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flux1563 · 2 days ago

Text

Truth Or Dare ft Eunbi and Minju pt 1

Tags : squirting, creampie

Words : 7k

Minju stumbled upon a forgotten corner of the city park, her heart racing from the excitement of the day. Her latest play had just wrapped up, and the applause still echoed in her ears. The air was crisp with the scent of blooming flowers, a stark contrast to the stuffy theatre she had left behind. She needed a moment to breathe, to absorb the success that had just become a reality.

Her thoughts drifted to Mr. Y/N, her ever-supportive manager. He had worked tirelessly behind the scenes, ensuring every detail was perfect. His guidance had been the backbone of the play, and she knew she couldn't have done it without him. A small smile played on her lips as she thought of his stoic face, which she had caught breaking into a proud grin when she took her final bow.

Eunbi, her best friend, was another person who came to mind. They had shared countless dreams and tears together, and now, Minju's dreams were coming true. She knew Eunbi would be over the moon about the play's success. But there was something else, a tiny secret Minju held close to her heart—Eunbi's hidden feelings for Mr. Y/N. It was an unspoken tension that had woven its way into their friendship, a thread of jealousy Minju tried not to acknowledge.

As she sat on the bench, her phone buzzed with a message from Mr. Y/N. He suggested a small celebration, just the two of them. A quiet drink to toast to the play's success. It was a perfect idea, but Minju's mind wandered to Eunbi, who was probably at home, waiting to hear all about it. A pang of guilt hit her. How could she leave her best friend out of this moment?

Minju's fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing out a reply. "How about we invite Eunbi?" she wrote. "It's only fair she joins us. She's been there through everything." She hit send and took a deep breath, watching as the message vanished into the digital abyss. The thought of the three of them together made her stomach flutter, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

Mr. Y/N's response was swift. "Great idea," he texted back. "Let's make it a party of three."

Minju felt a rush of relief. It was decided. They would celebrate together. She quickly called Eunbi, who squealed with excitement upon hearing the news. "I'll be right there!" she said, her voice bubbly over the line.

When they arrived at Mr. Y/N's apartment, it was as elegant and well-kept as he was. The lights were dim, casting a warm glow that danced across the sleek, modern furniture. Soft jazz music played in the background, setting a relaxed and intimate atmosphere. A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket on the counter, and three flutes were already arranged, ready to be filled.

Mr. Y/N popped the cork with a flourish, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment like a miniature firework. The golden liquid bubbled and foamed, filling the air with the sweet scent of victory and celebration. They clinked their glasses together, the sound ringing out like a toast to their shared success. The first sip was cold and bubbly on Minju's tongue, the taste of triumph in every fizz.

The music grew louder, and Minju couldn't resist the rhythm anymore. She set her glass down and began to dance, her body moving freely to the smooth melody. Eunbi joined her, her laughter infectious as they spun around the room. Mr. Y/N watched them for a moment, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, before he set the bottle aside and took the dance floor too. They moved together, their bodies in sync with the music and their spirits soaring.

As the night went on, the drinks flowed freely, and the conversation grew louder. The tension between Minju and Eunbi dissipated with every laugh and shared glance. They were three friends, celebrating a shared victory, the air thick with joy and camaraderie. The champagne loosened their inhibitions, and the dance floor grew crowded with their laughter and spilled drinks. The music wove through them, binding them together in a moment that felt suspended in time.

Mr. Y/N's living room was a whirlwind of movement and sound. They danced to songs that spanned decades, each tune bringing back a flood of memories and emotions. Eunbi's eyes sparkled as she spun around, her hair flying in every direction. Minju felt a warmth spread through her chest, watching her friend so happy and carefree.

The night grew late, and their laughter grew softer. The music played on, a gentle backdrop to their conversation as they sat down, their glasses refilled and their cheeks flushed. They talked about the play, about the future, and about their friendship. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness, a celebration of not just the play's success, but of the bond they had built over the years.

And as they sipped their champagne, the unspoken tension between Eunbi and Mr. Y/N grew stronger, like a bassline that had been playing under the surface all along. Minju could feel it, but she chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the joy of the moment. After all, it was a night to remember, a night where dreams had come true and friendships had been tested and proven strong.

The three of them sat there, the music a gentle hum in the background, the bubbles of champagne tickling their noses, and the weight of their secrets floating just out of reach. For now, they were just friends, basking in the glow of success. But Minju couldn't shake the feeling that the next act of their lives was just about to begin, and it would be one filled with twists and turns she could never have predicted.

On a whim, she spoke up, "What about we play truth or dare together?"

Mr. Y/N's eyebrows shot up, a glint of surprise in his eyes. "Truth or dare?" he echoed.

"Why not?" Minju said with a mischievous smile. "It's a great way to end the night!"

Mr. Y/N shrugged, his expression a mix of amusement and wariness. "Alright, I'll start," Eunbi said, her eyes shining with excitement. She pointed at Minju. "Truth or dare?"

Minju took a deep breath and decided to go with truth. She had always been the more cautious one, preferring to keep her feelings close to her chest. "Truth," she said firmly.

Eunbi leaned in, her eyes glinting with mischief. "When was the last time you had sex?"

Minju's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and she stuttered out, "One week ago," feeling the heat of the question even as she said it. She took a gulp of her champagne, hoping to dull the mortification that washed over her.

Mr. Y/N's gaze remained unwaveringly on Eunbi, his eyes questioning. "Truth or dare?" he asked, his tone even.

Eunbi's cheeks flushed a delicate pink, but she held his gaze without faltering. "Truth," she said, her voice steady.

Mr. Y/N leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. "Who's the person you fantasize about having sex with the most?"

The room grew quieter, the music fading into the background. Eunbi's cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink, and she took a moment before looking directly at Mr. Y/N. "You, Mr. Y/N," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air like a confession, a secret laid bare.

Mr. Y/N's smile froze on his face, his eyes widening slightly before he composed himself. He took a sip of his champagne, his gaze never leaving Eunbi's. "Well," he said after a pause, his voice a little rougher than usual, "now that's quite the truth to share."

The air grew thick with unspoken feelings, and Minju felt a knot form in her stomach. She had hoped to ease the tension with a harmless game, but now it felt like she had thrown a grenade into the room. Eunbi's confession hung in the air, unexploded, but the fuse was burning fast.

Mr. Y/N cleared his throat, the silence stretching taut. "Truth," he said finally, his eyes meeting Minju's.

Eunbi felt a jolt of surprise at his choice. "Who was the last person you had sex with?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

Minju's eyes widened, and she felt her heart drop. She had never thought the game would go this far, but here they were, their deepest secrets laid bare.

"Minju," Mr. Y/N said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. She felt his gaze on her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. Instead, she took another sip of her champagne, the bubbles feeling sharp and bitter as they went down her throat.

Eunbi's laugh was forced, a nervous giggle that didn't quite mask the tension in the room. "So, beside her manager, you were her...?" she trailed off, her voice cracking.

Minju's cheeks flamed, and she downed her champagne in one go. The alcohol hit her harder than she expected, making her words tumble out in a rush. "It was amazing!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying a little too loudly. "He was so...so good, I couldn't believe it!"

Eunbi's eyes grew wide, and she took a big gulp of her drink, trying to keep up with the sudden shift in the atmosphere. "You guys are serious?" she managed to ask, her voice a mix of shock and excitement.

Mr. Y/N cleared his throat, his cheeks coloring slightly. "It was a one-time thing, a mistake," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "We both agreed to keep it professional."

The room was silent for a moment, the music seemingly too loud for the quiet that had settled over them. Then, Minju leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But oh my god, he made me squirt for so long!" she said, her eyes wide with wonder. "It was like nothing I've ever felt before!"

Eunbi's eyes darted between them, her own glass of champagne trembling in her hand. She had never heard Minju talk about sex so openly, especially about someone she was supposed to just be friends with. The room spun slightly, the alcohol making her feel both light-headed and strangely invigorated.

"Alright, Eunbi," Minju said with a playful grin, "you chose dare. Time to get wild!"

Eunbi took a deep breath, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She had always been the more shy and reserved one of the two, but she didn't want to be outdone. "Okay," she whispered, "I'm ready."

Minju leaned in closer, her voice a seductive purr. "I dare you to strip down until you have nothing left to hide," she said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Eunbi's heart skipped a beat. She had never done anything like this before, but she knew she had to go through with it.

With shaking hands, Eunbi set her glass aside and began to unbutton her shirt, one button at a time. The fabric slipped away, revealing the lacy bra beneath. She felt Mr. Y/N's eyes on her, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. Instead, she focused on Minju, whose smile grew wider with every piece of clothing that hit the floor.

Finally, she was down to her underwear, her body exposed and vulnerable. She looked up, her cheeks aflame, and met Mr. Y/N's gaze. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and intense. She knew he could see her heart racing, could feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"Keep going," Minju urged, her voice thick with excitement. Eunbi took a deep breath and unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts, larger than Minju's, bounced slightly from the sudden release, the cool air of the apartment making her nipples tighten. She felt Mr. Y/N's eyes on her, his gaze unyielding, and she couldn't tell if he was appalled or aroused.

With trembling hands, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear, pushing it down over her hips. She stepped out of it, leaving herself completely bare before them. She had never felt so exposed, so...wanted. Her eyes searched Mr. Y/N's, looking for any sign of what he was thinking, but all she found was a heated intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

The room was silent except for the soft jazz playing in the background, each note seeming to amplify the tension. The air was charged with something electric, something she hadn't felt before. She looked at Minju, who was watching her with a look that was half excitement, half concern, and realized that she had gone too far.

Minju's words echoed in her head. "How about you feel Mr. Y/N's skill in sex?" The proposal hung in the air like a question that had no right to be asked, but she found herself unable to look away.

Eunbi's legs parted, almost involuntarily, as she stood before them. She felt a rush of heat between her thighs, her body responding to the intensity in Mr. Y/N's gaze. She didn't say a word, didn't need to. Her actions spoke louder than any confession she could have made. The fabric of the room seemed to stretch tight with the unspoken understanding that this was a pivotal moment, a line that could not be uncrossed.

Without breaking eye contact, Mr. Y/N reached out and cupped her left breast, his thumb brushing over the hardened peak. His touch was firm, sure, and it sent a jolt of electricity through Eunbi's body, making her gasp. She could feel the heat of his hand through her skin, the pressure of his thumb as he teased her. It was a sensation that she had dreamed of for so long, but now that it was real, it was so much more than she had ever imagined.

Minju's voice was a soft whisper from somewhere to her left, "His touch is magic, right?" Eunbi's eyes flickered to her friend, who was watching them with a strange mix of excitement and something else, something that looked suspiciously like hunger. She nodded, unable to form coherent words as Mr. Y/N's other hand joined the first, both now playing with her breasts, kneading and pinching until she was panting with need.

Mr. Y/N leaned in, his breath hot against Eunbi's skin as he whispered, "How was her tits, Minju?" The question hung in the air, a silent challenge. Minju's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned back in her chair, her own hand sliding up her dress to cup her breast. "Perfect," she said, her voice a sultry purr. "Just the right size to fit in your mouth."

Without missing a beat, Mr. Y/N lowered his head and took Eunbi's right nipple between his lips, sucking gently. The sensation was unlike anything Eunbi had ever felt, and she gasped, her body arching into the touch. His tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, teasing and flicking, while his other hand continued to play with her left breast. The wetness between her thighs grew, soaking the fabric of her dress. She could feel her body betraying her, responding to his touch in a way that was undeniably carnally.

Minju's voice was a soft encouragement beside her. "Look how wet she's getting," she said, her own hand sliding down her body to mimic Mr. Y/N's actions on Eunbi. "Her pussy is begging for you, Mr. Y/N. She's a better squirter than me, I'm sure of it."

Mr. Y/N's eyes shot to Minju, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face. He released Eunbi's nipple with a pop, leaving it glistening with his saliva. "Is that so?" he murmured, his eyes dark with desire.

Minju nodded eagerly. "Oh yes," she said, her hand sliding between her own legs. "You've got to see it. It's like a fountain."

Mr. Y/N's eyes remained on Eunbi, his hand drifting down to the apex of her thighs. With a gentle touch, he slid his fingers along her slit, feeling the slickness of her arousal. Eunbi's legs quivered as he found her clit, his touch sending a wave of pleasure through her body. She threw her head back, moaning uncontrollably as he began to tease her, his movements slow and deliberate.

Minju watched, her eyes glued to the scene before her. She had never seen Eunbi like this, so open and wanton, and it was a powerful aphrodisiac. She could feel her own arousal growing, her panties dampening as she watched Mr. Y/N's hand work its magic on her friend. The sound of Eunbi's moans filled the room, mingling with the music and their own breathless whispers.

Eunbi's eyes fluttered closed, her breath coming in short gasps as Mr. Y/N's fingers danced over her clit. She could feel the pressure building, the tension in her body growing tighter and tighter. With every stroke, she grew wetter, her body begging for release.

"Please keep going, I need to cum," she said, her voice a desperate whisper. Mr. Y/N's eyes never left hers, his own desire clear in their depths. He increased his pace, his thumb rubbing her clit in firm circles that made her hips buck and her legs shake. The pleasure was intense, almost painful in its intensity, but she didn't want it to stop.

Minju watched, her own hand slipping under her dress to mimic his movements. She was so turned on by the sight of her friend's pleasure that she couldn't help but join in, her own breath coming in pants as she touched herself. "You're so close," she murmured, her voice a mix of envy and excitement. "Let it go, Eunbi."

Mr. Y/N's eyes never left Eunbi's, his fingers moving faster, pressing harder against her swollen clit. She whimpered, her body tightening around him as she approached the edge. "Ahh, ahh, I'm going to—" she gasped, her voice trailing off as the orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over her with a force that made her legs give out.

Her juices spurted out, a geyser of passion that soaked Mr. Y/N's hand and arm, spraying onto Minju's dress in an explosion of pure ecstasy. Minju's eyes widened in shock, and then a wicked grin spread across her face as she took in the sight. Eunbi's body convulsed, her orgasm so powerful that she couldn't help but squirt, her fluids painting a pattern on the floor as she rode the waves of pleasure.

"I told you, she is a better squirter," Minju said, her voice filled with a mix of pride and satisfaction. Mr. Y/N looked up at her, his hand still buried in Eunbi's pussy, his fingers coated in her cum. He couldn't help but laugh, the sound deep and rumbling, the tension in the room finally breaking.

Minju took the moment to stand, her own dress feeling uncomfortably wet against her skin. She reached behind her, unzipping the fabric with an ease that came from years of performing. The dress pooled around her feet, leaving her in nothing but her damp lingerie. She stepped out of the material, her eyes never leaving Eunbi's face, watching the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through her.

"Looks like Eunbi had a little accident," Mr. Y/N said with a smirk, gesturing to Minju's soaked underwear.

Minju giggled, feeling the warmth of her friend's cum seep through the fabric and onto her skin. "Guess it's only fair," she said, her voice playful as she began to strip. She slid her panties down her legs, stepping out of them with a dramatic flair. She was now as bare as Eunbi, their friendship stripped down to its rawest form.

"Now, Mr. Y/N," Minju said, her voice husky with anticipation, "I dare you to show Eunbi how skilled your mouth truly is."

Mr. Y/N took a moment to set his champagne flute aside, the clink of the glass punctuating the heavy silence. He looked at Eunbi, who was still recovering from her powerful orgasm, her cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded with pleasure. She nodded, her voice a soft whimper of consent. He stood up, his movements deliberate and predatory as he approached her.

Minju watched with rapt attention, her own breath hitching as she anticipated the moment. She knew what was coming, had seen it in her own encounters with him. She reached down and began to stroke her own clit, eager to feel the echoes of her friend's pleasure.

Mr. Y/N knelt before Eunbi, her trembling legs parted wide to accommodate him. He leaned in, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, Eunbi."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she gasped as he licked along her slit, savoring the taste of her. Her hips bucked upward, seeking more of his mouth. "Ahh, Y/N," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea. "More, please."

Minju's eyes were glued to the sight, her own hand working faster between her legs as she watched. The way his tongue moved, the way he sucked on her clit—it was mesmerizing. She had never seen anyone enjoy themselves so thoroughly, so unabashedly, and it was turning her on more than she had ever been. She felt a strange kinship with Eunbi in that moment, a bond formed by shared desire and the thrill of the forbidden.

Eunbi's moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet sound of pleasure. Her body was a canvas of sensation, every nerve ending alight with the strokes and licks of Mr. Y/N's mouth. "Ahh, Y/N," she cried out, her voice ragged and desperate. "Don't stop, don't ever stop."

Mr. Y/N's eyes flicked up to Minju, the challenge in them unmistakable. With a wicked smile, he pulled away from Eunbi's pussy, her squirt spraying up and outwards like a geyser of lust. It arced through the air, landing on Minju's thighs, chest, and even her face. The sight was obscene and thrilling, and Minju couldn't help but let out a soft gasp of arousal.

Eunbi's eyes grew wide as she watched Minju's reaction, the reality of the situation setting in. But before she could say anything, Minju's own orgasm washed over her. She threw her head back, her body convulsing as her juices spurted out, mirroring Eunbi's earlier climax. The room was a symphony of wet sounds, a testament to the intensity of their shared desire.

Mr. Y/N took this moment to pull out his phone, the screen lighting up his face as he began to record. The sight of the two women, both trembling and breathless, their bodies slick with desire, was one he knew he'd want to savor later. The act was almost voyeuristic, but the way they were looking at each other—with a mix of friendship, love, and lust—was too compelling to ignore.

"Record us, Y/N," Minju said, her voice still breathless from her own orgasm. She spread her legs wider, her clenched pussy glistening in the dim light of the room. Eunbi followed suit, her own pussy quivering with anticipation.

Mr. Y/N didn't need to be told twice. He aimed his phone at them, the camera capturing every detail of their bodies as they began to pleasure themselves. "Ahh, yes," Minju moaned, her hand moving in slow circles over her clit. Eunbi watched, her eyes wide and hungry, as Minju's fingers dipped inside herself, coating her digits in her own juices.

The sound of their wetness filled the air, a symphony of desire that grew louder as their movements grew more frantic. "Ahh, Eunbi, look at me," Minju gasped, her eyes locking with hers. "I want to watch you cum again."

Eunbi's cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away. Instead, she spread her legs wider, her own hand joining Minju's in the intimate dance. They touched themselves in unison, their moans growing louder as they watched each other. It was a display of raw, unfiltered passion that neither of them had ever shared with anyone before.

Mr. Y/N's own arousal was clear as he recorded, his voice low and gruff. "So fucking sexy," he murmured, his eyes flicking between the two of them. "Keep going, don't stop."

Their hands moved faster, their breath coming in ragged pants as they approached the edge once more. "Ahh, ahh, I'm going to cum," Eunbi whimpered, her eyes never leaving Minju's. "I'm going to squirt again."

Minju nodded, her own orgasm building. "Do it," she urged, her voice strained. "I want to feel it."

And with that, they both let go. Their bodies tensed, their muscles tightening as they reached their peak. Eunbi's cum shot out, a thick stream that hit Mr. Y/N's chest and face. He grunted, the surprise only adding to his excitement as he continued to film.

Minju watched, her eyes wide, as Eunbi's pussy spasmed and her fluids painted Mr. Y/N. She felt her own orgasm crest, her pussy clenching around her fingers. "Ahh, Eunbi, I'm coming," she screamed, her cum joining Eunbi's in the mess on the floor.

The room was a blur of pleasure, the scent of sex heavy in the air. They came together, their bodies shaking with the force of their climaxes. And through it all, Mr. Y/N's camera never stopped rolling, capturing every moment of their shared ecstasy.

As their breathing began to slow, Mr. Y/N lowered the phone, his own arousal clear as he wiped Eunbi's cum from his cheek. "Well, that was... unexpected," he said, his voice a mix of amusement and lust.

Minju and Eunbi looked at each other, the tension in the room now a tangible thing. They had crossed a line, and there was no going back. But as they sat there, naked and spent, something had changed between them. The silent rivalry was gone, replaced by a newfound understanding—a bond that was now as sexual as it was friendship.

They shared a look that spoke volumes, a look that said, "We've shared something incredible, and nothing will ever be the same." And with that, the night took a turn that none of them could have ever predicted, as Mr. Y/N set the phone aside and joined them, his own desire too great to ignore any longer.

"Stand up, Eunbi," he said, his voice gruff with need. He gently took her by the hand, helping her to her unsteady feet. Her legs trembled as she rose, the aftershocks of her orgasm still pulsing through her. She was naked and exposed, but she didn't feel vulnerable—instead, she felt powerful, like she was on the brink of something incredible.

Eunbi stood in front of Minju, her pussy facing Minju's face. Y/n started undressing himself and stood in front of Eunbi. His penis was right at her entrance, ready to enter.

"Just watch her pussy and tell me what do you see," Y/N ordered, his eyes never leaving Minju's.

Minju leaned in, her nose almost touching Eunbi's sensitive flesh. "It's so wet," she murmured, her eyes wide with fascination. "And it's opening up for you, Y/N. It's like it's begging for you."

Eunbi moaned, the sound deep and guttural. She couldn't believe she was doing this—letting Mr. Y/N fuck her in front of her best friend. But the alcohol and the heat of the moment had loosened her inhibitions, and she found herself craving more of his touch.

Mr. Y/N's cock slid into Eunbi, filling her completely. She gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head as the sensation overwhelmed her. "It's tightening around you," Minju said, her voice a breathy whisper. "It's like a velvet vice, isn't it?"

Y/N groaned in agreement, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm. He watched as Minju leaned in closer, her tongue darting out to lick the juices that coated Eunbi's inner thighs.

Eunbi's eyes fluttered open, and she looked down at her friend. There was something in Minju's gaze that was both hungry and reassuring. It was as if she was giving her permission to let go, to fully embrace the moment. And so she did, her moans growing louder as Y/N's thrusts grew deeper.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by Eunbi's cries of pleasure. "Her pussy is getting wetter," Minju said, her voice thick with desire. "It's gripping you so tight, Y/N. You're going to make her squirt again."

Y/N picked up his pace, his movements becoming more urgent as he chased Eunbi's next orgasm. She threw her head back, her long hair cascading down her back, her body a picture of absolute surrender to the pleasure he was giving her.

"Look at her, Y/N," Minju said, her voice filled with awe. "Look how much she's enjoying this."

Y/N met Minju's eyes, and for a brief moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the room. The connection between them was palpable, a silent understanding that this was more than just a celebration—it was a declaration of their desires, a revelation of the depth of their bond.

He leaned in, his mouth claiming Eunbi's in a deep, passionate kiss as he continued to fuck her. Her body responded immediately, her pussy tightening around his cock as she moaned into his mouth.

"Squirt for me, Eunbi," Y/N growled, his voice thick with desire. "I want to feel you let go all over Minju's face."

Eunbi's eyes went wide with surprise, but she felt a thrill at his command. She had never felt so alive, so wanted. She nodded, her breath coming in short gasps as she focused on the sensation building inside her.

With a final, powerful thrust, Y/N pulled out, his cock glistening with her cum. Eunbi's body quivered, her pussy clenching as she tried to hold back the flood of pleasure that was about to be unleashed.

"Now," he said, his voice low and authoritative.

Eunbi closed her eyes and let go, her pussy spasming as she squirted, the force of her climax propelling her fluids through the air. Minju leaned back, her eyes wide as she watched the arc of Eunbi's cum, a perfect line aimed straight at her face.

The warm liquid hit her cheeks and nose, the scent of it filling her nostrils as it slid down her chin. She couldn't help but open her mouth, her tongue darting out to catch a droplet. It was salty and sweet, a taste she had never experienced before.

"Ahh, so good," Eunbi murmured when her squirting finally stopped, her legs trembling as she leaned against Y/N for support. She felt alive, more alive than she had ever felt before.

Minju sat there, her face and chest now a canvas of Eunbi's passion. She licked her lips, savoring the taste of her friend's desire. "Wow," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "That was incredible."

Y/N looked down at Eunbi, his eyes searching hers. "What do you want, Eunbi?" he asked, his voice gruff with need. "What do you truly desire?"

Eunbi's breath hitched, the words she was about to say feeling both thrilling and terrifying. But there was no turning back now. "Make me squirt again," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "And put your seed in me."

