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kimoralov3 · 4 months ago

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daylight

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

description: steve has had a lot of trouble in his love life. but he's also one of the biggest idiots known to man because the girl of his dreams is standing right in front of him

warnings: swearing, reader uses she/her pronouns, everyone is a lil mean to steve, mentions of stancy (not like that), like i said steve is an idiot, slight angst, fluff

word count: 3059

a/n: tagging @arkofblake because this technically was smth that she requested before i changed it. also shout out to her mom for the knowledge about phones from the 80s lol

“Steve, you can’t keep staring at her like some sort of lost puppy.” Robin says as she helps Steve put some beer and sodas in the cooler.

“What are you talking about?” He asks as he turns back to the fridge.

“Oh please, you’ve been staring at Nancy and Jonathan ever since they got here.” Robin comments as she opens the bag of ice and clumsily dumps it into the small cooler.

“Have not.” Steve mutters as he shuts the fridge door. Robin gives him a look, the look she seems to be giving him a lot these days. “Okay, fine. I have been staring at them, but not for the reason you’re thinking.”

“Oh really? What other reason is there for you to be staring at your ex and her new boyfriend?” She says suspiciously.

Steve pauses, trying to find the words to express the tangled mess that is his love life. He eventually gives up, shaking his head as he grabs the cooler off the counter and walks outside to the pool. “I can’t explain it.”

“Oh come on, you gotta give me something.” Robin pleads, giving Steve her best puppy dog eyes.

Steve glances over at his best friend before quickly looking away. “Those don’t work on me.” He says definitely, but quickly gives in when he spares another glance at Robin. “Seeing them together just makes me think about all the things I don’t have.”

“Wow, that’s really sad.” Robin says solemnly as she holds the back door open for Steve. “You sure you don’t still have feelings for Nancy?” She adds after another moment of silence.

“Absolutely positive, Robin. That ship sailed a long time ago.” He explains as he sets the cooler by the pool.

And he wasn’t lying. Steve really was over Nancy. Sure, there had been a time when he thought the two of them would evolve into something more, but that was ages ago.

But now Steve was alone for the first time in years, and he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He’d been on dates, but they’d turned more into a chore than something he was actually enjoying. They all left him feeling like a piece of him was missing, a piece of himself that he just knew was important.

“Steve?” A voice called, pulling him from his well of self despair.

“Yeah?” He says as he turns around, nearly falling over when he notices who’s in front of him.

“Can you move over so I can grab a soda?” Y/N asks politely as she gestures to the cooler behind Steve.

“Oh shit, yeah, of course.” Steve stutters as he moves out of the way, nearly falling into the pool. Y/N gives him an awkward smile as she grabs a soda before walking back over to sit with Jonathan and Nancy.

“What was all of that about?” Dustin asks as he appears beside Steve, munching on some Goldfish.

“Jesus kid, you need to wear a bell or something!” Steve exclaims as he presses a hand to his fast beating heart.

“Or maybe you just need to be more observant.” Dustin says mockingly as he flicks a Goldfish at Steve’s face, causing the older male to swat at him.

“Will you two quit it!” Robin says as she separates the two of them. Dustin flips Steve off before going to go sit back with the party and Suzie.

“I swear that kid has no manners.” Steve mutters to himself as Robin walks away to go sit with Eddie and Chrissy. Steve is so busy mentally planning out his revenge against Henderson that he doesn’t notice a certain someone staring at him like he’s hung the moon and the stars.

—

“Robin, you seriously need glasses or something. How could you put Ferris Bueller and Top Gun in the same section?” Steve complains as he removes the tapes from the shelf.

“Oh quit being a baby and move them, I’m busy here.” Robin calls from the back. Steve rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he moves to the back of the store to grab his cart.

“I’ll be with you in a minute!” He says when the front door rings. He sets the missorted tapes on a random shelf as he walks back up to the front counter.

“Welcome to Family Video, how can I help y— Y/N?” Steve asks, shocked to see her here.

“Oh, hey Steve. I forgot you worked here.” She says with a laugh as she adjusts her bag on her shoulder. Effortlessly, and beautifully to him, if anyone cared enough to ask what he thought. Which was a rarity.

Steve gives her a small smile, silently cursing himself for not taking his normal amount of care when he was getting ready this morning.

Robin really needs to learn some patience.

“Yeah, have been for a while.” He says as he rubs the nape of his neck. “So, what can I help you with today?”

“Well, my parents are out of town so it’s just me at home. Figured I’d get some movies to keep myself occupied for a while they’re gone.” She explains as she looks around the store before her eyes land on Steve once again, causing a shiver to run down his spine. “Got any recommendations for me?”

“Of course, walk with me.” He says, shooting her his signature smile as he walks over to the staff picks shelf.

“Is that Labyrinth?” Y/N asks with a chuckle as she picks it up and inspects the back.

Steve groans, rolling his eyes as he sees the movie. “Fucking Eddie. He must’ve snuck it onto the shelf when he was here earlier.”

“Well, he has good taste. Think I’ll be taking this one with me.” She says as she waves the box. Steve can’t explain it, but he feels a small tightness in his chest.

“To each their own, I guess.” He says with a shrug, trying to ignore this strange feeling. “Anyways, I would definitely recommend these if you’re looking for a more calm night in.”

Steve hands over The Goonies, The Muppets Take Manhattan, and Back to the Future, waiting patiently for a reaction.

“Oh my god, is this a Muppets movie?” She asks with a laugh, inspecting the box. “My little cousin loves this movie.”

“Hm, I don’t know how I should feel about that. Are you calling my cinematic taste childish?” Steve asks with a chuckle as he leans against the shelf.

“I would definitely call it that.” Robin says, wheeling a cart as she walks past the two of them. Steve glares at her while Y/N snorts, hiding her smile behind her hand.

“I wasn’t going to say that it was childish. I was going to say that it’s…interesting.” She explains, her voice pitching up on the last word.

Steve scoffs at that, shaking his head. “Sure, we’ll go with that.” He says jokingly. “So, will this be all for you?”

“Uh, yeah. This should be good enough for the weekend.” She says as the two of them walk back to the front counter.

“Glad to be of service.” Steve says as he takes a small bow, cursing himself for how stupid he probably looks.

“You know, you’re really funny.” Y/N says as Steve rings up the movies. Steve smiles softly, more affected by her words than he would like to admit.

“Could you tell Robin that? She says I have the humor of an old man.” He jokes as he puts the tapes into a bag. Y/N snorts again, this time a little louder.

“See what I mean? Very funny, Harrington. Very funny.” She says as he hands her the bag. There’s a brief moment of silence before Y/N speaks up again. “Do you wanna come over tomorrow? You know, watch a movie with me or something?” She asks nervously.

Steve’s mouth hangs open a little, blinking slowly. There was no way he heard that correctly. “You want me to come over?”

“Yeah. Only if you want to, of course.” She clarifies quickly.

“Of course I wanna come. I’ll even bring some snacks.” He says as he leans his arms on the counter.

Y/N smiles at that, nodding her head. “Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” She says, giving Steve one final wave before leaving.

“Man, you are such a doofus.” Robin says as she comes up behind him.

“Can you not?” Steve says as he turns around to face her. Robin smirks, winking at him before walking away.

—

“You did what?” Eddie asks with a laugh as he stops strumming on his guitar.

“Don’t laugh at me, I need your help here!” Steve says as he throws his soda can at Eddie.

“Hey, careful! This is my most prized possession.” Eddie says as he throws the can back at Steve, missing him entirely. “Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

“Y/N invited me over, and I went because of course I would, you know? And everything was going really well, at least to me.” Steve explains as he leans back against Eddie’s dresser.

“Okay, doesn’t sound too bad so far. What happened after that?” Eddie says as he turns the knobs on his guitar.

“Then I thanked her for inviting me and left.” Steve says simply. Eddie abruptly stops what he’s doing, setting his guitar down on his bed.

“You did what now?” Eddie exclaims as he stands from the bed, causing Steve to look up at him.

“Left. Why, what’s wrong?” He asked, very confused by Eddie’s sudden outburst.

“You’re a fucking idiot, that’s what’s wrong.” Eddie says as he grabs Steve’s arm and hauls him into the living room. “Stand right there.”

