#second affection verse

[bawkesfullofmuses]

@saintlydesired "Curiosity is such a strange thing, Ms. Is it really 'fun'?" A pause, before the deity smiles slightly. "Pardon. I overheard your earlier statement." (Modernia / Marian)

"It is always good to be curious as i have learned so much from the godesss from doing so "

Strange as this woman was , she didnt see the harm indulging in such desires.

"And you have heard me my my, are you perhaps interested in hearing more?"

Perhaps a part of repunzel did rub off on her, for she was taught many many things and with it so many desires she was rather curious on.

[juliareed]

There is a lighthouse In the middle of the deep And I'm still stranded on the shoreline there And nobody hears me scream

[kinglindwyrm]

wip lineup of my ocs who exist in the same world... if u remember stefan and baolin u deserve a seniors discount to this blog. im always happy to get asks and questions about them if u have any^_^

[troublcmakcrs]

//very excited to be done with adult tweek bc now i can properly brainrot about metro

[orangetintedglasses]

There was always more to learn about people, even folks you thought you knew inside and out-- that's what his century and a half's worth of experience could tell you. It wasn't always for the better, but sometimes it was. Sometimes it managed to be something that cultivated a deeper understanding, and the bond would be all the better for it.

Most times, though, it... wasn't. But he shook that off with a thoughtful hum, turning on his heel to face him, walking backwards down the path.

"That's kind of a tough one..." he tapped his finger against his chin, gaze hovering somewhere around their feet. "I did spend a lot of time up here, but back when I was a kid, it wasn't as lush as this."

A vague, sweeping gesture, motioning to all of the greenery around. The brush, the flowers and trees... none of that had been around, back then, not in the same kind of quantities it was now.

"So, when I wasn't helping here, I was down below with all of the Dependents. Talking to them, making sure their needs were met... that was where I liked to be. I was useful."

... what had he JUST decided a second ago? Vash blinked, and quickly shook his head, clearing the wistful shadows from his eyes.

"B-but, uh, w-what about you? If someone had to find you back then, where were some of the places they should've been looking?"

"Me..?" Wolfwood responds, dumbfounded, as if he hadn't expected an equal exchange for learning about Vash. Vash has... what, a century and a half of experiences behind him? Wolfwood only has... 24 years' worth, and most of those were spent in a cage. What the hell is there to get to know about him? "Uh, sure. I can do that. S'not like there are any big secrets for you to find anymore. I'm all outta tricks." He chuckles, then tosses his sucker stick into a nearby garbage before doing a short jog to catch up. Well, he thinks Vash knows the big deal secrets anyway. Wolfwood doubts that the blond is going to want to learn about any jobs he's done in the past, so that can go to the wayside.

It's kind of funny (pathetic, his mind supplies) how clingy he's gotten since finding Vash again. You'd think after what Knives did to them both he'd do the smart thing and start his life over after all of that business—but... Vash is a special case. He's... a friend. A partner. And... well... maybe not just for working or defending each other, maybe it's...

"Alright, small stuff. Hrm," Wolfwood thinks, also turning his gaze to the sky, "Did you spend a lot of time in this room as a kid? Or is there somewhere you liked even more than this on the ship?"

[syxnewt]

I think what really changed my brain chemistry is when I wrote a poem about an abusive relationship and my mother expressed sympathy for the abuser

[awkwardcourage]

69. for an affectionate starter . - accepting

Hughie had no idea what flowers @timerevolt would like. In the brief time they've spent together, he couldn't remember them talking about flowers once. So he went for something safe, avoided lilies (because he'd learned the hard way that they're funeral flowers) and settled on something safe. Dusky pink and cream roses.

"I don't know if you like flowers, but..." He grinned sheepishly, holding them out for Lulu to take, hoping desperately that she will.

[sinofwriting]

The One With All The Hand Holding - Max Verstappen (I ❤️ MILFS VERSE)

Words: 1,120 Summary: The one with all the hand holding. (part of the I ❤️ MILFS verse)

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

Logan, Pan and Max have an order of things. Pan is always in the middle of them. Not because she needs to mediate or because Max and Logan don’t like each other. She’s in the middle because it means that they both can hold her hand.

Both of her boys are clingy, Logan is a momma’s boy, maybe the biggest one to ever exist and she’s been told she indulges him too much but how she can pull her hand away from him when he grasps it. Especially when she still remembers when her hand enveloped his instead of the other way around. And Max, Max is touch starved. He grasps her hand, any part of her he can, and never let's go until he absolutely has to. There’s only been a few people in his life that have only ever touched him with kindness. And the list of them is surprising until you really think about it.

So, they have an order. Logan on her left and Max on her right. Both of them holding her hands, sometimes making her arms swing.

That order has only been messed up one time:

Max smiles, eyes crinkling as he watches Logan immediately grabs her hand, it makes him want to ruffle his hair, but he knew that Logan had fretted over his this morning, so he doesn’t, instead reaching for Pan’s other hand only to freeze as he feels a piece of warm jewelry on her ring finger and he quickly drops it.

He barely hears the confused noise she makes as he moves, hands grasping at Logan’s shoulders as he tugs him away and puts him on the correct side of Pan, waiting to see Logan reach for her hand before he grabs her other. Feeling at ease when he doesn’t feel a ring.

“You okay?” Max feels his cheeks turn a little pink at the question, her small smile, and both of their concerned looks. “Yeah, just was on the wrong side. I could feel your ring.” The concern fades to such a fond look at his answer and Logan lets out a small laugh. “I thought something felt weird.” Pan sighs, shaking her head, but she still looks unbelievably fond. “So picky, my boys.”

—

Logan watches as Max presses a kiss to the side of his mom’s head, his arm falling away from her shoulders when he pulls back. It makes him smile, the easy affection between the two. His eyes fall lower looking at their hands that are brushing against each other but fingers not yet intertwining and a mischievous grin takes over his face as he sees a few photographers. A bit of nerves threatens to stop him, but he quickly catches up to them.

“Hi Momma, Hi Max.” he greets before putting himself in between them, his hand instantly grasping his mom’s as the two greet him. He smiles at his mom before looking at Max, eyes dropping to his hand and he sticks his own out a bit, fingers grasping at Max’s. He waits for Max to laugh, pull his hand away quickly, shove Logan gently, but instead Max beams, taking Logan’s hand in his own.

“How you feeling?” “Uh,” His brain is struggling to process Max holding his hand, holding his hand in public, with photographers around. “I’m okay. You?” Max squeezes his hand, “Well, I’ve got my girlfriend and kid. I think I’m doing good.”

—

In the year Pan and Max have officially been together, Max has learned lots about Pan and Logan respectively. Pan doesn’t take care of herself, never thinks of herself as a priority. Logan is anxious, it’s mainly low level anxiety, but sometimes it spikes and when it does, he picks at his skin. Mainly the thin skin on his knuckles or at the inside of his wrist.

Pan has a radar for it, always pulling one of Logan’s hands into hers or handing him something to fiddle with, but Pan’s sick. Back at their hotel room no matter how much she protested and said she was fine, Max had put his foot down, especially seeing how worried Logan was every time she coughed, which was every few seconds, so she relented and Max can only hope she’s actually resting and not putting together new food sheets.

But Max is also wondering if he should’ve let her come, because Logan is so clearly anxious he’s afraid the journalists are going to notice. His lips are bitten quite a bit and his eyes are constantly moving and Max knows that it has to do with Pan being sick, but it also has to do with one of the more nosey journalists being here, poised to start asking questions as he, Logan, Charles, Zhou, and George sit on the large sofa for the drivers press conference.

As they begin to open up to the floor for questions, Max catches from the corner of his eyes Logan’s dominant thumb and pointer finger go to his opposite wrist and he quickly intercepts it, taking his closest hand in his. Logan startles a bit at the touch but sends Max a thankful smile.

Max glances around but no one has seemed to notice other than Charles who gives a small chuckle, scooting a bit closer so he can lean in since Max is more or less unable to. “Such a softy.” Max rolls his eyes. “As if you could say no.” The other driver glances over at Logan, his expression softening a bit. “No, I suppose not.” He sighs. “I never thought my first nephew would be from you.” “Arthur, right?” Charles scoffs, the two ignoring the journalist that has started to speak, just pausing to see if the question is directed at either one of them before continuing. “Of course Arthur. My maman is both relieved he has not come home telling her he is to be a father and also disappointed.” “Time for you to step up?” He shakes his head, lowering his voice a bit more. “Lorenzo is getting the heat. Family dinners have turned quite entertaining, after all I gave her Leo, which is acceptable, but Lorenzo.” He clicks his tongue shrugging, “she’s starting to think he doesn’t know what he is doing.” Max can’t help the laugh that escapes him as Charles grins, laughing himself.

A few of the journalists look at them, but George is still speaking so they continue to ignore them. “Maybe he still wants to practice.” “Well, he needs to get out of practice. He’s been doing practice for nearly twenty years. It’s nice and all, but it doesn’t beat that,” and he gestures to Max holding Logan’s hand. “No,” Max smiles. “It doesn’t.”

[ace-no-isha]

i use the word god very often for someone who doesn’t believe in a merciful god lmao

[marauroon]

Hellooo! Marauders are taking over my heart my body and my life as well so could I maybe request a fic with James (or poly!marauders whatever you like) with a reader who is avoidant of relationships so once they realize they are loved they try to run away but James wont let her go and patiently convinces her to give them a chance? Thank you so much!

S E L F - S A B O T A G E — POLY MARAUDERS!

poly!marauders x fem!reader | h/c | 4.0k | masterlist!!

the marauders had thrown their hearts at you like it was effortless. and you just couldn’t return the gesture.

cw— relationship avoidant reader, mild miscommunication, mini argument, reader gets anxious and overwhelmed

a/n— thanks for the request ml, this one may require a part two <3

When exactly did it start? All four of you could give a different answer.

Sirius wagers it was the first potions class of fifth year, where you’d been unceremoniously wedged in between him and James as a part of a stupid boy-girl seating plan to stop ‘distractions’.

It didn’t work evidently, and James had managed to talk your ear off almost every lesson since, a familiar glint in his eye that Sirius knew all too well.

