguments

how these bsd characters are after a bad argument

pairing; dazai osamu x fem!reader, chuuya nakahara x fem!reader, ryunosuke akutagawa x fem! reader

word count; 916

content warning; unedited, angst, fluff, arguing, miscommunication

a/n; just something random i wrote while taking a break from my dazai fic!

DAZAI OSAMU:

arguing with dazai was exhausting, this man would rather die a painful death than admit he was in the wrong about anything, it was usually why your fights got more out of hand than they ever needed to be. you hated how he tried to deflect from a situation instead of just owning up to his mistakes.

one particularly heated argument had you so riled up you had to leave your apartment, no longer wanting to look your lover in the eye until he was ready to apologize. he didn’t even spare you a glance as you left, a smug expression on his face.

you make your return to your apartment many hours later, it was now nighttime and much too late to be out, especially alone. the first thing your eye catches when you walk through the door is dazai’s fluffy head of hair resting on the couch. you huff, putting your coat up before walking over to the couch.

“are you ready to apol-“ you stop mid-sentence when you realize dazai’s asleep.

he looked uncomfortable, heavy eyebags and his head resting at an awkward angle on the arm rest. you couldn’t help it, a soft coo leaves your lips and it wakes him instantly. those honey eyes were everything but smug this time around.

“my flower, you’re back.” he mumbles, large hands reaching up to caress your face.

“i am..” you say, he smiles.

you continue to stare into his gaze for just a little longer, the silence draping over the two of you like a warm blanket. he knows that what you’re truly waiting for is his apology, he was more than happy to give it to you.

“i’m sorry, for everything. forgive me?” he says at last in his usual supple tone.

of course you forgave him, you always would.

CHUUYA NAKAHARA:

fights with chuuya usually didn’t last long, you two actually pride yourself on your communication when it comes to your relationship. he would never try to hurt you intentionally, you’re the most important person to him and he makes sure you never forget it.

but this one fight had you both out of control. you don’t remember who started it but no one was willing to end it, anything that came out of either of your mouths was only more fuel for the fire. if you were being honest with yourself, it terrified you. it wasn’t chuuya and his capabilities that had you so scared, you knew he would never bring any harm your way, it was the reality that this fight could be the ending to your relationship.

you didn’t want it to end like this, it couldn’t end like this. he was all you had and you would never forgive yourself if this was how it ends. so caught up in your own frightened mind, you didn’t even notice that chuuya quieted down and was staring into your eyes.

“ey, why are you crying?” he didn’t mean for the question to come out as harsh as it did, he was just so taken aback.

when you didn’t reply he really started to worry, his mind no longer focused on whatever you two were bickering about.

“come on doll, please don’t cry. i’m sorry.” his voice only made more salty tears spill from your eyes, in your opinion you didn’t deserve such tenderness.

he wrapped his arms around your frame, his hand on the back of your head and his face buried in your hair. he let you sob your heart out, even if it made his own heart ache. when you finally calmed down you were ready to speak.

“am i still the most important person in the world to you?” he smiled.

“of course you are.”

RYONUSUKE AKUTAGAWA:

you knew your boyfriend wasn’t good at communicating, a part of you had accepted that wholeheartedly. he made his efforts because of how deeply he cared for you and you felt that was enough most of the time. your arguments were mostly about his carelessness when it came to his own personal safety, his nonchalant attitude to your concerns irritated you down to your core.

“if you’re going to act stupid and put yourself in avoidable danger then i’m leaving, i can’t take this.” you misspoke, his eyes widened.

what you truly meant was that you were leaving for a moment to calm down, not leaving him entirely. you could only stare in shock at what nonsense you just spewed from your mouth, guilt weighed down your body, preventing you from taking even one step towards him. it took seeing the fear in his eyes to finally break you free from your mind.

“i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean it like that i swear.” you tried to mend, now wanting nothing more than to put this whole argument behind you.

he let you pull him into a hug, you held his waist tightly to you. when you felt his hand holding the back of your head you breathed a sigh of relief.

“i know you didn’t mean it that way, but it scared me.” you nodded, understanding.

you mumbled a few more apologies and once you both had calmed down you were able to talk about some of your frustrations. it was mostly you talking and him listening, but it felt good knowing he was listening with such care. he promised to be more careful for you, and you promised to watch your wording when you’re upset.

[ifitsnotmethenwhothefuck]

Vil Schoenheit x Reader

So imagine this: Vil has been working really hard for this new product launch for his makeup brand.