Steve grumbles something under his breath as he rubs his arm where Eddie had grabbed it. “Since when are you strong?”

“Amps are heavy as shit man. Now shush.” He says as he dials a number on the phone. Steve mutters something about Eddie being rude as he watches him press the phone to his ear.

“Who are you calling?” Steve asks, only to be shushed by Eddie. Steve rolls his eyes, watching as Eddie waits for the person on the other end to pick up.

“Hey Y/N! Do you have a moment to talk?” Eddie says when the person on the other end picks up. Steve automatically stands up straighter, listening closely to try and hear what Y/N was saying.

“— Not in the mood—” Is the only thing that Steve can make out from here, causing him to frown. Was Y/N really that upset with him that she didn’t want to talk to anyone?

“Just humor me, please? What exactly happened yesterday with Harrington?” Eddie asks as Steve gets closer to the phone.

“I did what you and Robin told me to and asked Steve out, and absolutely nothing happened. I even tried scooting closer to him to see if he would catch the hint, but he didn’t! And then when it was time for him to leave, I went to kiss his cheek and he hugged me, Eddie. He hugged me!” Y/N rants from the other end of the line. “So either everyone is bullshitting me and Steve Harrington actually isn’t into me, or he’s the most oblivious man on the face of the planet.”

Eddie gives Steve a knowing look as he says his goodbyes before hanging up the phone. “See? Idiot.”

Steve bangs his head against the wall as Eddie pats him pitifully on the shoulder. “So you mean to tell me that yesterday was supposed to be a date?” He finally says when he’s done with his attempt to knock some sense into himself.

“It was a date. Could you honestly not tell?” Eddie asks as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“No! I just thought that she was trying to be nice!” Steve says as he slides down the wall.

“Man, can’t believe this. Former king of Hawkins High is sitting on the floor of my trailer, having a crisis because he blew a date with a pretty girl.” Eddie says as he shakes his head. Steve doesn’t even bother responding, sitting there with his head in his hands. “So, are you going to try and fix it or not?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks as he finally looks up.

“God, since when did I become the smart one here?” Eddie asks in mock disappointment. “You need to go back over to Y/N’s and make everything right.”

“How am I supposed to do that? I think you of all people should know that I’m not good with this stuff.” Steve said as he stood up. Eddie groans, rubbing his hands over his face.

“My god, Harrington. You’re hopeless.” He says. “Here, I’ll tell you exactly what to do.”

Under any other circumstance, those words would’ve sent fear straight into Steve’s heart. Especially coming from someone like Eddie. But he was desperate, and desperate people don’t always make the smartest decisions.

—

Steve stands outside of Y/N’s door, her favorite flowers in hand. He stands there for a moment, mentally going over everything that Eddie told him to say. He takes a deep breath before giving up and knocking on the door.

It’s silent for a moment before Steve hears the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. The door opens up to reveal Y/N standing there, arms over her chest.

“What do you want, Harrington?” She asks coldly. Steve gulps at that, rocking back and forth on his feet a little. Guess I deserve that a little.

“I just came here to apologize. For yesterday.” He says as he holds out the bouquet of flowers. Y/N hesitates before taking the flowers from him, smelling them quickly.

“What exactly are you apologizing for?” She asks after a moment.

“For being an idiot. If I had known that you wanted yesterday to be a date, I would’ve handled things a lot differently.” Steve explains as he nervously shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Different? Different how?” She asks as she leans against the doorframe. Steve pauses, trying to think of the best way to say what he wanted to say.

“Can I come in? I think it would be better.” He asks as he scratches his head. Y/N gives him a suspicious look before stepping aside and gesturing to the living room. Steve mutters a small thank you as the two of them walk into the living room and sit on the couch.

“So, what exactly is it that you would’ve done differently?” She asks as she sets the flowers on the coffee table.

“For starters, I wouldn’t have let our first date just be us watching a Muppets movie on your couch.” Steve says in a joking tone, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. “If I had known, I would have taken you out to dinner. Hell, if you really wanted I would’ve taken you to go see one but god I would not have gone to go see a freaking kids movie.”

“Why, what’s wrong with kids' movies?” Y/N asks teasingly, causing Steve to laugh for the first time since he got there.

“I guess you’re right.” Steve says as he turns to face Y/N. “Can we get a do over date? I promise that this time I won’t act like a complete idiot.” He says sincerely. Y/N seems to mull it over for a moment before looking up at Steve.

“Promise?” She asks softly, as if she was still hurt and embarrassed from what happened the night before.

“Swear on my life. And you know if I break it, I’ll have Nancy, Robin, and Eddie on my ass about it.” He adds jokingly, but it isn’t really a joke. He had seen first hand how scary Nancy could be when she was upset, and he did not want to be on the receiving end of her wrath. Again.

“Fine. But I’ll need you to ask me properly.” She says after a longer moment of consideration, sitting up straight against the back of the couch.

“Fine by me.” Steve says as he stands up, pulling Y/N with him. They give each other small smiles before Steve clears his throat dramatically. “Y/N, I’ve had feelings for you for a while now. Longer than I would personally like to admit. So, will you do me the honor of going on a date with me?”

Y/N stands with their hand on their chin, looking off into space as she pretends to think long and hard about Steve’s offer. Steve starts to get nervous that she might actually reject him when she leans up, pressing a quick peck to his cheek. “Of course I’ll go out with you, Steve.”

Steve feels the heat rush to his cheek at Y/N’s actions, looking down at them with the biggest grin in the world. “You know, technically we’ve already had our first date. So it wouldn’t be completely insane of me to kiss you, would it?” He asks as he steps closer to her.

Y/N lets out a chuckle before responding, her hands behind her back. “No, no. I don’t think it would be completely insane, as you put it.”

That’s all the permission Steve needs before he pulls Y/N closer by her hips, their lips slotting together perfectly. He feels more than hears her sigh into the kiss as she raises her arms to wrap them around his neck.

When they both pull away for air, Steve swears he can see all the stars in her eyes. “That was…”

“Wow, how many girls can say that they took Steve Harrington’s breath away after a single kiss?” She asks teasingly, although it was easy to tell by the heat of her cheeks that she was just as — if not more — affected by the kiss as Steve was.

Steve rolls his eyes, which was seeming to become a common practice for him these days. “Way to ruin the moment.”

Y/N shrugs, giving Steve one of her award winning smiles. At least they were in his mind. “What can I say, it’s one of my many special talents.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfiction #kimoralov3

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augustinewrites · 10 months ago

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“sorry i'm late,” you sigh, hurrying into the teacher’s lounge much later than usual. shoko’s the only one there, feet propped up on the coffee table as she flips through a medical journal. you throw your coat over the back of a chair before joining her, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes

“morning, sunshine.” shoko chuckles, handing you a mug. “this is a double shot, but maybe i should have gotten you a triple? what kept you up last night?”

“nothing," you quickly defend.

“you sure? because i'm not above blocking all the exits until you tell me.”

“you promise not to judge?”

“not out loud.”

you roll your eyes at your best friend, but wring your hands tightly in your lap as you recall the events of last night. “have you ever had a…a special dream–”

shoko sits up straight, eyes wide as she says, much too loud, “you mean a sex dream?”

“shh!” you swat her on the arm, glaring.

shoko ignores your obvious distress, grinning from ear to ear. “who are you having sex dreams about? is it ijichi? akari? oh my god, is it me? is it gojo? don’t tell me it’s gojo…”

“i may have been dreaming about…kento.”

“nanami?!”

heat immediately pools in your cheeks. “you can’t tell anyone, especially gojo. and hey, don't say it like that!”

“i swear i’m not judging!” she promises. “if anything, i approve!”

“ugh,” you groan, heading over to the counter to put your unfinished mug in the sink. “i don’t know what’s going on with me.”

“fantasizing is normal. i’ve fantasized about everyone here. you, nanami, even gojo.”

“seriously?”

she takes a sip of her coffee, shrugging. “i'm a scorpio.”

that explains nothing and in no way makes you feel any better. if anything, you’re starting to feel a little possessive over someone who isn't even yours.

“well i need to stop thinking about him like this,” you mutter, frowning.

“back to your dream. did you guys…do it?”