Y/N's eyes darkened, his desire for her clear. He didn't hesitate, guiding her down to the floor, her body sinking into the plush carpet. She lay there, legs spread wide, her body open and exposed, as he positioned himself between her thighs.

"Put your pussy in her mouth, Minju," he said, his voice a command that sent a shiver down Minju's spine. She looked up at Eunbi, her eyes questioning. But Eunbi's gaze was filled with a hunger that Minju had never seen before. She nodded, and without another word, she leaned down and pressed her pussy against Eunbi's eager mouth.

The moment their lips met, the room seemed to spin. Minju felt a rush of pleasure that was both new and familiar as Eunbi's tongue slid between her folds. She moaned, her hips bucking involuntarily as her friend tasted her for the first time. Eunbi's eyes were closed, her expression one of pure bliss as she licked and sucked, exploring every inch of Minju's pussy.

Meanwhile, Y/N positioned himself behind Eunbi, his cock pressing against her entrance. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of lust. "Ready?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

"Yes," she moaned, her eyes never leaving Minju's. "Do it."

With one powerful thrust, he was inside her, filling her up completely. Eunbi's moan was muffled by Minju's pussy, but the vibrations sent waves of pleasure through both women. They were a tangle of limbs and desire, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as they gave and received pleasure.

Minju could feel every stroke of Y/N's cock inside Eunbi, the way her muscles tightened and released around him. It was as if she was experiencing the sensation herself, a strange and erotic echo of their shared intimacy.

"Oh, fuck," she shouted, her voice bouncing off the walls. "It feels like heaven in Eunbi's mouth!"

Eunbi's eyes fluttered closed, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked harder on Minju's clit. She could feel her own orgasm building again, the sensation of Y/N's cock pounding into her from behind only making it more intense.

Y/N watched them, his own climax approaching. He reached down, grabbing Eunbi's hips as he drove into her, his eyes never leaving Minju's. "You like watching me fuck her?" he asked, his voice a dark whisper.

Minju nodded, her own hand sliding down to her clit. "Yes," she gasped. "It's so hot."

Y/N's grip on Eunbi's hips tightened, his strokes growing faster. "And what about when I cum inside her?" he asked, his eyes challenging.

Minju's eyes went wide, but she didn't protest. Instead, she nodded again, her breath coming in shallow pants. "Do it," she said. "Make her scream."

The words were like a trigger, and with one final, powerful thrust, Y/N reached his peak. He roared as he filled Eunbi's pussy with his cum, the sensation sending her over the edge as well. Her body convulsed around him, her mouth releasing Minju's clit with a pop.

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the orgasm build within her. "Oh, Eunbi," she moaned, her voice tight with pleasure. "It's going to happen, I'm going to squirt."

Eunbi's mouth remained firmly on her pussy, her tongue working in earnest to bring Minju to the brink. She could feel the tension in her best friend's body, the way her muscles tightened and her hips bucked against her face. It was an intoxicating power, one she had never experienced before.

"It's coming," Minju panted, her hand gripping Eunbi's hair. "It's like...like a dam breaking. So much pressure and then—ahh!"

Her body spasmed, and with a gush of wetness, she squirted into Eunbi's eager mouth. The sensation was indescribable—like a warm, wet explosion of pure ecstasy that flooded through her. She watched as Eunbi's cheeks bulged, her eyes watering from the sheer force of it.

"It's so intense," Minju murmured, her voice strained. "It's like my body is releasing all this pent-up pleasure in one go."

Eunbi swallowed, her own desire spiking at the sight. She had never seen Minju like this, so raw and uninhibited. It was beautiful and erotic in a way she had never imagined.

"Keep going," Y/N urged, his own arousal evident in his voice. "I want to feel you both come together."

Minju leaned down, her mouth finding Eunbi's as they kissed, sharing the taste of each other's pleasure. Their bodies were slick with sweat and cum, their hearts racing in tandem as they approached their next climax.

Y/N's cock was still hard, still demanding release. He positioned himself behind Minju, his hand guiding his shaft to her tight entrance. "I'm going to fill you up," he growled, his eyes on hers.

Minju nodded, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Do it," she whispered. "I want to feel you in me while Eunbi's mouth is full of me."

With one swift motion, he slammed into her, making her cry out against Eunbi's lips. The feeling was overwhelming—his cock stretching her, Eunbi's tongue still teasing her clit, and the warmth of her own cum coating her skin.

Their bodies moved together in a dance of lust, their moans and gasps echoing through the apartment. The air was thick with the scent of sex, a potent reminder of their shared desire.

Y/N began to fuck Eunbi with a fervor that was both fierce and tender. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she moaned uncontrollably, her tongue never leaving Minju's pussy. Minju watched in awe, her voice a breathy stream of consciousness. "Look at you," she whispered, her voice a mix of amazement and arousal. "Your pussy is taking him in so beautifully, Eunbi."

Eunbi's hips rocked back to meet his thrusts, her body moving in perfect sync with his. Her tongue continued to swirl and dart, exploring every inch of Minju's sensitive flesh. "Ahh, oh my god," Minju moaned, her eyes half-closed. "You're so good at this."

Eunbi's moans grew louder as she felt Y/N's cock hit her g-spot with each thrust. The pressure was building again, her orgasm threatening to consume her. "Minju, I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." she managed to gasp out, her eyes pleading.

Minju, still riding the wave of her own pleasure, nodded understandingly. She pulled away from Eunbi's mouth, the connection between them breaking with a wet pop. They watched each other, panting and trembling, their bodies coated in a sheen of sweat and arousal. "Do it," Minju urged, her voice thick with desire. "Cum with me."

And as if on cue, their bodies responded. Eunbi's pussy tightened around Y/N's cock, her muscles contracting in a delicious spasm. Minju's own climax began to build again, her clit pulsing with need. Y/N's eyes never left hers as he quickened his pace, pushing them both to the brink.

With a final, guttural moan, Eunbi let go. Her pussy clenched around him, her juices spurting into the air like a fountain. At the same time, Minju's orgasm crested, her cum spraying out in an arc that mirrored Eunbi's. The room was bathed in their shared ecstasy, the scent of sex and desire heavy in the air.

The sight was too much for Y/N to bear, and with a roar, he reached his own climax. He pulled out, his cock pulsing as he painted their bodies with his cum, adding to the mess they had already created.

For a moment, they just lay there, tangled together on the floor. The only sound was their ragged breathing, the only sensation the sticky warmth that covered their skin. They had crossed a line, but in that moment, nothing had ever felt more right.

But the night was far from over. Before Eunbi could even begin to process the intensity of what had just happened, she felt Mr. Y/N's cock hardening against her backside. She looked up at Minju, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and excitement.

"Again," Y/N murmured, his hand sliding down her body to her still-throbbing pussy. "I want to feel you come apart on me one more time."

Without a word, Eunbi nodded, her body already responding to his touch. He positioned himself behind her, his cock pressing against her entrance as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You're mine now, Eunbi. Every part of you."

Minju watched, her own desire rekindling as she saw the raw need in her manager's eyes. She reached out, her hand sliding over Eunbi's stomach as Y/N pushed inside her again. The sensation was intense, the feeling of his cock filling her up anew making Eunbi whimper with pleasure.

His strokes were deep and purposeful, his hips driving into her with a force that was almost brutal. She could feel every inch of him, his length sliding along her g-spot with a precision that had her seeing stars. "Ahh, yes," she moaned, her voice high and needy. "Y/N, harder."

Y/N complied, his grip on her hips tightening as he claimed her body once more. His eyes were locked on Minju's, the silent communication between them only adding to the eroticism of the moment. "Look at her," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Look how much she wants it."

Minju's hand slid lower, her fingers finding Eunbi's clit as she began to rub in time with Y/N's thrusts. "Come for us," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr. "Let us feel you squirt again."

The pressure was building, a storm of pleasure that was threatening to consume Eunbi. She threw her head back, her eyes squeezed shut as she gave in to the sensation. "Ahh, fuck, I'm going to..."

With one final, powerful thrust, Y/N spilled his seed into her womb. Eunbi's body tightened around him, her pussy pulsing with her own orgasm as he filled her up. It was a moment of pure, unbridled ecstasy that seemed to go on forever.

As they lay there, their bodies entwined and their hearts racing, Minju leaned in and kissed Eunbi softly. "You were amazing," she murmured, her voice full of affection and desire.

Eunbi's eyes fluttered open, her gaze meeting Minju's. "So were you," she whispered back, a small smile playing on her lips.

Their bodies lay spent on the floor, a tangled mess of limbs and discarded clothing. The room was still, the only sound the soft, heavy breaths they shared. Minju's hand was resting on Eunbi's stomach, feeling the gentle rise and fall with each inhale and exhale. The stickiness between her thighs was a reminder of the intense moments that had just passed, a sensation that was both foreign and incredibly erotic.

Suddenly, something stirred within her, a new desire unfurling its petals. She pushed herself up, her muscles protesting slightly from the exertion of the night. Her eyes locked onto Eunbi's pussy, still glistening and swollen from the relentless pleasure it had been given. Without a word, she moved on all fours, her body graceful and feline as she approached her friend's exposed flesh.

"Wow," she murmured, her voice thick with wonder. "Y/N's seed is so much, it's flooding." She leaned closer, her nose touching the sticky mess that coated Eunbi's inner thighs. The scent of their mingled arousal was intoxicating, a heady aroma that seemed to fill every corner of the room.

Y/N chuckled, his chest heaving from his recent exertion. He positioned himself behind Minju, his cock still semi-hard from the intense fucking he had just given Eunbi. "Ready?" he asked, his voice low and gruff.

"Yes," Minju said, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. She turned to Eunbi, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Let's keep going.”

#kpop smut #girl group smut #gg smut #male reader #eunbi smut #minju smut #izone smut #izone minju smut

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pomegranatelifethis · 3 days ago

Text

Ding dong

You hugged the rabbit in your lap tighter as you blinked. You were soaked from the rain, but you held back so as not to show anyone that you were crying. As you stood in front of the door, the sound of the car driving away behind you continued to echo in your ears.

The person who left you left without even stopping to check if the door was open.

You held the folder tighter in your hand. It said "To Bruce Wayne - Personal" in capital letters.

The door opened.

"God…" said the old man in a gentle voice. He bent down and came down to your eye level.

"Little lady, what are you doing here?"

You couldn't say anything. You couldn't speak. You just handed over the folder. Your lips trembled, but your tears held back. You pulled your rabbit up a little more. It made you feel safe.

That evening

You were under a soft blanket in the living room. Accompanied by the crackling of the fire, there were people around you that you didn't know but somehow felt warm.

A cheerful person who makes you hot chocolate.

A tough-looking but sweet person who smiles at you without you noticing.

A girl who sits silently and watches you.

And another one who straightens his rabbit, tough but gentle.

They were all looking at you from afar. And in one corner of the room... there was the man reading the folder. His black hair, thoughtful facial expression, and that strange warmth in his eyes when he looks at you.

He left the folder on the table. He took a deep breath. Then he approached you. He sat next to her.

You made eye contact. Something inside him made him feel different.

"I… I'm your father."

When he heard these words, everything inside him became complicated. You tried to understand.

Then you just shook your head. “Okay…” you said in a whisper.

You held your rabbit tightly. He gently caressed her hair.

"You're home now."

Next Days

Life slowly began to take shape around you in the mansion.

Patrul times were now after you fell asleep. Weapons, costumes—all kept out of sight.

You lived in a world of just hot breakfasts, cartoons, coloring books and lots of laughter.

When night came, someone was always with you.

Someone was telling a fairy tale,

Someone was braiding her hair,

Someone was sitting quietly with you, painting.

And every night, a whisper reached his ear:

“Sweet dreams, my little star.”

Every night, while you were in deep sleep, they were out to protect the city. They were wearing costumes, wearing masks, blending into the shadows of Gotham.

But when they returned in the morning, one of them always stopped by your room. They were looking at you with pieces of armor still on them, tiredness in their eyes, but love in their hearts.

And when morning comes…

You just woke up with a new breakfast, a new sketchbook, and lots of hugs.

Because to protect you from the darkness, you had not one but five heroes.

And for you… it was all normal.

Because you were their most precious secret.

It had been about two weeks since you arrived at the Wayne Manor.

Every morning at breakfast, a different face greeted you. Sometimes, it was the smiling boy — the one with slightly messy hair, who always managed to make you laugh. Other times, it was the quiet one, always sitting next to you with black hair. Sometimes, it was the one who would come into the kitchen and ask, "What do you want to eat, little one?" — the one with a slightly furrowed brow, but secretly caring for you a lot.

But they all had one thing in common: They cared about you.

And you had started to get used to them. You were forming bonds with each of them, individually. But it was hard to remember their names, so you had come up with your own nicknames for them in your head:

Funny brother (Dick)

Serious but sweet brother (Damian)

The one who falls asleep but brings chocolate (Tim)

The one who gets angry but secretly makes you laugh (Jason)

That morning, everyone was in the kitchen. The sun had rarely risen over Gotham. As you wrapped yourself in a blanket and climbed onto one of the kitchen chairs, you looked up and glanced around.

"Good morning, everyone," you said shyly.

Dick turned to you: "Good morning, little lady! I’m taking you to school today, are you ready?"

You smiled. "Okay... Funny brother."

Everyone paused for a moment. Tim almost dropped his cup. Damian raised an eyebrow. Jason chuckled.

"Did she just say 'brother'?" Jason said, grinning.

You blushed and lowered your head. But as Bruce walked in through the kitchen door, your eyes locked on him.

He was the quieter, more serious one. But he never missed checking on you at night. And every morning, he would face you with a tired but peaceful expression.

Today, you felt a bit braver.

When he leaned down towards you, you reached out and tried to climb into his lap, blanket and all. He easily lifted you up and wrapped his arms around you.

And you rested your head on his shoulder and whispered:

“Dad…”

There was a silence. It was as if the air in the room had stopped.

In that moment, Bruce’s eyes softened a little more. His embrace tightened a little more.

And he responded with just one word:

“My love…”

Dick wiped his eyes, pretending, as if saying, “I’m not crying, you are!”

Tim was staring at his coffee, though his nose was red.

Jason turned his back, but his shoulders were shaking.

Damian, however, kept looking at you without averting his eyes. For the first time, it seemed like he was proud.

In that moment, maybe for the first time, you truly felt "belonging."

A father.

And four brothers.

You were no longer alone.

#batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere x reader #bruce wayne x reader #yandere dc #damian wayne x reader #batfamily #batfam

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woncheolisms · 3 days ago

Text

i can still see it all. (joshua hong x reader)

summary: you meet joshua for the first time since he left the country as a teenager to pursue his dreams. you are sure he doesn’t remember you, despite the fact that you haven’t forgotten him for a single day in the last fifteen years.

word count: 8.4k

warnings: best friends to strangers to friends to lovers, non au, set in svtverse, idol!joshua, hairstylist!reader, some angst, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, dacryphilia, teasing, fingering, multiple orgasms, drunk sex, mentions of alcohol.

Sunset was your favorite part of the day.

There was something about the way it colored the ground orange, bathing everything in a warm glow, the waves glittering under the slowly fading sunlight that brought your young heart at ease. At fifteen, when every minor issue felt like the end of the world, Santa Monica pier was your escape. Every weekend you would end up on the same wooden boards, feet pattering against them and the swish of ocean waves roaring in your ears. Multiple other footsteps echoed beside you and behind you, the chattering and laughing of the teenage voices that belonged to your friends blending with the hustle and bustle of the weekend crowd at the pier. In your clearest memory, your eyes would meet warm brown ones, appearing a lighter hazel in the fading sunlight, skin tinted golden, and laugh like a melody echoing in your mind….

Your alarm is a jarring sound.

You startle awake as it cuts through the tranquility of your dreamscape, making you bite back an annoyed groan as it keeps beeping on, ripping you further and further away from the warmth of the pier and distant doe eyes that keep you company as you sleep. Your hand shoots out and slaps at your phone blindly, shutting it up. In the glare of the screen, you make out a blurred 10:00am. A heaving sigh leaves your body as it registers in your head that it’s Friday morning. You stare at the curtains covering your window, early morning light filtering through them and making your room visible. All is silent.

……. It is Friday morning.

You remember your dream, or rather, childhood memory. It’s been a while since you last thought of LA or Santa Monica, despite spending so much of your childhood in that area. You understand why you’re dreaming about it now though, considering what today is. As you stare at the ceiling, you mentally prepare yourself for the day. It doesn’t matter, though. You haven’t managed to prepare yourself in the last couple of weeks, so it hardly seems like you’ll turn it around on the morning of. Brown eyes flick through your mind again.

Showering and getting ready are a nervous affair. There seems to be a charge in the air, like static, ready to zap you the minute you make a sudden move. You contemplate stopping for breakfast, and choose to forego it when your stomach protests at the thought. Coffee would have to do. You can deal with the consequences of plain coffee on your bowels later. There’s much more important things to freak about now.

As you’re driving to the arena, you feel irritation replace your apprehension. Come on. There’s no way he remembers you. It has been fifteen years since you last saw him. You doubt he could recall you even if someone told him your name. Which, by the way, no one would have told him your name. You are sure that in his line of work, hair stylists come and go. How many had he worked with already, in his near ten-year career? You are just a blip, here to take care of the group during the American leg of their tour and then going about your life once again. That’s it.

You weren’t surprised when you were first offered the job to be the on-tour hairstylist for an idol group. You had worked with many in the past as they came to America for appearances or while on tour. In your near decade of working, you have managed to build an impressive portfolio. But you had been frozen solid when you found out who this particular client was. Of course you knew them. You had followed their careers since before they debuted. You had promised you would, just as he had promised to keep in touch before he left.

Only one of you had kept your promise.

The coffee is bitter on your tongue, and it wakes you up before it even hits your stomach. You let the GPS on your phone guide you to the location sent to you by one of the staff members. Already, you can see people outside the venue. No shock there. This was a very anticipated tour. The air feels crisp and charged, now with excitement rather than the fearful doomed feeling you experienced that morning in your room. The sun is already way up, announcing the arrival of midday.

It’s a blur of introductions inside the building. Everyone is extremely nice, and someone in a black button up and jeans finds you immediately, as if already looking for you, leading you down a corridor as they talk to you a bit about what’s happening.

“Usually we don’t have the hair and makeup staff come this early.” Her voice is cheery and light. “But the members have to film a bit before the show today so they need to get ready early.”

“I don’t mind at all.” You immediately jump to answer, eager to come off as a team player. Also, midday isn’t early at all for you, though it may be early for them considering the concert didn’t start for another six hours.

You are shown into a large room and you immediately feel at home as soon as you step in. The mirrors are large and the hair and makeup stations are well lit. There are too many chairs to count there, some facing the mirrors and others scattered haphazardly everywhere else. Towards the far end of the room, one chair is already occupied, and you can see a woman bent over the man in the chair, her hand making careful strokes with a brush over his closed eyelids. His hair is a bright blond under the glare of the lights, matted down on his head. He must have freshly washed it. Next to him, another seat is occupied, but this time with a brunette who is lazily scrolling through his phone. He looks up when he hears you shuffling about. You immediately recognize him.

His smile is bright as he pushes off the chair in favor of walking over to you. You bow courteously.

Lee Seokmin is as handsome as he always looked on screen. You would argue he is even more stunning in real life. His voice is friendly and warm, and you immediately feel at ease. He introduces himself even though he needs no introduction, and you return the pleasantries. The voices make his blond friend turn his head towards you curiously, and you recognize Soonyoung just as quickly as you had recognized Seokmin.

They are quick to make conversation with you when they learn that you are their hairstylist, talking to you as if they had known you forever. It’s slightly jarring how quickly they become comfortable with you, because while you had been staring at them on a screen for years, they didn’t know you before this at all. It is hard not to be charmed by them though, they are incredibly kind and engaging. They ask you about your job, tell you how excited they are to be there, ask for food recommendations and before you know it, you are somehow roped into dinner plans.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea….” You can’t help but feel sheepish. Seokmin waves you off immediately.

“It’ll be our treat! We take the staff out for dinner and drinks all the time. You had to show up this early. It’s the least we can do.”

You think it’s best not to say that you are paid to be here. It’s not like you are doing this for free. Both of them are so nice about it that you really don’t think your snark has any place in this conversation. You choose to switch the topic.

“Speaking of, why are only two of you here? What about the others?” You try to sound nonchalant. Try not to let your nerves creep in again. You can’t afford to freak out now. Not when he could walk in the door at any moment.

That makes Soonyoung snicker and Seokmin let out a painful sigh. He jabs a thumb backward to point at his friend, who is just about done with his makeup. “He spoiled something important while doing a live yesterday. He dragged me along by guilting me into it.”

Soonyoung seems proud of the fact, and you can tell Seokmin doesn’t mind as much as he is pretending to. You can’t help but smile as well. It’s crazy how comfortable you already feel around the two.

You are almost done with Soonyoung’s hair when other members slowly start to trickle in. Your heart speeds up. You try to keep your face straight and all your focus on the short strands of hair sticking up between your fingers. They greet you one by one as they show up. Wonwoo first, Chan right behind him. You introduce yourself to all of them, throwing some “nice to meet you”s in there. The room slowly swells with noise, multiple separate conversations and some laughs here and there. Some time passes. Seungkwan sits down in front of you. When Joshua walks into the room, everything stills for one small second.

He looks the same. Boyish charm and doe eyes. He sounds the same too, syrupy sweet voice, slightly deeper than you remember. He is running a towel through his wet hair. Some strands stick to the damp skin on his forehead. His face is bare, just the way you remember it. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle the same way. He laughs at something Soonyoung says to him. Same laugh.

But he is so….. different. He is taller, and much broader. You try not to let your eyes linger on his arms, bare because of the tank top he had chosen to wear. Heat rises up the back of your neck, and you run a small comb through Seungkwan’s hair, parting it down the middle. He is saying something about the content they are supposed to film before the show, and you feel a bit bad for not focusing on what he is talking about. But Joshua is right there, mere feet from you after nearly a decade and a half of being apart. It is hard to focus on anything other than the boy you had given your heart to when you were so young.

It seems he has chosen to focus on you too, in that very moment. He notices you working on his friend’s hair, and then he is walking to you. You freeze.

“Hi. Joshua.” He bows a little. You reciprocate, though it’s more jerky and not as smooth as his. You immediately kick yourself. Managing to return his smile, you tell him your name. His face shifts a bit, and you freeze again in shock. There’s no way….

He repeats your name, this time more questioning. You nod slowly.

“No way!” His eyes are wide, recognition flicking through them. Beautiful brown, rich like chocolate. You are reminded of your dream. Your heart skips. “I can’t believe it! You’re a hairstylist now?”

You laugh meekly, nodding. Your face still burns. Having his eyes on you feels almost unbearable. You wish he would go away, leave you in your head again to remember only the ghost of him still living in your memory. You also wish he would come closer, hold your hand like he used to and push your hair behind your ear when the wind makes it fall into your eyes.

You wish for a lot of things.

“You two know each other?” Seungkwan swivels in his chair to look at Joshua, who only nods enthusiastically.

“We were friends. We went to the same school when I was still in LA.”

So succinct. So brief. How something that means the world to you, something that changed your young mind so profoundly, could be summarized in two sentences. You try not to think about it.

“We have a lot of catching up to do.” His voice breaks you from your thoughts. His smile is still so wide. His eyes are…. gentle. Almost admiring. You realise he is genuinely happy to see you, and something in your chest settles. The nasty voice in your head silences itself. How foolish of you, to think for even a second that someone as sweet and down to earth as Joshua wouldn’t be happy to see you, his dearest friend, after he left LA. He isn’t wired that way. You almost feel ashamed at having doubted him. You nod your affirmation.

“You should have dinner with us after the show. Maybe some drinks too.”

You chuckle a bit. “Ah, yeah. Seokmin offered as well. I guess I will be there.”

He smiles wider, if that is even possible. “Great.”

When he finally walks away from you, you turn your head to meet Seungkwan’s gaze, already trained intently on you. Your neck heats up again.

“Something wrong?”

His eyes narrow just a bit. You get a strange feeling, like you are being prodded. He shakes his head, but the corner of his lip ticks up just slightly.