Remus would say it was closer to the end of that same year, when they’d somehow managed to invade your table in the library to study for their OWLs and Sirius had managed to get distracted—and distract you—within ten minutes of sitting down, spending almost a whole hour talking at you before Remus had to step in to make sure you both got an ample amount of revision done.

James would probably argue it was the first time the three actually spoke to you, finalised in the way that Remus looked at you as you slid a healing balm across the desk for his increasingly scarred hands with only a mutter that they “looked like they hurt,”.

And you? Well…

You’re not exactly sure.

It was so gradual yet so sudden and now you’re walking down the hallways with three borderline guard dogs at your tail like they’ve collectively decided you were a part of their pack.

And you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

It was endearing to a point, a genuine, unconditional affection shared between the three boys and spread onto you with no request for yours in return, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel almost suffocating.

You were almost constantly in the presence of at least one of the boys, languidly smothering you in unbridled affection like it was second nature to them.

Whether it was Remus slipping you notes for classes you weren’t paying attention in, Sirius insisting on carrying your bag down the hallways, or James sneaking compliments into every sentence he spoke to you, the casual fondness they showed you was never-ending.

And if you were being honest, it was beginning to be a bit too much.

“Here, love,” James passes you a pitcher over Sirius’ breakfast. “You’ll dry out your throat, we need that pretty voice in tact ready for the match later,”

You take the pitcher from him with a raised eyebrow, hoping your fluster isn’t too apparent in your tone. “the… match?”

“The Quidditch match doll,” Sirius takes it upon himself to pour your drink for you, taking the pitcher from your hands like you’ll shatter if he’s not careful enough. “We’re versing Slytherin, it’ll be a sight for sure,”

Oh.

Right.

“Damn right, I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when we take the cup for the fifth year in a row,” James hits Sirius’ arm lightly in his enthusiasm, stealing a slice of toast from his plate. “You are coming right?” James blinks at you slowly, honey-brown eyes big and round, like he’s silently trying to hypnotise you into agreeing with him.

“I- yeah,” You give him a half-stunted nod, letting your words speak before you can make up your mind and ultimately pull out of it. “yeah…”

“Excellent,” James clasps his hands together with a satisfied nod. “I’ll dig out a spare jersey for you,”

“Who said she was wearing your name?” Sirius turns to him with a raised eyebrow, and it starts a lighthearted debate that you quickly tune out in favour of the dull ringing in your ears.

The way they were talking made everything sound so final, so… concrete. Like you’d just completely melded into their routine through no input of your own.

“You don’t have to,” There’s a soft nudge against your left side, joined by what’s almost a whisper from Remus. “I don’t go to all of them,”

He’s giving you an out. Or at least trying to. You know that if you suddenly pull out of wanting to go that James and Sirius’d be disappointed, even if they pretend that they’re not.

“It’s alright..” You shake your head with a small smile, attempting to reassure both Remus—and yourself—that you really do want to watch the boys play.

James wins his and Sirius’ debate apparently, and a few hours before the match is due to start he hands you a folded up Quidditch jersey with a smile etched onto his face.

“Here you are m’love, look forward to seeing you in it later,” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, winking as he pulls away. “Gotta run for some last minute practice, wish me luck,”

“Good luck…” your hands curl in around the jumper almost instinctually as you stand stationary watching James run out of the common room waving in your direction, and once he’s out of sight your eyes drop to the clothing in your arms.

You hold it up to let it unfold, signature red and gold stripes adorning the fabric and a large embroidered ‘POTTER’ covering the back where it’d meet your shoulder blades.

Well, James’ shoulder blades. It would probably cover most of your upper back.

You spend the next hour staring at it in your dorm room, left draped over the end of your bed as you internally fought with yourself over whether you should actually put it on.

It was taunting you the way the gold embroidery thread caught the overheard lighting, forcing your focus towards the surname like an ultimatum.

If you put on that jumper, you were committing yourself to whatever you’d been thrust into.

And the thought made you almost physically nauseous.

It was like the boys had handed you their hearts on a silver platter, expecting you to shield them inside your ribcage, nestled against your own until they stop beating.

Like they were giving themselves to you wholely, nothing left behind until it was piled up so high that you couldn’t dig yourself out of the iron hold they’d captured you in no matter how much you tried, slowly asphyxiating yourself under the ever constricting grasp of the cage they’d trapped you in until you turned blue.

It terrified you.

You didn’t go to the Quidditch game.

God knows if you did it would end in nothing less than tears, if not you literally collapsing from hyperventilating at the first sight of any of the three of them.

Instead, you burrowed yourself underneath your satin sheets to seek a dull solace, no comfort found in the way you curled in on yourself, but no growing anxiety either.

You knew you’d have to leave it eventually, face the three boys and force out an excuse whilst desperately hoping they didn’t see just how horrifically anxious they made you.

It was horrible really, they’d done nothing but extend their kindest hands to you, treat you like you painted the stars in the sky and gifted them the oxygen they breathed.

And here you were, dreading the thought of so much as glancing at their blissfully oblivious faces.

“Sweetheart,” Marlene enters the dorm almost cautiously as she edges the door open, still clad in her full quidditch gear, sweat glistening against her forehead. “The boys are outside for you,”

“I’m not here,” You muffle your words into your duvet as you pull it up and over your head, and you can’t faintly hear Marlene sigh as she treads over and pulls you from your cocoon of self pity through dragging the quilt out of your hands.

She raises her eyebrow down at you questioning it, but you can see the concern swirling in her irises.

“Just tell them I’m asleep?” You furrow your eyebrows in silent pleading, echoed through your words as you exhale heavily. “Please?”

Shes clearly not very happy with your request, but she bites her tongue and gives you a small nod anyway, brushing stray hairs from your forehead with a sigh. “Whatever this is about, you should talk to them,”

“Yes mum,” You roll your eyes with a feigned sigh of indignation, pulling the duvet back up underneath your chin.

As she turns to leave, expression a mix of exasperation and amusement, you catch the jersey draped against your bed-post in the corner of your eye.

“Marls,” You point to it almost pathetically. “I really don’t want to face them right now,”

She practically snatches the jumper from the end of your bed with an almost scolding expression, and you flash her a guilty but grateful smile.

“I love you,”

“My love for you is dwindling,” She throws the jumper over her arm with an over-dramatised exhale, but she shoots you a flying kiss across the room nonetheless, and it leaves you with a small smile as the door clicks shut.

Although it doesn’t last very long.

You’d given her the jumper to return for you because you didn’t even want to consider what James’ face would look like when he got it back.

But of course your mind pictured it anyway.

The way his hazel eyes would pool first in disappointment before slowly turning to worry, a small, almost imperceptible frown pulling at the corners of his lips and his eyebrows furrowed just enough that it caused a line to form above the bridge of his nose.

You honestly didn’t know if you seeing it in real life or the picture your brain had unceremoniously forced onto you was worse, but what you did know was that you could not face him now.

The minute that boy saw you—any of them really—you knew that the impending conversation that followed was going to be one you didn’t want to have.

You jinxed yourself pretty hard with that prediction.

You’d managed to avoid the three at breakfast the next morning to no credit of your own, slept in so late after running your mind into the ground the night before you’d basically missed the whole thing, but you didn’t even make it down the hallway towards your first lesson before a pair of running feet crescendo’d in your direction.

“Hey—”

Shit.

“Sirius, morning,” You stop dead in the middle of the hallway, most definitely to the begrudgement of the rest of the students trying to get to class; And whilst you regret it almost immediately, Sirius doesn’t have a care in the world for diverting the foot traffic, concern written in the way his eyebrows knit together as his attention stays devoted to you.

“Are you okay? You didn’t make it to the match yesterday, we were worried about you,” His tone conveys less disappointment that you didn’t go and more genuine concern that something might’ve happened or gone wrong.

“Yeah, sorry,” You reply half awkwardly, fiddling absentmindedly with the cuffs of your sleeves. “I’m alright though,” You echo the end of your sentence with a nod, lips pressed together in a line, a mimicry of a smile.

“You’re sure?” He reaches out his hand to press the back of it against your forehead. “Because if you’re ill Moony’s got a bunch of stuff from Madame Pomfrey, I’m sure something’ll—”

“I’m fine, Sirius,” You don’t let him finish his sentence before you’re gently pulling his hand away from your face and back down to his side. “You really don’t have to worry, I just fell asleep,”

“Alright,” He most definitely picks up on the traces of defensiveness in your tone as he takes a step backwards to give you a little more personal space, and you’d have half the mind to feel guilty if you weren’t so constantly overwhelmed by him and the others.

“I’ll uh,” He presses his lips together half-awkwardly. “Let you get to class then,”

“Don’t you have potions?” It’s genuine curiosity, edged with a small amount of concern that Sirius’ll be late for his own class now that he’s followed you half way to yours. On the opposite side of the castle.

“Yeah, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first,” Sirius gives you a small smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Let me walk you?”

You shake your head slowly, gently pushing on his shoulder. “Go to your own class, Sirius,”

He lingers for a moment before turning to head back in the direction he came from, leaving you with a mix of relief and lingering guilt.

__

Your day is largely uneventful until lunch, the smell of parchment still lingering in your nose as you wander out towards the courtyard instead of joining your friends in the great hall.

You knew they’d be there. Of course they’d be there.

And after this morning with Sirius, which he’d definitely told the other two about, you were finding yourself wanting to be in their presence even less.

So you take your lunch to the courtyard instead, settling on a bench farthest from the entrance to avoid any potential encounter. The peace is short-lived, however, as you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

“Thought you might be out here,” James' voice is gentle, his expression a mix of concern and relief as he takes a seat next to you.

You tense up, trying to muster a smile but failing. “Hey, James.”

“Hey,” he echoes, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. “You missed breakfast this morning.”

“Yeah, I—“ You search for an excuse, but nothing comes to mind. “I wasn't really hungry.”

James nods slowly, as if he's trying to decode the underlying meaning behind your words. “Is everything alright? You seemed a bit off yesterday.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the anxiety bubble up in your chest. “I'm fine, really. Just needed some time to myself.”

“Time to yourself?” James repeats, his tone soft but probing. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

You wanted to curse James Potter sometimes.

How could he be so confident in himself that he could throw his heart at you with no fear of it shattering in your palms?

How could he be so sweet yet so painfully ignorant?