The whole thing is this huge lip set of over 20 lipsticks, lip glosses, lip liners, lip stains, and lip plumper, all of them are standing from different shades and colors that he personally picked out.

Now the product should release on Feb 14, but before that he plans on doing a photo shoot to showcase all the different shades and colors, but he’s having some trouble deciding on what makeup look to do for the shoot.

So he asks you to come by and help him with his makeup, which nearly shocks you to death because you never thought he would ask you for help regarding makeup.

Story, type: one shot

Warning: Kissing, fluff, pet names

Pairing: Vil Schoenheit x Reader (surprise character at the end)

AN: I didn’t plan on this being a story, but it kind of turned into one I’ve never written for Vil before, but I tried 😅.

You got a text message from Vil early in the morning saying he needs help with his makeup. You’re dumbfounded. Shocked even, Vil Schoenheit needs help with his makeup, and he’s coming to you of all people to ask for it.

Well, if anyone wants the bragging rights saying that they helped Vil with their makeup, it’s you of all people. Wasting no time and rushing over to his room, you find him already with a full face of makeup. He looked amazing, a little bit more glamorous than normal with a smoky red eyes and dark red lips. You were confused; how exactly did he need your help if he looked this good?

“Oh, you’re here. Come inside,” Vil says as he closes the door behind you and makes his way back to his vanity, where he sits down. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted my help with your makeup.” You asked slightly confused. He turns around to look at you.

“Oh, I do,” he says, looking at you like you’ve just asked him the most stupid question ever, as he proceeds to wipe his makeup off with a cotton pad soaked in makeup remover, wiping away his hard work with each stroke of his hand, leaving you speechless. That had to have taken hours. Why is he just wiping it away?

“I don’t get it; your makeup already looked amazing. How could I possibly help?” you asked as Vil finished removing the last bit of makeup from his face; you didn’t notice how his eyes averted from yours when you asked that question, “Don’t worry, sweet potato. I’m not asking you to do anything outside your skill set; just help me decide on a look for my product shoot.” He said with a small smirk as he turned back around and started applying new makeup to his face.

You both sat in a comfortable silence as you watched him apply new makeup; you noticed he was going for a more natural look than what he normally did. It didn’t look bad or anything; he could definitely pull it off. He could practically pull off anything, but you were a little surprised, ever since you’ve gotten to know him. You’ve never seen him. Try to go for this kind of look before.

“If you keep on staring at me like that, you’ll burn a hole in my clothes, and I don’t think you can afford to have these tailored.” Vil said as he looked at you through his vanity mirror, a blush forming on your cheeks as you looked down, realizing what you were doing. “Sorry,” you said softly, slightly embarrassed.

“No need to apologize, sweet potato; I was actually about to ask you for your help,” he says with a small smirk as he turns around to look at you. “You were?” You say slightly shocked you had kind of suspected you weren’t really going to help him with his makeup rather just help him pick out what look to do for his shoot?

“That is why I asked you to come over, isn’t it?” He says to you as if stating the most obvious thing in the world, which he probably was. “That’s true,” you say softly, mostly to yourself. “Anyway, if you’re going to help me, grab a chair and come over here.” You do as you’re told and sit across from him.

Several of his new lipsticks are lined up on his vanity in front of him as you both look at them. “Which one do you think we should start with?” Vil asks as he looks up at you. “I really like the dark red one,” you say, pointing to one of the tubes of lipstick. A small sigh escapes from Vil’s lips. “You mean the burgundy one?” Vil says, picking up the lipstick you pointed to. “Yeah, that one,” you say with a small smile.

“Okay, so all I need to do is put it on you.” You ask a little hesitantly as Vil has yet to hand the lipstick over to you. “Not quite,” Vil says as he looks down, avoiding your eyes. You tilt your head and look at him in confusion. “I actually need to put this on you.” Vil says, staring back up at you, “I don’t understand. Aren’t I supposed to be helping you with YOUR makeup?” you ask, confused.

“Patient sweet potato, you’ll get to do my makeup soon enough, but for now, can I please put this on you?” Vil asked as he took the lid off of the lipstick and gently placed it on his vanity. “Okay I guess there’s no harm in it” you say as Vil gives you a approving smile “that’s great to hear if you don’t mind I need you to come a little closer” Vil says as he grabs the bottom of your chair and pulls you closer to him your legs in between one another now “do I really have to be this close” you ask slightly embarrassed as a small blush forms on your cheeks, “unfortunately yes” Vil says as he gently grab your face. “Now please don’t move.” He says as he fully focuses on your lips as you stare at him, he gently applies his lipstick to you.