“No, not at all.” He settles back in his chair, an expression on his face that you can’t quite place.

Ah, fuck.

……………………………………………………………………..

An hour later, Joshua is sitting in a chair, typing something on his phone when you finally step closer to him to get a look at his hair. He turns his phone screen off, giving you a dazzling smile as well as his full attention. You try to smile back, but it comes off more as a grimace than anything friendly. If he notices, he doesn’t let it show. You are grateful for that.

“I didn’t know you left LA.” He comments, and you hum a bit, using a comb to smooth through his hair, trying to focus on your job and not on the fact that you are touching him, or that you can smell his aftershave. It’s flowery and light. It makes you dizzy.

You also try to bite back on the fact that there is no way he could’ve known, considering you hadn’t talked to him properly since he set foot outside the US.

“I’ve been all around.“ You answer, knowing how vague you sound. You can’t think of anything else to say though. You can feel Joshua’s gaze on you, and you wonder if he sees through you.

He used to. He knew you better than anyone else. Now….. now he’s a stranger.

“Weren’t you going to become a lawyer?”

You bark out a shocked laugh at the sudden jibe, mind thrown back into the past. “Oh god, no. I don’t know what I was thinking when I used to say that.”

Joshua chuckles a bit too. “And you were so passionate about it too. Though I’m pretty sure it was just because you thought it would help you win arguments.”

You can’t control your grin. “I was a kid. I still suck at them, by the way.”

“Do you still cry when you get angry?”

You roll your eyes and give him a look. “It’s perfectly normal to cry when you’re angry.”

He nods jokingly, pretending to contemplate. “Sure. Not when you are trying to negotiate prices on the pier though.”

You gape at him, shocked. “How the hell do you remember that?”

Joshua’s mock playfulness leaves his face, replaced by something softer, more melancholic. Your fingers freeze in the dark caramel strands of his hair, soft to touch.

“I remember everything.”

You feel something strong and bitter rise in the back of your throat. Like bile, but burning worse. You remember then, the grief of Joshua leaving. The dragging hurt of waiting for replies to your emails. How his responses would get shorter and shorter every time. How it fizzled over those few painful months. And then….nothing. Like he was never there.

You clear your throat and work in silence, trying to finish up on his hair quicker. You can see from the corner of your eye how his face drops. He doesn’t say anything more. When you’re done, he gives you a tiny smile and a thank you.

He’s a stranger to you once again.

……………………………………………………………………..

The show is spectacular, as expected. You watch as much as you can between giving touch ups as the members come and go from the backstage area. It’s overstimulating and fast paced, nothing you aren’t used to, but enough to get your blood pumping. You missed working shows like this. Despite the history you had with Joshua, you feel okay about taking the job.

The members are all hyped and looking forward to dinner and drinks afterwards. Some staff members go along, including you, and it is an energetic affair. You laugh and talk with other people on the crew, who are all very welcoming and more than happy to regale you with stories of their own. The members eat like a small army, and food disappears faster than you can blink. You are grateful for the amount of people, since it meant you didn’t have to interact one on one with Joshua. It is nearing dawn when everyone starts to slowly scatter to their hotel rooms on the same floor.

Your own hotel room, booked courtesy of the company, is not in the same building, and when you announce that you should head back, Joshua offers to drive you. You can’t really find a reason to say no. He is one of maybe two people who didn’t drink. So your options are limited.

You really don’t want to talk to him. You can’t even place why, exactly. You had missed him, thought about him periodically for so long. He is here now, accessible to you, and yet you want nothing to do with him.

The truth is, your small conversation threw you off. It’s like you had never been apart. He talked to you like he had left just a month ago on a little vacation and now he had come back, catching up on life updates. But the truth is that he has fifteen years worth of updates that he missed. This isn’t a brief pause that he can just ignore, something he was clearly trying to do.

Then again, maybe you are overreacting. It’s not like you two had fought. Things just didn’t work out. It happens. Maybe you are making a big deal out of nothing while he is doing everything to be nice to you.

In any case, you have a lot to figure out. And you can’t do that with Joshua in the driver’s seat, spending a good chunk of time in a confined space with him. The silence is strange and heavy. You close your eyes and lean back in your seat, hoping he just assumes you are tired and doesn’t feel as awkward as you. When the car slows to a stop in front of your building, you give him a little smile as you gather your things.

“Did I upset you earlier?”

You hesitate, movements slowing a bit. Joshua looks worried, but he doesn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on staring straight ahead. It’s still dark outside. You take a deep breath.

“Not- not really. I was just surprised.”

Now he looks confused, tearing his eyes away from the road to look at you. “Why?”

You blink slowly. “What do you mean, why?”

He doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You aren’t really drunk, but you had a few. Enough to impair the filter between your brain and mouth just a little bit.

”We haven’t spoken in almost fifteen years, Josh.” Your voice sounds more stable than you are expecting. “But suddenly you’re acting like nothing’s wrong. Like you didn’t just…. disappear.”

Guilt washes over his features, and you try not to let it affect you.

“I didn’t mean to….”

You sigh a bit, feeling resigned. “No one ever means to. But I think I deserved a little more than nothing. For the sake of what we had.”

Your eyes meet, and this time, the exchange of looks is weighted, more understanding. Joshua nods.

”You did. I’m sorry.”

You nod slowly. You hadn’t expected such a quick and willing apology. It was almost anticlimactic. Joshua carries on.

“Training was….tough. I almost quit, you know? Multiple times. I stuck it out because of the members, and because I was determined to see it through. I know it isn’t an excuse but- I was overwhelmed and I missed home. I missed you. Talking to you just made it so much worse.”

He lets out a meek laugh, rolling his eyes. His stare is distant as he remembers the past. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “It sounds insanely stupid in hindsight.”

You nod. “It does.”

He laughs again, this time a bit stronger. When he looks at you, there’s something sad behind his eyes. You can’t help but mimic it. It’s difficult to put a finger on it. There’s so much you want to say to him, but at the same time, nothing comes to mind. It seems that all along, you had waited to hear just these words from him, a form of explanation, a form of remorse, and he had finally given them to you. There is a sense of finality in this moment. Your lips slowly curl up into a soft smile.

“I understand, I think. I… I don’t know what to say though. I don’t know where we go from here.”

There it is again, that curled smile which makes him look five years younger than he is. In the dim light, he looks unassuming and gentle, almost angelic.

“Maybe you can give me a chance to be your friend again?”

You appraise him a bit before nodding. “I think I can do that.”

……………………………………………………………………..

Some parts of Joshua are exactly the same.

He is still snarky and mischievous under his gentle exterior. Of course, it’s more than just an exterior. He is a genuinely kind person. But you two were great friends before because he was such a wonderful mix of caring and annoying. You loved teasing him and he loved teasing you back. It seems those parts of him haven’t changed at all. When you observe him with his members, you can see how he thrives off their energy. He is especially a pain in the ass to Mingyu, who loves to dish it right back.

And then there are parts of him that are so new it almost catches you off guard. He is a lot more mature now. And more perceptive too. He has a little bit of a flirty thing going on now, and it often leaves you blushing and stuttering, unable to reply.

God, you really should have become a lawyer.

Four shows into the tour and in your second city by now, you have grown fairly comfortable in your job. With Joshua acting as a bridge, you get integrated into the team very easily. Almost everyone is curious about you and Joshua when he was still living in LA. None more so than Seungkwan, who seems to have taken a particular interest in you two ever since you met on the first day. You’re not very thrilled by it, since he isn’t exactly subtle about it either.

“Have you considered working outside the US?”

You hum as you pull his hair down over his forehead, trying to go for more of a messy look today. “Not really. Why do you ask?”

“You could come to Korea with us.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I can’t just leave the country on a whim.”

“It wouldn’t be a whim though. You would have a job.”

You give him a questioning look now, pausing your ministrations for a second. “Where exactly are you going with this?”

He shrugs, pouting playfully for a bit. “I’m just saying. It doesn’t have to end after this leg of the tour, you know?”

His stare is meaningful. Very briefly, his eyes flick towards Joshua on your left. It’s so subtle that you wouldn’t catch it if you hadn’t been looking so intently. Realisation dawns on you and you gulp.

“Nothing will end. Because nothing is going on.” You give him a pointed look, going back to his hair.

“That’s what I’m saying. Something could.”

You sigh painfully. “Seungkwan-”

“He likes you.” Seungkwan interrupts. “Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. Joshua puts a lot of effort in for the people he cares about. And he’s making a hell of an effort to fix things with you.”

“That’s because I was his friend.”

He gives you a blank look but doesn’t say anything more. You try to ignore his words, but when your eyes flick towards the man in question, you can’t help but wonder if there is any ounce of truth behind them.

……………………………………………………………………..

“I was thinking of getting a haircut before the next show.”

You give Joshua a surprised look, placing your drink on the table. It’s show number six of eight total, and the members had scattered to explore the city. You had been in your hotel room when Joshua called, asking you to come down so you could have a drink with him. The bar you end up in is small and cozy, barely crowded since it’s a weekday, which is for the best. You lean back in the booth to get a better look at Joshua sitting next to you.

“What are you thinking?” You ask.

A thoughtful hum follows. “I’m not sure. Just something different. It’s getting a bit long and it irritates my neck.”

“Do you wanna dye it?”

He winces. “Not really. The damage takes forever to recover from.”

You think about his face shape, wondering what to do with his hair that might look good on him. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to his head, fingers threading through the strands and pulling them upwards a bit, just to check exactly how long the hair is. Joshua just watches you. You blink when you notice the hint of smile on his face, pulling your hand back with a sudden jerk.

“Sorry!” You squeak out, feeling embarrassment crawl up your chest. “Force of habit.”

Joshua laughs. “It’s fine. You’ve done worse things around me.”

You gape at him. “Have not!”

He gives you a look, and you know what he is about to say before he even speaks. “You once peed while my back was turned to you.”

“Shut up!” You screech out, burying your face in your hands as Joshua laughs boisterously. You look around the bar, anywhere that isn’t him, trying to pat down the heat rising in your cheeks.

“That doesn’t count, by the way.”

Joshua blinks, mirth still dancing in his eyes. “And why not?”

“Because that was the old you.”

His eyes are wide with surprise and amusement now. His left hand swivels his glass, the liquid floating around in it. He leans his head on the other hand, elbow on the table. “I haven’t changed.”

“Yes, you have.” You immediately counter, downing the last of your own drink. “You’re all cool and suave now.”

He laughs again, uninhibited and bright. You grin at him, enamored by the way he throws his head back and how toothy his grin is. Liquid courage takes a hold of you.

“You know,” you lean in conspiratorially and Joshua follows your lead, playing along. “I used to have a crush on you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You did?”

You hum the affirmative, face still close to his, like you are telling him a long held secret. It kind of is one.

The lights in the bar are dim, but you can see the glint in Joshua’s eyes clearly. “And now?”

You pretend to think about it. You are feeling playful as well. It’s so easy to feed off his energy. It reminds you of your childhood. He’s a lot bolder now, but he used to be just as cheeky. His flowery scent enters your nose again in this proximity. You feel that all too familiar heat on the back of your neck. A frequent occurrence now, ever since Joshua has stepped back into your life. You wouldn’t change it, not even for a second.

“Jury’s still out.”

Joshua’s smile softens a bit. “I’ll take it.”

……………………………………………………………………..

It’s very fitting, for the last show of this leg of the tour to be in LA.

In the days leading up to the last two shows, you wonder about the future. While it is unpredictable, there are some well established facts you need to come to terms with. Joshua would leave for Korea right after, rest for a bit, and then the next leg of the tour would kick off. Your contract would end, and you would rest as well before you find your next gig. The thought of it feels like a lead weight in your stomach, and you are reminded acutely of the time when Joshua had told you about him leaving fifteen years ago.

“Pledis?” Your voice had been suspicious. “I’ve never heard of them. Are you sure you aren’t getting scammed?”

He had laughed. “I’m sure. They are legit, and they are eager to have me.”

“I don’t know, Josh…”

It’s the same apprehension but now under different circumstances.

Briefly, you remember Seungkwan’s offer. You don’t know how serious he was, but you entertain the thought for a brief moment. It doesn’t last, though. It’s ridiculous. The teenage you would have jumped at the chance to follow Joshua to the other side of the world, but that was naïveté. While you and him are riding the line between platonic and romantic, it hasn't gone anywhere. You couldn’t pick up everything and run off with him. It just wasn’t realistic.

The LA air seems to change something in Joshua. It’s a fairytale notion, but you swear you can see him bloom in the city. It’s nostalgic for him, you know this, and this stop means the most to him considering this is where his roots are. You bask in his glow, reminded of your own childhood with him by your side. You had spent countless weekends hanging around Santa Monica with your friends, putting together your very little money to eat and enjoy yourselves. Now here as an adult, standing in a stadium is a monumental milestone for Joshua, and you can’t believe you get to share in it with him.

The last show is even more emotionally charged for both you and him, but for entirely different reasons. You remember the days leading up to Joshua’s flight back then. You had insisted you spend every waking moment with him. Now, you are watching him close out the show to uproarious applause.

Life has changed so much. But your feelings remain the same. You had told yourself at fifteen, that you would confess to Joshua when he came back, stupidly believing that he would come back at some point. You’re a grown woman now, and you still know you will chicken out. You won’t tell him how you feel, you know this. He will leave again, this time for who knows how long, and maybe your paths won’t cross. Maybe they will, for another brief stint in time, before returning to the way they had been for so many stale years.

Maybe that’s how fate intends you to love Joshua. Little by little. In scraps. In fleeting moments of happiness before his busy life sweeps him up again. Maybe you should accept that this is how it’s meant to be.

After all, a little love is better than none.

Drinks are flowing heavily as the group celebrates the end of a very successful leg of their tour. Your staff members insist on farewell drinks for you, and before you know it, you have downed shot after shot with them, talking and laughing your hearts out. You had formed somewhat of a family here with these people, and you would miss them all terribly. Having temporary jobs is always a bummer when it comes to goodbyes. The whole experience is bittersweet.

You are reminded of your first night when you stand up and announce that you will be heading out. Especially when Joshua stands up right after.

“I’ll drive you.”

You snort. “I’m booked in this hotel too, dumbass. I just have to go down one floor.”

Joshua pouts at the smattering of laughs at your comment. You grin at him.

“Also, you’re drunk as fuck.”

He nods as if he has come to an important, life-changing decision after contemplating a little bit. “I’ll walk you, then.”

Not even five minutes later, you are struggling to get your door open. Behind you, Joshua sways a bit.

“How much did you drink?”

He giggles. “I’m just a little tipsy.”

You roll your eyes. He clearly is way more than just tipsy. You can’t judge him though. Because you are in a similar situation.

You turn to face him when the door behind you finally squeaks open. His eyes are foggy but they focus on you regardless. He still has makeup on from the show, though it’s slightly smudgy now. His hair is still in place from the hairspray. You make a face at it and reach out to tug a stiff strand.

“I hate putting hairspray on your head.” You slur. “Your hair is so soft and nice.”

Joshua hums a bit, leaning against the door frame and letting you play with his hair. “Then get it out.”

In your drunken haze, you pull him into the room, and before you know it, you’ve ducked his head under the sink of the bathroom to wet his hair. Not the best way to do it but neither of you care at this point. Not only are your inhibitions dampened, you also know you are doing all this just to keep him here for a little longer. To be close to him just a bit more. His flight is tomorrow morning. This is the last time you will see him, and you are not ready to say goodbye.

You have a multitude of products with you that you lather into his hair. He doesn’t seem to mind that you are ruining his T-shirt. He is compliant, sitting obediently on the closed toilet lid as you work your fingers gently through the styled pieces of his hair. He hums a bit when you press on his scalp, eyes fluttering. You scold him to keep them closed so they don’t get irritated by the chemicals.

By the time you’ve made him rinse off in the sink again, his clothed shoulders are all wet. His hair is dripping all over the bathroom floor. Droplets of water roll down the sides of his face and down his neck. A silver chain glitters against his skin there, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His eyes are barely open, narrowed to slits. You crane your neck up to look at him, the scent of shampoo dense in your nose.

“Towel.” You mutter. He needs it. It’s too cold to be this wet. He could get sick.

Neither of you move to get a towel though.

This close to him, you can see the sprinkled pattern of freckles over his neck. His lips part and your eyes shoot down to them immediately. You’ve always loved his lips, weird as that sounds. Always wondered what they would feel like against your own. You don’t have to wonder long, because he leans down the next second, pressing them softly into yours.

There’s hesitation behind his actions, but you affirm him by pushing up a bit, fitting your lips into his harder. His hands brush against your sides and yours grip tight at the wet collar of his shirt. It is close mouthed and chaste, but it lights a fire in you, settling in your chest as a condensed warmth. A single droplet of water hits your cheek.

A decade and a half long anticipated kiss.

You nip a little on his bottom lip, hearing how his breath gets strangled in his throat. He squeezes at your sides. His lips part. His tongue moves languidly against yours, head tilted to get better access. You sigh into him, trying to feel as much of him as you can. The planes of his chest are firm, his shoulders are broad. Your fingers travel up his neck to his jaw, to his ear. You tug on the tiny silver ring wrapped around the helix, and he curses softly in your mouth.

“We should stop.” He gasps out, but his hands are tugging on the hem of your shirt, slipping under it to run across your bare skin. You moan at the feeling, offended by the clothes between you two now. You grip his wet hair a bit harshly, pull at it just a bit, and his reaction is instant. He groans loud and low, pushing into you until you are stumbling back. Blindly, you two shuffle out of the bathroom and towards the bed, not separating for one minute, planting a slew of messy kisses over each other’s lips. Your shaky hands fall to the button of his jeans, which you pop open, flying up under his shirt and pushing it up to his chest until he gets the hint and tugs it off. You stare at his bare torso, fingers exploring the newly exposed skin. He nips at the lobe of your ear, brushing soft kisses over your neck and jaw.

His hands are toying with the hem of your jeans, thumbs hooking into the belt loops to tug your hips closer. You feel his erection on your lower stomach, hard and insistent, and it nearly leaves you dizzy.

“Josh-” You manage to gasp out. He bites softly into the skin just below your ear and hums into it. Your eyes roll.

A flurry of hands leaves you shirtless soon, fingers tugging on the hook of your bra until the clasp is undone, discarding it as well. Joshua’s body doesn’t stay far from yours. He falls onto the bed with you, his weight insistent and reassuring on top of you. When he grinds against the heat between your parted legs, you feel electricity zip through you, back arching into him. You can feel how wet you are already, how you clench around nothing. There’s too many layers between you two.

You feel his hand unzip your jeans and slip between your thighs to where you need him the most. You can hear his intake of breath right next to your ear when his fingers make contact with the soaked cloth of your panties.

“I haven’t done anything yet, baby.”

You keen at the use of the pet name, and Joshua sighs into your neck, attaching his teeth to the skin and sucking hard. Your hips jerk. His index finger presses the fabric harshly against your clit and you cry out at the sensation.

“Stop teasing.” You whine, one hand reaching down to wrap around his wrist. His teeth release your skin so his tongue can run over the area, and you are sure you will have an angry mark there in the morning. You can’t care less.

“That doesn’t sound like me at all.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Regardless, your panties are being pushed aside, careful fingers now running up through your slit until they reach your nub. His thumb rubs a few harsh circles into you, and you gasp again.

Joshua is unpredictable, alternating between soft and rough, keeping you on your toes, figuratively. In reality, you are moaning and crying into his shoulder, hips chasing his touch with every flick of his wrist, until he finally takes mercy on you and sinks his middle and ring finger into your aching pussy. His thumb is still insistent, never once stopping its ministrations. His lips never stop moving, digging into any piece of you he can get between his teeth, a handful of kisses and licks all over your neck and chest. When the pads of his fingers finally hit your sweet spot, you nearly sob.

He quickly becomes relentless in his movements, rubbing, dragging, in and out, until you feel like you are on the brink of insanity. You can’t make sense of your own words, and you are sure it is all mindless babble, but Joshua seems to bask in it, encouraging you on until your back is arching impossibly deep, orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Your legs jerk and pulse in the air, framing his waist as he coaxes you through your high, whispering sweet praises in your ear, a stark contrast to the fire he had lit in your body. When your eyes blink open again, you are met with a glinting, lustful gaze and a soft smirk.

You wipe it right off by pressing your lips harshly into his. He hums in approval, allowing your scrambling hands to push his jeans and boxers down and off his legs along with your own. His cock drags through the mess between your legs and he curses. You buck up into him.

“You’re sure about this?” His voice is raspy. He sounds as wrecked as you feel.

You nod and wrap your legs around his hips to pull him closer, but Joshua pulls his lips away from yours instead.

“I need you to say it. I can’t mess this up with you.”

You pause, blinking up at him, startled at his words. He is a vision in the dim light, swollen lips, smudged mascara, messy wet hair and all. He looks beautiful.

“You could never mess up with me.”

His smile is tinged with something bitter. “I already did once.”

You can’t help the playful smirk you give him in response. “And yet here we are.”

He does chuckle at that, forehead leaning against yours. You give him a soft smile, running a hand through his hair. This time in a different context, a different feeling.

“I’ve never wanted anything more than you in this moment.”

His face instantly relaxes, and his lips are on yours again. You sigh into his mouth, and you can feel something hard poke insistently at you, followed by a jerk of Joshua’s hips that finally breaches you, carving through your insides as you throw your head back. He is big, and impossibly hard, and he brushes over parts you didn’t even know you had. By the time he bottoms out, you are trembling in his hold, breaths coming in choppy gasps as he starts moving, slow at first and gradually picking up speed.

Joshua lifts himself off you, supporting his weight on his hands. Your watery gaze meets his and he bites his lip hard.

“Look at you, fuck.” He thrusts especially hard, making you cry out. “Wish you could see yourself, angel. So pretty for me.”

”Joshua.” You drag out the last syllable of his name, feeling your toes curl as he keeps going. He thrusts particularly deep and then suddenly stills in you, so you can feel every inch of him. Your jaw goes slack.

“What do you want?”

His lips are a ghost touch over your cheek. He grinds slowly, his pelvis brushing your clit, adding to the assault of sensations you are already experiencing. You feel a tear roll down your face and disappear into your hairline.

You whine. “You.”

His lips curl upward. “You have me.”

He grinds again. You sob.

“Please.” Your voice is thin, on the verge of breaking. “Need you to move. Need to feel you. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-”

Then he is shushing you, and his hips are moving again, harder and faster until stars are bursting in your vision as you come again. You barely register when Joshua stiffens and buries himself deep in you, warmth flooding your insides as he pants and groans through his own release. Your entire body feels muted and numb, like someone had stuffed cotton in your head. You blink lazily, pressing a kiss into Joshua’s sweaty forehead.

He turns to look at you in response, and you can see the sluggishness in the depth of his eyes. A small smile plays at his lips. He looks at peace. You hope your face looks just as blissful to him. Tiredness tugs at your limbs.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

……………………………………………………………………..

Giggling. The slap of footsteps on pavement. The brush of a hand. Brown, doe-like eyes.

The sun is high in the sky when you wake up with a start the next morning. You stare at the window and the harsh light infiltrating through it, trying to shake the image from your dreams. When you shift under the covers, feeling them brush over your bare skin, you discover that you are naked. The events of the previous night come rushing back.

You turn to stare at the bed behind you. Empty. You sit up and look at the window again. Long shadows are casted by the sun over your room. It is easily past noon.

No.

He couldn’t have left. He couldn’t have. Not like this. Not after last night.

I can’t mess this up with you.

Something burns behind your eyes, and you try not to focus on how hard your heart is hammering. Your legs feel sore, but you push past it and move off the bed, ignoring your discarded clothes from the night before on the floor to walk to the wardrobe where you had temporarily stored your stuff. You tug on the nearest T-shirt you can find along with sweatpants. Your focus is to be out the door as quickly as you can. You know their flight has left, but you need to see with your own eyes if their hotel rooms are cleared out. It was the only way to accept what had happened.

You bite the inside of your lip, willing yourself not to cry. You can’t believe it, genuinely cannot imagine that Joshua would sleep with you and leave the next day. It is a whole new low. You want to beat yourself up for trusting him, but your heart screams the opposite. You are reeling, still unable to believe what has happened.