“shoko!” you gasp, gaze darting to the open door.

“so you did,” she deduces. “was it good?”

it was great. not that you’d tell her.

“hey, naughty is good. naughty is sexy,” she laughs.

you rest your hip against the counter, shaking your head. “i can’t dream of him like that again. i can’t go on missions with him if i’m having these…inappropriate thoughts.”

“why? cause you want to be his good girl?”

some clears their throat loudly.

both your heads whip toward the door, where nanami’s standing with his briefcase. “good morning.”

as he walks further into the lounge you wonder two things. first, how much he heard. second, how much force would it take to put your head through the wall–

“excuse me.” your entire body stiffens when a hand is placed on your waist, nanami gently moving you to the side as he grabs a mug from the cabinet.

memories of last night’s dream invade the crevices of your mind, causing you to quickly step out of his reach. with his back turned you look to shoko for help, who simply makes a circle with her thumb and index finger and–

you feign casualness when nanami turns to face you, sending you a small smile before taking his coffee and making a swift exit.

shoko bursts out laughing as you groan, wishing you could melt into the floor.

_____

“look at them. they're totally talking about us,” gojo mutters, peeking into the teacher’s lounge.

“so?” nanami asks, prying gojo’s hand from his sleeve.

“so, what do you think they're talking about? oh– oh, shoko just pulled out her phone. maybe they're talking about the thirst trap i posted for–”

nanami grabs the back of gojo’s shirt collar, dragging him away from the door. “why would they be talking about a picture you posted for your fiancée?”

“because i'm hot–”

“please stop talking.”

“you’re hot too, nanamin! someone’s been giving you the look lately.”

that makes him pause. “really? what look?”

the sorcerer wriggles out of his grip, an irritatingly wide grin on his face. “got your attention, did i?”

“what did you mean by that? what look?”

“the look. you know, the one where you’re picturing someone naked. fantasizing about them. caught her once while you were cooking us dinner. speaking of, what’s that one dish you made with the…”

nanami tunes out gojo’s nonsensical rambling, focusing on the few important things he’d shared as they walk down the hall. you were picturing him naked?

interesting.

_____

when you open the front door of your apartment, nanami is standing there with a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine.

oh no. this is how the fantasies always start.

“i was on my way home and wondered if you’ve eaten yet.”

you’d eaten two hours ago, but you step back to let him inside and get set up in the kitchen.

soon enough, your little kitchen is filled with the sound and scents of a home cooked meal. nanami is a natural in the kitchen, tossing veggies in a pan and stirring his homemade sauce.

(it almost looks as good as nanami does with his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, cooking dinner in your apartment.)

you’re snapped out of your thoughts when he reaches over to refill your glass. he refills his own, covering the pot and leaving it to simmer as he turns to where you’re perched on the counter.

“i wanted to talk to you about something,” he says suddenly, sweating his glass down.

“hm?”

“i’m not above a few fantasies of my own.”

you almost choke on your wine. “gojo told you–”

he’s standing between your knees now, taking the glass from your hand and setting it aside. “i fantasize about you too.”

“you do?”

“i could tell you about them,” he suggests, voice dropping to a whisper as the tip of his nose nudges yours. “if you’re a good girl.”

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff

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gothcsz · 4 months ago

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Summary: Another chaotic shoot... but at least it's in Malibu?

Tags: more plot keeps sneaking into the porn, angst, frankie has entered the villa, jealous!javi, reader stands on business, it's a porn set other people are also fucking, masturbation on camera (m), dirty talk, lots of cursing (f bombs my beloved), an attempt at a blowjob, javier can't get it up, a dash of misogyny, author projects her ooc thoughts about problematic age gaps in the porn industry, no use of y/n, reader has a degree in film production, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: me nervous that part 3 isn't going to live up to the hype? more likely than you think! 🙂‍↕️ this fic is taking on a brain of its own and i'm just along for the ride, baby! for my just the tip stans— i'm sorry but i'm going to have to edge you until part 4 *crowd boos and i'm dragged off stage* i was going to wait to post this, but i really wanted to get it out because i'm so damn proud of it lowkey, lol, so i hope you all like it 🖤 let a bitch know what ya think! also, shoutout to my pookie @persephone-girl for reading over this 💋 love u mamas

Your phone’s shrill ring pierces through the haze of sleep, and you groan in frustration, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

The comforter is pulled tight over your head, shielding you from the annoyingly bright sunlight filtering through your window. Your hand shoots out, fumbling blindly across the bedside table until your fingers finally close around the receiver.

“What?” you grumble, voice thick with sleep and muffled beneath your sheets.

“There she is! My beautiful, talented camerawoman. Have I ever told you how much I appreciate what you do?” Robbie’s overly cheerful voice blares through the phone, so you pull it back from your ear slightly, wincing.

“Why are you calling me this early in the morning?” you snap, already regretting picking up.

“Early? It’s almost noon—”

“What do you want, Robbie?” You cut him off, not in the mood for small talk, especially since last night’s bar shift ran past four in the morning. You were hoping to sleep through most of the day, recovering in your bed with no interruptions. Clearly, that plan has gone out the window.

“Look, I’ve got a big shoot happening in Malibu today and I’m short-staffed. I could really use your magic touch behind the camera.”

“No.”

“C’mon,” he drags the word out, “I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for working on your day off.”

You rub your eyes, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you. “How much?”

He tosses out a number, and despite your best effort to remain indifferent, your eyes widen. Damn. That’s more than decent money.

“Malibu’s all the way across town,” you point out, “I won’t make it there in time if I take the bus. And a taxi? That’ll cost me a fortune.”

“Don’t worry about that. Your ride’s outside waiting for you.”

You blink, confused, and get out of bed, dragging the corded phone with you as you move toward the bay window. You pull the curtain back just enough to peer down at the busy street below.

Sure enough, Steve is there, leaning casually against his Jeep with sunglasses on, a cigarette between his lips. The second he spots you looking down, he grins like the cheshire cat and waves.

“Seriously?” you mutter to Robbie, flipping Steve off with a half-hearted smile. “And what if I’d said no?”

“We both know you wouldn’t have.”

After a few more quick exchanges, you hang up, glancing once more at your ride through the window before turning to rush and get yourself ready for the day ahead.

Truth be told, you’re still not fully awake, your body moving on autopilot as you shuffle through your morning (midday) routine.

It’s been ages since you’ve been to the beach— especially one as nice as Malibu’s. The thought of it softens the blow of losing your rest day. You tell yourself you’ll make the best of it, turning this unexpected workday into something that benefits you, too.

After shooting wraps, you’ll indulge in a quiet evening by the shore, sinking your toes into the warm sand with a good book in hand. No rush to head back. This time, you’ll gladly take a taxi if it means getting some peace seaside.

With that plan in mind, you dress for the day accordingly. Your halter-style bathing suit doubles as a cute top, the color complimenting your skin, while your favorite denim shorts sit comfortably over your bikini bottoms.

You pack a few essentials into your beach bag and make sure to grab your camera bag as well. Once you’ve double-checked that everything’s packed, you make your way downstairs, feeling a bit more awake now.

Steve catches sight of you approaching and flashes a dramatic grin, straightening up like he’s about to chauffeur royalty.

“Your chariot awaits,” he announces with an exaggerated flourish, swinging the passenger door open.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the bemused laugh that escapes your lips. “God, you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, shaking your head as you climb into the seat, tossing your beach bag onto the floor.

He shuts the door behind you with a smirk. “Ridiculous? I prefer charmingly dedicated to my craft.” He hops into the driver’s side, flicking the cigarette away before starting the car.

You snort at his self-satisfaction, leaning back against the seat and putting on the seatbelt.

“Malibu, huh? How the fuck did he manage to swing that?”

He chuckles, one hand lazily draped over the wheel, the other tapping out a rhythm on his knee. “He didn’t tell me much either— just asked me to stop by and pick you up on my way.”

That makes sense. Robbie’s always been a bit scatterbrained, occasionally running around like he’s managing a multi-million-dollar empire when, in reality, he’s holding it together with duct tape and half-assed enthusiasm.

The drive is surprisingly fun, Steve’s constant jokes keeping your spirits high. He always manages to make you laugh, which is why you tolerate his quirks.