After a moment or two, Vil finally pulled away and gently placed the lipstick on the vanity. He stared at you, well, your lips at least, admiring his handiwork. “Alright, I think that’s good,” he says, looking up at you. “What exactly do you want me to do now?” You ask, not sure how this was supposed to help with his makeup.

“Well, you kiss me, of course,” he said, looking into your eyes to see if he could read your emotions; meanwhile, you felt like your heart had stopped beating as your face began to heat up. “Y-you want me to k-kiss you?” you said instantly, wondering if you had misheard him. “Only if you feel comfortable with it,” he said with a small sigh.

“Oh no, I don’t feel uncomfortable or anything. This is just a bit surprising,“ you say, avoiding his eyes “Well then, can you start off by giving me two right here?” he says, and as you look up at him, seeing him point his long, slender finger to his temple, you feel a little more relaxed, knowing you didn’t have to give him a ‘normal kiss,’ but there was also a part of you that was slightly disappointed. “Umm, okay,“ you said before leaning in closer to him and softly placing a kiss onto his temple and another one underneath it on his cheekbone, you pulled away just enough so he could turn his face so you could do the same thing to the other side.

When you were done, you quickly leaned away from him. “What now?” you ask, trying to sound confident. “Now we change the color,” Vil said dismissively as he grabbed a cotton pad and soaked it in makeup remover before looking over at you. “Do you want me to help you take that off?” He asked as his eyes lingered on your lips. You felt like your mind was going blank. What was he asking? He wanted you to take something off your face, instantly heating up. “Oh, umm, sure,” you said with a small mark.

Before you knew it, he was leaning in closer to you, one of his hands gently cupping your face while his other carefully rubbed the cotton pad against your lips. Taking off the lipstick when he was done, he picked up a brighter red lipstick and applied it to you. ”Okay, I need one right here and here,“ he said, pointing to two new spots, one below the arch of his brow on his eyelid and the other on the corner of his eye.

You gently placed the new kiss marks on each eye before leading away from him; a small thank you left his lips before he looked at himself in his vanity mirror. He made a few touch-ups, putting blush on the high of his cheekbones, then he handed you his phone. You looked at him confused for a moment before he spoke. “I need you to take some photos of me.” He said, casually, “Right,” you said softly as you snapped a couple of photos of him, as he give you his best model face.

You handed him back his phone as he looked at all the photos with a very serious expression. “Well, I guess my work here is done” you say awkwardly as he puts his phone down looking at you with a confused look, “not quite I still have a few more looks I want to try on” he said as he landed in closer to you, wiping your lips, clean with a cotton path,

He then wiped off the kiss marks from his face and touched up the rest of his makeup, giving himself a smoky purple eye that matched one of the dark violet lipsticks he picked it loo up, and started to apply it to your lips, carefully. “Okay, love, I need you to kiss me right here,” he said, pointing to his cheek.

You did as you were told, leaning closer to him and closing your eyes as you placed a kiss on his cheek. It was quick and simple, but it still left you feeling flustered as you pulled away. “Thanks, love, I just need to take a few more photos, and then we can move onto the final look,” he said, giving you a small smile as he handed you his phone. You nodded your head in understanding as you took his phone.

You proceeded to take several photos of him. Your favorite one was of him looking over his shoulder at you when you were done; you handed him back his phone, and he looked through all the photos. Deleting the ones that weren’t up to his taste. “What lipstick do you think we should try out for the final look?” he asked, as he started to wipe off his makeup before removing your lipstick.

“What about this one?” You asked as you pointed to a rosy pink lipstick. Vil didn’t really say anything in response; rather, he just picked it up and started applying it to you. “I have to touch up my makeup, and then we can start,” Vil said as he set the lipstick back down on the vanity. He then proceeded to touch up his makeup. Putting on a soft pink eyeshadow with a sharp black cat liner, when he was done, he traced one of his slender fingers along his jaw, down his neck, and across his collarbone as the words “from here to here” fell off his lips ever so gently. You felt a warm blush creep up again as you tried to stop yourself from feeling flustered, but it was getting hard to do so.