You hear the door behind you open, jolting you from your thoughts. You spin around, eyes widening at the sight before you.

Joshua blinks at you in confusion, staring at your shirt clad figure, holding a pair of pants in your hands.

“What are you doing out of bed?” He asks, moving closer to you after shutting the door. “Don’t you have a hangover? You should lay down.”

You flinch back when he reaches for you, and his face twists at the action. You can see hurt flit past his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“You-” Your mind races. “Your flight….”

He nods slowly. “I canceled this morning.”

Feeling returns to your legs again, processing his words. Your hand drops, and you let the pants fall to the floor. Your relief is so great that it makes you feel lightheaded. When you look up at Joshua again, his face has settled into a sad realization.

“You thought I left.” He states, voice small. You don’t say anything.

“You thought I-” His laugh is sharp, bitter. Something clenches at your chest. “You really think I would do that?”

You immediately shake your head. “No. No, I would never. I just…. panicked.”

Joshua heaves out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. A flowery smell hits your nose. You discern that he probably just stepped out to go shower and change. You almost kick yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Joshua has the grace to crack a small smile, taking your forearm and leading you to the bed so you can sit. You notice a tall glass of water on the bedside table, as well as two round pills. Probably painkillers. Your heart squeezes. You hadn’t noticed them in your stressed condition. He picks them up and offers them to you, and you take them with a grateful smile.

“I don’t blame you. I don’t exactly have the best track record.”

You shake your head. “Nah, don’t blame yourself for this. These are my issues.”

He flops down next to you, leaning back on his hands. You down the water and place the glass back, turning to look at him. He’s already staring at you. You feel shyness creep up on you.

Joshua’s hand reaches up to brush over the skin of your neck, and you realize that he is tracing the scattered marks he had left there last night. Your face burns, but you have no time to react before he is kissing you, so soft you barely feel it, but you lean in regardless. You sigh into it, wishing it would go one forever, this fluttering feeling in your chest, telling you that everything is fine.

When Joshua pulls away, you can’t help but pout, eyes still closed, mentally willing him to come back. He laughs a bit, a melody to your ears, and you can’t help when your own lips perk up at the sound.

“So you’re not leaving?” You ask, letting him continue brushing his fingers over your neck and cheeks. Goosebumps rise on your arms.

“Not right now. But at some point, yes.” He looks up to meet your eyes. “I couldn’t leave us like this though. Not this time.”

His eyes catch the sunlight, small flecks of gold dancing in the deep, rich caramel. He reminds you of Bambi sometimes, when his lips tick up like this and his eyes turn into the shape of almonds. You wonder if he knows how beautiful you find him, bathed in golden light and looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. There’s a rush of emotions, and you feel like you’ve stepped into gently swishing water, lapping over your skin and enveloping you in a cool tranquility you have never experienced before.

You lean in, letting your head fall to his shoulder. “Good.”

#seventeen x reader #joshua hong x reader #joshua hong x you #joshua hong smut #hong jisoo x reader #joshua x reader #svt x reader #svt fanfiction #seventeen smut #joshua fluff #joshua hong x y/n #joshua hong fanfiction #seventeen imagines

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grenadehearts · 3 days ago

Text

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki nearing his 40s, his muscles aching more than they did when he was freshly 20, the years of hard labor carved into every tendon and joint. his sandy blonde hair, once bright and wild, starting to show a few stubborn greys. he even grew stubble — coarse and scratchy — that leaves your skin burning when he kisses you.

and you'll complain about it, listing off reasons on your pretty, young, manicured fingers why he needs to shave, tapping each one against his chest. he'll just tilt his head, give you that lazy, lopsided smirk, and grunt a simple, "nah."

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki and the way he met you — this bright, pretty thing tucked away behind rows of blooms — when he ducked into a floral shop for a last-minute birthday gift for the old hag. how he saw you there, sleeves rolled up, soil caked on your delicate hands, loose strands of hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, and how you just blew them away without a second thought — left him absolutely weak in the knees.

your laugh was brighter than any flower in that whole damn shop, and your eyes?

god, your eyes put every petal to shame.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki who lingered way longer than he should have, asking the dumbest questions known to man about orchids, tulips, lilies, and roses, just so he could hear you talk. how you lit up at every answer, spilling all these little facts with that animated sparkle in your voice.

he didn't even like flowers.

but he liked you.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki who kept coming back to that little shop for months after. at first, it was excuses — shitty ones, too. "forgot what kinda flowers she liked," he'd mutter. "need somethin' for a friend."

but pretty soon, there weren't any excuses left. he was just there, like clockwork, hanging on your every word, wrapped around your finger like some lovesick, pathetic mutt.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki whose hands are rough, calloused from decades of labor — decades that stretch back to before you were even born. big, scarred palms that make your soft skin feel like silk in comparison.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki who takes a little longer to get out of bed in the mornings, always grumbling about his bad back, how he needs time to "get movin’."

but really, he just wants an excuse to pull you in close — press you flush against him, soak in the heat of you — and watch your pretty eyelashes flutter while you sleep.

and he has to be there when you wake up.

he needs to see those gorgeous eyes make sure they find him first thing in the morning.

thinking about gruff!older!katsuki who hadn't even thought about dating for years — too busy, too bitter, too tired — until he stumbled into you. all doe-eyed and sweet, so eager and fresh-faced you knocked the damn wind outta him.

made him awkward again, made him red-faced and desperate to impress you.

and all the boys you had before? college kids, jerks who only cared about frat parties and notches on their belts. they didn’t know the first thing about taking care of someone like you.

but katsuki did. he was older. more patient. rough around the edges, sure — but he knew how to make you feel good, how to take his time and worship you like you deserved.

getting there, though?

getting there was tricky.

you were both such messes, two bumbling, nervous idiots, fumbling around each other like awkward teenagers.

but god, it was worth it.

a/n: based on this request lmk if you guys are wanting to see more of this, masterlist link here. and tysm for 1k followers!

taglist: @xoxojisu @candiiee @luvseraphh @cvnt4him @soundtrqck @chlosology @lotusstarr @cupkiki @wokasiv @badslittlemuffin @princessshnazzy @203steph @chitteringcicadaeyes @idk1187 @notartemis777 @chosostonguepiercing @chocolatedefendorbaa @t33th--r0t @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @tuneinwlosers @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @gethexxed @moonstonejpg @pluto-9456 @wonubby @kye1aaazene @izukusfangirl @van9lla @dienamiight @sofi4dsam @kawaiiclubdaily @therefore-evermore @bluemailhiot @luckybibucky @sk1ppy-art @d011yyxx @myths-and-ledgends @icanread-icantwrite @changkyunnnie @blue-birdie-bixch @aj1j @twoplayergaymers @socialobligation

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theemporium · 2 days ago

Text

[4k] things have been a bit rough since luke accidentally confessed more than he ever intended to. as bye week comes to an end, he is all set to bottle his feelings until he could forget about them. as it turns out, talking about your feelings is far more productive. who would have thought?

series masterlist

Luke Hughes didn’t like being alone, but it was something he got used to pretty early on in his life.

Despite the age difference not being massive between him and his brothers, Luke learnt early on that he was the one left behind. His mother would always try to squeeze him in, try to get Quinn and Jack and their friends let Luke join in on the fun. He didn’t even mind going last most of the time, he was just glad he got a shot.

And the older they got, the more that resonated with everything in their lives—not just street hockey games played before dinner with the neighbourhood kids. Quinn was the first one to go to college, to get drafted, to eventually join the NHL. Jack joined months later, after his own draft, completely foregoing college and jumping straight into the deep end. Both of them went forward, achieving the goals they would always whisper to each other when they were young and hopeful and excited for the future. The goals the three of them shared.

Luke was always the last one to have a shot, to reach the milestone. He was always playing catch up and, whilst it wasn’t his favourite thing, he was used to it. He was good at acting like it didn’t bother him.

Luke might take a little longer to get there, but he always got there eventually. He was always sure of himself.

That sureness was nowhere to be seen when he woke up the next morning and found the apartment completely empty.

At first, he had just assumed you had woken up before him, that maybe you were in the bathroom or in the kitchen or lounging out on the couch. But the eerie silence in the apartment made him second guess himself, made him sit up in his bed and let the sheets pool by his waist as he tried to blink the sleep away from his eyes.

The first time he went around the apartment, he thought he was still dreaming. The second time made him notice that all the little knick-knacks you had left around were gone—your lip balm on the coffee table, your phone charger in the kitchen, your headphones on the counter. The third time was when he truly accepted that you had left, with no note or message or proper goodbye.

The worst part was that he remembered why as he stumbled through the different rooms, trying to see, on the off chance, if you had just moved your bags from his room. He remembered what he had said, the words he had whispered to you. He remembered and he felt the shame pool in the pit of his stomach, but he still didn’t understand.

He felt like a child again, aimlessly running and trying to play catch up, except this time he didn’t really know where he was going or what he was trying to catch up to.

It was downright stupid of him to blurt those words out, to throw that confession at you after everything the two of you had done whilst he was half asleep and still reeling in the post-orgasm haze. It wasn’t fair for him to say that to you with no real build up or follow up.

But it still fucking stung that you ran off.

It stung that you didn’t try to wake him up and make him explain himself. It stung that you didn’t stay the night and try to at least let him down easily in the morning. It stung that you ran and didn’t look back, not even bothering with a note or any sort of message.

It stung that Luke had been up for less than an hour and had already messaged and called so many times, just to get absolutely nothing in response. If it weren’t for the fact he could see the messages going through, he would have honestly assumed you had blocked his number.

Luke Hughes didn’t like being alone and, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t even fucking sure how to hide it.

Maybe it was pathetic to admit—even to himself—but he really was waiting for the whole thing to be a joke. He pinched himself as he managed to scavenge the fridge for breakfast. He pinched himself after he spent far too long in the shower, until his skin was red and hot at the touch. He pinched himself as he sat on the couch, staring aimlessly at whatever sitcom rerun was currently playing.

He waited for himself to wake up from this twisted dream. He waited for you to message with some sort of explanation, some sort of emergency that forced you to leave. He waited for you to come back, to walk back through the front door and slump into the spot next to him like this was your place too—like you had been acting for the last few days.

He waited and waited and waited, but nothing ever really changed.

Luke had faced heartbreak before. He was an athlete, there wasn’t a time in his life where he hadn’t faced disappointment, whether it was on the ice with a loss or off the ice with an injury. He knew the feeling well, it was almost like an old friend.

But this kind of heartbreak was different.

This kind of heartbreak made him want to curl into himself until everything was magically better. He didn’t like the constant twist in his stomach. He didn’t like the way his head snapped around at every buzz or ping from his phone. He didn’t like the way he felt like a hermit, felt as though he needed to stay until you came back home—to him.

As an athlete, he was used to the negative feelings that would quickly fade and be replaced with determination and pure driven grit to move on, to do better, to win.

This time, Luke didn’t think he could do that. He didn’t know what he could do. He didn’t know who he could go to. He didn’t even know if he wanted to go to anyone.

Both brothers were in Toronto, running around with countless media duties and appearances for All-Stars. His friends back in Michigan are all busy with classes and assignments and their hockey season. His teammates are all sprawled on sunny beaches with their phones turned off and their glasses always full. He didn’t even want to imagine having a conversation with his parents right now, to try even explaining everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

Luke Hughes was alone and he didn’t know what the fuck to do with himself.

And it was only the hardwired brain of an athlete that had him getting up, eating and working out every day. It made him feel like a robot, listening to the demands of his body that had been programmed into him since he was a child. He didn’t need to think, just did. His whole body just moved on autopilot.

The days passed, his phone’s notifications remained empty and Luke Hughes tried to accept the fact that he had truly fucked up one of the best things that had happened to him this season.

And he had to do it alone.

…

It had been arranged and agreed with the Devils management that Luke and Jack were allowed to fly out to Vancouver earlier than the rest of the team. It was their first game back after the All-Stars break and it made sense for them to monopolise the few days they had before their season continued.

At the start of the season, Luke was buzzed at the prospect of spending more time with his oldest brother during the season, which they would never usually get to have. Now, it was almost the complete opposite.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t excited to spend extra time with Quinn, but more so that he wasn’t ready for both brothers to see right through him.

Because Luke would be a fool to assume his brothers—his bestest fucking friends in the world—wouldn’t pick up on his mood instantly. And that is only if the less-than-enthusiastic responses in the groupchat over the last week or so didn’t give him away first.

Much to his surprise, Quinn and Jack had managed to hold off until the second night before they finally questioned him—which was almost two whole days longer than he really expected.

Small victories, he guessed.

“So, are we going to talk about it?”

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to avoid the topic for as long as he could.

“Talk about what?” He questioned, feigning ignorance as he kept his eyes glued on the random movie that was playing on the tv. He didn’t even remember what Jack picked or what it was about, but suddenly the random A-list actors were far more interesting than the pointed looks he could feel his brothers giving him.

“Luke,” Quinn said in that tone of voice, the same tone their parents used to use on the both of them when they didn’t give Luke a shot at whatever they were doing.

He let out a small sigh, resisting the urge to visibly recoil. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something,” Jack corrected. “You’ve been acting wack for the last week.”

Luke stayed silent.

The silence continued to linger before Quinn spoke up, his voice much softer this time. “You know you can tell us anything, right? We’re your brothers. We’re here for you. We are worried, we just want to help.”

And the funny thing was that no matter how much Luke wanted to keep his mouth shut, no matter how much he wanted to pretend the last week wasn’t the absolute worst with no one to talk to and no one to confide in, he couldn’t.

He couldn’t because, no matter what, his brothers would always be his soft spot, the only people on this damn planet that could break through his own stubborn wall he has tried to put up with everyone else since that night.

“I’ve fucked up,” Luke blurted out before he could stop himself, finally turning his head away from the tv screen so he could look at both of his older brothers.

Quinn’s face remained blank and untelling, just looking at Luke as though he could read every damn thought in his head with that intense, haunted glare of his. Jack, on the other hand, had a more visible reaction as his eyes widened, the concern and alarm written all over his face.

“Okay,” Quinn said slowly. “Have you broken any laws?”

“I—” Luke paused, frowning a little. “No.”

“Have you knocked someone up?”

“No?” Luke answered, the confusion in his voice making it sound more like a question.

“Then it’s something we can fix together,” Quinn stated, like it was obvious.

“Wait, fucking roll back,” Luke straightened in his seat, giving his eldest brother a look. “I tell you I fuck up and that’s the first two questions you ask me?”

“I wanted to know what we were working with,” Quinn said with a shrug. “If you commited a crime, there’s only so much we can do. If you got a girl pregnant, that’s between you two. Everything else though? We can fix it.”

Luke resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Hit us with it,” Jack challenged, looking oddly serious for once. “We can handle it.”

Luke sighed, his chest tightening uncomfortably as he tried to figure out how to word the last week he had.

Then, in a timid voice, Jack asked, “is it to do with Cherry?”

Something in Luke’s expression must have answered the question for him because Jack continued.

“Did you two break up?”

“I don’t know,” Luke answered honestly. “I don’t even know if we were even together to break up.”

“Oh,” was all Jack managed to say in response.

“Tell us what happened, it can’t be that bad,” Quinn spoke up, trying to reassure his youngest brother but it just felt a little patronising instead.

“You don’t get it,” Luke said helplessly.

“So help us get it,” Quinn retorted.

“I fucked up!” Luke’s voice was louder this time, louder than he intended and loud enough to make both brothers freeze a little. “I fucked it all up and I can’t fix it, okay? No one can fix it.”

“Bud,” Jack murmured softly.

“I fucked it,” Luke’s voice cracked a little. After a few moments of silence, he let his eyes close as he muttered out his confession. “I told her I loved her. Or, like, I was falling in love with her.”

There was a small pause before Jack spoke. “That’s not…that bad.”

“It was just after we slept together,” Luke added.

“Oh.”

Quinn cleared his throat, catching Luke’s attention enough for him to slowly blink his eyes open again. “So the timing wasn’t ideal, but it could have been worse. I assume from your moping that she didn’t feel the same way?”

“I—” Luke frowned a little. “I don’t know. Probably not. I fell asleep after I said it and she was gone the next morning.”

“Yikes,” Jack muttered under his breath. He winced when Quinn sharply elbowed him.

“It could still be worse—” Quinn started, sounding more like a reassuring captain after a bad period than a brother.

“It really couldn’t.”

Quinn sighed, almost sounding patronising again even if he didn’t intend to. Even if he didn’t realise it. “Luke, it’s shit but it’s not the end of the world that you kinda confessed your feelings to a girl after you slept with her.”

It irked something in Luke. It made him act before thinking, blurting out the words before he could take them back.

“It was the first time we slept together.”

Jack frowned. “Really? But you’ve been seeing her for months.”

Quinn nodded. “Okay, that makes it a bit more awkward—”

“No, like, that was the first time we ever had sex. That was the first time I ever had sex,” Luke said, his stomach twisting and churning as he finally confessed the secret he swore he was going to take to the grave with him.

“With her?”

“With anyone.”

Quinn blinked.

The silence felt suffocating for the few seconds he stared back at his brothers before one of them finally broke it.

“So you’re telling me,” Jack began. “That I could have been making virgin jokes this whole time and now I’ve missed my chance?”

Luke opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find the words to reply.

“Dude,” Quinn sighed.

“What?!” Jack glared, shifting away before Quinn and his pointy elbows could jab him again. “You were thinking the same!”

“I really wasn’t,” Quinn retorted.

Jack shot him a look.

Quinn sighed. “Okay, I was thinking it a little—”

“Ha!”

Luke stared helplessly at his older brothers, watching them bicker back and forth until his brain finally caught up.

“I can’t believe we missed out on so many good jokes,” Jack said, almost sounding wistful before he turned to finally look at Luke. He froze for a moment before flashing him a sheepish smile. “In a good way, obviously. Like good jokes in a good way.”

“Uh huh,” Luke deadpanned.

“Quinn said he wanted to make jokes too!” Jack retorted.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you guys,” Luke grumbled, feeling the heat burn his cheeks and creep down his neck. He didn’t even want to think about how red his face was right now.

“Hey, it doesn’t mean shit to us. We’d make fun of it the same way we make fun of Jack’s lack of fashion and inability to wear anything but Air Forces,” Quinn assured him.

“Pot meet kettle,” Jack scoffed.

“The point is that we don’t care about the fact that you were apparently a virgin until a week ago,” Quinn continued, ignoring the way Jack was currently pouting beside him. “What we care about is the fact you’ve been moping over this girl.”

“She’s just—” Luke paused, cutting himself off before he let out a sigh. “She gets me, you know?”

“I’ve seen them talking on the phone, it’s nauseating,” Jack confirmed, nodding his head. “Luke is teaching her to cook.”

Quinn’s nose scrunched. “Luke can cook?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Just because I don’t cook for you dipshits doesn’t mean I can’t cook,” Luke pointed out, rolling his eyes at how affronted both boys seemed by the revelation. “The point is that I fucked up things with her and I have no one else to blame but myself.”

Jack frowned. “Luke—”

“Can we just drop it?” Luke interrupted, snapping a little. “I have spent the last week thinking about it, I’d rather not spend anymore time.” He paused for a short moment before continuing. “Please.”

Quinn gave him a long look before eventually nodding. “Alright. We’ll drop it.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “But—”

“We’ll drop it because that is what Luke wants,” Quinn stated, staring pointedly at Jack until he sighed and nodded.

“Okay. We’ll drop it.”

“Thank you,” Luke murmured, the words laying thick in his throat as he shifted in his spot on the couch before turning back towards the tv screen. “Since when did this chick get powers?”

Jack let out a noise of complaint. “Don’t even get me started, she has done nothing but whine—”

…

The game against Vancouver was…certainly a game.

It wasn’t the worst game he had ever played but it was far from his best. But the worst part was that Luke knew no one would have really cared if it was any other game during the season. However, the fact it was against Quinn’s team meant all eyes were on all the Hughes brothers, and he knew his performance was going to be questioned and picked at in the post-game interviews. He also knew there was no chance he nor his brothers would be able to skip media either.

Luke felt drained by the time the journalists left the locker room, still dressed in most of his gear as he leaned back in the cubicle and let out a heavy sigh. Their plane to Edmonton didn’t leave until tomorrow morning and he already knew his parents would be waiting outside for whatever dinner reservations had been booked.

But in all honesty, Luke could think of a million other things he wanted to do right now rather than get undressed, shower and change back into his game day suit to sit through a dinner with his parents where he would constantly be on edge about them bringing you up into conversation. They had done it every other time he was on the phone with them since the last Hughesbowl.

Luke just wanted a few moments where he wasn’t thinking about you or hockey or anything. He just wanted his brain to shut off.

He hadn’t even noticed someone sitting beside him until their knee nudged his, and even then he kept his eyes closed as he let out a sigh. “I told you Quinn was gonna bitch about reservation times if you let him be in charge of dinner.”

“I think reservation times are a fair thing to bitch about.”

Luke’s eyes snapped open, his head turning to find Nico sitting in the spot he suspected Jack to be in. “Oh.”

Nico gave him a soft smile. “Got a few minutes?”

He swallowed before nodding. “Yeah, of course. Jack can handle Quinn’s bitchiness.”

Nico’s smile widened a little before he took a deep breath. “Just wanted to check up on you. You’ve seemed down since Bye Week.”

Luke raised his brows. “It’s been a day since you came back from your holiday.”

“And a day is more than enough time for me to realise something is up with you,” Nico retorted with a knowing look. But when Luke didn’t respond instantly, Nico’s face softened as he lowered his voice so that any lingering guys in the locker room wouldn’t hear. “Look, I was serious about what I said at the start of the season. This is your team too. And I am just as much your captain as I am your brother’s. I care about my team, Luke, and you’re a part of that team.”

Luke flashed him a small but grateful smile.

“I know you stayed in New Jersey for the break so I don’t know if something happened or if you even want to talk about it,” Nico continued. “But I want you to know I’m here if you wanna talk. I know you have Jack but sometimes you need someone else to confide in. A friend, not a family member.”

“It’s stupid,” Luke said, wincing a little before he quickly continued talking. “But it won’t affect my hockey, promise. Today was just a fluke, just a little rusty after the break. I’ll be all good for Edmonton.”

Nico frowned, a crease forming between his brows. “It’s not your hockey I’m worried about, Luke. We all have our bad days. It’s your well-being and happiness. You seem…kinda sad since we got back.”

Luke’s gaze instantly shifted to the random ball of tape on the floor between his feet instead of his captain.

“Is it something related to the team?”

Luke shook his head.

“Jack?”

Luke shook his head again.

“Something in your family?”

He shook his head a third time.

“Relationship stuff?”

The small pause before Luke could even react told Nico everything he needed to know. Nico gave his knee another nudge until he finally looked back up at his captain.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Nico reassured him, a kind and comforting smile on his face. “But relationships are tough as they are, whether they are platonic or romantic. It gets harder when you’re in the league. A lot of lines get blurred and intentions can be clouded, but the good ones matter that much more when you find them.”

Luke pressed his lips together.

“You’re in your rookie year. You are the youngest brother in a hockey family dynasty. You have a fuck load of pressure on your shoulders,” Nico listed off like they were facts—and they were. “I know what my rookie year was like. And I was here for Jack’s rookie year. It’s fucking hard. But you’ve been handling it well, you haven’t let hockey become your everything and that’s better than most people can say, even with years under their belt in the league.”

“What are you trying to say?” Luke eventually asked, his lips turned downwards.

“I’m saying that it’s clear there’s something outside of hockey that you care about. And I’m saying don’t let hockey or anything else get in the way of it if you genuinely think it’s worth it. Each one of us could lose hockey tomorrow and there’s nothing we can do to change that. But having people by your side makes it easier, having people who want you for you and not hockey is even better.”

Luke swallowed harshly. “And if I fucked my chances of having that?”

Nico smiled. “You’re not that much younger than me and I know it sounds patronising for me to say this, but I promise you things aren’t as fucked as you think they are.”

Luke opened his mouth to disagree but Nico beat him to it.

“Trust me,” Nico said, grinning a little as he gave Luke a more playful shove. “Plus, you’re an athlete. You should know better than anyone else that it’s not worth the win unless you really worked for it.”

Luke snorted. “Funny.”