“I’m pretty sure Javi’s going to be there,” he says, almost too nonchalantly, meaning he’s in the mood to be messy.

You keep your gaze focused on the coastline, watching as palm trees blur past. The wind from the open windows has you squinting momentarily, but it can’t cool the sudden heat spreading through your body.

“It’s not going to be weird seeing him, right?” He presses and you finally turn to face him, moving your sunglasses to the top of your head.

“Why would it be weird?” you ask, the challenge clear in your voice.

He shoots you a look, brows raised and lips quirked in that irritating way of his. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe ‘cause of the whole flirtin’ with you during the middle of a scene thing? Or, y’know, the elevator incident… which, by the way, what the fuck even happened there?” He glances at you, curiosity practically oozing out of him.

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, but you can’t stop the way your thighs rub together at the memory.

Javier’s mouth... God. “None of your damn business.”

“Don’t tell me you fucked him.”

You laugh, loudly, the sound bordering on forced. “Absolutely not.”

He shoots you that okay, sure look, and you groan internally.

Steve’s like a dog with a bone when he gets curious, and you know he’s not going to let this go until you give him something. You sigh, deciding to indulge him— partially.

“He was being an asshole,” you start, and he immediately interjects with, “Nothing new there,” causing both of you to share a laugh at Javier’s expense.

You shake your head, returning your sunglasses to the bridge of your nose. “No, seriously. He was pushing my buttons, being his usual peacock self. I don’t even know how it escalated, but one moment we’re arguing, and the next... he’s got his tongue in my pussy.”

Steve chokes on his own spit at your bluntness. He’s heard and seen much worse on set, yet your confession has him all tripped up.

“So, you did fuck him?”

You roll your eyes again, shifting in your seat as the horny flashbacks hit you all at once— Javier’s lips wrapped around your clit, the perfect rhythm of his tongue, his fingers.

You shove those thoughts away, focusing on the road ahead, annoyed at both Javier and Steve now. “Getting head isn’t fucking. It’s, like, third base. And anyway, I made it clear— that’s all he was getting from me. I’m not about to waste my time rolling around in bed with him.”

He gives you a look— a knowing look— and you scoff, shaking your head. “What now?”

“Nothing. You’re just the first person I’ve heard say that about him.”

“Someone’s gotta humble his ass,” you mutter, though the words feel heavier than they should. You try to act like you’ve put Javier out of your mind, like that moment was nothing but a blip in your life, but deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

You’ve never met anyone like him, and the fact that he can elicit such reactions from you pisses you off so bad.

As the coastline stretches out in front of you, Malibu drawing closer with every mile, you can’t help but wonder if seeing Javier today will be as easy as you’re pretending it will be.

The mansion is far more extravagant than anything you could have imagined. Its grand facade, with towering columns and ivy crawling up the sides, feels like something out of a movie set, and for a second, you almost forget why you’re here.

But then, as soon as you step past the threshold, you hear it— echoing from deep within the house are the unmistakable sounds of exaggerated moans, grunts, and the rhythmic thump of bodies meeting.

You adjust the strap of your camera bag on your shoulder, your beach bag abandoned in Steve’s car. As you step further into the foyer, Robbie appears, that infamous smirk plastered on his face.

“Long way from home, aren’t you, Dorothy?” he jokes, taking in your wide-eyed amusement as you scan the expensive decor— the towering glass chandelier overhead, the marble floors gleaming beneath your feet, the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You can’t help but be a little impressed.

But of course, he’s there to give you shit about it. You turn your wide-eyed gaze into a glare, bringing your attention to him. “So funny. You should quit your current sleazy day job and take up another sleazy one— stand up,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He just grins, unbothered by your sharp tone. “You’re always a joy to work with. No wonder Javi asked for you specifically.”

Your entire demeanor shifts viscerally and you curse yourself for it mentally, caught completely off guard. “Wait, what? Javier asked for me?”

He shrugs, indifferent to your confusion. “Yeah. He’s set for a solo shoot upstairs in one of the bathrooms before he’s on with...” He snaps his fingers, trying to remember. “...Mariella. Real pretty girl, it’s her first on-camera gig today.”

The world blurs a little as your mind zeroes in on that one bit of information: Javier asked for you. And not just for any shoot— a solo one. You blink, shaking your head to clear the fog. “I’m sorry, can we go back to the part where I was summoned here by someone who isn’t my boss?”

“Oh yeah, he made a real fuss about it. Sent away the other guy we had lined up for the shoot. Told me he wouldn’t do it unless you were behind the camera. Even offered to pay out of his own pocket just to get you here. It’s the only reason we’re paying you as much as I promised over the phone.”

Your stomach twists and you can feel your face settling into a deep frown, the kind that pulls some of your mood down with it. So that’s why he dangled such a big paycheck in front of you this morning.

After the elevator incident (as Steve has so eloquently named it), after the intense heat of his mouth on you, the way he had you— he said he’d leave you alone. He was supposed to respect the boundaries you set, but here he is, yanking you back into his orbit.

You can already picture him upstairs, lounging in one of those stupidly lavish bathrooms, probably smirking that damn smirk of his, waiting for you.

You try to squash down the way your pulse quickens at the thought, the lingering memory of his fingers digging into your hips, his tongue working between your thighs, is beckoning you into temptation again.

“Fucking great,” you mutter, more to yourself than your boss. You have half a mind to storm up those stairs, find the pornstar, and give him a piece of your mind before marching right back out to spend your day on the beach— free of drama and distractions and him.

But the reality is, you’re being paid nearly three times what you’d normally make on a gig like this. It’s enough to drown out the temptation to walk away, however satisfying that would be.

You’re an adult. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.

Robbie gives you a sidelong glance, clearly sensing your hesitation. “You’re not backing out, are you?”

With a sigh, you force a smile and shake your head. “As good as it’d feel to leave, no, I’m not. I’ll be up in a sec.”

Relief flashes across his face, and he gives you a few pointers before rushing off into this maze of a house.

You linger for a second longer, taking a deep breath to shake off the nerves. Come on. Get it together. After a final mental pep talk, you head toward the grand staircase that winds up to the second floor.

The sight that greets you at the top of the stairs stops you in your tracks: Lexxie is splayed out on her back atop some console table, currently getting the life fucked out of her. The visual is chaotic but nothing new. You’ve seen it a hundred times before.

A guy with a scruffy beard and a beat-up baseball cap stands behind the camera, looking more bored than impressed, barely watching as the two stars go at it.

You lean against the nearby railing, your voice cutting through their heavy breaths and grunts. “Guess your marriage to Javier didn’t last very long,” you tease from off camera, referencing the honeymoon shoot.

The star’s eyes snap open at the sound of your voice, and she flashes you a playful, almost sweet smile in between heavy breaths. “Kinda regretting stepping out on him—oh, fuck.” Her snappy comeback dissolves into a breathy moan as the guy currently rearranging her on the table pushes her legs up to her chest, hitting just the right spot.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ruin your shot,” you say, throwing a glance at the cameraman, knowing how annoying it can be when someone messes with your focus.

He waves it off with a lazy shrug. “It’s not ruined. Honestly, I would’ve quit filming ten minutes ago. It’s starting to drag. I’m impressed they’re still going.”

You let out a small laugh, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, they’ve got stamina like you wouldn’t believe. Makes me feel lazy in bed sometimes, but then I remember how unrealistic this shit actually is.”

He chuckles, scratching at his jaw. “Should make it an Olympic sport. Bet we’d bring home gold.”

“Pretty sure that already exists and it happens in the Olympic Village.” You smirk, finally peeling your eyes away from the couple to look at him properly.

He’s cute in that disheveled, stray-dog kind of way. His curls poke out from under a worn baseball cap, his beard patchy, and his clothes rumpled, like he just rolled out of bed and threw on the first thing he could find. He fits in perfectly with the kind of guys you’d expect on a porn crew.

Earning a genuine laugh from him, he extends a hand. “I’m Frankie.”

You shake it, offering your name in return. “I’m also part of the crew. About to go shoot a scene in the master bathroom.” You explain, noticing how his grip lingers just a little, his smile playful and easy. You feel a bit of warmth rush to your cheeks, and he’s about to say something when—

“Oh fuck, I’m about to cum!” Lexxie’s voice is piercing, loud and breathless, pulling your attention back to the scene.