“If this is about you missing the quidditch match yesterday, Sirius and I aren’t—”

“It’s not about the quidditch match James,” You cut him off with a sigh. “Or— It is, but it’s not just about that—”

You stand to release yourself from James’ proximity.

“James, it's everything.” you finally admit, unable to hold back any longer. “I cant so much as breathe without one of you attached to my hip and I can’t do it anymore—”

James' face falls, the concern in his eyes deepening. “We're just trying to show you we care, but if it's too much, we can give you space.”

“It's not just space,” you say, your voice trembling. “It's... even thinking about you three is suffocating me...”

James's face contorts in confusion and a touch of hurt, but he quickly masks it with a forced understanding. "I... didn't realize it was that bad," he says quietly, his usual confident demeanor faltering for the first time in your memory.

You swallow hard, guilt gnawing at your insides, but you can’t take back what you’ve said. You don’t want to. It’s been building inside you for too long—the overwhelming presence of James, Sirius, and Remus in your life. They were everywhere, all the time, and while their company had almost become a comfort, it quickly spiralled into a cage.

“I’m sorry, James. I know you all mean well, but it’s just… too much,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, though the motion seems more for his benefit than yours, as if he’s trying to force himself to understand. “I get it,” he says, though you can tell he really doesn’t. “I guess I never thought about how it might feel from your side. We just… we wanted to make sure you really felt like one of us,”

The way he says "one of us" stings, a reminder of how you were a part of their tight-knit group—no, how they had made you a part of it, pulling you in whether you liked it or not.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You hadn’t really been given a choice. You had been absorbed into their world, expected to fit perfectly into the space they had carved out for you, without ever considering whether you wanted to be there in the first place.

“I know you didn’t mean any harm,” you say, trying to soften the blow. “But I need to figure out how I feel without… without you all hovering over me all the time.”

James winces at that, and you can see the pain in his eyes. “We never meant to make you feel like that,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought… We— thought, you… We were trying to prove how much we care…”

The tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over, but you blink them away. “I don’t need you to prove anything, James. I need to breathe.”

He looks down at his hands, clasped tightly together in his lap. “If that’s what you need, then we’ll give it to you,” he says finally, though his voice is tinged with reluctance. “We can give you space, we can— leave you alone if that’s what you need. We can wait until you’re ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

James doesn’t really know how to respond to that.

“I— Why wouldn’t you ever be ready..?”

“I don’t know if I can do this, James,” It hurts, coming out of your mouth, echoing back into your ears. But it’s true.

“I— I know being with three people at once can be overwhelming but—”

“It’s not that James,” You shake your head with an almost imperceptible sigh. “I don’t think I’d even be able to date one of you without being overwhelmed,”

James’s eyes widen in surprise, his expression shifting from hurt to confusion. “Are you saying... you don’t want to be with any of us?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken fears and regrets. You glance away, struggling to find the right words to convey the complexity of your feelings.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you,” you say slowly, trying to articulate the intricate emotions swirling inside you. “But I can’t… give myself to you, I can’t— hand you three my heart on a silver platter like you did to me. I just can’t.”

James's expression shifts from confusion to a mixture of frustration and sadness. He clearly hadn’t expected this level of honesty.

“I get that you’re overwhelmed,” he says, his voice quiet but determined. “But can you give us a chance to show you that we can handle it? That we can adjust and give you what you need without pushing too hard?”

You meet his gaze, seeing the earnestness and vulnerability in his eyes. It’s clear he’s invested in making this work, not just for himself but for all three of them. You can see him struggling to reconcile his own desires with your need for space and clarity.

“It’s not just about trying, James,” you reply, feeling the weight of your words. “It’s about whether or not I’m ready to be a part of this—whatever this is. And right now, I don’t even know what I want, let alone if I can handle being part of something with all three of you.”

James nods, absorbing your words. “I understand that you need time. But maybe instead of pushing you away entirely, we could find a middle ground. We could— take things slower, give you room to breathe while still being here for you in a less overwhelming way. If you don’t want us all together then… maybe it’s just one of us you’d be open to starting with? Even if it’s just as friends—”

Your heart softens a bit at his suggestion. The idea of easing into something less intense seems more manageable, though it still doesn’t completely resolve your concerns.

“You can get to know us properly— as people, and let us show you why we care about you.” There’s a hint of desperation in his tone, one that’s mirrored in his irises, swirling in his gaze amidst the sunlight reflecting off of his pupils. “Just… give us a chance,”

You take in James’s earnest plea, feeling the weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes. The desperation and hope in his gaze pull at something within you, a flicker of longing for a connection that feels genuine and real, even amidst the confusion and overwhelming anxiety.

“I... I can try,” you say slowly, the words feeling both heavy and hopeful as they leave your lips. “I can try to get to know you better, as individuals, and see where it goes. But I need you to understand that this isn’t going to be easy, and it might take longer than any of us expect.”

James’s face lights up with a mixture of relief and gratitude. “That’s all I’m asking for,” he says, a small but genuine smile forming on his lips. “We’ll take it slow, no pressure. Just... let us show you that we can be what you need, one step at a time.”

You nod, feeling a tentative sense of hope as you look at him. “Alright. We’ll start with that. But if at any point it becomes too much, I need you to promise me that you’ll respect that.”

James’s smile widens, his eyes reflecting a mix of joy and determination. “I promise. We’ll be patient and understanding. And if you need space, we’ll give it to you. Just... let us try and convince you...”

There’s a moment of silence between you, the tension easing slightly as you both come to a mutual understanding. The path forward is still uncertain, but the willingness to try and the promise of patience create a small but significant shift in the dynamic between you.

You give him a soft nod. “Thank you, James,” you breathe out shortly, feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders.

James gives you a warm, encouraging nod. “Anytime. We care about you, and we want you to be happy. Just remember, we’re here for you.”

And so, the next chapter of your ‘relationship’ began. Starting in a place that preceded even the beginning.

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (5)

Summary: Terry and Patrice enjoy each other with the promise of bright future.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4.9k

Part: 5 of 5

Warnings: Smut (18+), NSFW

A/N: Thanks so much for joining me on this ride. I hope the journey turns out to be worth it.

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four.

“Uh, my name is Terry, I’m from North Carolina, and I wanna dedicate this one to my lady over there in the orange dress. You look good, girl.” 

“Oh no.”

“Sing your song, baby!”

A mix of encouragement and admiration at Terry’s public display of affection rang out in a poorly lit karaoke bar in the French Quarter. Liquor, good food, and good people were the perfect mix for a good time with the vestiges of Summer break rapidly slipping away. Terry stood on stage with a goofy grin and low eyes, pointing everyone toward his favorite audience member. 

Patrice had never been so embarrassed in her life. When she’d dared him to do something crazy on the last night of their spontaneous vacation, she thought he’d finally get that tattoo of her name on his ribs like he promised way back when. Singing in front of a crowd of rowdy strangers wasn’t on her bingo card.

Her hands covered her mouth to muffle her near-uncontrollable laughter. 

Terry couldn’t sing. At least not well enough to give a tipsy rendition of Patrice’s favorite Usher record. She still remembered forcing Terry to listen to Raymond v. Raymond over and over again in her cramped bedroom, many times not getting past Track 3 without gushing over how she hoped to marry the R&B heartthrob one day. Terry secretly carried a deep disdain for Usher up until his mid-20s, but couldn’t dodge the memories any time “There Goes My Baby” would play and take him right back to that cramped bedroom with his dream girl. 

He started just as Patrice expected. Though he knew the words like the back of his hand, his pitchy tenor was a far cry from the vocals needed to properly serenade an audience. He didn’t care though. As long as he could pull a belly laugh from Patrice he’d make a fool of himself in public every time. 

Between the second verse and bridge, Terry decided to take his antics up a notch. He abandoned the stage to make a beeline for Patrice with the mic in hand for a personal show. She was sure to play into the bit with playful hoops and fake screams between giggles. When he was close enough to touch, she pretended to fangirl like she was front row at one of Usher’s Vegas shows. 

“Baby, lovin’ you feels better than everything, anything. Put it on my heart, you gon’ get a ring,” he sang, spontaneously remixing the lyrics so far off-key that, if not for the levity of the ordeal, he’d surely offend every music lover in a 50-mile radius. “And I promise, our time away didn’t change my love.” 

Completely enamored with the absurdity of the moment, Patrice ran her fingertips across Terry’s abdomen underneath his shirt like a crazed fan and winked. Terry acknowledged the dangerous line she was toeing by flashing her a flirtatious grin to match the seductive sparkle in his eyes. 

Their connection overrode Terry’s awful singing performance enough for the crowd to show support through an assortment of cheers and supportive hollers only a city full of spirited Black people could provide. 

Always the perfect gentleman, Terry bid Patrice farewell for a moment with a peck on the cheek before returning to the stage to cap a truly unexpected performance and receive thunderous applause. 

“Oooo-weee. That’s your man, love? I’m talking official official?” The middle-aged tourist’s question and her thick accent interrupted Patrice’s daydreaming while she watched Terry’s every move with part of her bottom lip caught by her top row of teeth. 

“Yeah,” she answered, finally tearing her gaze away to acknowledge the woman while fiddling with the opal necklace he’d gifted her at dinner. It was the necklace symbolizing their first real date and the end of their friends only arrangement. “That’s him. Ain’t he somethin’?” 

“Somethin’ ain’t the word. I might need to head on up to North Carolina and get me one of them. My God today!” 

“He’s got a cute little single friend out in Percyville if you down with our Asian brothers. Former Marine too.” 

“You got a picture?” 

The two women fell into conversation about Ken’s availability while Patrice waited for Terry to rejoin her side. He soon returned with two shots of tequila in hand and a smile fighting to be freed from behind his poker face. 

“What was that about,” he asked, nodding at the woman who’d begun to show her friends photos of her potential beau as he placed a shot in front of Patrice.

“Might’ve gotten Ken somebody to take him out of the streets. You know he like ‘em thick and fine.” 

“I taught my boy a few things.” He used the hand closest to Patrice to breach the split in her dress and grip her inner thigh. He maintained contact, waiting for her to get shy and shoo him away. 

But she didn’t. She met his show of dominance with one of her own and crossed her legs to keep him in place, keeping him close to the pulse at her center. Two could play the secret foreplay game.