“I try,” Nico grinned. “And even if you really did fuck up, there are other people out there who like you for you, Luke. It may not seem like it and you might not even want someone else right now, but they are there and they exist.”

Luke's expression softened. “You’re a good captain.”

Nico flushed a little but nodded. “Having a good team makes it easy.”

Luke scoffed. “Dude, take the compliment.”

“I am just saying—”

“Oh my god, how do you even deal with Jack praising you all the time? Wait, please don’t answer that! I don’t want details!”

Nico just cackled in response.

…

hockey boy: i know you have been ignoring my other texts but we really need to talk

hockey boy: please cherry

#luke hughes #nhl #new jersey devils #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes fic #luke hughes one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

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pomelace · 3 days ago

Text

more than a sip

pairing: jack abbot x afab!resident reader

content warnings: fluff, no physical desciptors used for reader, reader is a resident and has a brother, implied age gap, doesn't take place during the shows timeline, let me know if I missed anything!

magui speaks! : dedicated to @multifandom-2091, thank you for the request, I hope you like it! I struggled a bit as I fell into a small writers slump halfway through, but here it is! writing this made me want to write more for jack, so stay tuned for that. as always, I hope you enjoy and requests are open!

word count: 1473

The rain drums steady on the pavement as you step out into the ambulance bay, the hospital doors hissing shut behind you. The air is thick with the smell of wet dirt and concrete, cool against your skin. You lean back against the wall just beside the doors, eyes half-closed, phone glowing in your hand.

Your fingers tap out a quick message:

Did you eat?? I left pasta in the fridge. Please don’t just eat cereal again. Love you. Be home by 8.

You don’t expect a reply—it’s three in the morning, and no one in their right mind should be awake. But your brother is. Either passed out on the couch with a controller still in his hand, or ignoring your text the same way he ignored you this morning—right after the fight, right before you left for another fifteen-hour shift.

It was a stupid argument—one he started, because he’s a teenager and teenagers are always angry about something. You know the type of anger; you used to wear it like armor too.

You put your parents through the same storm of slammed doors and sharp words. The difference is, they were still around to weather it. You’re all he’s got now.

So you take it—the harsh words, the door slams, the silence that lingers like smoke. You don’t hold it against him. You never do.

Instead, you text him like clockwork, always checking in even when he expects you not to. Especially when he expects you not to.

There’s peace in just standing there, tucked beneath the small overhang by the doors, the rain kept at bay by a strip of shelter overhead. Each drop falls with a soft, steady rhythm, a quiet lullaby against the metal.

As you wait for a response you know isn’t coming, you start to count the droplets you hear.

One, two, three...

“Should I be concerned you’ve taken up loitering?” a voice calls from behind you, low and rough around the edges.

You glance over your shoulder and catch sight of Dr. Abbot stepping out into the damp night, two coffee cups in hand. His dark scrubs are hidden beneath the black hoodie he always wears, hood down.

The lights from inside spill across his face, catching the salt-and-pepper in his hair, making him look tired than usual—almost distant, like he’s not entirely here.

“Loitering implies I’m not on shift,” you murmur, tucking your phone into your scrub pocket.

“I’m just… pretending the air inside doesn’t taste like bleach.”

He hums, taking a sip from his cup before handing you the other one. For you.

“Almond milk and honey,” he says gently, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“How did you—” you start to ask, but he cuts you off before you can thank him.

“You talk out loud when you think no one’s listening.”

Jack notices the little things: how you stir your coffee just so, the gentle, rhythmic motion; how you always avoid sweeteners, opting for just the almond milk and honey; how you don't like dairy, even though it’s practically everywhere.

He watches you for a moment, the corners of his lips turning up slightly as if he’s cataloging every small detail you don’t even realize you’re giving away.

“Careful,” he says, his voice low but teasing, “You’re going to burn your tongue.”

You look up at him, surprised by the sudden attention, but there's something comforting in the way he’s paying so much attention to the smallest things.

You roll your eyes playfully, though it’s hard to keep up the facade when you feel his gaze.

“I’m fine,” you reply, but there's warmth in your voice, a subtle acknowledgment that the smallest things—like this moment, this cup of coffee—mean more than you want to admit.

He shrugs, taking a sip from his own cup, his eyes never leaving you.

“I’m just saying, you might want to take it slow with the ‘hot’ part.”

You smile, the kind that tugs at your heart just a little too much. You know exactly what he’s doing.

He’s not just watching you sip your coffee. He’s seeing you, in all the quiet ways that no one else does.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you say again, this time with more meaning, the weight of the simple gesture settling between you like a shared secret.

“It's nice of you to finally grace the outside world,” you mutter, eyeing him with a smile from the rim of your coffee cup.

“I thought you were glued to the nurse’s station, brooding over charting mistakes and bad coffee.”

“I was,” he says, voice dry.

“Then I realized I hadn’t heard you complain in twenty minutes. Figured something might be wrong.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning against the wall.

“I was going for some peaceful silence, actually.”

He snorts, a small chuckle escaping him.

“That doesn’t suit you.”

A comfortable silence settles between you. Outside, the rain falls in silver sheets, soft and steady. You both sip your coffee, letting the warmth seep into your fingers.

He glances between you, the rain, and the rim of his cup. He doesn’t say anything—just clears his throat, like he wants to speak but hasn’t found the words yet.

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “What?”

He shrugs, eyes still fixed on the window.

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

You start to respond, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t you prefer it that way?”

But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even crack a smile. Instead, he turns to you—really turns to you—and something in his expression shifts. His eyes soften. The teasing falls away.

“I mean it. You’ve been off today. Not talking much, not—”

“Not complaining enough?” you interrupt with a light chuckle, trying to deflect.

But he just shakes his head again, gently.

“No. Seriously. Are you okay?”

You contiplate whether to tell him the truth or not on how you're doing. You look between him and the rim of your steaming cup. You know you can tell him, confide in him, but when is it too much to say?

"You can tell me," he whispers, like he can see straight through you.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze, giving a soft nod.

"I'm okay," you say lightly, almost too casually, like you're brushing it off.

"Just dealing with a lot, like always."

But he doesn't look convinced. He shakes his head, his eyes locking onto yours, unwavering and determined to get through to you.

"I mean it," he insists, his voice low and serious.

"Are you really okay?"

You hesitate for a moment, then offer him a smile — the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes but is enough to soften the moment.

"Really, I'm good, Jack," you say, and this time, the smile feels a little more genuine. It’s enough for him to let it go, but he’s still watching you closely.

"Fine," he says, his tone easing but still laced with concern.

"If you say so."

You chuckle softly, the weight of the conversation lifting just a little.

"I’ll come to you when I’m near losing my mind," you tease, half-serious, half-joking. He raises an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’ll be waiting," he says, his voice warm, a promise hidden beneath the words.

You take a deep breath, feeling just a little lighter now. You shift closer to him, your shoulder brushing against his as you both stand in quiet solidarity against the wall, side by side.

"Are you okay?" you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

You don’t look at him, keeping your gaze fixed on the rain as it falls from the sky. The question hangs between you two, and you wait, the silence stretching just long enough to make the moment feel heavier than it really is.

From the corner of your eye, you notice him shift, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Yes," he replies softly, his voice steady but gentle.

"Right now, I am," he continues, turning his head just enough to watch you.

Right now, here with you, I am.

The thought catches him off guard, as if it’s been there all along, hiding just beneath the surface.

He doesn’t say it aloud, but something about the weight of the moment shifts, settling into him in a way that makes him feel like he’s been missing something obvious.

He watches you—how your fingers curl around your coffee, how the tip of your nose turns pink from the cold breeze, how your laughter feels like the kind of music that makes everything else fade away.

He drinks in the small details of you, trying to tell himself it’s just casual, just the way things are.

But it doesn’t feel like that anymore, or maybe it never did.

©pomelace 2025

#the pitt #the pitt x reader #x reader #request #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot #shawn hatosy #the pitt hbo

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bunny-1111 · 2 days ago

Text

My Husband - Theo Nott x wife read

Description: The one thing that drives Theo literally crazy is when you call him "my husband"

Word count: 1.1k words

Warnings: violence - Theo getting into a fight, swearing, possessiveness, slight harassment

Reblogs, comments, and likes are extremely appreciated.

...

Call him self-centred. If there was one thing Theo loved hearing you say, most of all, it was two words, so simple that everyone else would hardly pay them any attention. "My husband" Yes, that's right, your husband, he would think.

Once you realised what it did to him it was basically a get out of jail free card.

He's mad? "my grumpy husband," you'd say, his frown relaxed, the smile that itched the corners of his lips tells you what it needs to.

You want money? "My darling husband, your wife needs to shop" you'd softly say with your palm out, while he practically falls over himself finding you his wallet.

It was about to exceed your expectations, indeed in public, and not directed towards him at all.

You and Theo navigated through the thick crowd of people, occasionally greeting old friends, at a gala, before Theodore left you to fetch you both a drink.

Patiently waiting for Theo's return, content, until you feel a tap on your shoulder, turning around to find Vincent Crabbe with a sly grin as his hand reached towards you to offer a drink.

"No, thank you, Theo's on his way with my drink" you politely decline

"Oh come on, take it" he insists, coming closer

You unintentionally breathed out an annoyed sigh. Crabbe was just like this in school too, so relentlessly determined to start something with you.

"Crabbe, please don't make me say no again, we both know it won't end well" You smile, your lips closing even tighter this time as you inch away from the unwanted company

"It's habit, you know, the things I'd would do if I- I-I've always wanted just, one, chance" he desperately, almost drunkenly admits, coming so close that you can smell his lunch on his breath

"Yes well, I suggest you kick the habit now, considering my husband’s leniency spreads thin after one blow" You quickly say before stepping back, Theodores hands catch your waist, moving you behind him, as he steps forward, now closer to Crabbe face than he tried to get to yours.

"See Crabbe, I heard that last sentence my wife spoke, and" Theo started, synchronised with his hands rolling up his white linen shirt to his elbows

"- I don't like the way she sounded. Her tone almost scared, Crabbe, wouldn't you agree?" He continued as he backed him into a corner, you followed close behind, watching your husband unfold.

"The sort of scared that you're showing in your face right now, that's the scared I hear in my wife's voice when you were exceedingly flirting with her. Would you agree with that too?" he says his anger rising, his jaw tensing.

"N-No, I mean yes, yes, or no, no! I-" Crabbe stumbled on his words as quickly as he was stumbling over his overworking feet, all ability to flee from Theodore was impossible

Theo had weighed up his opinions but every time he blinked he saw red, hearing your voice repeating 'my husband’s leniency'. It was a reminder of who he was to you, who you are to him, something to protect by any means, that's when he fist acted before his words, clashing into the side of Crabbe's face twice.

Crabbe now on the floor, Theo dropped one more blow directly to his mouth, his wedding ring marking his the skin below his nose "See how well your mouth works now with a busted lip, you piece of shit" He spatout as he left his wounded foe.

"Are you ok? Come on" Theo's brows upturned, frantically worried he missed the worst of your conversation with Crabbe.

"I'm fine, let's get out of here" you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

...

Now home and safe in bed, Theo stared straight ahead, taking his hands in yours, you gently place delicate kisses to his busted knuckles.

"Baby" he almost whispers out, if your weren't paying such cautious attention to him you might have missed it.

Clawing on top of him you move your hands to his face as his hands take a strong grip of each side of your hips.

"I know" you soothe

Before you can add to the comfort, Theodore's lips lock yours.

The kiss needy, greedy and possessive.

His mouth moving down to your neck, "you know how much I love when you do this shit" he says behind wet hot breathes "Do what?" you smile

"call me your husband" he growls

"You are my husband" you beam, as the words leave your mouth, his hands dig into your thigh like a deathgrip

"I fucking know" he whimpers.

You feel him shift beneath you, his body humming under your touch like a live wire, each kiss, each word, only spurring him on further. It was like a thread inside him snapped every time you repeated the words.

His grip tightened, enough to bruise if you stayed like that too long, but you only welcomed it, sinking against him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like he needed you to survive.

"My girl," he muttered harshly against your skin, voice cracking, almost desperate. "My wife."

You thread your fingers into his hair, giving a gentle tug that earns a guttural sound from deep in his chest. Theo had always had this temper, but this part of him, raw and pleading, always followed his outbursts.

"All yours," you whisper back, lips brushing his ear, the words an oath. Theo pulls away enough for your eyes to meet his.

"You scared me," he says, voice hoarse. "When I saw you, when I heard you. I could've fucking killed him."

"I know," you murmur again, stroking the side of his face with your thumb, the bruised knuckles resting against your hip.

"I fucking should've" his eyes exploring your own as if he was searching for reassurance

"I'd do it again," he continues

You smile, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth

"I know," you repeat

Theo’s hands roamed now, slower, more deliberate. His nose brushes yours before his lips dip to kiss your cheeks all over

"Say it again," he mumbles.

You knew entirely what he meant

"My husband." flashing his your wedding ring

And just like that, the air leaves his lungs in one, broken exhale, as if the words physically knocked the breath out of his body.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, pulling you flush against him, "I’m done for."

...

AUTHOR NOTE:

HIIIIIII my lovelies. Getting back into writing, starting with something small-ish, my apologies if it's not up to scratch, first time writing in months LOLLL. Also, this is unread or unedited.

Reblogs, comments, and likes are extremely appreciated.

All my love,

B <3.

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azzibuckets · 2 days ago

Text

all the little things

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: it’s the little things that paige and azzi miss about each other

a/n: i combined a bunch of different requests into one fic so it’s a little bit of a mess but like always, pls bear with me…also it’s been 1 year of me writing on tumblr which is crazy🙈 time flies so fast

word count: 2.8k

masterlist

Paige misses Azzi as soon as she disappears through the automatic glass doors. She cranes her neck, trying to follow Azzi’s increasingly small figure as she walks through the airport, but soon the crowds of busy travelers engulf her and Paige gives up.

She stares at her hands on the wheel, wondering how it’s even humanly possible to miss someone so bad that it feels like a part of her is gone too. Sighing to herself, she pulls out her phone, shooting a quick text asking Azzi to let her know when she boards and when she lands and when she gets home safely.

Azzi’s reply is immediate: you do know you have my location right

Paige bites back a smile, knowing she’d be tracking it regardless of whether or not Azzi texted. She shoots back a reply: god forbid a girl wants to make sure the love of her life is safe

Azzi: fuck, dallas already making you sassy as hell. should i be worried for the next time i see you

Paige: exactly this is why you should turn around and come back right now

Paige: i miss you already

Azzi sends her a selfie, lips puckered up into a kiss, brown eyes glimmering with amusement, and Paige almost drops her phone with how fast she fumbles to save it to her camera roll. She hearts the photo, sends back a quick selfie, and groans when the car behind her honks.

She checks her blind spot before pulling back into the left lane. Home seems like a weird name for her destination, an empty and unfamiliar apartment with only a bed frame and a couch and no one to share it with. Her heart twinges thinking about her teammates at Connecticut, her family spread across the states even further now, and the bittersweet feeling of starting over again in a new city.

Her phone lights up with one final notification, and she checks it briefly.

Azzi: drive safe honey. i love you

Azzi: and i miss you more. text me when you’re home

Paige smiles. The car ride isn’t too long, but she’s so lost in her thoughts she forgets to put the music back on. Azzi and her had always been in close proximity for the last four years, never really spending more than several weeks apart, and god, she’d fucking loved it, wouldn’t change it for the world, but now it’s even harder to be so many miles away when she’s used to seeing Azzi every day. Even the little things Azzi had done that she’d always used to roll her eyes and complained about, she misses now. Her heart clenches again.

•••••

Paige is dreaming about her next meal when she’s stirred into consciousness by a hand shaking her shoulder. Groaning, she rubs away the sleep from her eyes and dreamy remnants of In-N-Out burgers and Diet Cokes she swears she can taste. It’s been months since she’s been able to indulge in either, and she’s longing for the day season is over to be able to get her hands on both.

“Paige, honey, wake up.” Knuckles brush against her cheek, lingering in her warmth for a moment before trailing down to chuck her chin.

Paige is very much not a morning person, so she sinks deeper into the bed, pulling the sheets a little tighter around her head. Maybe if Azzi sees how deeply she’s sleeping, she’ll leave her alone.

“Paige. Get up.” Azzi’s losing patience, her tone becoming a little more demanding, and usually this is when Paige would roll over and let her girlfriend have her way, but she’d stayed up late the night before finishing up a discussion post and now she can feel the warm, lethargic fingers of sleep pulling her back into its heavenly state of nothingness. So, naturally, she makes the barely-conscious executive decision to cancel the early morning run Azzi had planned, and lets her eyes fall shut, succumbing to the weight of exhaustion.

Paige feels the bed creaking as Azzi slips off the edge, and she thanks God. She decides that when Azzi comes back, she’ll join her for the gym portion; after all, she’s a hooper, not a track star. Doesn’t make sense to waste her energy wearing down the pavement when she could save it for beating Azzi in 1v1s.

Yet Azzi is back in a matter of seconds, this time shaking Paige more insistently. “P, wake up.”

Not wanting to be the victim of Azzi’s wrath this early in the morning, Paige finally untangles herself from the mess of sheets, blinking as her eyes adjust to the piercingly bright yellow light now flooding the room. “Jesus, Az,” she mutters. “You didn’t have to turn every lamp on.” She runs a hand through her mess of hair, yawning tiredly. “What time is it?”

“3 AM.” Azzi at least has the decency to look a little bit guilty, her bottom lip tucking ruefully under her teeth.

“Azzi, what the hell.” Paige flops back into bed, attempting a dramatic attempt of feigning her return to sleep, but Azzi slaps her arm.

“I need to change my pad but I left all my extra ones downstairs.”

“Okay.” Paige grabs a pillow and starts suffocating her eyes with it, willing the light to go away. “Then go get it? Did you bleed through or someth—actually, don’t answer that. I’m way too tired to deal with changing the sheets, I’ll just sleep at the edge of the bed.”

“No, I didn’t bleed through. Chill.” Azzi says, voice strained. “But, like, you need to come with me.”

“What, you need someone to help you walk or sum? You’re not the one with the torn ACL,” Paige complains.

“Paige,” Azzi says exasperatedly, staring at her as if Paige could suddenly understand her logic behind waking her girlfriend up in the ass crack of night to go with her downstairs, but Paige just stares back, lost. “Paige,” she repeats, almost embarrassed as her eyes flick from the door to the blonde still sitting in bed. “It’s 3 AM. It’s dark and the house is making noises and there’s too many windows downstairs.”

“Windows?”

“Someone could be looking at me from outside and I wouldn’t even know it cause it’s so dark.”

“Azzi, you’re being ridiculous. No one’s standing outside.”

“That’s what all the victims who get murdered first in Criminal Minds say,” Azzi replies automaticaly. “God, you have zero survival instinct.”

“If I have zero survival instinct then why are you bringing me with you?” Paige grumbles, but she’s already standing up and slipping on a hoodie, already missing the body heat of her best friend and the warmth of her blanket.

Paige is too tired to argue when Azzi forces her to lead the way. Muttering under her breath, she pushes open the door and trudges across the hallway and down the stairs. She’s too lazy to take the extra steps to flip on the light switches, usually the type to stumble her way through the dark and inevitably bump into five different pieces of furniture, but Azzi demands requests her to use her phone flashlight to guide their steps, claiming that there could be someone hiding in the corner for all they know.

Once they reach the bathroom, Paige leans against the wall, finding relief in its sturdy support against her head. “Okay.” Azzi fingers the door handle nervously. “You’re gonna be here when I come out, right?”

“I won’t move at all,” the older girl promises, raising her hands in innocence.

“I’m serious, Paige. You can’t leave or I swear I’ll kill you.”

“Azzi, I swear to fucking god-,”

“Alright, alright,” sensing that Paige is close to reaching her last straw, Azzi closes the bathroom door behind her. As soon as she hears the lock clock, Paige leaves. But she heads into the kitchen, rummaging around the medicine cabinet for the bottle of Midol she knows is hanging around in there. Spotting the familiar unicorn heating pad on the couch, she grabs that and pops it in the microwave for a couple of minutes.

Azzi’s still in the bathroom when the microwave beeps, so Paige flops down on the fooor and curls around the unicorn, basking in its heat. She’s almost fallen asleep on the ground, which is honestly a lot more comfortable than it looks, when Azzi finally emerges, wiping her wet hands on her t-shirt. “Sorry,” she apologizes. “I had to poop.”

Shaking her head, Paige pushes the heating pad into her hands along with a couple pills. Azzi looks up at her gratefully. “Thank you.” Paige offers a lazy smile in reply, pressing a chaste kiss on her forehead before rushing them back into the room and into the bed.

Azzi bustles around the room for a little bit as Paige gets settled back into the sheets, arm thrown across her eyes. “You good, mami?” she murmurs once all the lights are back off and Azzi’s slipping into bed next to her. She feels a hand on her waist and a chin on her shoulder, and a faint whisper of an “i love you” before she’s fully fading into unconsciousness.

When Azzi wakes up four hours later, she spends ten minutes debating whether to wake up Paige with her. Well, five minutes to be exact - the other five are devoted to staring at Paige as she snores, pink lips slightly parted as she’s curled in her fetal position. She really is beautiful, her blonde hair almost a golden from the hazy sunlight falling through her open blinds.

Azzi decides to let Paige rest. She’s getting out of bed to brush her teeth when a hand curls around her wrist. “I think that midnight disturbance warrants a morning of sleeping in,” Paige says, voice raspy with sleep.

“You can sleep in,” Azzi says. “I still wanna run.”

“Nah, you’re staying. Can’t sleep without you.” Paige folds herself over Azzi, face snuggling into the crook of her neck, hip to hip with their legs intertwined, letting out a sigh of contentment as she relaxes into the younger girl’s body as if they’re one. And really, who would Azzi be to say no to her girlfriend?

•••••

Paige shakes herself out of her memories. Her chest feels heavy, yet she feels a little silly for getting all emotional about something as trivial and embarrasing as missing her girlfriend’s fear of the dark. Honestly, she should be glad she’ll now be able to sleep through the night without interruptions.

But Paige misses it anyways.

•••••••

Azzi walks through the airport, music blaring in her Bose headphones. She walks past a baggage claim and sees a familiar face on the TV, green and yellow streaked across the image. She smiles and takes a photo to show her parents later.

It’s still a little crazy for her to see her girlfriend’s face plastered across billboards and posters across her new city, a city that welcomed Paige like she’d grown up there. All these people passing by see her, but Azzi relishes the fact that there’s a part of Paige no one else knows, a part reserved solely for her.

•••••••

Paige has been unnaturally quiet all night, and it’s not like Azzi has been stalking her girlfriend, per se, but there’s always been a little part of her acutely aware of what the blonde is up to. The entire team, including the coaches and managers, are at Azzi’s grandparents house for their yearly pre-season barbecue, but the two of them haven’t been able to talk much all night - Paige has been chatting with the coaches, while Azzi was busy helping prepare food before getting thrown into a conversation with Caroline and KK for the past half hour.

KK brightens up when CD excuses herself to take a call, calling Paige over. “Come here Boogers, I’m telling a funny story.”

Paige hesitates for a second before making her way over to join their circle, slumping down into the cushion between KK and Azzi with a tired sigh. “You alright?” Azzi murmurs softly, instinctively leaning into Paige’s space and reaching to brush the hair from her eyes. Paige wordlessly offers a small smile of reassurance before turning her attention to KK’s monologue.

Azzi had stopped listening ten minutes ago, so she’s thankful when KK backtracks so she can give Paige context. Caroline is already out of it, staring at the carpet as she fiddles with her watch. KK’s saying something about the prank she’d plotted with Ice and played on the freshmen the week before, and usually Paige would be eating this up, hollering alongside the sophomore, but tonight she remains restless, nodding along but clearly only picking up half of what’s being said.

Mid way through her story, KK pauses, seeming to catch onto her older teammates’ lack of enthusiasm. “Paige, you aren’t even listening!”

Paige’s eyes snap up towards KK. “My bad, KK,” she apologizes, tone genuine. “Just tired.”