You shake your head, stifling a laugh. “Well, that’s my cue,” you mutter, stepping out before you get too caught up flirting with him.

“Nice meeting you,” he says before dismounting the camera, moving in closer to capture the so-called money shot.

Cute. Too cute. It’s almost enough to make you forget about the man you’re about to see.

You push open the door to the room Javier’s in, and the sight of him has you doing a double take.

He’s standing in the middle of the room with nothing but a white towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, his defined Adonis belt drawing your eyes in a way you hate to admit.

His toned, brown torso glistens with the thinnest layer of sweat, the sunlight pouring into the room making him look like he’s glowing.

You need to toughen up, and in order to do so, you have to bitch at him. It’s the only way to keep that lustful cavewoman instinct away.

“You’re a piece of work,” is what you settle on, making sure to let your tone really punctuate how annoyed you are by the stunt he pulled today.

The second his eyes lock onto yours, amusement flickers behind them, as if he’s been waiting for this confrontation.

He quirks a brow, lips curving into a lazy smile. “¿De que hablas nena—?”

“What happened to ‘if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll leave you alone’? Was that something you said just to lower my guard? To get me to give you what you want?” You cut him off, keeping your distance even as you notice him inching closer.

Your eyes are daggers as they bore into him, and for a brief second, you hope he feels at least some of the fire burning in your chest. But if he’s affected, he doesn’t show it. He is frustratingly calm, like he’s above it all.

“You gave me no indication that you didn’t want me anymore.” His voice is casual, almost patronizing.

You groan as you throw your hands up in exasperation. “I literally said, ‘Hope you got your fix because it’s never happening again.’ What the fuck else do I have to say or do to get you off my back?”

Silence settles between you two as you stand there staring each other down. He’s unreadable, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle.

“Well?” you demand, impatient.

“In my defense— it didn’t sound very convincing.” You stare at him incredulously before turning on your heel. Hell no. He can keep his money and his bullshit. You’re not doing this.

But just as your fingers graze the doorknob, his voice sharpens with a hint of panic, calling your name.

“Wait, look,” he starts, running a hand through his hair, “I’m not trying to start anything. I just thought—” he pauses, searching for the right words. “I’d feel more comfortable if you were behind the camera during this shoot. Not the other guy Robbie brought in.”

Frankie? He seems so harmless, and besides, Javier’s never had an issue with whoever’s in the room when he’s filming, so why is it a problem now?

However, his tone does sound sincere. You turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes and refusing to let your guard down. “This better not be another one of your tricks, Javier. If you’re doing this to try and get into my pants—”

He almost grins, but catches himself just in time, clearly biting back a remark. You can see it in the way his mouth twitches, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. Already have, his brown eyes seem to say. But he holds his tongue, offering a faint nod instead.

“I promise. No tricks. Just a professional shoot. That’s it.”

You give him one last warning glance before sighing. “Fine. But I’m telling you, Javier—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts, holding up his hands. “I get it and please stop calling me Javier.”

You arch a brow. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but everyone calls me Javi.”

Ugh, whatever. “Okay, fine, Javi. Just show me where I’m supposed to set up.”

He bites back another grin and motions you with a flick of his head, and with the weird tension simmering, you follow him toward the ensuite bathroom. The door creaks open, revealing an elaborate setup, and you pause in the doorway, eyes widening.

It’s surprisingly... beautiful.

In front of a massive window that overlooks the sprawling blue ocean outside, there’s a porcelain clawfoot bathtub filled with what looks like a milk bath. Various colored flower petals float delicately on the surface, scattered in an almost artful arrangement.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Well, damn. This actually looks nice.” This bathroom is bigger than your entire apartment.

Javier notices your reaction and leans against the doorframe to the connecting walk in closet, arms crossed over his bare chest, a smirk playing on his lips. “Catering to the female gaze,” he says with a cocky shrug, “At least, that’s what my agent told me. Seems like I’m very popular among the ladies.”

The way he says it makes you want to smack him upside the head. He’s pushing your buttons again in the most subtle way, and you hate how good he is at it.

“Cute,” you reply dryly, walking past him to set your camera bag down on the large counter.

As you begin to unpack and set up, you can feel his eyes on you, watching your every move, lingering on the exposed skin of your back then dripping down to your legs.

It kind of feels good to have him ogling you like this. The whole look but don’t touch thing is really doing it for you, more than you’d care to admit. There’s a certain power in keeping him wanting, yet also forcing the distance.

“It’s not just about the ladies, you know. I actually want this to be good. I trust you to make it look that way.”

You glance over at him. His playful arrogance has slightly faded, shaded in by the genuine want to make this feel more than just some raunchy scene.

“I’m not a director, I just film it,” you remind him, adjusting the camera lens as you try to play it off. “So just do whatever you think is right. Robbie gave me some pointers, but it wasn’t much.”

“Still,” he presses, “there’s some finesse to what you do.”

At least he’s aware of that. “Let’s just get this over with,” you say, deflecting the compliment.

You finish setting up the camera, adjusting the tripod to get the perfect angle. It’s important to capture the full picturesque scene to begin with— the soft light spilling in through the window, the sparkling blue ocean in the background.

You clear your throat, “Okay, I’m all set for whenever you’re ready.”

Javier moves casually as he unwraps the white towel from around his waist. His cock, already half-hard, demands your attention, but you force yourself to look away. You rub your lips together then lick at them unconsciously, trying to focus on anything other than his naked body.

“Got plans after this?” he asks as though he’s asking you about the weather.

You blink at the normalcy of the question “Just going to hang out by the beach,” you reply plainly, trying to keep your focus on the camera and not on his crotch.

It almost feels strange talking to him like this, without the usual teasing or sexual tension-laden bickering.

“Sounds fun,” he says as he steps into the tub, the water sloshing around him. “Real nice out here. The weather is perfect for it today.”

You watch as he settles in, the milky water rising around his body, and for a moment, you’re completely mesmerized.

The scene in front of you looks like something out of a romantic painting, and it hits you how undeniably beautiful he looks. His skin, a warm golden brown, contrasts perfectly with the creamy white of the bath, and the colorful flower petals floating on the surface make the whole thing look like a dream.

He leans back, the water just kissing his chest, and you catch yourself imagining what a soft, hazy vignette filter would do to the shot, how it would add an enchanting glow to an already intimate scene.

You shake your head slightly, snapping yourself out of the reverie. You’re supposed to be filming him jerking off, not admiring the aesthetics like this is some fine art shoot. But fuck, it’s hard to separate the two when the visuals are this damn good.

Javier, of course, senses your brief distraction. He watches you, eyes thoughtful as he stretches out, letting the water ripple around him. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a slight smirk playing on his lips, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand, despite the heat pooling between your thighs. “Is there a clear direction for this scene, or are you just improvising?”

“I’m just winging it,” his voice is a rich, velvet drawl, a little rough from all the smoking he does. “No dirty talk. They want my natural noises to be the main focus… amongst other things.” He cocks his head to the side, one arm coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

Heat blooms low in your belly, shooting straight to your cunt at the sight. The way his bicep flexes, the muscles shifting smoothly beneath that taut, sun-kissed skin, showcasing just how defined he is while still looking so maddeningly soft.

Calm down, girl, you silently reprimand your pussy. She’s fucking purring right now.

You clear your throat and give him a nod, signaling him to begin. Stepping behind the camera, you focus through the lens, grateful for the distance.

Javier moves slowly. His head tips back against the edge of the tub, eyes falling closed, the soft curve of his lashes fanning out like shadows against his skin. One hand trails down, lingering at the hollow of his collarbones. The movements are unhurried, almost reverent, as though he’s savoring the feel of his own skin.

The intimate build-up draws you in, despite your best efforts to remain detached.

You unmount the camera from its tripod after a few moments, stepping closer to him, framing the shot tight around his chest, the slow glide of his hand along his torso. You can’t help but notice the pounding of your heart, each beat mirroring the steady, throbbing pulse at your clit.

The sight of him— relaxed, fully in his element, bathed in the soft glow of light— stirs that fucking feeling deep within you.