“What’s that about,” she asked, pointing at his gift of top-shelf reposado and ignoring the flutter in her stomach once he began rubbing slow circles on the top of her thigh with his thumb.

He smirked. “A little something to toast with.” 

“Oooh. What’re we celebrating?” 

“Being free, being together, and…” He lifted his shot glass, prompting Patrice to follow suit. 

“And what, TJ! C’mon!” 

“And…I got the job.” He followed his surprise by taking his shot, finishing with a quiet laugh while watching Patrice sit in unblinking shock. He squeezed her thigh again. “Don’t let me drink alone now. Bottoms up.” 

Shock gave way to a soft squeal and tiny, animated hand claps before Patrice took her gulp of tequila. Excitement had her rushing to swallow so that she could pull Terry into a series of quick kisses across his face. 

“I’m proud of you,” she complimented against his lips. “Tell me about it.” 

She stole another kiss to taste the remnants of buffalo sauce and alcohol on Terry’s tongue. He let her explore uninhibited until she’d had enough. If she wanted to put on a show, he’d be a willing participant. Even more so in the privacy of the Airbnb that belonged them to until sunrise.

The sexual tension had reached a tipping point and the clock was ticking. Images of her body beneath his were starting to be the only thoughts Terry could concoct.

Terry’s face was completely flushed, usually even caramel skin now red from lust and one too many drinks. A slow, tipsy grin put all his teeth on display before he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. 

“We can talk about that later. Can we get out of here right now, though.” 

“Yeah? Why?” 

Patrice assumed they were having a good time with at least one more stop on their self-guided nightlife tour. His eagerness to abandon plans was uncharacteristic. 

Terry continued to smile then leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I really wanna make you cum tonight. You been waiting too long.”

A shiver hit Patrice’s spine as she tried to maintain some level of composure in a room full of people. Terry easily pushed her thighs open to free his hand, being sure to brush against her lower lips with the tips of his fingers. 

Terry didn’t need to speak when he stood to pull her chair back from the table. Patrice allowed him to tug her to her feet and out of the bar, waving goodbye to her new friend who gave her a congratulatory thumbs up. 

However, any morsel of confidence she had while they made out like teenagers in the backseat of a taxi had waned once they reached their dwelling for the night and the reality of their situation set in. 

Their first time together was her first time. She was young with too many influences in her ear telling her that the only way to make a man love her was through her body. No matter how many times Terry assured her that they could spend that truly imporable hour of alone time in her hotel room catching up, she insisted that they test the boundaries of their affection. 

Now, with history repeating itself, she couldn’t help but feel a deep pit of nervousness and uncertainty growing in her belly. 

Patrice stood in the bathroom mirror, tussling with her hair that had gone from pressed roots to a mess of frizz and curled ends. She suddenly hated the way her cotton slip dress fit and how the lace bra and panty set seemed to bunch in all the wrong places. The only thing she wanted to do was look like the woman of his dreams, but her confidence was waning with every second she spent judging her appearance while Terry waited patiently in the bedroom. Frustration was building and bringing the sting of fresh tears to her eyes.

On the other side of the door, Terry spent his time adjusting and readjusting the pillows on the bed. His bare back and shoulders glistened under the soft, warm light emanating from the floor lamp across the room, partially from the heat, but mostly from sheer nervousness. 

“What the fuck are you doing,” he whispered to himself, suddenly embarrassed. 

Terry forced himself to take a seat at the edge of the bed to calm his nerves. The last time he’d been on the brink of having her in this way, he was a young man with no clue how to love a woman. Now, all he wanted to do was prove that he’d earn every morsel of her trust back if she let him. 

He never told Patrice that their first time was his first time. He was scared out of his mind, wanting to give in to his fantasies but afraid to send the wrong impression. The memory of that summer afternoon never left him. But, it was time to start anew with a title and the promise of a different result on the horizon.

Taking a deep breath, Terry wiped his sweaty palms against the soft fabric of his briefs and sighed. 

“You okay in there,” he called out, concerned as the minutes ticked by with no communication. “I don’t wanna rush you. Just checking in. Tell me to leave you alone if I’m doing too much.” 

“I’m okay. One second. I’m fixin’ my hair.”

“Take your time. I’m sure you look…”

The soft sound of the door opening stopped Terry mid-sentence. Patrice stepped out, one foot in front of the other, until she was past the threshold and under his doting gaze. 

“...gorgeous,” he finished, the word coming out in one breath. “You are absolutely gorgeous, Treece.” 

Patrice had decided on a bun on top of her head with tendrils in the front and back that couldn’t quite reach the rest of her hair. She’d traded her light makeup for a bare face still glowing from her nighttime skin routine. Her slip dress clung and dipped in all the right places without the lace from her lingerie interrupting the smooth fabric. She looked at him through long lashes, her expression reading as the same timid girl from all those years ago.

Terry stood to his full height in reverence of her breathtaking form. The most skilled artists and creators from around the world couldn’t have dreamt of a more captivating marvel in his opinion. She was the pinnacle of beauty. 

Patrice watched him draw closer, her head slowly tilting up as he began to dwarf her with his stature. He reached out to trace her jaw before lightly gripping her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey, yourself.”

Goofy smiles and giggles followed their awkward introduction to ease the anxious energy in the room.

“Is Terrence James Richmond nervous behind little ol’ me,” she teased with a tickle to his sides. 

“I got a few butterflies, I’m not gon’ lie,” he laughed. “Just wanna make you happy, is all.” 

“I was gonna say the same to you.” 

“You have no idea how happy you make me.” 

His voice came in just above a whisper, nearly drowned out by the chirping of crickets outside. 

Their noses brushed against each other as Patrice stood on her tip-toes to rest her arms around his neck. Her fingers traced circles at his nape, making the hair all over his body stand at attention. 

A tentative peck connected their lips and gave way to more needy, hungry kisses that transformed them into eager teenagers making out for the thrill of physical contact. 

Euphoria wasn’t enough to explain Terry’s headspace. He was high off every kiss, lick, and bite Patrice allowed. He couldn’t get close enough. It wasn’t sufficient to pull her closer with a firm grasp on her ass. He needed to taste her, to be consumed by her, to consume her in every way possible. 

“Put me to work. Tell me what you need,” he whispered, breathless as blood began to rush south from the slight pain of Patrice’s fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. 

“You. Fold me, bend me, flip me, I don’t care. I just need you.” 

Patrice was far beyond playing coy. She’d drop to her knees and beg at his feet if he asked. Whatever she had to do to feel him from the inside was on the table. 

Terry didn’t make Patrice go to extremes for his affection. He preferred to acknowledge her request by carefully sliding the straps of her dress down her shoulders and arms. 

He watched her skin become more and more exposed with intense focus, taking note of the way her nipples seemed to salute him once they met the bedroom air. He acknowledged both of them with a soft caress that earned a whimper from Patrice as she watched him handle her with care.

Never in her life had been methodically unwrapped like a present on Christmas morning. Her heartbeat had gone below her waist, throbbing in an almost painful cry for her lover’s attention. Terry kept her yearning at bay with a slow kiss while he pushed her garment past her hips and to the floor. 

Patrice disrobed him with an equal measure of care, offering quick kisses across the expanse of his chest while she slid her hand past his Calvin Klein waistband. Round, doe eyes looked back up at him to catch the precise moment when Terry’s eyelids blinked closed from the sensation of her fingertips brushing past his sensitive tip. 

Her soft palms worked his shaft - up and down, up and down - until his member was proud and bobbing from the weight of itself without something keeping it at bay. 

Fearing what might happen if he let her continue, Terry pulled her back to his body for sensual openmouthed kisses on her full lips. The soft smack of their lips and tongues created perfect harmonies in the still room, communicating more desire than either of them could effectively vocalize. 

The intensity began to rise at exponential rates, sending them in a clumsy frenzy to the bed for somewhere stable to fully experience one another. Terry’s back hit the cool cotton sheets first with Patrice collapsing on top with a surprised yelp that made them both laugh.

“Don’t fight it,” Terry instructed, pushing a stray piece of hair from her face while he stared up at her lovingly. “Let go. I got you.”

His reassurance made her heart do a backflip on the way to its new home between her legs. She needed him in the worst way.

Terry leaned up to kiss her lips once, twice, and once more to linger. His fingertips traced a blazing path from her waist to the bottom of her ass to partially push her forward in a silent plea to kiss her where he missed her most. 

“Let me taste you. Is that okay?” 

Something about the way he asked for permission with eyes those stormy eyes robbed Patrice of her ability to respond with words. He prompted her to move forward again with a soft tap on her backside, finally convincing her to lift her hips and scoot toward his face. 

Cautiously, she hovered above his mouth with thick thighs flanking either side of his head. 

He moved slow with sweet kisses and lazy licks to mix spit with her wetness in a one-sided love song to his favorite girl. He was effortlessly sexy, combining broad strokes of his tongue between her lips with expertly timed sucks at her clit to elicit filthy words that fueled his best oral performance yet.

He ignored every plea for mercy and her cries for a break to compose herself. There was only one objective. Two if he were lucky to push her into a water show for the ages. 

Animalistic instinct had them trading moans in time with each other, fully in throws of passion. Every grind against his nose and call of his name made Terry want to show her the full extent of his skill. 

His face glistened beneath her with his eyes still low but open enough to get the full visual of her undoing.

“Terry, that is - oh…shit.” 

Full sentences became senseless babble as she clamped her eyes shut to brace for that familiar feeling pooling in the pit of her belly. Patrice struggled to maintain focus on herself while Terry enjoyed his new favorite meal. 

The velvety smoothness of his tongue took broad passes from her entrance to her clit, stopping every so often to chase wetness that had escaped to her thighs. He wanted every drop and then some. 

His moans and groans as he feasted vibrated against her most sensitive spots, turning her mind into television static. Seeing her unravel with every soft suckle at her clit and agonizingly slow, broad lick across her swollen lips drove him to near-obsessive levels of lust. 

Her chest heaved in a fight to keep her heart rate level as his efforts to make her cum for the first time became more targeted. 

“Fuck, baby” she moaned, finally taking a look down to watch the master in his element. “Look at you. You gon’ make me cum, huh?”

Terry seemed to smile at her admiration. If he could get her to talk back, her eventual undoing when all was said and done would be that much more satisfying. 