You leaned into him, your hands resting on his chest as your legs intertwined with one another’s, taking your time in between each kiss, your lips ghosting over his skin as you traveled to the next place you would mark with your kiss, your hot breath heating up his cold skin, sending goosebumps up his neck.

You placed random kisses along his jawline, leaning back for a second only to admire your work before traveling down his neck. As you kissed along his Adam's apple, you had to stop yourself from jumping from shock as you felt his hands grab your waist. “Was—was he enjoying this?” you thought to yourself as you placed more kiss marks down his neck and along his collarbone.

It helped that his shirt had a low V neckline, making it easy to access his chest as you placed random kisses onto him. You could have sworn you heard him make a low noise as you kissed his collarbone, but perhaps it was just your imagination. You slowly pulled away as you looked up at him. You both were just inches apart as you softly spoke, “I think that’s good,” you said, as you felt your voice get trapped in your throat. You hoped he didn’t notice how flushed you were.

He looked into your eyes as if they were his own choice of poison. “You did a great job. love, I’ll have to reward you for helping me.” He said, giving you a small smile, his hands still laced on your hips; you felt your body betray you. As your voice got stuck in your throat, your face heating up, “Well, thank you for thinking of me, but I think helping you was enough of a reward,” you said, not realizing you were leaning closer to him, the corners of his lips curling up into a smirk. “Oh, did you perhaps enjoy kissing me a bit too much?” he said in a teasing tone as his hand slid up your back.

“And if I did?” You asked, leaning in closer, your lips only inches apart from each other. His eyes lingered on your lips that were painted in his pink lipstick, and before you knew it, he closed the distance. Your lips met in a soft and delicate kiss. “Then I guess I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty for enjoying myself,” he said softly as his lips ghosted over yours.

A small smile played on your lips before you closed the distance again. Your lips met in a slightly more hungry kiss as his hands slid up your body and your own hands slid up into his hair, deepening the kiss, the taste of lipstick and roses, as your tongues danced with each other, soft gasps filled the room as you moaned into each other’s kiss, only pulling away to catch your breath.

You lean away from Vil as he takes a quick look in the mirror. Surprisingly, none of your earlier kiss marks were messed up, although he did have lipstick smudged around his mouth that he needed to wipe off after he touched up his makeup. He grabbed his phone. “Do you mind, love?” He said, giving you a small smile as he handed you his phone.

You were still blushing from what just happened, your whole body feeling hot. You were honestly a little jealous how he seemed to be handling it so perfectly. Not wanting to seem immature, you took his phone, and an awkward laugh left your lips before you spoke. “Not at all,” you said, hoping this won’t be the last time you get to kiss Vil Schoenheit, but you didn’t want to tell him that.

He gave you a thankful smile before you started to take more photos of him, some of which were him looking away from the camera and others of him leaning in to it. You thought each photo was breathtaking in your own opinion, but he looked at all of them with the eyes of a critic, deleting the ones that he didn’t deem worthy. “What are you planning on doing with these photos? anyway?” you asked curiously, hoping this whole thing won’t turn into something awkward.

“I’m going to send them to my makeup artist and manager to see what they think if this would be a good look for the product shoot,” Vil said, as he continued to look through the photos on his phone, sending the ones he liked off to his makeup artist and manager. When he was done, he finally looked up at you. “Thanks for helping me.” He said as he gave you a small smirk, You’re blushing now, creeping back up on you. “Anytime,” you say softly.

And then Rook busted in through the door the three of you just stared at each other awkwardly as you and Vil were sitting so close your legs were intertwined with each other. kiss marks, traveling down Vil‘s body that matched your snatched lipstick, perfectly a mischievous grin, forming on Rook’s lips as he watched you panic for an excuse.

Inspiration photos for this post, I found these photos on Google. Happy early Valentine’s Day. 😘🥰

[rensukepie]

—#. “ride, i understand” —k. r

synopsis : he just wants to show his girl how to ride his thigh to not overwhelm her <3

contains + warnings : smut, thigh riding, fingering but not really (he doesn’t insert his fingers inside), praise + degradation (best duo ever btw!!), size kink lwk, virgin!reader, experienced!kunigami, corruption k!nk, lmk if i need to add more!

a/n : i LOVEEE kunigami he’s literally the reason why i started this blog! also ty anon for suggesting more kuni thigh riding :3

your boyfriend loves how innocent you are.

petting a cat on the sidewalk talking about how cute it is and how you want one of your own? hard immediately. it’s only because you’re so innocent though and the way your little skirt looks while you do your thing just looks too adorable to him!