It’s not just desire, though that’s certainly there. It’s the maddening awareness of how sensual, how magnetic this man is. And even though you try to tell yourself you’d feel the same about any other attractive man in his place, you know that’d be a damn lie.

Javier’s hand moves lower, ghosting over the ridges of his soft stomach. His other hand trails slowly through the water, sending gentle ripples through the milky bath. You swallow hard and focus the lens on his face— the slight parting of his pouty pink lips beneath his trimmed mustache that you just now realize has a small patch right above his cupid’s bow.

Even his imperfections are attractive.

The flushed skin of his cock makes an appearance, his thick, swollen head breaking the surface of the water with each subtle movement, teasing you and the camera. The way it peeks through, the slick tip glistening in the milky bath, almost feels like a taunt— winking at you.

Doing as you’re supposed to, you adjust the lens to zoom in on the way his cock flirts with the surface.

If you were anyone else, one of his usual co-stars maybe, you’d lean down and give it a few kitten licks. You’d tease the sensitive crown with your tongue, circling the tip before letting it slide past your lips— just enough to drive him wild.

Your tongue twitches at the thought.

A soft groan escapes his lips as he gets closer to where he’s aching to touch. It’s as if he can read your mind, as if he knows you’re imagining the feel of his cock in your mouth, the taste of his salty skin, the way he’d twitch against your tongue as you tease him until he begs for more.

Maybe he’s picturing your lips wrapped around him, too.

You bite down on your lower lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, to stay focused, even though your body is betraying you. The mess in your panties, the way your nipples stiffen beneath your bathing suit top— everything about this moment is dangerous.

Then finally, his fist wraps around his cock, a soft slosh of water accompanying the motion. The eroticism of the scene— paired with the proximity, the memory of those hands on you— ignites that annoying need deep inside.

He strokes himself slowly, eyes still closed as though lost in the pleasure of it all. You focus the camera on his hand, on the way it moves with purpose, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock, slick with precum.

His groans start to fill the air, and your own body reacts, hips shifting slightly as you try to ignore pressure at your cunt.

“Still with me?” His voice cuts through the silence, raspy and knowing, eyes fluttering open to look at you.

Oh. Have they always been this golden?

“Yeah,” you’re proud of yourself for keeping your voice steady.

Javier’s body is pure, unfiltered sin in motion. As you move around the bathtub to capture every angle, you can’t help but admire him. His muscles shift with every slow pump of his hand, the sinewy lines of his arms and torso rippling just beneath the milky water.

His stomach contracts with each exhale, drawing your gaze lower to the faint trail of hair leading down to his cock, which you catch glimpses of when his hips buck up inadvertently.

His breathing grows heavier, his pouty bottom lip caught between his teeth, brows furrowing in concentration as his pleasure builds. It’s mesmerizing, the way his face contorts, his expressions almost too intimate, too personal for the lens. But you can’t tear your eyes— or the camera— away.

His fist moves with such confidence, touching himself with an unhurried rhythm that only a man used to his own pleasure can manage. Every time his thumb glides over the tip of his cock, a heavier grunt rumbles in his throat and it’s so hot.

You’re too focused on capturing every inch of him that it almost catches you off guard when he begins to speak.

“Wish it was your pretty hand around me right now, baby.” His voice is husky, laced with want, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You blink rapidly, heart stalling in your chest as the camera wavers slightly in your hands. “Javier,” you sigh, his name slipping from your lips before you can stop yourself.

“Fuck, I know, but shit—” His words are more ragged now, spoken between heavy breaths. “You’re all I can think about still. You stay in my mind, muñeca. Can’t get you out.”

Even though every rational part of you knows you should stop him, should leave or at least say something to shut him up, you don’t.

You don’t run, you don’t protest. You just... let it happen.

“Talk to me, please.”

“I-I—” The words get stuck in your throat, “I can’t. I’ll ruin the shoot.” Why is that your priority right now?

“You won’t.”

The way he says it chips at the walls you've built around yourself.

“What do I even say?”

“Anything,” there he goes again, using that tone that makes him sound like he’s begging.

So, you say what you’ve been thinking of since he got into this damn tub. “Your cock is so pretty, Javi.” You purr, throwing all caution to the wind, lying to yourself that this means nothing.

The effect is immediate. He groans, a deep sound from his chest, and his hand moves faster over his shaft, the slickness of the water amplifying the movement. “Fuck,” he says, his breathing now erratic, “say it again.”

Your gaze flicks down and it’s mesmerizing watching the way his body responds to his own touch, but it’s the fact that he’s unraveling in front of you that leaves your mouth dry.

“Such a pretty cock, Javi,” you repeat, voice steadier this time, growing bolder with each passing second. Every flex and contraction of his body feeds the arousal pulsing in you. “I bet it would feel perfect sliding down my throat, hitting the back of it until I’m choking on you.”

All those hours spent listening to cheesy porn dialogue are finally paying off.

His head falls back, exposing the strong column of his neck, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. A guttural groan escapes him as the image of what you just said sets in. His other hand moves down to cup his heavy, swollen balls, the water around him rocking more violently now as he starts to lose himself in the fantasy.

“Shit… I’m close,” he growls, voice breaking with need, the words barely coherent. “Keep talking to me, fuck…”

You lean in slightly, the camera momentarily forgotten. “You want to come for me?” Your whisper is dripping with lust, the idea of him falling apart because of you making your pussy ache. “You want to make a mess? Pretend I’m kneeling right here, my mouth open and waiting for you to fill it, warm and wet just for you?”

You’ve seen him come so many times, watched him fill too many cunts with his spend and paint different parts of their pretty bodies— but none of it compares to the sight before you.

The way his body jerks in response tells you everything you need to know. His grip tightens on the edge of the tub, knuckles going white as he pumps faster, rougher, pushing himself toward the brink. His hips start lifting out of the water with every thrust into his own hand, chasing that final release.

“Fuck, yes…,” he groans, voice strangled, barely holding it together. His eyes squeeze shut, every muscle in his body tensing, going rigid as he falls over the edge.

His bilingual expletives cut off into a long, drawn-out moan as his cock twitches, thick ropes of cum spilling out in messy spurts, splattering against his fist, swirling into the milky bathwater. The petals float lazily across the surface, some clinging to his skin, as the evidence of his release drifts around him.

You stand there, heart pounding, frozen as your brain tries to catch up with your pussy.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, fumbling with the camera as you stop the recording. You quickly move to pack everything up and try your damndest not to look at him.

“Wait, don’t—” Javier’s voice is still hoarse, but there’s a touch of urgency to it now, breaking through the post-orgasm haze. You hear the water sloshing violently behind you as he moves, and you know he’s getting out of the tub. “Just… hang on.”

“No. I-I gotta go,” you stammer, your hands frantically packing up the camera, the lens cap slipping through your fingers. You try to grab it, but your nerves are shot and it fumbles. Thankfully, it doesn’t take damage. You’d hate to hear Robbie bitch at you for breaking the brand-new camera.

Just get out of here is the only thought running through your mind. Every time you’re around him lately, you end up a confused, horny, exasperated mess, and you can’t handle it anymore.

“Hey—wait!” Javier slips as he tries to step out of the tub, nearly falling as he reaches for you, his wet feet squeaking against the floor. You turn just in time to see him catch himself, water dripping from his body, his skin still flushed from what just happened.

“What the hell?” You shoot him a look, “You’re gonna break your neck trying to stop me from leaving—”

“I wasn’t—fuck, just let me talk for a second.” He runs a hand through his soaked hair, water dripping down his neck, over the curve of his shoulders, and you hate how even now, you’re distracted by how good he looks. He reaches for the towel and loosely wraps it around his waist. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Neither did I,” you snap, stuffing your gear into your bag, not caring how haphazardly it’s packed. “This— this isn’t what I signed up for. I’m here to work, remember? Not… whatever the fuck that was.”

He steps closer, reaching for your arm, but you yank it away before he can touch you. The last thing you need is his hands on you right now, reminding you of everything you shouldn’t want.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice softens, but there’s a frustration beneath it, like he’s grappling with the same confusion you are. “I wasn’t trying to mess with you, okay? I just… I don’t know what the hell is happening between us either.”