Taking her challenge, he began to push her to her limit. She was putty in his mouth as he brought her closer and closer to the edge, soft sucking turning into a talented tongue making moans devolve into nonsensical utterings until she was squirming for release while his arms kept her locked in place for a wild ride.

Almost there. Almost there. Then a brief pause to start from the top. More lazy passes and passionate kisses to rev her up to the point of delirium and practically screaming to finish. 

Just when she thought she may have to threaten him on the third revolution of his torture, he delivered on his promise from the bar. 

Colors emitted smells. Sounds became vivid pictures across her eyes. She could taste the stars as she erupted in a way she’d never done before. The prickle of his facial hair on sensitive skin felt like shockwaves on her skin. 

“Oh fuuuuck! Yesyesyes!” 

Her hips jerked without her permission, taking Terry’s face on the ride of his life. He kept up through it all with no objections. If death came from her thighs cutting him off from the oxygen needed to breathe he’d wear death like a badge of honor in the afterlife.

Another string of expletives fell from her lips in tandem with Terry’s muffled groan as she gripped the sheets below her for dear life. This was Heaven. She was sure of it. 

Terry took one last deep inhale with his nose pressed against her pussy before kissing along the warm skin of Patrice’s inner thigh while she came down. She caressed what she could reach of his head in appreciation and beckoned him to release his suction on her pussy. 

She rushed to get back to his lips to taste herself on his mouth and he welcomed her with open arms. 

Kissing. Grinding. Skin-to-skin friction. None of it was enough for Terry. He desperately needed to be inside her to satisfy the near-painful stiffness he was experiencing. 

His attempt to flip Patrice on her back was futile once she pressed her weight into his legs to keep him in place. He roughly nipped at her shoulder before trying again with the same result. 

“C’mon,” he pleaded, almost begging for the go-ahead to fill her to the hilt in one smooth motion.

Still, she denied him pleasure. Patrice shifted to straddle his waist, slowly dragging her hands up and down his torso while his stomach clenched from the warmth of her core on his body. 

“Lay back,” she breathed out, partially lifting her hips to reposition herself on top of his length. He hissed at the sensation of her gingerly dragging her wet, warm entrance against his shaft. “I’mma handle this one. Relax, baby.” 

If there was a thought to be had, Terry couldn’t piece it together to save his life once Patrice completely enveloped him inside her slick walls. His jaw tightened then fell slack once she began to work her magic. A slow bounce and grind combination in his lap kept her breast rolling in a lewd show with Terry as the lucky winner of a front row ticket. 

Patrice kept her head thrown back like a cowgirl, feeling perspiration gather on her forehead while he gave him all she had. His hands giving her firm smacks on the hip and ass acted as a round of applause each time she buried him deep and pulled back up with expert precision. 

Her right hand slid from its spot on his chest to his throat for a barely there squeeze just as a quiet gasp made her aware of another incoming orgasm. 

The feel of her thumb gripping his esophagus made Terry expel a sound that he wasn’t aware he could make, somewhere between a whimper and a growl awakening each of his senses. 

The sight brought him the beautiful visual of her eyes shut tightly in concentration while she glowed like a heavenly body from the lamp’s light. Her hair had slipped out of its bun, leaving a lion’s mane of coils to toss wildly in the wind. 

Smell brought with it the earthy scent of sweat and the lingering musk of her pussy. A smell that could awaken a deep longing in him in even the direst circumstances. If he could bottle it and wear it as fragrance, he’d do so proudly just to have her with him at all times.

Hearing pulled in the sound of their skin slapping together in time with the intermingling moans in the room. He’d never been so loud before, so unabashedly in the moment with another woman. He cursed, called her name, and praised her with equal ferocity. 

Touch was satisfied by the handful of ass he used to ease the stress on her thighs while she bucked wilder than ever before. 

Something akin to a growl erupted from his throat as he strained to hold back release. “You doing so good for me, baby. You know I love you right?” 

“Yes!” she cried out, hips starting to sputter out of control with Terry gently stretching her on every stroke. 

He wrapped his arms around her waist tighter as he fucked into her in search of their shared release. She sagged forward for the ride, her brain turning into mush while her mouth hung open with no sounds.

“Good.” His voice came through clenched teeth. “Because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.” 

She put up no resistance as he paused his pounding to flip her onto her back with a dancer's grace. Having her laid out beneath him, body open, leaking, and waiting for him was as exciting as the first time. He was reinvigorated. Any onset of sore muscles and tired hips was gone the moment she keened for his attention. 

Terry’s eyes were blown wide with excitement while he decided where to put his mouth first. He quickly settled on one of her legs, slowly lifting it by the ankle to lick and kiss the birthmark by her Achilles. His tongue traced an invisible map past her heel, to her pedicured toes, and back to her calf before closing his lips to cap his display of affection. He propped the leg on his shoulder and then pressed forward to bring his chest down over hers. 

Patrice’s small mewls from the burning in her hamstrings became caught in Terry’s mouth as searched her mouth with sloppy enthusiasm. Her whining grew louder still once his tip pressed past her entrance.

“You can take it,” he affirmed, pushing deeper. “I know you can. I’m so proud of you.”

Affirmations and appreciative pecks across her face overrode aching muscles. She wanted, needed, to please him. 

They released content sighs in tandem once they were pelvis to pelvis. A snug fit made every long stroke intoxicating as Terry set an even pace. 

The repeated squeak of the bed added to their symphony of sounds growing more rabid by the second. They were off to the races on the way to an explosive finish line. 

Terry was relentless as he kept her in place for a proper and precise fuck that reached all the way to her heart. She’d begun thinking up baby names and nursery themes when he split his attention between earth-shattering penetration and the addition of his thoughtful stimulation of her clit to cover all bases. She was just along for the ride and hoping that she could keep her volume at a reasonable level when the inevitable took over. 

Patrice was the first to cum just as Terry intended. Her back arched off the bed in near levitation while she called his full name and the Lord’s to the ceiling.

“That’s what I like, beautiful. Give me everything.” 

He smiled down at his work, obsessed with the sight and sounds of her much-deserved orgasm. She couldn’t hold back if she wanted to. Wetness coated both of them as her hips circled to feel him fill her to the brim while a rush of endorphins flowed through her nervous system.

At the crest of her wave is where he came undone. 

The involuntary clinching sent Terry into a tailspin of frenetic strokes and broken sentences with his face tucked firmly into Patrice’s neck. She comforted him through it all, speaking directly into the shell of his ear and punctuating every few words with a soft kiss. 

“I wanna do this for the rest of our lives. Don’t you want that, baby?” Terry forwent a verbal answer in favor of a short grunt as his pace became erratic. “Fill me up. Let’s try for that son you used to tell me about.” 

“Fuck, Treece.” 

“Maybe we’ll name him after you. He’ll have my eyes and your smile, hm. Think you can do that for me tonight. I know you wanna cum. Do it for me, baby. Go ahead.” 

The magic words. He came with a gruff groan and a slew of profane words that would otherwise be offensive to any outside of the bubble they’d created in those walls. His toes cramped, eyelids clamped shut, and ears rang while every breath came out shaky and labored. Patrice joined him throughout the ride until he returned to the Earth’s atmosphere. 

Neither of them moved, preferring to hear the other’s steady in and out while their chests rose and fell together. 

“One year,” Terry started, keeping his attention focused on bringing Patrice’s ring finger to his lips as he lay on her chest. 

She paused the imaginary circles she was drawing on his shoulders and looked down at him. “One year what?” 

“Gimme a year and you’ll be coming down the aisle or standing in front of the judge, whichever one you want. Where you wanna honeymoon?” 

“Mmm, how about Puerto Rico?” 

“Done. Summer wedding?”

“Early fall.” 

“10-4.” 

“Yeah,” Patrice questioned, giggling. “And what else? What’s next?” 

 “Making our parents grandparents, hopefully. I’m trynna be an honest man. Take me out the streets, please!” 

Patrice’s cackle at Terry’s antic invited him to join at full volume. “An honest man, huh? I can do that for you. I’ll make an honest man out of Terrence Richmond, no problem. It’s the least I could do.” 

“Mhmm.” Regaining some strength in his body, Terry kissed his way from her chest to her mouth, only stopping when he had her arching into him for more contact. He spoke with his nose pressed to hers. “Patrice Nicole Richmond. Sounds good, right?” 

“Sounds perfect.” 

Terry hummed his approval, preferring to get back to the worship he had planned from the moment they set off to New Orleans.

Every second in their lives, together and apart, had brought them to a new beginning that neither of them could’ve imagined. If tonight was day one of forever, they vowed before each other and God to make it glorious one day at a time. 

Terry had lost a lot. Money, family, himself. But under the white glow of a full moon and the touch of the one he cherished most, he’d gained so much more. Something he’d been searching for without the word to call it by its name until he got back to her front step one afternoon.

Love.

----

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl

[bawkesfullofmuses]

Kink Rating for Modernia, hidden vibrators! As in, vibrators hidden beneath the clothes, buzzing away with no one the wiser.

Definitely not | No | Not Really | Its Okay | Kinda | Yes | Fuck yes |There goes my pants |

"Oooooh i was shown many many pictures by repunzel about this, it sounds like a lot of fun perhaps i might ask crown for some!"

[sunflowersandsapphires]

A Gentle Touch

Installment 1 of The Catlike Tendencies of Matthew Murdock

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Matt doesn't know how to ask for physical affection.

warnings: none that I can think of!

a/n: long story short this is inspired by my wife’s orange cat. He loves her but only tolerates me most of the time, unless I’m the only one home when he wants attention. However, he doesn’t really know how to cuddle with me since we don’t do it often so he just awkwardly lurks wherever I am until I invite him closer. It happened earlier and I thought it was hilariously Matt-coded so I wrote this. (It’s set in the Of Oak and Ivy verse because I love them, but you don’t need to read that story for this)

w/c: 2.3k

You were absolutely enthralled in the story Foggy was telling when the noise caught you off guard. A small puff of air, sounding almost like a voiceless sigh. Glancing toward Matt who was the closest to you, one look at his stony expression told you it had come from him. He was clearly irritated, despite his face being blank. You’d known him for long enough that you could tell when something was on his mind. 

Maybe he’d heard this story too many times? You leaned more heavily into his arm, which was parallel to yours. 