you’re bending over to grab something you dropped? immediately biting his lip at the sight. he only imagines what’s underneath your lounge shorts based on the underwear that you have that he finds as he does the laundry. maybe it’s his favorite white lace pair with a bow? or maybe it’s the one with little baby pink and white stripes all over it? he’ll never know.

getting all cute and pretty for him before going out on a date together? he’s gonna jerk himself off to the thought of you right after. he feels so bad after he gets these thoughts though. you’re just so innocent, you don’t know what you do to him! sometimes when he kisses your neck or slaps your ass playfully, you let out a cute little whine or giggle at it. he’s so down bad for you it’s almost disgusting.

his friends on his soccer team absolutely clown him in the locker rooms when getting changed. he doesn’t care though. as long as he’s coming home to the most prettiest, sweetest girl he knows, it doesn’t get to him.

so when his soccer practice gets cancelled, you invite him to your place to watch a new movie you found as you were scrolling through.

—2 new messages from “my baby <3”

are you off today rennie :3?

i found this new movie! can we catch it at my place :p miss you sooo much baby pls come overrr :;(

how could he say no to his angel?

— 2 new messages from “rennie ♡”

of course baby

i’ll be there in 10 okay? i missed you too sweets <3

₊˚⊹♡—

he arrives inside of your little apartment, decorated cutely with your favorite color of kitchenware and some sweet treats laying around on the kitchen table.

your room is where it’s mostly decorated, though. stuffed animals laid out on your bed with the softest blanket ever! oh, you’re just too cute!

“do you like it..? m’sorry if it’s too childish…” you say with worry as you start the movie, your head leaning on his shoulder and your hand holding his hand.

gosh, you’re so sweet. just the fact that you apologized for something that doesn’t need fixing really shows him how caring you are towards him.

it makes him rock hard.

“don’t even apologize, sweet girl. if anything, i really like it! it’s cute.” he says softly, a kiss placed right onto your forehead, his hand holding your waist now, noticing that he’s getting more touchy towards you.

“o—oh.. thank you…” you say, lowly.

you suddenly feel his lips placed onto yours, a passionate kiss you both fall into, all thoughts about anything else going away.

“r—rennie…” you whine, his hand fidgeting with the end of your shirt, his hands occasionally rubbing against your skin underneath. “the movie…” you remember.

he acts so oblivious towards his actions.

he clearly knows what he’s doing to you. he knows the effect this is having on you right now, your skin flushed and heart beating at a fast pace is the result of his actions.

“we can watch the movie later… need you so bad right now.. been thinking about this all week.” he says, his words are so sweet, it makes you a teeny bit wet, and it’s all for him and him only.

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“ever had a finger in here, sweet girl?” he whispers to your neck with slight kisses. he’s got you seated on his muscular thigh, his fingers rubbing back and fourth on your clothed pussy to give added pleasure.

“n—no… m’sorry! it’s soo embarrassing i know—“ you say, whimpering inside of his neck, both arms wrapped around him as they lean onto his shoulders.

“shh… it’s okay… we don’t have to do that today. how about you ride my thigh? how does that sound, baby? do you want that instead, hm?”

“m—mhm…please..” you say shyly as he takes your little shorts off and you start grinding on his thighs slowly, quiet moans of his name.

“o—ohh…. rennie…mmf!” you whimper, the feeling of your slit getting more obviously wet with each grind back and fourth. “m’so wet for you—mmfhh…”

he thinks you look so adorable right now! he knows it’s too much on his silly girl.

“you’re only riding my thigh, and you’re this wet already? what a slut you are…” he says, grabbing your boobs with his big hands, his thumbs playing with your sensitive buds. “so pretty like this… my sweet girl.”

his words combined with how wet you are didn’t help with how needy you are for him right now. you feel incoherent to what’s happening as his actions slowly turn your brain into mush.

“all you can do now is moan, huh? so cute..” he whispers into your ear, kissing your neck and leaving pretty hickey’s in shades of different colors, turning it into an art canvas.

your legs start to give out on you because of how long you’ve been riding his thigh, making you signal to him to do the work for you by taking your movements to a stop.

“tired already? ohh angel… want me to move you around, don’t you?” he coos, smacking your ass as he grabs onto your hips, continuing the movements of you riding his thigh.

you yelp at his sudden action, then continue to relax away in his arms as he guides your movements on him. “can feel your cunt twitching on my thigh… you’re gonna cum soon, aren’t you?”

you hate how right he is at the moment. he knows you too well.