You stop, finally meeting his gaze. There’s something in his eyes that pulls at the part of you that’s freakishly tethered to him, but you can’t let that get to you now. Not when everything feels so damn complicated.

“Javier, this—” You struggle for words, shaking your head. “This can’t keep happening. I can’t—” You pause, your breath catching. I can’t have you. “I don’t want you,” you correct yourself.

His jaw clenches, muscles ticking under the strain. “Stop bullshitting me,” he growls, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not,” you shoot back, but it comes out too quickly, too rehearsed.

“You’re lying through your fuckin’ teeth, and it’s pathetic. What is so wrong with giving me a chance?” He keeps circling back to this— chances.

One thing about him, he knows how to trigger a fucking migraine.

“Everything!” The word bursts out of you like a confession. “Everything about this is wrong. It’s why I’ve been trying to stay away since day one, but you’re so— ugh!” You throw your hands up, exasperated, the bathroom suddenly feeling too small and claustrophobic. He’s got you spinning in circles, tying you up in knots, and you can’t think straight around him.

Without a second thought, you turn to leave, your feet moving as if you’re fucking levitating. So what if you’ve made a habit of running away from him? You don’t owe him shit.

“Nena—” Desperation laces his voice and that stupid nickname makes your skin curl. “I don’t want you to leave like this.”

“Well, too bad,” you snap over your shoulder. “I’m leaving so you can’t sweet-talk me into anything.” The slam of the door echoes behind you, a final punctuation to your statement.

As you step out into the hallway, the distant sounds of people fucking filter through the air, kind of grounding you back to the real world.

You can’t keep working with him, not if every interaction is going to end like this. You make a mental note to talk to Robbie after today’s shoot. No more Peña.

The day drags on, the tension from earlier still lingering, but now, sitting outside on the shaded patio, you feel a small reprieve.

A half-eaten sandwich rests before you on the table, your eyes lazily tracing the lines of the zero-edge pool that blends into the horizon. The soft rustle of palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze lulls you into a sense of temporary peace. You glance around, taking in the pristine luxury surrounding you. Rich people really have it made, you think, marveling at the extravagance of someone else’s life.

The spat with Javier lingers but you’ve done your best to ignore it by keeping busy. The other shoots happening in the house have kept you distracted, but you know what’s coming: the last scene of the day— with him— and the new girl, Mariella. A small sigh escapes your lips as you sink deeper into the patio chair, absolutely dreading it.

Your tranquility is shattered when you feel a presence nearby. Already anticipating another confrontation with Javier, you steel yourself and don’t even bother looking up before snapping, “Oh my god, can you just leave me alone—”

The words get jammed in your throat as your eyes land on Frankie, not Javier. He stands there, looking taken aback, a paper bag in one hand and an awkward smile tugging at his lips. You instantly feel like a bitch.

“Shit— sorry,” you stammer, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I thought you were someone else.”

Frankie lets out a small chuckle, brown eyes softening as he rubs the back of his neck. “No worries, I can leave if you want—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, waving him off. “Please, stay. I didn’t mean to be snappy.”

He hesitates for a moment before motioning to the empty chair across from you. “Mind if I sit?”

You shake your head, and he lowers himself into the seat, setting his lunch down. The small talk starts easily, flowing naturally as you both munch on your food. He tells you about his daughter, a proud smile on his face as he recounts how she’s the light of his life. Then he goes on about how his friends call him Catfish because of some dumb inside joke, and also the fact that he’s a retired pilot. It somehow doesn’t surprise you— the career fits him.

“How do you go from flying helicopters to shooting porn?” you ask, the question half serious, half teasing as you lean back in your chair, eyes hidden behind your sunglasses.

Frankie raises an eyebrow and smirks, clearly amused. “Shit happens,” he says with a shrug. “How do you go from having a film production degree to spending your days staring at tits and ass?”

A wry smile tugs at your lips. You tilt your head, pausing for effect. “... Shit happens,” you echo, the irony not lost on either of you.

He snorts, taking a slow sip of his water, the sound of his laughter rolling into the lazy afternoon air. You can’t help but steal a glance from behind your shades, your gaze wandering over his rugged features.

There’s something about the way the sun hits him just right, casting a golden glow over his tanned skin. You swallow, feeling a subtle pull in your chest, an unexpected attraction. He’s not flashy, not like the other guys you’re used to working with— there’s an unspoken confidence in his ease, a solidness that makes you want to keep looking.

“So… who’d you think I was? Just then?” He asks, adjusting his cap.

You try not to let your small smile falter. “Oh, just an annoying coworker.”

“Ah, the kind who shows up at the worst times, huh?”

“Exactly,” you reply with a laugh, “You know the type.”

Frankie leans in just slightly, lowering his voice. “Well, I’m glad I’m not that guy.” There’s a flicker of flirtation in his tone, his eyes lingering a beat too long. “But if you ever need someone to… keep him under control, you just let me know. Got the remedy for that right here.”

He exaggeratedly flexes his biceps, and the snug t-shirt he’s wearing pulls taut around his arms, highlighting their impressive size.

You can’t help but admire the view— he’s really fun to look at, all charming smiles and playful confidence.

“I might just take you up on that, actually,” you reply, matching his energy with a teasing smile of your own. “I could definitely use someone who knows how to handle things.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his pink lips. “I’m more than equipped for that, trust me.”

For a second, it feels like the two of you are in your own little world— until, of course, it comes crashing down.

A voice cuts through the moment like a knife. “We’re ready for the last scene.”

You turn to see Javier standing there, arms crossed, jaw tight, his gaze flicking between you and Frankie. His entire posture screams annoyance.

“And who are you?” Frankie retorts, squinting one eye against the harsh sunlight, playful defiance dancing in his tone.

Javier doesn’t seem to like that response at all. “I’m ready to get this shit done with,” he snaps, and you narrow your eyes, practically shooting daggers at him.

Frankie clears his throat, sizing up Javier’s bristling energy. “Right.”

You catch the word presumido slip from his lips— the Spanish insult that has you exhaling a light laugh through your nose, because he’s so spot on and he doesn’t even know it.

Both of you stand, Frankie gathering the remnants of your lunch. “If you’d like some company down by the beach later, I’ll still be around,” he adds smoothly, sliding the proposition in there as casually as if he were just suggesting grabbing coffee. You almost don’t mind him crashing your solo date.

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, pushing your chair in. “It would be great to not have to take the taxi back, but I was willing to do it for a nice afternoon by the water.” You can feel Javier’s possessive stare burning into you from across the way.

Frankie, absolutely unbothered, leans in closer, a charming grin on his face. “Here’s my number if you need that ride.” A pen appears out of nowhere, and he scribbles down his digits on a clean corner of his napkin, tearing it off with an effortless confidence before handing it to you.

“Definitely,” you say with a flirty smile, tucking the napkin into your pocket, feeling a thrill against the scowling presence of the spectator watching from the sliding glass door

Frankie branches off to use the restroom and you push past Javier, no intention of speaking to him until—

“If you spent less time flirting with the crew and more time focusing on your job, we’d be finished by now.”

You can practically taste his jealousy.

You stop in your tracks, turning to face him, your patience running thin. “Really, Javi? You’re jealous of Frankie? That’s what this is about? Did our last conversation not put shit in perspective for you?”

He steps closer, eyes hard, voice low. “Jealous? Of him?” He scoffs, but the tension in his jaw betrays him. “I just don’t appreciate having to wait because you’re too busy cozying up to someone else. Especially someone who looks like they just got picked up off the side of the road.”

“And you wonder why I don’t like you.” Is all you can say, brushing past him yet again, his presence looming heavy as you head toward the living room where the last scene is set to be shot.

The moment Robbie goes on with his usual pre-shoot rundown, your attention shifts to the newbie Mariella immediately, drowning out his usual spiel.

The girl— and she is a girl, no matter what the paperwork says— looks painfully young. Her cropped tee hugging her braless chest, barely keeping her breasts from spilling out, and those flimsy pajama shorts riding high on her thighs. It’s the kind of outfit that makes you uneasy— one you’ve seen too many times in this industry, designed to play into the fantasies of men who want their women to look barely legal.

You bite the inside of your cheek, the sour taste of frustration building in the back of your throat. This is the part of the job that gnaws at you— the undercurrent of exploitation that no one acknowledges.