Turning your attention back to Foggy, you flinched with a laugh as he gestured wildly when concluding his story, spraying beer at you from his mostly full bottle. 

“Geez, Fog. Reaching your limit already?” Matt smirked, his icy exterior fading away as you giggled beside him. 

“He is, he’s all flushed. This is just like that party at the Beta house sophomore year.” You shook your head, looking at Karen with an exasperated expression. “Have they told you the possum story?” 

Smiling gleefully, Karen shook her head. “The possum story?” 

Both Matt and Foggy groaned, protesting and blushing furiously, but Karen was adamant. And who were you to not indulge her?

“In the fall of our second year at Columbia, Matt and Foggy got absolutely plastered on some disgusting concoction of cheap alcohol and Hawaiian Punch,” You began, rolling your eyes as Foggy gagged across from you. 

“God, even the thought of it—“ The blond mime-retched. 

“Yah the smell of Hawaiian Punch still makes me nauseous.” Matt shuddered next to you. 

Karen stifled a giggle as you continued to illustrate just how inebriated you’d found them when you’d come to pick them up. “I was studying and had sat the party out, but offered to drive them home when Fog called me screaming at someone to chug alcohol. I figured they’d both be in no shape to get home.”

“You were correct.” Foggy nodded. 

“I don’t remember anything from that night, but I assume I was the one chugging.” Matt grimaced, laughing sheepishly. 

“So I drove over to the house, somehow got ahold of Matt and managed to convince him to herd Foggy and himself into my car. When they get there, they’re holding this bundle, right? I figured it was dirty clothes or something. But as we were driving home the clothes start hissing.”

“Oh, NO!” Karen cackled, propping herself up on her elbows as she listened to the story. 

“Oh yes. Naturally, I ask Fog what he’s holding and he says ‘my dog’.” 

“We didn’t have a dog,” Matt clarified, looking incredibly guilty. 

“No you did not.” You squeezed his arm, hoping he could hear in your voice that you had no resentment over the incident. “Foggy unwraps the thing a bit and introduces it as ‘Spot’. But instead of a dog,”

“It’s a possum.” Karen finishes for you, nearly in stitches over her coworkers’ mortified faces. 

“An angry one at that. I have no idea where it came from or how they managed to catch it, but there it was.” You shook your head, still amazed at their ability to wrangle the creature while piss-drunk. 

“What happened to it?” Karen asked, and the men erupted. 

“That’s classified.” Foggy stated firmly, lips pressed together. 

“A story for another time,” Matt rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“Don’t tell me you killed it!” Karen gasped, whirling to look at the out of them sternly. 

“Of course not! No possums were harmed in the making of this story, just mildly inconvenienced.” You assured her. “They’re just clamming up because they can’t remember whose fault it was that it got loose in the science hall.”

Trailing off into a fit of laughter, Karen was quick to follow you as the two men started arguing, pointing fingers. Sitting back and enjoying the show, you shot Karen knowing glances as Matt and Foggy fought, no real heat behind their words. 

You’d had so much fun that night, reliving one of the funniest moments of your college years, that you’d completely forgotten about the aggravated sound. Until about one month after, when you were sitting next to Matt on a bench in the courthouse. 

The case he and Foggy had been working on was tedious and full of metaphorical landmines that threatened to ruin any shot your client had at escaping her abusive husband. The entire firm had been on edge, struggling to keep everything in order. Given your lack of steady employment at the moment, you’d been helping out wherever you could, and had been working this case from day one, right alongside Matt. Which is how you’d ended up beside him rather than Foggy. 

The blond had flown out of town a few days before to attend an extended family reunion, leaving the rest of you to man the fort, so to speak. Usually, that wouldn’t be an issue, but Matt had been increasingly temperamental leading up to the ex parte hearing. His normal reserved demeanor had rapidly been replaced by a moody, antagonistic version of him–driving poor Karen to her wit’s end. 

After Matt had incited a screaming match over a spilled cup of coffee, you’d told her to take her lunch early, giving her a couple hours where she didn’t need to walk on eggshells. The plan seemed to be working so far, Matt responding with less hostility to your persistent support rather than Karen’s eager suggestions for an aggressive approach. Something about this case had rubbed Matt the wrong way. His invisible hackles were standing on end, posture almost bristling as he sat beside you, twisting a white-knuckled fist around his cane. And, though you understood why Karen was pushing for another solution, you agreed with Matt that this needed to be handled quickly and quietly. 

Scowling at the floor, Matt’s joints rolled beneath the delicate skin of his hands. His jaw was clenched, shoulders curled inward, as if he expected the judge to request a fist fight to grant the protection order. Christ, that could not be comfortable.

Carefully, slow enough to not spook him when he was in this state, you slid the pads of your fingers over the back of his hand. Prying his firm grip off the handle of his cane, you cradled his massive, calloused hand in your lap. He visibly relaxed at the touch, twisting to face you as you traced gentle patterns over his skin, careful to avoid the line of freshly healed cuts on his knuckles. Your curiosity would have to wait for now. There was no way he was in the mood to explain those.

A breathy rumble sounded in his throat, akin to a sigh but less obvious. The same noise he’d made all those days ago at Josie’s–the quiet indication that something wasn’t right. 

Bottom lip jutting out in sympathy, you squeezed his fingers with your own. “It’ll be ok, Matty.” 

He swallowed roughly, hazel eyes darting around behind his red lenses. You could practically see the thoughts forming in his mind before he buried them, the stress forcing him back into bad habits. Sweeping your fingers over his wrist, you studied him, satisfaction thrumming in your chest when his breath hitched. “Hey, talk to me, trouble. What are you thinking?”

“It’s not going to go well.” His voice was pitched low, angry, but there was a brief undercurrent of fear within it. 

“We don’t know that.” You chastised lightly, knowing this pessimistic streak was a coping mechanism and not confirmation he’d become a nihilist. 

“I can feel it. Can’t you feel it? It’s like every officer is laughing at us. We’ve already lost.” Watching Matt, the perpetual optimist, crumble at the thought of things not going the way you’d planned nearly broke your heart. 

“Oh trouble, don’t say that.” Threading your fingers with his, you knocked your knees together. “It’ll be ok. Even if the judge doesn’t grant the order today, we won’t stop trying, right?”

“No but she needs legal protection now. Truthfully, she needs an armed guard.” Matt spoke bitterly.

“We can get her temporary protection.” You suggested.

“They’d never grant that for a simple DV case. Besides, those are his coworkers. Do you really trust them to keep her safe from him?” Matt scoffed, raising a brow at you. 

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you jabbed your pinky into the flesh of his palm. “I wasn’t suggesting we go to the police, Matthew. You and I both know how little good that would do.”

Deflating as he realized you weren’t being as naive as he suspected, Matt frowned. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Not everyone knows the flaws in the system.” You reassured him. “But I do. To some extent, at least.”

He hummed in agreement, but said nothing. 

“What’s really bothering you?” At your insistent question, Matt’s face flashed with rage, his spine straightening as he tried to pull out of your grasp, but you held fast. “Don’t you dare, trouble. Please, talk to me. It’s eating you away, I can’t sit here and let that happen.” 

Sighing harshly, Matt ran a hand over his face. “I just..this case feels different. I don’t know why. But if we can’t help her…”

“All we can do is try our best.” You reminded him. 

He let out a single humorless laugh. “I suppose that’s true.” 

When you let his hand drop, he made that pitiful, choked noise again. 

“What?” You asked, slightly worried. 

“Nothing. Just tired.” He lied, wrapping his hand back around the handle of his cane.

It was only once you were truly together that you realized what that specific sound was meant to signify. 

Since you’d officially started dating, or rather labeling whatever you two had as a relationship instead of dancing around each other, that stupid noise had cemented itself in your life. It seemed like Matt was making it every damn day and it was driving you up a wall. 

Not because Matt wasn’t entitled to his feelings or to expressing said feelings. But because your brain registered that the sound had a specific meaning, and you could not for the life of you translate it from a mere Matt-ism into a language you actually understood. Every little quirk and charm about Matt inherently made sense to you, they always had. Yet this little growling exhale seemed out of your reach. Not to mention, anytime you tried to ask him what was up, he shut down faster than a computer chip dunked in pool water.

Sitting on his couch as he typed on his laptop, he snarled out that sound, eyes darting towards you and away before you could blink. Brows furrowing, you peered at him over the top edge of your book. A muscle in his cheek twitched, a blaring omen that he was holding himself back from saying something. 

“You ok?” You asked, nose scrunching as Matt brushed off your concern. 

“Yep. Hungry.” He grumbled. 

One word answers. Great start. Really breaking down his walls there, champ. 

“Oh, gotcha. I’ll order something. Have a taste for anything in particular?” Setting your book across your thighs, you opened up a delivery app on your phone. 

“No.” 

“Okay...” You drawled, stifling an eye roll at his grouchiness. “How about that Lebanese place we liked?” 

Receiving nothing but a thumbs up in response, you submit an order before Matt reached another stage of hangriness. 

Once Matt had eaten half of his shawarma, he was more agreeable. Smiling and chuckling sweetly as you read him cheesy snippets of your romance novel. Crawling across the couch until you were seated beside him, you stretched over his lap to snatch a piece of pita bread for your plate of hummus. Matt blew out a breath, tickling your ear as he grunted. Now that you were close, you could hear the shrill, whimpering undertone. Hidden, nearly silent, as if the growl was to compensate for the whine, to conceal it. 

Craning your neck towards him, you planted your free hand on your hip. 

“Alright. Out with it.” 

“Out with what?” Matt gave his best ‘befuddled’ impression, but you saw past his feigned innocence. 

Snorting, you prodded his firm chest. As your finger connected with his solid pec, he whimpered again, this time almost moaning. Something clicked. 

“Matthew Michael Murdock,” You gasped. “You are not making that sound instead of asking to cuddle.” 

Blushing furiously, Matt dipped his head, ashamed–though he made no attempt to deny the allegation.

Laughing incredulously, you tossed your plate aside and settled into Matt’s lap, threading a hand into his hair. “You are a ridiculous man.”

Matt rumbled happily, leaning into the touch until his head landed against your chest. Clutching his face between your palms, you trailed soft touches over his cheeks, around his ears–scratching tenderly down his neck when he practically melted beneath your fingertips.