“m—mhm… ohh—…m’gonna cum! hah—!!” you moan incoherently, a series whimpers of his name coming out of your mouth as your orgasm washes over your body.

you can’t believe your lover, rensuke just gave you your first orgasm ever.

and it feels so damn good. maybe you’ll lend him your virginity someday.

[vyyper]

a little too shy to ask this off anon but mydei with a scholarly wife hcs please 🥺🥺

Mydei with a Scholarly S/O

a/n: hi anon! i know you said wife but i just went along with the flow as i wrote and it ended up gn, i hope that's still alright! i enjoyed this request a lot :)

mostly fluff, written with the pre 3.1 setting in mind

-i think a scholarly partner is just so so perfect for mydei. he values knowledge highly and knowing that you are in constant pursuit of it makes him so happy for you!! definitely your #1 supporter.

-he'd tell you about kremnoan history and culture, if you show interest. he tries not to let it slip too much but it excites him. it's important to him that people know, that this information doesn't fade, and he'll be reassured knowing someone like you has this knowledge

-he'd love to let you use his library, read all the books within together, nothing but the pages and each other to pass the time. perhaps in a kinder life, but he's still more than content reading with you now. if he has the time, one of his favorite things to do with you is read in silence. perhaps he'll cook some warm stew, and you'll sit together, reading, occasionally sipping from your bowls in comfortable, affectionate silence.

-will let you ramble about anything and everything! he's always willing to lend an ear and try and help you out with whatever research you may be doing, as much as he can. he's definitely a good listener, quiet unless you ask for input and what input he gives is helpful and to the point. it's one of his favorite things to do, listens to you with the fondest look in his eyes, like you're the center of the universe. people whisper about the cold glare mydeimos has on his face before he strikes down and enemy, but they've never seen how mydei's eyes burn with warmth as he listens to his beloved.

-additonally, after bringing up a new subject you notice him with a book about it in his hand sometimes...wants to learn about it with you so he can supply help if you need any. and the fact that you make anything interesting to him, you make him want to learn even more than before.

-refuses to let you overwork though, don't even try you'll break his heart...his duties already keep him away from you, the last thing he'd want is for you to let your health spiral in what time he gets with you. if you're losing sleep and forgetting meals, he'll cook you a whole feast and let you rant out all your stress before dragging you to bed. he'll rub your shoulders and tell you not to do something like that again, not to worry him, hold you as you sleep. if he's away he'll reluctantly get your friends to check on him regularly. he understands the importance of privacy and trusts you can be responsible...but he does worry, and he wants to make sure.

also on the topic of him wanting to read because of you...he knows how to interpret poetry, so i think he'd read romance poems and be reminded of you, feel the emotions they describe, maybe even pick up ways to show affection towards you from them since kremnoans don't even have a word for love.

wait i have this vision of him carrying you. you joke that you're too tired to get up from where you're working at in hopes it'll sway him and he blinks before picking you up like you weigh nothing and setting you down on the couch or bed. you're too shocked to say anything. he watches your expression with a faint and teasing smile, both at your shock and at the fact that he's gotten you away from your work.

-adding onto how he likes hearing you talk, i think after a very long day or so he'll return home, slump into bed. he doesn't mean to wake you up but if he does, he'll apologize before reluctantly asking you just talk to him, about any developments in your studies or anything else you want to talk about. your voice calms him and he'll listen to you until he feels you starting to drift off, the soft pattern of your breaths in sleep calming him further.

-early on in your relationship, before you're married, he tells you one day that there is no word for love in the kremnoan language. you think you see hints of regret on his face, guilt in his tone. so you smile and tell him the word for "love" in yours. i love you.

you don't expect him to use it often, at first. although he's warmed up around you, you assume that saying such a thing must be difficult for him. but tell him how to say it and he'll repeat it everyday. "i love you," he says back after you tell him, once to test the sound on his tongue, and then again to affirm the words you . his tone is unwavering, unlike your slightly nervous one, like the words are something already deeply engraved in his mind he's just recovered. "i love you," he murmurs as you drift off, on a rare night where he gets to rest with you in his arms. "i love you," he declares, kissing your knuckles before ending his show of affection with a press lips to your ring, holding your wrist gently.

he wants you to remember it always. he'll be bound to you forever and always; he never wants to let go, and he'll be sure to remind you of it.