“Man, you’re no fun,” KK grumbles, flicking Paige’s forehead. “What’s up with you?” Paige tiredly swats back at her hand, and KK laughs, pushing back at her shoulder to try and initiate one of their many wrestling sessions they’ve been keeping a running tally of (Paige 9, KK 4).

“Alright, leave her alone,” Azzi defends, sensing that Paige is clearly not in the mood to fool around. “Go play with the freshmen or something.”

“Y’all gentle parent me and shit like I’m a kid,” KK mutters, but takes off to probably go find Sarah.

Paige leans back into the couch, head tipping back. “What’s up?” Azzi says softly, cupping the back of her neck and running her thumb alongside her jawline. Paige’s eyes flutter shut at her touch as she slowly exhales.

“Don’t know,” Paige admits. “Not feeling it today. Too much going on.”

Azzi plants a soft kiss on her temple, lingering and sweet. “Wanna take a break in the guest room?”

“Please.” Paige sends her a grateful look.

After making sure her girlfriend is good in the guest room, Azzi returns to the living room, where the entire team is now piled in and playing Mario Kart. Before long, they get bored and switch over to Fortnite. “Yo, someone get P,” someone calls out, knowing Paige would give them shit for hopping on without her.

Ice pops up, but Azzi waves her off. “I’ll go check on her,” she replies. It’s been an hour, so knowing the older girl is likely asleep, she opens the door quietly and tip-toes inside.

Paige is sprawled out in the bed, unmoving as she clutches a pillow to her chest, but her eyes are open. “Thought you were asleep,” Azzi whispers as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “You been up this whole time?”

Paige flips over and looks at Azzi, grabbing her hand in her lap. The feel of Azzi’s hand, warm against hers, is comforting. “Yeah. Can’t sleep.”

“What’re you thinking about?”

Paige breaks eye contact to stare at the ceiling, mind clearly running. “I don’t know. I was talking to the media after practice earlier, and it - it was just a lot. There’s a ton of pressure and outside noise this season and I know I should be used to it by now but - I’m just tired of it all, you know?”

Azzi nods, quiet. Paige shifts over in bed, and Azzi takes the invitation to slip underneath the comforter and nestle in beside her. “I just can’t stop thinking about how much shit we need to do,” the blonde admits quietly, voice so soft Azzi has to strain to hear. “We lost to fucking Columbia last week. We were down by 14 in the second quarter and usually I can hype everyone up and keep maintaining that good attitude but this time, all I could think about was how much we still need to work on. Couldn’t even look at the other girls in the eyes. And I’ve been meeting up with some of the younger girls, tryna talk about what they need to work on and creating goals for the season and I don’t know, I’m just overwhelmed by all of it and I feel guilty.” Paige’s voice cracks on the last word, and she subconsciously clenches Azzi’s shirt as she buries her face into her chest. “I guess that’s why it’s hard for me to talk to them right now.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” Azzi says. “You’re doing a lot. It’s only natural to feel overwhelmed.” She runs her fingers through Paige’s scalp, gently messaging, and tension seems to escape her best friend’s shoulders. “But think about the good things. Ice and Jana are becoming more confident and aware in the paint, you can see it with every practice. Mo and Allie are having a hard time adjusting but god, look at Sarah. She could win a championship just by herself.” Paige laughs a little at that, and Azzi takes that opportunity to start peppering her face with kisses. “The team’s becoming more cohesive by the week and I’m like, half a day away from coming back. And you know when I’m on the court, you don’t got anything to worry about,” Azzi says, her voice teasing.

“You sound like you’re joking but you’re right, you know.” Paige’s hand falls to Azzi’s knee, her palm closing over the scar like a shield. “Fuck, I’m actually counting down the minutes til you get cleared.”

“Yo, you guys decent?” KK barely waits a second before pushing the door open. “Azzi, we gave you one job, now you’re here all snuggled up in bed with Boogers,” she complains, taking in the scene with a wary look on her face.

“Should’ve let me go,” Ice grumbles from beside her.

Azzi groans. “If y’all don’t leave us alone we’re gonna start making out in front of you right now.”

KK, who’d been roaming around the room curiously, immediately turns on her heel, grabbing Ice’s arm to drag her out with. “Y’all are some nasty mother fuckers,” she calls over her shoulder as they both run out.

“You’re such a liar.” Paige laughs. “You hate PDA.”

“I don’t hate PDA,” Azzi defends. “It’s not my fault your definition of PDA included shit like ass grabbing. I’ll never forget the poor look in that one kid’s eyes.”

“His eyes were wandering too much anyways,” Paige says. “What was he eyeing you up for? I hate men.”

“He looked 9, Paige.”

“Don’t care.”

•••••

Azzi stretches out her legs in front of her. She was able to get a window seat this time. She looks down at her phone again, still open to the photo Paige had sent with her own kissy face in return. Maybe she would be okay with PDA if it meant a few more minutes with Paige, she relents. She would never admit that out loud though.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconnwbb #uconn wbb #wcbb #pazzi fic #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #fluff

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noirscript · 3 days ago

Text

the price of legacy

pairing: yandere teacher x reader description: William Harrington, the sweet kindergarten teacher everyone adored, became the husband you never truly chose — and now, he dreams of children you never asked for. In his eyes, you're already perfect; in his arms, there’s no room left to say no. warning/s: yandere | noncon | dubcon | breeding kink | emotional manipulation | coercion | psychological entrapment | smut note: apologies for the inactivity. currently working on sovereign's reign. hope you enjoy this one! oh, and the sale on dark roast ends on the 30th. grab it while it's still on sale ^^ WILL ADD TAGS AND TAGLIST LATER! Made this on mobile and I'm sleepy (T△T)

Masterlist | DARK ROAST ON SALE | Commission | Tip Jar

William Harrington always knew what he wanted, and it was always you.

The house was quiet when he came home, the faint scent of chalk dust and lavender clinging to him like it always did after work. The door clicked shut behind him, locking you both in with a soft finality. His smile was the first thing you noticed — wide, eager, almost frantic in its affection. It twisted something low in your gut, but you still forced your own mouth into a pale version of his grin.

"Love," he said, dropping his worn satchel by the door, already crossing the room with a kind of boyish energy that didn't quite fit the situation. "You wouldn't believe how precious they were today."

Before you could respond, he had you wrapped tightly in his arms, the press of him too much, too fast. His chest was warm through the fabric of his shirt, his heartbeat hammering against you like he had run the whole way home just to get here. You managed a weak noise — something that could pass for acknowledgment — but he was already charging ahead, his words tumbling out unchecked.

"Little Amelia drew me a picture," he said, pulling away just enough to dig into his pocket. He smoothed out a crumpled sheet of paper, the messy lines and crooked letters forming a child’s rough idea of a person. ‘Mr. H’, it read. His eyes were bright, almost fevered, as he pressed it into your hands like it was something priceless. "She said I was her favorite," he added, his voice dropping into something shy, as if confessing a secret. Like a boy. Like someone still playing pretend.

You stared down at the scribbles, your mind dragging you back to the memory you couldn't seem to escape: the quick ceremony under a heavy sky, the cloying scent of lilies filling your nose until you could hardly breathe, the feel of his hand never leaving the small of your back — not in comfort, but as a claim. You remembered standing there, your mouth dry, your head swimming. You hadn't said yes. Not really. You just hadn't said no fast enough.

"And I kept thinking," he said now, voice dropping lower as he slid to his knees in front of you, his hands smoothing up your sides, slow and deliberate. His palms came to rest against your stomach, lingering there with a kind of desperate tenderness. "I kept thinking how soon it'll be our little ones I'm bragging about."

You stiffened, instinctively. His forehead pressed against your shirt, his fingers tracing gentle, possessive circles over your still-flat belly. To him, your silence was agreement. It always was.

"I can't wait, love," he whispered, rough and reverent. "I can't wait to see them toddling around... giggling... calling you Mommy." His mouth brushed over your shirt, a soft, claiming kiss. "They'll be beautiful. Just like you."

You blinked hard, the burn at the corners of your eyes sharp and sudden. Sadness, panic, dread — it all churned together until you couldn't tell where one feeling ended and another began. You had tried to tell him once. That you weren't ready. That you needed time. That you weren't even sure this marriage — this life — was something you wanted. But he never heard anything except what he wanted to.

In his mind, you were already perfect. Already his wife. Already the mother of children who didn’t exist yet. Just a few more months, a few more tries, and he would have everything he dreamed of. Whether you wanted it or not.

"You'll be such a good mother," he said, beaming up at you, utterly blind — or willfully ignoring — the way your hands trembled at your sides. "I just know it."

You smiled because you had to, because any other reaction would only invite more of his careful, suffocating concern. His hands slid down to your hips, holding you with the same gentle reverence someone might use to cradle a glass figurine. You weren’t sure how much longer you could take it — this slow, smiling entrapment he called love.

Because there were no locks that could keep him out anymore. No distance far enough. No safe word strong enough to break the fantasy he'd wrapped you into.

His breath warmed your shirt, slow and rhythmic, and when he looked up at you again, there was something burning in his gaze — something desperate, something too big and wild to name. He smiled, all teeth and certainty.

"Let's try again tonight," he said, his voice a low rumble that wrapped around you, heavy and inescapable. His hands slid lower, gripping your thighs just a little too tightly. "I can feel it, love. This time..." His smile stretched wider, sharper. "This time it'll happen."

You opened your mouth — you wanted to say no. You wanted to tell him to stop, to wait, to listen — but the words turned to dust on your tongue. He was already kissing your stomach again, his fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt with slow, aching persistence.

"You were made for this," he whispered, inching lower, tasting your skin through the thin fabric.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick and sweet with the faint smell of flowers — fresh blooms he had bought, bright and cheerful, as if good intentions could mask everything else. Baby name books sat piled on the desk. Plans scribbled in notebooks. Dreams you had no part in building now growing like vines around your life, wrapping tighter by the day.

You stumbled back when he pulled you toward the bed, but he caught you easily, steering you down onto the mattress you barely recognized anymore. The linens smelled like him. Everything did.

He was over you instantly, stripping you bare with careful, greedy hands. His mouth was everywhere, pressing kisses that felt more like marks, claiming you piece by piece.

"You're perfect," he groaned, settling between your legs with a practiced ease that made your stomach twist. His body was hot and heavy, his cock dragging against your thigh, and then — too quickly, too inevitably — he was pushing inside, slow only in the way that prolonged the dread. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to stay silent as he filled you, his moan low and broken against your neck.

"There you are," he murmured, rocking into you with a steady rhythm that pinned you to the bed. "So good for me. So ready to be a mommy."

The ceiling blurred and spun above you, but you forced the tears back. You knew better than to cry now. Crying would only make him sweeter. Softer. More patient. And somehow, that was worse.

He moved faster, deeper, chasing something you had no say in. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you higher, adjusting you like a doll, like something built just for him. His forehead pressed against yours, and he whispered promises against your skin.

"I’ll fill you up," he panted. "You’ll never have to be alone again."

The bed creaked under you both, the room thick with the slick sound of his body using yours, the heavy, clinging scent of sweat and flowers and inevitability.

He kissed you when he came — messy, breathless, his hips grinding down to bury himself as deep as he could, as if he could fuse you together. His weight pressed you into the mattress, anchoring you there.

"You'll be such a good mommy," he whispered against your temple. "And I'll be such a good daddy."

You stared up at the ceiling — silent, still — feeling the words sink into your skin like chains you couldn't break. The life he dreamed of was already here, already real.

And no matter how fiercely you wanted to escape, he had already decided for the both of you.

You were his.

And there was no way out.

TBC.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya @yandereaficionado @pinksaiyans @ivantillenthusiast @missybabes

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dannyriccsystem · 3 days ago

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omgomg could you PLEASE do where the reader bites the drivers because it’s their love language

SINK YOUR TEETH IN!

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

SUMMARY: Biting is your love language! The drivers don’t seem to mind

WARNINGS: Biting ofc (consensual), Y/N usage, slightly suggestive, not proofread

FEATURING: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, LH44, CS55, GR63, OP81

I have a friend who does this exact thing

NOTE: Biting without consent/with the intent of harming your partner is absolutely unacceptable. However, in this story it is assumed that the reader and driver have had conversations about it and both parties are consenting, and have set forward a safe word in case of harm. Please do not intentionally cause damage to your partner without permission!

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

You and Max were enjoying a lazy day during the Formula One dry season. No racing, no events… Just the two of you enjoying time to yourselves. He had his arm around your shoulder, sitting beside you on the couch as you watched some documentary that came on. You wanted to change it, but the topic ended up sucking you in.

Your eyes began to feel droopy, and you snuggled into his side whilst blinking the sleep away. He noticed, running a hand over your head before letting it fall back to your shoulder. You hummed, closing your eyes.

Except, sleep had yet to claim you. You simply weren’t tired enough. In your half-asleep state, you grabbed Max’s hand, which was resting on your shoulder, and brought it to your mouth. You gentle bit down, teeth not even pressing into the skin. It was a soft bite, something you both established as affection.

You pulled your mouth back, wiping his hand off with the sleeve of your sweater, and then trailed up, biting softly into his arm. He didn’t flinch, used to these actions by now. Max never minded.

When you were finally done with your little antics, you rested your head against his chest again, stretching out your aching joints. He chuckled, kissing your scalp. “I love you too.”

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

It was always quite the show to watch Daniel work on the ranch. He’d be wearing a tank top with armholes that hung low, allowing you to peek in and see his abs if the angle was just right, and some shorts that let his thigh tattoo just barely poke out.

Underneath the sweltering sun, Danny would always sweat. Not that you were complaining, because your muscular boyfriend soaked in his own perspiration was always a nice sight to see. You’d be sitting on the porch, watching from afar as you sipped on the lemonade he squeezed for you.

When he came back, he always greeted you with a kiss before dismissing himself for a shower, and you’d slowly meander back inside to continue your lazing around in there. This time, the order of events was just slightly different. He leaned over your chair and kissed you right on the lips, his face flushed from the midday sun.

As he walked off, you clambered to your feet and wrapped your arms around him from behind. Your teeth gently bit into his exposed shoulder, tongue darting out to taste the skin momentarily. You pulled back, staring up at him silently. He blinked with surprise, and then grinned.

“What was that for?” He mused, turning around to properly hold you, his hands on your waist.

“Just wanted to let you know I love ya.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

“Lando, my feet hurt.” You had been subtly complaining about the ache your shoes had been causing all night, just to see if he’d notice. He didn’t pick up on the little hints you dropped, so when you guys left the restaurant to walk home, you decided to be upfront about your pain.

“Oh,” He crouched down to help you out of your heels, and then turned around. “Get on.” He gestured to his back, implying he wanted to give you a piggyback ride. You hopped on his back, arms encircling his neck as he slowly rose back to his full height. He held your shoes in his hand whilst simultaneously holding you up by the back of your thighs.

You seemed rather joyous as he carried you back to your home, your chin resting on his shoulder. He didn’t even seem like it was a big deal himself. It was more like he was happy to oblige to your request. That’s what happens when you date an athlete, I suppose.

Eventually, the urge got to you. His neck was exposed, so without even thinking about it, you latched on. Your teeth gently gnawed on the skin before you pulled back. He didn’t even flinch, as if this was typical. Because it was.

“Does it hurt when I do that?” You asked softly, resting your chin on his shoulder once more.

“Nope.” You guys had already discussed it before, and Lando said he didn’t mind, as long as you never bit down too hard. He actually liked it, most of the time!

With his confirmation, you leaned in for one more!

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

When you awoke, Charles was already awake in the bed beside you. His legs were tangled up in the sheets, like he had just rolled over and not bothered to straighten everything out. He was laying on his stomach, mindlessly scrolling on social media. He seemed tired still.

You groaned, stretching your arms and legs out, trying to shake the sleep off. You had things you wanted to do around the house today, but everytime you looked over and saw your lazy boyfriend, you wanted to succumb to laziness too. You hummed thoughtfully.

After what felt like hours of quietly deciding your own future, you chose what your heart wanted. You rolled over onto his back, laying on top of him. He chuckled, looking over his shoulder at you. “Comfortable?”

“Yes.” You replied, getting situated. He continued to scroll, but you were more focused on something else: His exposed back. You pressed sly little kisses all over, and then finally went in for the kill! You just lightly nibbled on the skin near his shoulder blade. He flinched at first, but then eased up as you continued.

Unless he told you the safe word, you knew you were okay to carry on with your little biting. Charles didn’t care. After you were done, you leaned back to admire your hard work: Little bite marks in the shape of a heart.

Lazing around all day won the vote, because afterwards, you laid back down against him and fell asleep once more.

—

LEWIS HAMILTON - LH44

Lewis found out about your habit the hard way. It didn’t hurt the first time you did it, but it certainly took him by surprise. You went in like you were gonna kiss his palm, and instead lightly bit down on his purlicue. He reeled his hand back, blinking at you with wide eyes.

After that, the two of you had a discussion. To give him some time to prepare, you’d tap the area twice before giving it a firm bite. That way he’d have time to tell you otherwise, and time to mentally prepare. It was a good system, and it worked well for you too.

It had been a mundane day in the Ferrari office. You wanted to tag along, and then realized why Lewis never spoke highly of the team meetings. They were excruciatingly boring. You nodded along, trying to keep interest.

Eventually, your attention started to drift. Without even thinking it, you grabbed his hand and tapped it twice, before clamping your teeth down and on the side of his thumb. Lewis didn’t stop you, but you both quickly pulled away when you realized Charles had noticed.

Trying to blink like nothing happened, sitting abnormally still. It was silent… Until, “Mate, did you just bite him?” He laughed softly, and you both locked eyes of embarrassment.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

Carlos thought it was endearing. It certainly took him by surprise the first time you did it, but he didn’t exactly care. When you explained it was a weird way to express your love, he took the news quite well and gave you permission to continue expressing yourself in a rather non conventional way.

It always struck you randomly, like right now. To congratulate your boyfriend on placing so highly during qualifying, you wanted to pepper his lips with a few kisses, until they were swollen and red with your lipstick.

You bit down on his bottom lip suddenly— It didn’t hurt, but it made him flinch as he wasn’t expecting it. You pulled back, your face growing warm as you gazed at him sheepishly. “Sorry!” You apologized, grimacing at your own mistake.

“It’s okay, amor.” He laughed softly, leaning in for another kiss. “It was hot.”

You laughed yourself, rolling your eyes playfully. “Of course it was.”

—

GEORGE RUSSELL - GR63

George was into it, whether it was intended sexually or not, he liked the bites. He wore little bite marks and hickeys on his neck with pride, and when people asked him, he’d just laugh and explain that “My girlfriend has shark teeth.”

Usually that was followed by some concerned questions, asking if everything was okay. He’d sincerely smile and reassure them that he was just fine with it, and found your habits to be adorable. Fortunately for you, George is absolutely whipped.

Both of you were laying on the couch, snuggled up closely. You were lying on top of him, his arms securely holding you to his chest. It was one of those quiet days that felt so loud in your heart, a day where the two of you didn’t have to worry about media and could just be yourselves.

Not that either of you were entirely different.

You lightly tugged at the collar of his shirt, exposing his collarbone, which you promptly bit down on. You drew a laugh from George’s lips, almost like the sensation was ticklish. You peeked up at him, and then bit down on another spot.

You were rewarded a similar reaction. Note to self: George’s collarbone is sensitive.

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

Two things about you. You liked to bite, and you really liked your boyfriend’s legs. Usually it was the other way around, but right now you were laying with your head between his thighs, enjoying the moment thoroughly. He’d occasionally reach down to scratch your scalp, but other than that, the position felt mindless to him.

You were scrolling on your phone, as well as taking lots of selfies as well, fully intending to brag about your current situation later on, because you were the only one who got to experienced the glory of Oscar Piastri’s thighs. Every time he noticed your antics, he’d just laugh and roll his eyes.

You looked over to your side, and your instincts took over. Rarely did you bite, but the two of you had talked about it before, and he told you he didn’t mind. You bit into his thigh, feeling the muscle twitch momentarily. You pulled back, looking at the very subtle mark you left.

He didn’t say anything, which prompted you to bite again, this time sucking just barely to leave a mark. You wiped the spot down with your sleeve after, leaning back to admire your artwork.

“Not sure how I’m gonna explain that.” He teased, and you felt your cheeks grow warm.

“Whoops.”

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mintyys-blog · 3 days ago

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Hiiiiii do you remember viltrumite mark watching reader breast feed their child so of course he gets curious and wants a taste can you Please dew part 2 or can you Please do the same thing but with omni mark and mohawk mark plss 😭😭😭😭��💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

CURIOUS OF MILK | omni mark x wife! reader x mohawk mark (separate)

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS: breastfeeding, lactation kink

this contains subjects of lactation that may be uncomfortable for some readers, please read the warnings before continuing.

OMNI MARK

Mark wasn’t often curious. Most things he saw were instantly analyzed and categorized, filed away in that sharp mind of his like a weapon being sheathed. But this? Watching you nurse his child?

It cracked something inside him. A tension he hadn’t known was coiled there.

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed — at first just observing you with that stoic, impassive look he always wore. Like he was studying you for weaknesses, or simply making sure you were efficient in your task. His cape brushed the doorframe as he leaned a little closer. “You’re feeding her?”

The question was so coldly stated it almost sounded accusatory, but when you met his eyes, you saw the heat behind them. Confused. Fascinated.

“Yes,” you said gently, adjusting your daughter against your chest.

Mark moved closer, a slow heavy-footed prowl. He crouched beside you, staring at the small mouth latched onto your breast, the tiny greedy swallows, the peaceful noise your daughter made.

His voice dropped lower. “Your body produces nourishment this way… for her.”

You nodded. A breath hitched in your throat because you could feel the shift in him — how tightly he was holding himself back.

There was a silence, heavy and thick, before he spoke again:

“Show me.”

You blinked. “Mark…”

“Show me.” He was calm. Commanding. And there was something deeper in his tone — something raw. Not just curiosity. Possession.

You hesitated, heat crawling up your neck, but Omni Mark didn’t look away. His hand, large and sure, cupped the side of your breast almost reverently, guiding you.

He watched, unblinking, as a drop of milk beaded at your nipple. Without hesitating, he leaned in.

He latched onto you with an ease that was terrifying and intimate all at once, his mouth hot against your skin. He drank with slow, deliberate pulls, eyes fluttering half-shut, like he was memorizing you from the inside out.

When he pulled back, there was a glint in his eye — something victorious. His thumb brushed possessively over the wetness he’d left behind.

“You will nourish all of my children,” he said quietly, almost reverently. “You were made to.” The way he looked at you after that… Like you were the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

MOHAWK MARK

Mark was always cocky. Always grinning like he knew every dirty thought you could ever have. But when he saw you breastfeeding? That smile dropped.

He leaned against the wall, watching you, silent for once. You tried to ignore the way his eyes — usually playful — had gone dark. Hungry. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse. You looked up at him, self-conscious. “Mark?” He sauntered over. Dropped to his knees right in front of you. “That’s… that’s mine, too, y’know,” he said, voice rough, pointing lazily at your breast. “You think just ‘cause she gets first dibs, I don’t want some?”

You flushed, feeling a sudden rush of heat pool between your legs. “You’re not serious—” He tilted his head, smirking. “Bet it’s sweet, too. C’mon, mama. Let me.”

You blinked at him, heart hammering in your chest. Mark — always bold, always reckless — had never looked at you quite like this before. Like you were something sacred. And he was two seconds away from sinning.

He stayed there, kneeling between your legs, his palms splayed lazily on your thighs — but you could feel the tension in him, buzzing under his skin like a live wire. “Mark…” you whispered, breathless. His fingers squeezed your thighs gently, grounding you.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured, almost coaxing. “You’re sittin’ there all pretty, feedin’ our kid, lookin’ like that— you think I wouldn’t want a taste?” You bit your lip, shivering under the weight of his gaze.

Still, you hesitated — and Mark saw it immediately. His grin softened, just a little. Less cocky now. More intimate. He dragged one hand slowly up your side, careful not to jostle the baby sleeping against your chest, until his thumb brushed the exposed curve of your breast.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he said, rough, low. “Even better than I imagined.” You gasped softly at the honesty threading his voice.

Mark leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, his chain brushing your chest. “Lemme show you how good you are, mama,” he said, voice damn near a whisper now. “Let me have you. Just for a second.”