“You could’ve told me that’s what you wanted, all this time…” Shaking your head, you planted a kiss atop his thick hair. “Why suffer in silence?”

“Didn’t want to force you. It’s been different. Since..everything.” 

Snuggling in close, you maneuvered his chin with two fingers, kissing him deeply. His stubble brushed over your skin roughly, making you smile. “You can always always ask, trouble. No need to be a martyr with me.”

“Sorry,” Matt murmured against your lips, chasing your mouth with a mournful noise as you pulled away. 

“Don’t be sorry. Now come here.” Tugging him on top of you, you laughed brightly as he squirmed over you, finally relaxed when his face was tucked against your neck. “That’s it. Better?” 

“Much better.” He whispered, going limp under your touch as your fingers stroked up his back.

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @blue-devil-of-the-lord @pigeonmama @shouldbestudying41

[kopilot-pop]

Practice Room 18+

(Karina x Dom!Reader)

Request: makeout sesh w karina and her squirming in your lap >.<

Warning(s): MDNI, female reader, semi-public sex, wall sex, voyeurism, fingering, making out, dirty talk, begging, pet names, grinding, is this considered doggy style?, etc.

A/N: Anon hasn’t answered my question so Imma just post it. This is like.. full on sex… the request says making out but it’s kinda more than making out… Anyways hope y’all enjoy🥲

Word Count: 1,263

———————————————————————

“Mmf..”

Soft grunts echo throughout the room and through the one-way glass, you can see confused staff members glance towards the booth as they walk by.

You were supposed to keep Jimin company as she practices a rap verse for the next single. You were supposed to sit in the uncomfortable metal chair and not ogle at her collarbone filled with marks you left last night. You were supposed to keep your hands to yourself and not wonder how loud you can make your girlfriend scream for it to break through the sound-proof booth. Supposed to.

It’s not your fault your girlfriend decided to wear such a revealing outfit. Nope, this situation is all her fault.

“Baby..”

You can feel her soft breathing on your lips as she pushes away slightly to pant.

Jimin’s currently sitting on your lap, with her arms around your neck, and that stupid sweater falling to show her cleavage at this point.

‘God, I can’t have a bloody nose right now.’

Before you can even think straight, Jimin crashes the two of your lips together, her lips gently caressing over yours.

You slowly rise your hands to the inside of her sweater, holding onto her waist as she shifts even more closer to your body.

Your hand brushes past her soft skin, stopping right on her ribcage. You can feel her breathing hitch when your tongue decides to shove past her lips. Her arms move down to hold onto your shoulders and tightly grab onto you.

She whimpers when she feels your tongue.

You open your eyes when she pulls away once again to catch her breath. A thin string of saliva connecting the two of you.

You stare, admiring her flushed cheeks and watery eyes. When she catches you, she embarrassingly averts her gaze, but still doesn’t let you go for even a second.

“Stop…. staring..!”

She weakly smacks your shoulder.

“Ow.. It’s not my fault you look so pretty…”

Your hands on her upper-body slowly trace down as Jimin squirms.

“That tickles-!”

You smile adoringly as you finally reach the hem of her sweatpants.

“Can you stand up for me sweetheart?”

Jimin, once again embarrassed by the pet name, gives another smack as she stands up.

“Damn- Are you trying to break my shoulder?”

Even though you pout, Jimin’s well aware that you’re not even slightly affected by her hits.

You help her strip, but before she could pull off her sweater, you hold it back down.

“I wanna fuck you with this on.”

“Hm.. I thought you liked me naked.” She gives you a smirk and sits right back on your lap.

Now her pussy is directly on top of your right thigh as she nervously grabs onto your shoulders.

“Why did you have to wear jeans..”

“Probably because I didn’t expect to have you riding me inside the company building.”

Jimin - after adjusting her position - starts to grind back and forth. She’s already soaping wet, the sticky fluid completely covering your thigh as a long mark forms.

You watch as she bites her lip, clearly focused on getting her high. Her hips stutter as the material roughly stimulates her clit. But no matter how fast she moves her hips, it seems like she can’t reach her peak.

“Y/nnn… c’mon.. help m-AH?!”

The moment she slows down due to tiredness, you flex your thigh, harshly pushing it up, and making Jimin lose her balance.

You tightly grab her hips, forcing her body to move to your will.

Jimin moans when she realizes you weren’t going to holding back.

“Mmf-! Y/n… Fuck..! Oh my god-!”

“God, you’re so fucking hot like this Rina..”

“Ah! What.. I thought-ugh! I was always hot to- hngh.. to.. you…!”

“You are. Just 10 times hotter when you’re desperate like a whore for me.”

Her lips are parted, and with every sound that leaves them, you can feel your sanity become more and more loose.

Your grip is tight enough to leave a bruise, and when you glance down you can see her clit slightly red from your harsh treatment.

“S..stop staring down there..!”

You snap back to her eyes, realizing your girlfriends breaths was becoming shorter and shorter.

“I’m- ah! I’m gonna come.. Hah.. I’m gonna come Y/n/n.. Can I please come- mmmh…”

“Hold it in baby.”

“I-I can’t! Fuck-!! Baby, please… please ‘m gonna- wha-!”

You jolt up, carrying Jimin in your arms, as you slam her into to the door behind her. She weakly whines, feeling her near-orgasm die down when you push her off of your leg. But before she could utter a complain, you flip her body around, immediately shoving two of your fingers inside her hole.

“AH! What the-?”

Surprised by the sudden change in position, Karina tries to steady herself by holding onto the glass pane of the door.

“Wa-wait-! Y/n!!”

She claws at the glass, with her head falling down as her screams turn into whines when you don’t slow down even with her plea. You move your long fingers quickly causing squelching sounds to echo throughout the booth. Your other hand reaches out to grab her hair - gently pulling her back up.

“I wanna hear you scream babygirl. Look outside, I want them to know how good of a girlfriend I am.”

Karina’s eyes widen as she sees the several employees chatting directly across the booth. She knows that the two of you can’t be seen from the other side, but every time one of them even glances towards her direction, she can’t help the thrill pulsating across her body.

“Fuck- you’re so fucking tight.. You like that? You like the thought of them seeing you like this? Bent over, drooling as your group mate pounds you from behind? Imagine the rumors - everyone knows how much of a whore you are.”

Jimin’s legs become weaker as you whisper the filthiest words you can muster. You pinch her nipple, rolling it between your fingers, and enjoys the way her pussy pulsates with every movement you make.. You know how sensitive her breasts are, and holy shit you enjoy using that fact to your advantage.

When Jimin finally comes, the two of you are practically on the floor.

“Aaah-! Y/nnn!! I’m gonna-”

Before she can finish her sentence, her back arches intensely as you feel her walls fluttering. Jimin’s eyes roll to the back of her head as she lets out the loudest scream you ever heard come out of her mouth.

‘I guess Ning has competition for main vocalist.’

You watch her fluids slowly drip onto the floor while gently pumping to help her ride out her orgasm. You finally stop when she reaches back to grab your wrist.

After pulling out, you immediately latch onto her body, hugging her from behind and peppering kisses to her face - smiling when she giggles at your antics.

As she finally stops twitching and her senses come back to her, she forces her body to turn around and clings onto you.

“Mmh… I love you.”

She’s like a koala as she tightly grips onto the opening of your jacket.

“I love you even more.”

-

A few days later, the two of you walk hand-in-hand towards the building to meet up with the girls for practice.

When you enter the elevator, Jimin presses the floor button as you notice a paper attached on the wall.

“…There have been several reports of indecent acts being conducted in the 7th floor vocal practice room..”

The moment Jimin realizes what the notice meant, she loudly smacks your back.

———————————————————————

<3

[girlgenius1111]

one of your girls part 3

part 1 part 2 alexia x jenni x leila x reader. jenni takes her turn. smut 18+. part of the rush verse @vixwritesagain ... for context: Read Part One here Read Part Two here Read Part Three here Read Part Four here Read Part Five here Read Part Six here Read Part Seven here Read Part Eight here

-----

Though her lips were kind on your shoulder blade, her victorious smile was anything but. Alexia spoke lowly, a quiet thing only aimed at you. “Since you like your girlfriend’s cock so much more, you can come on hers later.”

Another five seconds of listening to your whimpers, then Alexia stood up. She was quick to let go of your wrists and pull out entirely.

Twitching, you pressed your hands to the cold surface and found a little room to breathe through the sensation. 

Meanwhile, the room was quiet but for the buzz of the A/C. 

Jenni could tell how pleased Alexia was with herself when the midfielder turned around to face her. Rising from where she was comfortably reclined on the bed, the striker couldn’t help but smile. 

“Your turn.” Alexia grinned back, moving to take her girlfriend’s spot on the bed. Jenni grabbed the blonde’s hand before she could pass, running a finger over a scratch mark on Alexia’s abdomen that you didn’t remember leaving. Jenni’s eyes found Ale’s, and the younger woman couldn’t help the way she preened a bit under the proud gaze of her girlfriend. 

“Lo hiciste muy bien, amor.” Jenni murmured, taking a moment to gently grab a displaced strand of Alexia’s hair and tuck it behind her ear. The gesture was dripping with affection, but Alexia focused only on the smile on Jenni’s face; the smile that signified the brunette was very happy with her girlfriend at the moment. 

“I am not done.” Alexia whispered, the words just loud enough for you to hear. “Go fast. I want it to be my turn again.” 

Jenni threw her head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet room. It felt like only a second later that the forward was resting a hand on your back, delighting in the small whimper you let out. 

“Jenni.” You groaned, allowing the older woman to pull you up and over, so that you were sitting on the desk facing her. 

“Hi.” She smiled, brushing some hair away from your face. 

“Your girlfriend is insane.” 

Jenni chuckled, stepping in between your legs and easing you closer to the edge of the desk. “And that is my fault?” 

“You know it is.” 

“Mm. I am not crazy, cari.” She argued, hands trailing up and down your sides in a soothing manner. 

“No?” 

Her lips caught your eye, so close to your own. As if reading your mind, her tongue ran across them, leaving a faint sheen behind. “No. Promise.” 

It was simultaneous, both of you moving in towards each other until your lips met. It was unusually soft, and while Jenni told herself it was just because you needed her to take it slow, the truth made itself known in the way you each melted into the other. Jenni’s arms around your back, your own linked behind her neck, you both pressing into each other until it was skin on skin. So close to each other that the momentarily forgotten strap brushed against your core. You whimpered, a pathetic sound that was just barely muffled by Jenni’s mouth on yours. 

“Sorry.” She mumbled against your lips. Her eyes cracked open to check on you, but you were already leaning forward again. You ignored the apology, chasing her lithe body as it pulled back and wrapping your legs around her midsection. Her hair was pulled up into a bun, and you gently unwound the hair tie until it gave way. The dark strands tumbled down around her shoulder, your fingers promptly weaving into them. 

The two of you kissed for a while, long past what was probably expected from the other two in the room. You didn’t feel like pulling away. Not when Jenni’s soft skin felt so comforting against yours. Not when it had been so long since you’d had her like this. It wasn’t the passion that had been missing from your encounters, it was the tranquillity that couldn’t exist when there was more than just the two of you. 

When you did break away, you didn’t go far. You kept your forehead pressed to hers. “Jen, I-” 

“I know.” She assured you. It wasn’t necessary to hear you say the words; she’d known a millisecond before you’d broken the kiss what you were going to ask for. One of her hands moved from where it cradled your back to slip in between the two of you, finding the strap that was pressed in between both of your bodies. “Do you need-?”

“Just need you.” You gasped, tucking your head into the crook of her neck as she nudged the tip against you. Jenni took care to shift your hips, angling herself in just right. 

“Dios mió,” She groaned, pushing in gradually until she was buried inside. The soft cry that tumbled from your lips was unlike any other sound you’d made so far. It was needy, and you were acutely aware of that fact as you bit down on the firm muscle of Jenni’s shoulder. 

Her hand stroked up your back to cradle your head against her. She let you breathe, pressing her lips to your temple softly. When you eventually pulled back, it was impossible not to get lost in her stare. “Lista?” 

“Yes.” You murmured back, leaning in to capture her lips once again. 

The first roll of her hips had you moaning into her mouth. You could feel the smile she tried to fight, but you couldn’t be irritated when her hands started to wander. Jenni began at the small of your back, tracing gentle patterns with her fingertips. She ran down your sides, stroking at your thighs where they curved around your hips but never dipping inside. 

She worked slowly, rocking into you with a fluidity which made it easy to get lost in the rhythm of her kisses and forget about how well she filled you. Everywhere she touched tingled. 

“Oh my god, Jen.” You breathed, reaching down to hold her waist. Underneath your fingers, you could feel the gentle shift of her muscle giving pass after pass. 

You ducked your head, pressing your lips to her neck, then her shoulder. It took a few seconds to find the spot which made her sigh, a little up from her collarbone, a little down from the sharp jut of her jaw. You licked first to be sure, then mouthed when her fingertips flexed on your thigh. 

She was quick to get you back, licking filthily into your mouth and chasing your kisses with her own until you whined. Only when you gasped at the pleasured shivers she sent up your spine did she pull back. Still, she was so close. Her hair tickled at your chest as she leaned into you. 

It was so quiet when you closed your eyes, just Jenni’s gentle grunts and the slick slide of her skin against yours. Your hands wandered, trailing along bare skin until you held her tenderly. The rock of her hips inside was steady enough for your own to tilt. With every pass, Jenni brushed against your clit. 

With nothing else to focus on, she filled every sense. The taste of her, how her hair smelled fresh from her shower, touching all the tiny marks on her skin you’d memorised so well you could trace them with your eyes closed. 

Her tongue dragged over your neck. You could feel her when you stretched back and let her have you however she wanted. Most satisfying, you relaxed into the sound of the muffled moans she’d breathe out intermittently. 

Jenni just knew where to touch and what to do. You could feel yourself smiling between her kisses, running on nothing but instinct and feeling. Chasing every roll of her hips with a touch of your own, coaxing her to feel as good as she did you. 

The tension she built caught you by surprise. It wasn’t a focus until she moaned herself and changed the pattern. Just a fraction harder, but still as fluid. 

“Fuck.” You breathed, loathe to break the tranquillity with anything too loud. 

Jenni nodded into your neck before one of her hands cradled your cheek. Her forehead pressed gently to yours. 

Your whole body shivered, making you cling to her. “I’m so…” You tried, but the feeling of her made it hard to think. 

The striker hummed before she leaned in to let your lips brush. 

You managed half a second before your own parted in a low moan. Jenni stayed close, shifting her hips just a little deeper now. Her own groan was caught in your mouth. 

Brain blank of anything but her, it went on and on. Over and over. Wet and panting, breathing in each other’s air until you weren’t sure if the high would ever end. 

All it took was a sharp snap. “Don’t let her come.”

Jenni jolted immediately at her girlfriend’s call. A moment of silence, then she was still. She had the decency to pull you close, letting you burrow your head in her neck while you whined needily. 

For a long time, the feeling of her cock inside and her skin pressed to your clit kept you right there. A few little rocks would have done it, but your limbs clung to her so tightly that moving even one of them would have been a challenge. You tried to focus on the whir of the A/C and the occasional shift of bedsheets over her shoulder to calm yourself, but the sounds just kept coming. There was arousal, yes, but also a hint of embarrassment at losing yourself so completely. 

Jenni tried to move first, shifting her torso with every intention of pulling out and creating space. 

At the first movement, you clamped your limbs around her, whining as she shifted inside.

Soothing hands were slow to stroke at your skin. When Jenni spoke, it was the quietest you’d ever heard her. A husky, mumbled thing just for you. “Be good. I want to see you come tonight.” 

-----

one more to go!! this part and the next part are tied for being my favorites so do with that what you will :)

[hemmingsleclerc]

One last time┃charles leclerc

summary: What do singers usually do when they are in a complicated love situation? They write songs, but what happens when you write a love song for your best friend who turns out to be Charles?

ִֶָ 𖥔 ﾟ˖ ⊹ › ‹ ᵎ 𖧧. ⊹ ˖ ♡.˚˳១୨୧ ༘✰ ༘ ˚ ˚ ༘ ‧₊˚𖧧  ִֶָ 𖥔 ﾟ˖ ⊹ › ‹ ᵎ 𖧧. ⊹ ˖ ♡.˚˳១୨ִֶָ 𖥔 ﾟ˖ ⊹ › ‹

Y/N was backstage, her heart beating hard and irregularly. The crowd outside screamed with excitement, eager to see her. She looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting a strand of hair that had fallen out of her hair as she tried to calm down by taking deep breaths.

Y/N and Charles had been best friends since they were children. Growing up together in Monaco, they shared dreams, secrets and countless memories. While Y/N once dreamed of becoming a great singer, Charles dreamed of being a Formula 1 driver and they both achieved it, becoming successful people in their respective careers. Despite their busy lives, they always made time for each other no matter what.

Charles had been Y/N's rock during her great and fast rise to fame. He was the one who kept her feets on the ground, reminded her of who she was before the fame, the cameras, and the anxiety. Y/N, in turn, was his person, cheering for him in every victory and comforting him in difficult moments. Fans adored their friendship and often believed there was something more between them. But for Y/N it was a bittersweet reality. She loved Charles deeply, but he only saw her as her best friend or at least that's what she thought.

Recently, Charles was rumored to be dating a new girl, Alex. Y/N was happy for him, really, but every photo of them together felt like a dagger in her heart and a deep part of her was jealous of that girl, ¿What did Alex had that she didn't? Charles used to speak wonderfully about Alex in interviews when he was asked about her, but it was the way he talked about Y/N that made fans believe she was his true and only love. His words were filled with warmth and affection that left the fans wondering if Charles himself realized what he truly felt.

Y/N sighed, putting those thoughts aside. Tonight wasn't about her heartache. It was about her music and her fans. She took a deep breath and took the stage, being greeted with a sea of ​​applause and shouts. She smiled, waved and began her set. The night was intense but she enjoyed every second of it.

As the concert neared its end, Y/N took a moment to speak to the crowd. “The next song is very special to me and it's brand new,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. "It's called 'One Last Time.'" Fans screamed out of excitement, not knowing the meaning of the song and the inspiration behind it.

The music began to play and Y/N closed her eyes, gathering the courage to sing the song without her voice breaking.

''I was a liar, I gave into the fire, I know I shoulda fought it, At least I’m being honest''

The fans quickly took out their phones and turned on their flashlights, making the atmosphere more nostalgic.

''So one last time I need to be the one who takes you home, One more time I promise after that I’ll let you go, Baby I don’t care if you got her in your heart, All I really care is you wake up in my arms, One last time I need to be the one who takes you home''

That night she sang about unrequited love, about wanting one last moment with someone who didn't see her the way she saw him,no matter how much she longed for it.

''And I know, and I know, and I know she gives you everything but boy, I couldn’t give it to ya. And I know, and I know, and I know that you got everything but I got nothing here without you, baby''

When she reached the last verse, tears flowed from her eyes and her voice broke without being able to contain it.

When the song ended, Y/N stood there, tears streaming down her face trying to wipe them away. The silence was deafening and then erupted into a wave of applause mixed with screams from the crowd.

''Thank you LA, I love you, see you next time!'' and with that she left the stage

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Liked by taylorswift,charles_leclerc and 3,583,852 others

ynln tonight in LA was 🤯💓✨🌙⚡!!!! I love you all in that crazy crowd tonight, got a little emotional over there but anyways 🤣🤣 -see you soon I love u

username IF U CRY I CRY GIRL

username my baby 😭😭😭

username I love u so much yn

Backstage, Y/N wiped away her tears completely, trying to compose herself. She knew the Internet would be full of speculation. While she was on Twitter that same night after making her Instagram post, she saw fans discussing her set. #OneLastTime and #Y/NCRIED trended, with thousands of tweets expressing concern and love for her. Many fans speculated about the meaning of the song and some even guessed the truth: that it was about Charles.

A tweet caught her attention. It was a video clip of her singing her last lines, with tears streaming down her face, with the caption: “Her heart is broken and we all know why. Charles, my boy, pls open your eyes.”

Y/N's breathing hitched as she read the answers. Fans overwhelmingly supported her and expressed their belief that Charles was the one for her. As she put her phone down, a message notification appeared. It was from charles.

''y/n we need to talk. I saw your concert. Call me when you can pls. – C.”

THE DRAMA!!!🫠