Your whole body felt molten — nervous, exhilarated — and without fully thinking, you tilted toward him just a little. That was all he needed.

Mark’s mouth latched onto your nipple with a low groan, his hands tightening on your thighs as he drank. Slow, deliberate pulls — not rough, but needy. Hungry in a way you hadn’t seen from him before. You gasped, hand threading into his messy hair, clutching at him as he suckled greedily, almost reverently.

It wasn’t about sex — not exactly. It was about claiming. About marking this moment, about staking a deeper kind of ownership. Mark pulled back after a long moment, his lips slick and glistening, eyes glazed over with something dark and feral.

“Fuck,” he breathed, wiping his mouth lazily with the back of his hand, grinning at you again — but it was a different grin now. Wicked. Territorial. “Told you it’d be sweet.”

He rested his forehead against your bare chest, breathing you in, like he needed you just to stay steady. After a beat, his voice dropped even lower, almost a growl: “You’re mine, mama. Always fuckin’ mine.”

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #omni mark x reader #mohawk mark x reader #mohawk mark grayson #mohawk invincible #omni mark #omni mark x you #invincible x you #invincible x reader #invincible #mohawk mark #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #wife reader

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thehoneybeestings · 22 hours ago

Text

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲

𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚!𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐚!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Word Count: 3.3k

Synopsis: Sevika has grown awfully fond of the owner of Zaun's only bakery; in fact, she'd do anything for her. So, when a hard heat hits the baker, Sevika can't help but offer a helping hand.

Content/Warnings: omegaverse! if it's not your thing don't read it; nsfw, top!sev, bottom!reader, soft dom!sev, reader is referred to w fem terms/pronouns, reader has female anatomy, sev has a dick bc i think all alpha's do?? idk im new here

A/N: so... heyyyy guys... yes i know this is not on my wip list but i was struck with divine inspiration and who am i to work against higher forces! this is my first time dabbling in omegaverse so i hope it suffices...

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

There’s something tugging at Sevika.

She’s already scanned the room for what it could be, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. The booth she routinely occupies at The Last Drop feels no different than it ever has, the playing cards and poker chips littering the rickety wooden table in front of her are just as beat up as they always are, and her drunken opponents are as easy to beat as ever.

She’s slouched back against the wall behind her, brows furrowed and eyes trained on the half-empty glass of whiskey dampening its paper coaster. The anticipation buzzing around her shouldn’t feel so foreign; the woman’s M.O. is to be at attention, at all times, with no exceptions. Still, there's a hum of urgency that's much louder tonight than usual. Something is telling her-something is demanding her-to remain alert, attentive, ready to be of service.

Her flesh hand twitches, fingers squeezing around the rim of the glass she holds for a split second.

Someone needs her. Someone needs her now.

She can’t put her finger on who it could be, or why it could be, so she taps at the glass’s rim with it instead.

A voice, gruff after nearly a lifetime of smoking, pulls her from her concentration on ripples running through liquid amber.

“You even payin’ attention?” The ash of his cigar falls onto the table as the hand that holds it gestures towards her chips.

On an ordinary night, she’d shoot the shit. Give him a playful scoff. Tell him that she wasn’t paying attention at all, and somehow, she was still kicking his ass.

But, despite the normalcy of The Last Drop’s Friday night debauchery, despite the inventory she’d taken of her surroundings telling her that everything should be okay, she still can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

It’s pulling her to her feet now. She downs the rest of her whiskey as she stands, mumbling something about everyone splitting her earnings evenly as she walks off. Her opponents are left entirely confused and a little bit richer as they watch her stride away with her usual purpose.

Where this pull is taking her, she has no idea. Frankly, she doesn’t care. She no longer feels her stomach wrenching as she tries to fight off the force yanking at her cloak, begging her to go wherever she’s going now. With every step, there is clarity.

Someone needs her. Someone needs her now.

She's getting closer to them. With every step she takes, she finds that her lungs are easier to fill now that she knows this person needn’t worry any longer.

When she ends up at your door, her entire body melts on exhale.

Of all the people in the world, there’s no one else she’d rather be needed by.

Be it the chaos that had ensued just before meeting you for the first time, or the way you seemed to calm her stormy seas at first glance, she remembers it like it was yesterday.

She remembers swinging the bakery’s door open in a panic, eyes wide and wild as they hurriedly scanned the room for a head of fluffy hair dyed blue.

“I’ve got her,” a voice rang out. A voice like honey to match your honeysuckle scent, she immediately noted.

You stood behind the counter, placing a piping bag down and wiping your hands on your blush-colored apron with a shy smile.

Lo and behold, there sat Isha, perched on the marble countertop next to you. She stared up at Sevika with big, innocent eyes; far too innocent for a girl who’d just escaped Sevika's grasp and booked it to the bakery she’d been begging to visit for weeks now.

“She’s quick,” you chortle. “Sugar may not have been the best idea, now that I think of it…”

You look over at the small girl whose mouth was now opening as wide as it could go to take a bite of the blueberry muffin you’d given her. It was too late. She was hooked and sure as shit to be bouncing off of the walls, now.

Sevika’s eyes trail from the crumbs stuck to Isha’s lips to the affectionate smile gracing your own. It was too late. You were sweet as honey, and she was hooked, too.

That was nearly a year ago, now. Trips to the bakery slowly but surely changed from Isha’s demand to Sevika’s suggestion. Eventually, Sevika began visiting on her own; before work to get a coffee, during her breaks to grab a cheese danish, after work to pick up a blueberry muffin for Isha.

It would have been less-than-chivalrous if she hadn’t begun offering to hang around until you closed shop so she could walk you home, would have been impolite to decline the Sunday afternoon taste-testing sessions you’d started inviting her over for.

She’s a gentlewoman. It’s only principle. That’s what she tells herself, at least.

That’s what she tells herself as her knuckles tap thrice on your door.

She starts to feel antsy again when you don’t come bounding to the door as usual, when your honeyed voice doesn't call out that you’ll be right there. She worries even more when you do reach the door, but it doesn’t swing open to reveal a bright smile, a pretty girl covered in flour and smelling of vanilla. Instead, you flick the deadbolt to the right, trail back to your room, and leave the door unlocked for her to enter of her own accord.

Her stomach turns like the doorknob she’s grasping, but as soon as the door opens, she knows what’s wrong.

The blossom of honeysuckle in the spring floats through the air. This much was a given; she knows this is what she’ll smell when she’s around you.

Tonight, though, it’s honeysuckle and something else. Something thick, hitting her like a brick wall. A white musk that nearly knocks her back when it crosses the threshold of your apartment door to meet her in the hallway.

She’s quick to step in and even quicker to close the door behind her. That scent was sure to attract unwanted visitors: Alphas looking to sink their gnashing teeth into something sweet.

She twists the deadbolt back to the left, her eyes darting across the room to find you. When that doesn’t suffice-when you’re nowhere to be seen- she follows your scent trail instead. Follows it back to your room, where her heart nearly breaks at the sight before her.

You’ve got what she figures must be every pillow in the house propped up against the headboard, every blanket you own pushed down to the foot of the bed, and you sit at the center of it all with your legs pulled into your chest, your head buried in your knees, and your arms wrapped around the ball you’ve curled yourself into.

There’s a pedestal fan pointed directly at you, despite the oversized sweater you adorn. You’re refusing to take it off, she bets. Want something soft and warm wrapped around you at all costs, even if it means you’ll sweat through it.

A soft grin spreads across her face as she approaches, slow and steady. It was her turn to calm your storm, now.

She sinks to her knees next to your bed, elbows resting on the flower-shaped throw pillow she remembers you buying when you were out shopping in the square with her one day. She’d taken a liking to it herself, always opting to rest her head on its pink petals as she stretched her long legs along the length of your couch, or holding it close to her chest as the two of you watched yet another horror movie you both knew damn well would keep you up all night.

She tries not to think too much of the fact that of all the pillows stacked upon your bed, it's the one you’ve got right next to you.

Her voice is nearly a whisper when she finally speaks, grey eyes soft and warm as they gaze up at you from her place on the floor.

“Hey, doll.”

All you manage to muster in response is a weary groan.

She exhales through her nose, eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“Rough heat?”

Your muffled sob cuts through the quiet, and her hand flies out to knead your thigh.

Her eyes widen in sudden consternation. Your skin is a brazier underneath her large palm.

“Janna,” she suddenly calls out, eyes frantic as they travel across your figure. “Y/n, you’re burning up. How long have you had a fever?”

She trades flesh for cold metal, anchoring her mech hand to your thigh in hopes that it’ll cool you down. Her right hand splays across your back, rubbing large circles across its expanse as you sniffle into your knees.

“Two days,” you mumble weakly, and much to her dismay.

Two days was too long for you to be in this state, nevertheless alone.

“I thought I’d have been claimed by now,” you admit, your voice wobbling.

“Don’t talk like that,” she commands. “There’s no timeline for this stuff. It’ll happen when it-”

“It’s not like that!”

Your head finally snaps up from your knees, teary eyes locking onto hers.

“It’s not… It’s not that I can’t find anyone. It’s that I can’t…”

Your voice breaks, and her hand trails up from your back to rest on the back of your neck, her thumb massaging the tightness at the base of your skull as she waits patiently for you to gather yourself.

You’re well aware that in the crux of an already grueling heat is not the best time to share an admission that very well could permanently alter your relationship with the woman you hold dearest. You’re also aware that you won’t be able to keep lying to Sevika for much longer.

You wouldn’t be able to keep lying to yourself for much longer.

Your words are still shaky despite the bracing deep breath you take before speaking.

“I can’t stand anyone else’s scent…”

Her hand stills, but her touch doesn’t falter. Her face doesn’t fall.

She’s still here. She’s still steady, still constant, but she needs you to be sure.

“Anyone else?” She asks, her voice low.

A small huff escapes you. You know Sevika. She doesn’t do vague.

She’s going to make you say it.

“I can’t stand anyone’s scent but yours.”

A pregnant pause settles in between the two of you.

And then, her hand is moving from the back of your neck to tuck a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“Do you want me to help?”

You nod fervently, words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them.

“Want you so bad, it hurts; please, Sev, I-”

Her lips crash into yours, stealing your breath away. Your heart is already racing, your core is already throbbing, you’re already whimpering into her mouth.

It was too late. You were sweet as honey, and she’d just gotten a taste.

──˚₊୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

It’s been hours. She’s been fucking you for hours.

You nearly feel bad for being so insatiable; only nearly, because she had made it very clear very quickly that you needn’t ever apologize for lasting so long, for needing the next round not even five minutes after the last, for wanting it faster, harder, deeper.

You needn’t ever apologize for allowing her the opportunity to take care of you.

Much to your dismay, sometimes taking care of you meant that she would slow down to check in, insist you take a breather, or get you a glass of water. Sevika knows that what you want is to be ravaged, to let your mind go all fuzzy and your body go all limp as she takes you, claims you, breeds you. Sevika knows that what you need is someone looking out for your best interest when you’re all-consumed by your heat, someone who knows that the responsibility of an alpha is to provide far more than a good fuck.

Still, she isn’t surprised that you nearly burst into tears when her pace begins to relent. Janna knows how hard it is for her to stop when you look so pretty laid out for her like this; legs thrown over her shoulders, hands desperately grabbing at firm muscle and cool metal, brows knit together in pleasure as you cry out for her.

She leans down to press a kiss to the beads of sweat forming on your hairline, and knows she needs to stop anyway.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you plead, wrapping your legs around her waist and rolling your hips up into her own, “please don’t stop, please keep going, Sev…”

She plants a kiss on your shoulder this time, the salt of sweat-sticky skin on her lips.

“You’re getting too hot, baby,” she purrs. “We’re not done, I promise. Just need to make sure you cool off for a second.”

You whine in defiance, and she hums in understanding, but you’re too fucked out to do anything but lay there and let her press a cool rag to your forehead and your flushed chest.

“You feelin’ okay, mama?”

She doesn’t miss the way your lip quirks up into the beginnings of a smirk.

“What?” She asks with a grin, bearing the gap in between her teeth. You’d told her it was cute once. The tips of her ears were dark red for the rest of the day.

“Don’t call me that,” you smile.

She just quirks a brow in playful curiosity.

“Not unless you plan on putting a baby in me.”

Her hands still. Her grin falters. For a moment, you worry that you’ve crossed a line.

Then, glittery grey irises go dark like a storm cloud rolling in. Her eyes are lidded, full of desire. Her jaw clenches, her nostrils flare, her muscles twitch for a split second.

Her head dips down to hide in your neck, but there, she finds that honeysuckle and musk hit her even harder here. You don’t miss the way her body writhes atop your own.

“Careful joking around like that,” she husks.

You buck your hips up in a challenge. “Who said I was joking?”

And then, she whines. Sevika whines.

“Couldn’t get you pregnant if I wanted to, doll,” she resigns. “I’m on suppressants.”

“That’s okay,” you coo, hands stroking up and down the length of her back, her skin warm and her muscles strong underneath your palm. “You can pretend. Jus’ want you to cum inside of me.”

This time, she growls, and you don’t miss the way her canines scrape across your pulse point.

She trails open-mouthed kisses from your neck, to your jaw, to the corner of your lips, breath shaky along the way.

Her resolve is crumbling, her restraint weakening. She had found you in need, and now, here she was, just as desperate as you had been.

“Come on, baby,” you urge, voice just over a whisper. “Take me.”

You're flipped over and pinned to the bed in a second. She yanks you up onto your knees by your waist, and her mech hand travels down your spine to push you further into the mattress while her flesh hand works to line herself up in between your legs. You gasp when you feel her sliding through your slick, whine when she presses an inch in before slipping back out and dipping down to nudge your swollen bud of nerves, groan when she finally presses into you completely, the head of her length prodding at your cervix.

She pants above you, both hands settling on your waist as she gives you a moment to adjust, and as soon as you're pushing back against her, she’s snapping her hips into you. Her grip is bruising as she pulls you back to meet every thrust. Your hands fly out to grab at the sheets next to you, your heady cries of pleasure muffled by the soft pillows piled at the head of the bed.

“How’s that? Huh?”

Her voice is gravelly from exertion. Sexier than it already is. How that’s even possible, you’re not sure. You don’t care. You can’t even think.

Sevika leans down to nip at your earlobe.

“Talk to me, baby,” she rasps. “This what you wanted? Wanted me to fuck a baby into you, hm? Wanted me to make you mine?”

You nod frantically, babbling out a yes, sobbing into the pillow. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, hiccupping against the breath you can’t seem to catch.

“I’ve got you,” she croons, her pace gentler now. “Deep breath for me, doll.”

Her flesh hand interlaces with your own, her thumb rubbing soothing circles into the meaty flesh between your thumb and your forefinger. You nod with a whimper, following her command.

“Good girl.”

She reaches down in between your slick-covered thighs to circle at your clit, rubbing lazy circles in tandem with her slow, deep strokes. She hisses at the feeling of your velvety walls clenching around her, grits her teeth as she begins to speed up.

You make it so damn hard for her to keep it together, reaching up to grab the hair at the nape of her neck and pushing her head down into your shoulder. She knows exactly what you’re asking for.

Her bite.

You’re asking her to sink her teeth into sugar, and Sevika’s always had a sweet tooth.

She clenches her jaw even tighter. Takes deep breaths through her nose. Fucks you into the mattress instead.

The bite will come later. When you’re not in heat, when you’re thinking clearly, when you can comprehend that what you’re asking for is to be bound to her. When it does come- when you do ask for that- she’ll say yes. No question.

She’s been yours since the moment she walked through the bakery’s doors nearly a year ago.

But right now, she’s here to take care of you. Nothing more, nothing in return.

A voice like honey rings out like music to her ears.

“Oh- fuck, don’t stop. Mm- gonna… gonna cum…”

“That’s right, baby. Give me another, yeah?”

And when she latches onto the juncture between your shoulder and your neck, sucking just hard enough for you to feel a dull pinch, you fall apart, her name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

That’s when she liked her name most. When it came from you.

This time, it’s what pushes her over the edge. It’s all nearly too much; the sound of you moaning her name, your scent inundating her senses, the feeling of you tightening around her, the pulse that thrums against her canines.

Shimmer doesn’t even make her feel this feral.

You can feel her twitching against your walls as she fucks you through your release with a new vigor.

“Fuck,” she grits, “say the word and I’ll pull out.”

“Don’t.”

Sugar meets spice. Your command is stern, and Sevika is good at following orders.

She ruts into you with a broken moan, hissing with each involuntary twitch of her hips as she spills into you.

Soon, she joins you in a leaden slump, her warm body caging you in and her cock still sheathed inside of you. The hum of the pedestal fan and the rasp of your pants fill the room like white noise.

And then, you giggle. A blissed out, breathy giggle that has the corner of Sevika’s mouth quirking up into a smile.

“What?” she pants.

“Nothing. Jus’ happy.”

She hums in contentment. “Feel better?”

“Much better.”

And Sevika can’t ignore the way her heart flutters, the pride she feels knowing she was able to take care of you, the desire she has to take care of you for as long as she lives.

The bite will come later, she reminds herself. Right now, there’s just you. Sweet as honey.

“Good,” she muses. “That’s what I’m here for.”

𝐄𝐧𝐝 ୨ৎ

──˚₊୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

p.s. anybody want pt.2 feat. reader getting sev's bite...?

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #alpha!sevika #sevika one shot #sevika smut #sevika arcane #arcane #arcane smut #arcane one shot #sevika imagine #arcane imagine #lesbian #sapphic #wlw

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bimbowshmimbow · 3 days ago

Text

𝐀 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ ﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

dadsbestfriend!joel x freader!

Summary: She’s been in love with her dad’s best friend Joel Miller for as long as she can remember. When she comes home for the summer and sees him at a family cookout — older, rougher, and more gorgeous than ever — the tension between them finally snaps.

Warnings: [18+ only] explicit sexual content, age gap (legal), praise kink, dirty talk, slight roughness, mutual pining, Joel being a soft but filthy man, reader being absolutely wrecked (in the best way).

Word Count: — probably around 2.5-3k words

First time writing Joel and I’m absolutely unwell about him. Please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoy!

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, spilling a lazy orange glow across the backyard.

Laughter and the smell of grilled food filled the air, but she hardly noticed any of it.

Not when she spotted him.

Joel.

He was standing by the porch, a bottle of beer loose in his hand, wearing a worn denim jacket that clung to his broad shoulders.

The years had been good to him — roughening him up in all the ways that made her chest ache.

Her heart stumbled in her chest, pounding hard against her ribs as if trying to escape.

He hadn’t seen her yet.

She almost hoped he wouldn’t — hoped and dreaded it all at once.

Because seeing him again after all this time felt like being cracked open.

Raw. Exposed.

She tried to play it cool, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, pretending to be fascinated by the ice in her glass.

But it was impossible to ignore the way his gaze found her in the crowd like a magnet snapping into place.

Those dark, familiar eyes dragged over her — lingering in a way that made her skin spark.

Made her knees weaken, just a little.

Joel froze for half a second, the easy smile he’d been wearing faltering.

And then it softened — something warmer, something quieter — lighting up his whole face in a way that made her stomach twist.

“Well, look at you,” he drawled, voice rough like gravel, but the kind that slid under her skin and stayed there.

She tried to smile, but it came out shaky, breathless.

“Hi, Joel,” she managed.

He moved toward her, slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world.

Like he was soaking her in.

Up close, he smelled like cedar and sun and something distinctly, maddeningly Joel.

“Been a while, hasn’t it?” he said, voice dropping a little lower.

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting out something stupid.

Because up close, he looked even better than she remembered — a little older, a little rougher, with lines around his mouth that made her wonder how many times he’d smiled, and whether she could be the reason for it.

Joel’s fingers brushed her elbow lightly, just for a second — a touch so casual it shouldn’t have made her feel like the ground tilted under her feet.

“You grew up,” he murmured, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

And something about the way he looked at her then — not like a kid anymore, not at all — made her blood heat dangerously.

The noise of the cookout faded into a distant hum.

It was just the two of them now, trapped in a little bubble of memory and longing and too many things left unsaid.

She barely realized she was moving until they were standing even closer, barely a breath between them.

And Joel was looking at her like he wanted to say something — or do something — that he shouldn’t.

“Missed you, kid,” he said hoarsely.

Kid.

The word hit her like a slap and a caress all at once — a reminder of who she had been, and maybe who she wasn’t anymore.

“You don’t have to call me that,” she whispered, lifting her eyes to his.

Joel’s gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered there for a beat too long.

His jaw tightened, like he was fighting something — fighting her — but there was no mistaking the way his hand hovered, trembling just slightly, like he wanted to touch her again.

Properly this time.

Joel’s mouth tugged into a half-smirk, the kind that always used to get her into trouble — the kind that still made her thighs press together under her sundress.

“You givin’ me orders now?” he teased, voice low and warm, setting her nerves on fire.

“Maybe,” she said, feeling braver than she should.

“Somebody’s gotta keep you in line.”

Joel chuckled — a deep, rough sound that made her chest flutter.

He tipped his beer bottle toward her slightly in a mock salute.

“Good luck with that, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Her stomach flipped.

She could’ve sworn there was a glint in his eye — something sharper, something hotter — but maybe she was imagining it.

The music from the speakers shifted to something slower, smokier, and Joel’s gaze held hers, dark and heavy.

For a second, the world shrank again, just like it always did around him.

“You wanna get outta here?” he said suddenly, voice a little rougher.

Her breath caught.

He wasn’t smiling anymore.

Not teasing.

He meant it.

“Where would we even go?” she asked, half breathless.

Joel’s mouth quirked up again, but there was something darker behind it now — something dangerous and sweet.

“Don’t care,” he said.

“Long as it’s just you and me.”

She didn’t even hesitate.

Not really.

She slipped her hand into his — and the feel of his calloused fingers closing around hers almost made her knees give out — and let him lead her around the side of the house, away from the noise and the people and the eyes that might have seen too much.

They end up in an old tool shed tucked away behind the house, half forgotten, mostly empty now except for the smell of wood and oil from the summer heat.

The door thudded shut behind them and it was just the two of them again, the walls too close the air too thick.

Joel turned to face her, still holding her hand.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles absentmindedly, but his eyes were anything but casual.

They dragged over her face, her mouth, her body, slow and hungry.

“You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me, darlin’,” he said thickly.

“I think I do,” she whispered back.

Joel’s hand lifted, brushing a stray curl from her cheek — so gentle it made her chest ache.

His thumb lingered at the corner of her mouth, and she swore she could feel the way he was shaking.

“You sure about this?” he asked roughly.

She nodded, heart hammering so hard it hurt.

“I’ve been sure for a long time.”

Joel groaned low in his throat — the sound of a man losing a battle he’d been fighting too long — and then his mouth crashed into hers.

Joel’s mouth crashed into hers — rough and hungry — but even then, he held back, his hands cupping her jaw so carefully like he thought she might break.

She whimpered against him, and he cursed softly, pulling back just enough to rasp, “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” she breathed instantly, no hesitation. “I want you.”

That was all he needed.

Joel’s mouth was back on hers in a second, more urgent now, his body pressing her back until she bumped into the workbench behind her.

His hands skimmed down — strong and a little shaking — gripping her waist, her hips, pulling her flush against him.

She could feel him — hard against her belly — and the desperate, low sound he made when she shifted closer had heat flooding through her.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

“I think I have an idea,” she whispered, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt, her fingers grazing the warm, solid skin of his stomach.

Joel groaned, dragging the shirt over his head in one motion and tossing it aside.

The sight of him — broad chest, a dusting of dark hair, thick arms — made her thighs press together, aching for him.

“Pretty little thing,” he muttered, palms sliding down her sides to her thighs.

“You wore this fuckin’ dress just to kill me, didn’t you?”

She grinned breathlessly. “Maybe.”

Joel growled — an honest, rough sound — before gripping the hem of her sundress and dragging it up slowly, like he was unwrapping a gift he’d been dying to open.

His knuckles brushed up her thighs, pushing the fabric higher, higher — until the dress bunched around her hips and he hissed softly, seeing the little scrap of panties she had on.

“You’re fuckin’ dangerous,” he rasped.

Before she could even reply, Joel lifted her — like it was nothing — setting her down onto the workbench, the wood cool against the backs of her thighs.

He stepped between her legs, pushing her knees apart with his hands, rough and tender all at once.

“Last chance,” he said, voice almost breaking.

“You want me to stop, you say it. Otherwise…” His thumb brushed over the waistband of her panties.

“I ain’t gonna be able to.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered fiercely.

Joel’s mouth crashed into hers again — almost desperate now — while his hands slid under her panties, tugging them down her legs and letting them fall to the floor.

He dragged his fingers along her slick heat, growling low at what he found.

“Christ, baby,” he muttered against her mouth. “You’re already so fuckin’ wet.”

She moaned when one thick finger slid through her folds — teasing, circling — not quite giving her what she needed.

“Joel,” she whined softly, hips rocking toward his hand.

He chuckled — low and filthy — pressing a kiss to her throat as he pushed one finger inside her, then another, stretching her carefully.

“You’re so tight,” he said hoarsely.

“Goddamn, sweetheart — you’re squeezin’ me already.”

She clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he fucked her slow with his fingers, curling them just right until she was panting, her head tipping back.

Joel kissed up her throat, her jaw, her cheeks — almost worshipful — murmuring against her skin.

“Good girl… takin’ me so good…”

The coil in her belly tightened hard, her whole body trembling.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Need you.”

Joel groaned — pulling his fingers free, kissing her again to swallow her needy sounds — and reached for the button of his jeans, shoving them down just enough to free himself.

When she caught sight of him — thick, flushed, leaking at the tip — she whimpered, hips rolling unconsciously toward him.

“You sure, baby?” he rasped, the head of his cock nudging her entrance.

“Joel,” she gasped. “Please.”

He grunted, lining himself up and pushing in — slow, careful, watching her face the whole time.

Stretching her open, filling her up so good it hurt in the sweetest way.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, sinking deeper. “You feel so good, baby. So fuckin’ good.”

She whimpered, clinging to him, feeling like she was coming apart around him.

Joel pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, then thrust back in — a little harder — setting a rhythm that made her head spin.

The workbench creaked under them with every thrust, and she couldn’t even be embarrassed — too far gone, too full of him.

Joel kissed her — messy, hungry — his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, fucking into her like he couldn’t help himself.

“Been wantin’ you for so goddamn long,” he panted against her mouth. “Dreamed about you — fuck — every goddamn night.”

“Me too,” she gasped, her body clenching around him.

Joel groaned, the sound ripped out of him, and suddenly his hand slid between them, finding her clit and rubbing tight, perfect circles.

It was too much.

The stretch of him, the way he touched her like she was precious, the filthy things he growled against her skin.

Her orgasm rocked her frame, blinding white and shaking, her whole body locking up as she cried out his name.

Joel cursed, hips stuttering as he chased his own release, then spilled inside her with a broken, desperate groan — pressing his forehead to hers, trembling.

They stayed like that — tangled up, sweaty, breathing each other in — for long minutes, the only sound their ragged breathing and the distant thump of music from the cookout.

Joel kissed her forehead, her cheek, her jaw — soft and reverent.

“You okay, darlin’?” he murmured, still buried inside her.

She smiled lazily, boneless and full of him.

“Never been better.”

Joel huffed a soft laugh, nuzzling her nose with his.

“You’re mine now, you hear me?”

“Always was,” she whispered back.

AHHH okay.. so this was my first ever writing something properly! just seeing how this goes.. please feel free to give me any feedback!

I’ve been thinking about doing fluffy blurbs!! Going off of this! And one day I wanna do a proper fic!

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sightseertrespasser · 3 days ago

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Odds of Survival part 9

Jazz has an itty bitty teeny weeny severe mental breakdown.

Credit once more to @keferon for starting this au.

———————————————————————

Jazz never thought he’d find himself deeply empathizing with the xenomorph from Alien, but here he was.

Doing freak shit.

A lone lifeform trapped on a spaceship with no idea how their technology works, no means of escape and no way to sustain themselves. Skittering across the ceiling and one wrong move away from murdering someone on contact.

Plus, I pop out of my mecha like an actual motherfucking chest burster. So I’m sure that’ll go over GREAT.

The parallels were compounding into existential crisis territory.

It got way too fucking close handling that checkup with the medic. Trying to keep his cool felt like he was trapped in an hours long quick time event. Every question had to be snap judged for the safest possible answer. Completely make shit up and risk getting caught in the act, don’t give away any information and they’ll know you’re hiding something.

Jazz juggled that damn Catch 22 like a professional. Thank you.

Case in point, while one of his mechas arms was still non functional, Jazz managed to maneuver his actual arm inside the cabin to grope around for some water to chug. Without disconnecting from the mecha.

That particular stunt felt like splitting his brain in half with a splintery wedge. The water was absolutely necessary, but the pressure inside his skull rang like an air horn zip-tied open.

Right now the only coherent thought he could form was the overwhelming animal desire to find a dark hidden hole and crawl up inside it. Then repeat that motion by disconnecting from his mecha, finding the most secure hiding spot inside that, and passing out for oh just a quick little 24 to 36 hours.

The pilot paused. Down the hall, mechas- giant alien robots- had noticed his disappearance. Even through the language barrier, Jazz would recognize the opening lyrics to his personal theme song anywhere: “Oh fuck where’d he go?”

Hidden behind rows of pipes, Jazz counted his inhalations until the thuds of metal feet passed him by.

Was the alien invader from The Thing scared? If it had finished building its spaceship would the Thing really have tried to take over the world? Or was it just desperate to go home?

Jazz was panting. Or maybe hyperventilating. He made a conscious effort to pull air through his grit teeth at an even flow. Even though he couldn’t actively feel his human body, the dull droning dread pressed through the disconnect to whisper “You’re running out of time.”

He didn’t know how long he had left before his stupid flesh sack would start giving out, but he needed to be somewhere safe when it happened. He’d make it. He’d make it because he had to to make it. He was the best goddamn pilot in the entire program and that was for one reason and one reason alone: Failure Was Not A Motherfucking Option.

If his options were do it the hard way or not at all, then the hard way was what the world got.

Once the guards passed, Jazz slunk along the wall, reaching upside down to fry another security pad, only for the door to open automatically.

Risking it, Jazz peaked into the room and not seeing or hearing anyone, slipped inside.

Once the door slid shut behind him, Jazz lowered himself to the ground one handed, scanning the room more thoroughly.

More screens, inactive. A chair and a couch. Miscellaneous wall kibbling, a table, cabinets. Windows.

Jazz gasped.

Glowing clouds of light, layered like sheets stretching into infinity. Star clusters like paint splatters on black velvet.

White and amber. A haze of something pink.

Unconsciously, Jazz moved towards the window, until he could lightly tap his visor against the glass. His field of view consumed by galaxies.

Back when they first launched him into space, Jazz had come to terms with the let down that all he’d get to see was a black slate and maybe a couple dots. The space station didn’t have many windows to start with, and all his space walks took place when the sun was “out”, so Jazz never really got to see as much of the Milky Way as his inner child hoped.

Now, the child was quiet. Face pressed against the glass, Jazz felt his throat closing up.

At least I got this. Even if I’ve got a half life, I got to see the stars the way they were meant to be.

He hovered. Wanting to find a song to match this moment, but couldn’t find anything more fitting than his own breathing. The rush of blood in his ears was still loud, but a white noise that could substitute for silence.

Like a marble rolling off a table, Jazz felt his stomach drop a moment before his conscious mind could follow.

“It’s wonderful isn’t it?”

Jazz had his arm cocked back to turn the poor fuckers face into a plate but locked himself mid swing at the last second. The mech had lifted a tablet to protect himself, and the move was such a Bullied Nerd cliche it stopped Jazz cold.

Now that his heart rate was breaking highway speed limits again, the angry radio static that was his racing thoughts drowned out any coherent thoughts of what to say.

The mech peeked out from behind the tablet and wow. That’s a guy. That’s just a straight up dude. Prowl and Elita were bulky enough that Jazz could at least imagine where a pilot could sit. But this guy? He looked like the only thing he could throw out was his back. Jazz didn’t even know “elderly twink” was a look possible for a giant robot.

Mystery Codger was staring at him. Jazz still had a fist raised.

Do something say something do something say something you fucked up you fucked up either kill him or start lying just do anything brain please.

“Could you help me find my glasses?”

Jazz faltered. “Wu- What?”

The mech uncurled from his brief defensive huddle. “My glasses? Spectacles? Ah, object-sight-improve-positive?”

The pistons in his arm faintly hissed as the tension released.

Maybe-

As if this was all normal, the mech gently set the tablet on the table, before squatting and squinting at the floor.

Maybe I just have actual brain damage.

Acting on mental autopilot, Jazz took the opening to behave like a normal person. Crouching and scanning the floor for giant alien robot spectacles.

“My name is Rung by the way. I actually don’t think we’ve met previously.” Rung said that last bit with an odd inflection Jazz didn’t have the brain power to think about.

“Jazz. We definitely haven’t met.” He couldn’t quite keep the exhaustion from making that last bit come out snippy.

Rung simply hummed and continued his search. For his part, Jazz was taking the moment to center himself, preparing the best mask he could on short notice.

How long could he keep faking it? Prowl had been with him since he woke up and he didn’t show any signs of needing to sleep. They had doctors. Prowl cared enough about his “health” to take him to one. If Jazz collapsed in front of anyone, they’d drag his sorry ass back to the medbay and it’d be game over. He couldn’t just ask for a place to crash or else he ran the risk of tipping them off he wasn’t one of them if they really didn’t sleep.

A faint tapping sound made him twitch in his stupor.

“Now where could the blasted thing have gone.” Rung was sat crossed legged on the ground.

With Jazz. Who’d vaguely crumbled into a kneeling ball under a table.

Jazz stared at Rung tapping his glasses against his chin. The orange mech made eye contact, and Jazz swore to god he caught him smile.

He reached out a hand, pointing, “Found ‘em.”

The smile came to fruition. Rung aha-ed and held his glasses before himself, inspecting them fondly.

“All that trouble for such a small problem. And all I needed was to ask for help.”

Jazz let himself sag slightly against the wall. Dully thudding the back of his head. “Okay. I’ll cop that was a good trick.”

“It did pull you out of your spiral didn’t it?” Rung said sounding way too smug. He pulled a cloth out from where-ever-the-fuck and cleaned his glasses with it.

He’d been seeing these mechs pull out and disappear objects all day like a bunch of Looney Toons characters. That kind of lapse in logic didn’t bode well for Jazz’s mental condition.

He let his eyes close, rationing his remaining focus.

“How’d you know that’d work?” He mumbled.

“You seemed afraid. You stalled out when you saw I was afraid.” Rung simply stated before he then asked rhetorically, “You’re a protector aren’t you?”

Jazz made a noncommittal sound. Lying was his first impulse, but he really didn’t feel like giving this guy more material to hook him with.

The mech laughed once anyways, “You are. Unorthodox too. I can see why you have such a hold over Prowl.”

That got his attention, “I do?”

“Oh yes.” He heard Rung shift into a more comfortable position on the floor. “Even if he can’t recognize the feeling anymore, I think you give him hope.”

Jazz wanted to laugh and he would if he had the energy.

Instead Jazz sighed. “I’m kinda at rock bottom right now man. And currently? Lil bit fresh outta hope myself.”

And ideas.

Jazz was of the opinion that any problem was solvable if you were willing to get crazy enough, but this was like trying to solve treading water a million miles from shore with only sharks for company. He either drown slowly or get torn apart the moment the sharks realized he was there.

“Hopeless mechs don’t stop to stare at the stars in wonder, Jazz.” When he opened his eyes, Jazz saw Rung staring him down like he was insulted. “To be hopeless is to let yourself die. Do you intend to die today?”

“No.” He challenged back, body minutely tensing.

“Are you willing to do absolutely anything to keep living?” Rung poked him in the chest.

“Yes.” He responded just as quickly, but there was a rasp to his voice. Something small and quiet. Not easily caught. Not easily killed.

“Even ask for help?” Rung quirked his head at him, shit eating grin growing by the second.

Jazz deflated, groaning loud enough for his mecha’s speakers to vibrate his bones.

“Look, I appreciate the therapy session doc, but asking for help is legitimately not an option for me right now.”

Rung leaned forward, resting his chin on a servo, “Alright then. List your current alternative options that you alone can accomplish, devoid of any assistance whatsoever.”

Jazz didn’t respond.

The silence continued to linger.

“Go on.” Rung gestured.

Cornered, Jazz could feel his horns pin back and a burning sensation in his eyes. He rubbed a hand over his visor even though it didn’t actually help.

“Where’s Prowl?”

Rung chuckled, victorious. The scrawny orange mech scooted out from under the table and stood, offering a servo to Jazz to do the same.

The brief rest left Jazz jelly limbed, which was evidently bad enough to translate to a faint tremble in his mecha. Despite that, Jazz didn’t take Rungs hand because there’s no way in hell that guy could support him if he fell. Elita’s threat over harming her crew was still fresh and shiny in his mind.

“You’ll find his office down that way.” Rung pointed out the direction. “Down the hall, turn left at the first junction, pass by two more doors, turn right at that junction and then keep walking until you reach the end of the hall. His office isn’t labeled but I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

Rung opened the door and then took a seat in the chair next to the couch. “I’d offer to have Prowl come to meet you here, but I have another appointment coming up shortly.”

Oh uh. He actually is a therapist.

Jazz laughed humorlessly, “Why not invite them to join the party? Make it a group session.”

Avoiding eye contact, Rung fiddled with a stylus, “Ah, that would not do I’m afraid. My next patient recently figured out how to “bite” people by quickly jabbing his helm forward and I’d rather that not be your first encounter with him.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Jazz simply nodded numbly.

He paused at the doorway, running the directions through his head again, before turning back slightly. “Hey Rung? Thanks.”

“It’s Rung, and you’re… welcome?” The mech trailed off, looking at Jazz with surprise as the door slid shut behind him.

Walking away, Jazz got about thirty feet before realizing he couldn’t turn his head too quickly or else he’d start seeing double. Feeling the countdown drop into double digits, Jazz hurried along Rungs path.

And nearly crashed into another mech.

It had a head like an old school security camera, a single yellow camera lense cycling down to a pinprick at his appearance. The chassis was crazy long and pointed. Out of habit, Jazz tried mapping out what the interior would look like. The pilot seat would need to be horizontal but it was pretty doable. The limbs were definitely on the skinny side but sharp and fast looking. Bonus points for what was definitely front mounted guns.

All in all, solid design. 7/10.

“Hey.” The mech rasped.

Oh fuck right, Alien.

“Sup.” Jazz replied eloquently.

The camera lense eye loosed, upgrading to a coin sized pupil and clearly looking him over.

“Empurata?” The mech said casually pointing to his legs and visor.

“Uh, sure.” Jazz shrugged.

“Same.” Nodded camera-head.

“Cool.”

The two of them awkwardly stood in the hall. Camera-head seemed content to block traffic and Jazz was mentally banging rocks together in hopes of getting a spark of intelligent thought.

“Can I peel off your visor with a knife?”

The mech held a dagger pinched between its crab claws and Jazz had to bite his tongue not to ask why it didn’t just use those.

Instead, the brain rocks came through.

“Rung lost his glasses.” Jazz threw up a thumb, gesturing over his shoulder. “Needs help. Now.”

Good job brain rocks.

“What? He does?” The mechs head popped up like some kind of fucked up goose, before shoving past Jazz, knocking him into the wall.

“HOLD ON DOC I’M COMING!”

The mech folded inside out into a mother fucking helicopter?! Charging down the hall in a whirlwind so strong Jazz could feel it through his mecha.

Jazz counted to five, and crawled back up into the safety of the ceiling pipes.

He blinks, and he’s staring down another hall. Left turn, two doors, right turn. . . Wait. Was that a right or left he just did? He’s upside down so everything should be reversed right?

He doesn’t remember blinking but the hall is at a different angle. New hall? Or did he just turn his head?

Jazz wants to press the heels of his palms into his eyes until everything holds still but he can’t. So he keeps moving. Keeps hiding.

And then he sees the most beautiful goddamn mech in the universe marching down the hall. Followed by half a dozen substantially less impressive mechs with guns drawn.

Stilling, Jazz remained hidden behind the pipes. Evidently alien robots had the same peripheral blindness to ceilings that human security guards did, as none of them noticed him.

Except for Prowl.

Through the gaps, Jazz watched as Prowl gave rapid fire orders to the armed soldiers behind him. Six mechs. Six guns. Three too many for Jazz to take in his current state. Prowl went silent and his wings twitched. Shivering, Jazz got the deeply uncanny sense he was being intimately observed.

The lights were ringing in a tinnitus B flat. He had the audio feed from his mecha dialed way too high but he couldn’t afford to miss any detail of what would happen next.

Whatever Prowl was said next, it must have been in his native language. Which Jazz found deeply unfair after all the work he’d put into learning Common.

The black and white mech turned to his cohort, waving them down the hall ahead of them. Prowl did not follow, wings still minutely shifting position. Once they were out of sight, Prowl turned on his heel back the way he came. Flicking a single piercing look to Jazz.

Silently. Shakily. Jazz skulked along the shadows after him.

He mental map was fucked. Every time he blinked, Jazz lost track of the most recent few seconds of his life. If Prowl wasn’t stopping every fifty feet to not-so-subtly check that Jazz was still following him, the human didn’t know where he’d end up.

Finally, Prowl reached a door at the end of a hall and entered without any delay. Jazz dropped, moving inside before the door could close again.

“Please don’t freak out.” Jazz cut him off before Prowl could set the tone of this conversation. The mech closed his mouth and after a moment’s consideration, assumed a tense but mostly neutral stance.

“I will not ‘freak out’.” Prowl looked like wanted to say more, but Jazz couldn’t afford that right now.

“Awesome! Because right now I’m freaking out and I won’t be able to keep it together if you start freaking out too.” He was pacing back and forth, not really seeing the mech beside him anymore. “.”

“Jazz.” A servo caught his elbow, stopping him in place. “Where have you been?”

“Oh you know. Here. There. Ceiling mostly. Shockingly unrelated, but I think a talking helicopter wants to wear my face as a hat.” Jazz nodded way too enthusiastically in a manner he hoped translated into an appropriately manic “Please god help me.” grit toothed grin.

Prowl was momentarily speechless before physically shaking off the latest deluge of confusion, “That sounds like Whirl. You would not have encountered them had you stayed in the med bay like you were supposed to. Now I’m asking you again: What are you doing and why are you doing it?”

Audibly cracking, Jazz tried to answer honestly but found his voice locked up. He couldn’t, why couldn’t he..? Why was talking suddenly so fucking hard?

Meanwhile, Prowl just looked defeated. He rubbed that spot between his eyes, not yet letting him go.

“If you cannot provide a reasonable explanation for your sudden shift in behavior, I will have to assume the worst. You leave me no choice but to-“

“I’M REALLY SHORT.” Great. Fantastic. Incredible work brain. Take five.

Prowls optics flickered. Brow furrowing as he looked up at Jazz’s clearly taller mecha.

“That’s not- I mean-.” Jazz clasped his head in his hands, switching back to English. “{I- I- don’t know if this is even real.}”

Something was gripping his arms. Black and white appeared in his vision. “Jazz, please. I can’t help you if I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Common was easy to learn but right now it felt like Jazz was playing Scrabble with a bad hand.

“Prowl, where do you go when you- when you change-body-shape?” He had to stop to breath midway.

Please, please, please this is the last chance for anything to make sense.

But instead the mech slowly shook his head in disbelief, “Where do I..? Nowhere Jazz, it’s still me, I’m not ‘going’ anywhere. My alt form is not a different person.”

The mech gently pulled Jazz’s hands off his head from where he’d been stressing the damage from earlier. “I understand if you’ve never seen an alt mode before but your behavior, your questions, they’re not making any sense.”

Prowl stopped. Optics going wide as placed his servos on Jazz’s wrists. “Jazz are you Crashing?!”

“What? What is that what you call a mental breakdown? Cause yeah I’m having one of those.” He said a little too breathlessly.

“Sit-“ Prowl pulled him down to the floor. “Sit down. I’m calling for a medic.”

“No!” Desperately, Jazz grabbed onto Prowl who was helpless but to join him on the floor. The floodgates opened and Jazz couldn’t stop.

“No no no no, please god no. They’re gonna find out. I need to to tell you. I need to tell you myself. Just, please I’m begging you don’t do it. Give me a chance. Just give me a chance to explain, I don’t want to wake up on a table, please Prowler.”

For his part, Prowl was handling the situation as well as to be expected. He didn’t try to leave again but did get into a more comfortable kneeling position next to the panicking mecha.

“Alright. Alright, I won’t leave. Speak.”

Jazz tried tapping an alternating rhythm on the floor, giving himself literally anything else to focus on. He swallowed back bile and his thrashing fight or flight instincts.

“I’m not-“ Jazz grit his teeth. Telling the truth felt like trying to pop a dislocation back into place. Actually no. Jazz had done that before and it had felt infinitely less unnatural than what he was trying to do now.

Prowl was patient. Bless his heart, motor, whatever he’s got in there. Remaining silent beside him.

The pilot forced himself to take complete breaths, “l. Am not. The same. As you.” One, one two, one two, one two, Jazz counted in time.

“I noticed.” Prowl stated flatly, then softening his expression, “You hadn’t realized you were an alien until now, didn’t you?”

Jazz laughed a little too hysterically, “No, no I Fraggin’ did not. Please don’t freak out.”

“Jazz, you are hardly the first alien species I’ve ever encountered. At least you actually look like a person.”

The pilot got very, very quiet.

“Prowl, what do you think of organics.” Resolutely, Jazz stared down the floor panels, refusing to look anywhere else.

Momentarily, Prowl opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. He shifted to kneel in front of Jazz. Sharp optics darting across his frame. Lightly, Jazz could feel him trace something along his undamaged shoulder. He shivered against his will.

“Jazz.” Prowl got down to where he had to look at him. He spoke so, so softly, “Were you created by organics?”

Well, when a mommy human and a daddy human love each other very much…

“You could say that.” Jazz rasped instead.

He hadn’t even moved, but the energy in the air just went burning cold. Prowl went from soft to deathly serious so fast Jazz visibly flinched.

“Listen to me. You do not have to go back. You do not ever have to go back. I swear on everything I stand for I will not let another one of those things anywhere near you again.” Unintentionally, Prowl was crowding into his space.

Despite himself, Jazz just kept drawing himself in smaller and smaller as Prowl closed in.

“No no no no you don’t get it, that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I am!” He started quiet and steadily grew in volume.

Prowl wasn’t getting it. Instead, raising his voice to match, “No you are wrong! You have a choice now! You aren’t just your function and you aren’t just something they made to die!”

He grabbed Prowl by the shoulders, shaking him, “I DID CHOSE THIS. I KNOW I’M GONNA DIE, BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M FUCKING TALKING ABOUT.”

“Then what ARE you talking about?!” He shouted back.

“I’M ONE OF THEM.” His microphone peaked, and his voice broke.

The quiet hurt. Anything that wasn’t numb hurt. He gulped down air and couldn’t keep more than one eyelid up at a time.

Prowl ground his jaw tightly, practically steaming from reeling back a sense of calm by force, “You are not shorter than me. You are not thinking straight. And You. Are not. An organic.”

Jazz only semi involuntarily rolled his eyes.

“Fuck it.”

He disconnected, and everything hit at once.

Vision went and came back out of focus and way too close. His ears were ringing too badly to hear the sound of his mecha’s chest plates opening, though he knew that they were.

Every fiber of muscle in his body was torn and screaming, he’d throw up later if he had the strength. Jazz did not so much stand as he did lift off the pilot seat and then buckle forward. The hard shell of his pilot suit saved his knee from getting gouged by the corner of the platform he was slipping off of.

That’s fine. He’d land on the steps.

Except, his mecha had been leaning forward hadn’t it?

Like a rag doll, over the edge he went. A huge and blurry and black shape rushing to meet him.

———————————————————————

Is Jazz capable of telling the truth when it’s to save his life? No.

Will he do it out of spite just to prove someone wrong? Yes.

Also, secret props to @somerandomcockroach for showing how fun Rung is to write.

Bonus bit, Prowl finally let his EM field loose far enough for Jazz to notice! It was bad.

-SSTP

#tf mecha universe #writing

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