You’re not naive, you know exactly what sells in porn. You know what these people want to watch, what they get off on. The younger, the better.

Still, it doesn’t make it any easier to stomach when you’re standing on set, watching it play out in real time.

Just as Mariella positions herself, preparing for the camera to roll, you can’t stop yourself. The words come out before you can think to censor them. “How old are you?”

Suddenly, everyone’s attention shifts to you. Robbie. Steve. Frankie. Even Javier, who’s lounging in the corner, waiting for his moment to shine. They all freeze, the casual banter dying off as your question lingers in the air. Mariella blinks, looking around as if unsure who you’re even talking to.

“I—I turned twenty last week.”

Your expression hardens, and the disapproval is written all over your face. “She’s not even old enough to drink, and you’re having her fuck Javier?” Your eyes cut to Robbie, who’s staring at you like you’ve just sprouted another head.

The silence stretches for a beat too long before he scoffs, shaking his head like you’re being ridiculous. “I don’t pay you to hear your opinions on shit,” he snaps, clearly irritated. “Just sit there and record the damn thing.”

Your eyes roll hard enough that it almost hurts. “You’re all a bunch of perverts.”

Poor Frankie catches a stray with that one. It’s like everything is grating on you in ways it usually doesn’t. Normally, you can shove it down and keep your head low because, at the end of the day, you’re just here for the paycheck.

“Perverts pay your bills, sweetheart,” Robbie throws back, all nonchalant. What’s worse is that he’s right.

Moments like this make you wonder how long you can keep doing this without losing a part of yourself in the process.

You look around at the other three men, none of them stepping up to say anything in your defense. Useless.

You shouldn’t be surprised, but it stings. Even Javier, usually quick with a sarcastic quip or biting comment, says nothing. He just sits there, stuffing out a cigarette that’s magically appeared between his lips.

It feels like a betrayal, even though you know better than to expect any different.

And Mariella? She’s clearly distracted, caught up in the magnetic pull Javier has over people. The way she’s looking at him with that starstruck, wide-eyed awe only makes it worse. You can see it in her expression, the way her gaze flickers over him like she’s already imagining how it’s going to feel when he fucks her. Thinking with her pussy instead of having common sense.

You recognize it because you were just in her exact position, drawn into that same orbit. You find empathy for her, but not the other motherfuckers.

The room descends into awkward silence, as if everyone’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you’re not in the mood for a full-blown argument, so you shut down, slumping into the chair behind your camera with your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

You know it’s only a matter of time before all these feelings you’ve been aggressively pushing down come back up and make you snap, but for now, you continue to force it all away.

You’re assigned to shoot the stoic, wide shots while Frankie’s in charge of the close-ups, and honestly? You’re relieved. The last thing you need is to be up close, watching this trash unfold.

The scene starts with the typical, raunchy premise: Dad pays babysitter with his cock! It explains Mariella’s barely-there outfit and the cluttered coffee table with school notebooks, setting the scene.

Then there’s Javier who looks the part too; dressed in dark blue slacks, a typical white collared shirt with a few buttons popped open to give that I’m stressed, come take care of me vibe.

He’s the picture of temptation, and it’s obvious Mariella’s already in the clouds.

The filming begins and they share that cheesy, erotic dialogue and lustful touches. You feel yourself sink further into the chair, silently counting down the minutes until you’re decompressing by the beach.

She sinks to her knees before him, her doe eyes looking up at him with that practiced innocence they all seem to perfect so quickly. She reaches for the buttons on his slacks, her delicate fingers fumbling just a little before she pulls down the zipper and tugs at the waistband. She nuzzles her face against his thigh, brushing her lips against his skin, and finally pulls out his cock. Even soft, it’s still an impressive size— but it’s definitely not how this was supposed to go.

“Well, are you going to suck it or just stare at it?” Javier snaps, his tone cutting through the air with an edge that feels too sharp, too real. It doesn’t sound like the crudeness that’s meant to spice up the scene.

His hand shoots out and tangles in her hair, yanking her closer. He’s rougher than usual, harsher, as he forces her mouth onto him.

She wraps her lips around his head, suckling softly at first, then taking him deeper into her mouth. She’s trying to do her job, playing the part of the eager babysitter, but something’s off.

Javier’s head tilts back, eyes squeezed shut, but it’s not the usual look of pleasure that crosses his face. It’s more like he’s concentrating, forcing himself to feel something that isn’t there.

You can’t help it— your eyes flick around the room, looking at the rest of the crew. No one seems to be noticing what you’re seeing, their eyes all honed in on the action in front of them.

But you’re catching the small details like you always do.

After a few more moments, it’s clear that it’s not happening. Javier lets out a frustrated curse, pulling out of her mouth with an audible, wet pop. “Fuck—just, give me a second,” he grumbles, stepping back. Mariella wipes the saliva from her lips with the back of her hand, looking up at him with a mix of confusion and hesitation.

You take that as your cue. Reaching over, you stop the recording, your finger hesitating on the button for only a moment before pressing it. Frankie does the same, Steve lowers his mic and pulls his headset off.

Javier runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting to the floor, like he’s trying to avoid looking at anyone directly. “I just need a minute,” he says again, but it’s more to himself than to anyone else.

Your gaze lingers on him for a second longer than you intend, and your mind flashes back to earlier, to the way he was with you. The memory is sharp and clear, the contrast striking. He’d come undone for you without hesitation, without needing any coaxing or forcing. Just words. But now, with Mariella kneeling in front of him, offering herself up like a gift, he’s struggling.

“How long will this minute take? We gotta be outta here soon so get it up before I get one of these two to take your place.”

Javier scoffs, dismissive, “Tape wouldn’t fucking sell.”

“Well one featuring a soft dick won’t either,” comes the retort, and the two of them start their back-and-forth bickering.

You rub at your temples, trying to ease the pressure building behind your eyes. This has to be some weird-ass dream; it sure as hell feels like it. Maybe you’re still in bed, blissfully sleeping until three in the afternoon.

Javier storms off and Steve puts his equipment down. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Robbie just waves him away. “Take five,” he mutters to the rest of you, going in the opposite direction. This is such a mess, and poor Mariella remains on her knees, picking at her cuticles.

“Please get up and sit on the couch. You look pathetic,” you say to her, not cruelly but bluntly. It’s not her fault, but the sight of her there is making you itch. She complies like a chastised child.

Frankie drops down beside you, letting out a breath that mirrors your own. “These things usually go like this?” He takes his hat off, ruffling his hair before putting it back on.

“No,” shit has just been weird amongst this group for weeks now. “Burnout is inevitable, I guess.” You’re not about to sit there and shit-talk Javier, despite everything. You might have a mountain of complicated feelings when it comes to him, but you won’t kick him while he’s down.

Before Frankie can respond, Robbie comes barreling back into the room, his face flushed with anger. His eyes lock onto you, and you can see the accusation in them before he even opens his mouth.

“This is your fault,” he spits out, voice sharp, acidic. “All that shit you were talking earlier— now he’s fucking broken.”

You narrow your eyes, standing your ground. “Excuse me?” you snap, incredulous. “I was making a valid point. How the hell is it my fault that he grew a conscience?”

“Y’know,” he starts, his words dripping with the kind of vile, misogynistic shit that makes your blood boil. “You’d do me more good in front of the camera. Have somethin’ shoved up in there to keep you fucking quiet.”

The reaction is immediate. You shoot up from your seat so fast the chair scrapes against the floor, the sound sharp and angry, mirroring how you feel. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Frankie stands too, his face hardening as he takes a step in front of you, finally coming to your defense. “Watch it,” he warns, and it feels like the whole situation could explode into something much worse.

Robbie, of course, just sneers “What? You gonna defend her? She’s been a pain in my ass for weeks—”

“I’m done.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think them through, but they feel right.

You’re tired— so damn tired— of this whole mess. Of dealing with assholes like Robbie and Javier who think they can get away with saying whatever they want. “I quit.”

Your boss’s mouth opens as if he’s about to say something else, but you cut him off with a cutting glare. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you treat me like shit because your precious Javier can’t get his dick hard. Go fuck yourself, Robbie.”

You don’t wait for a response. You turn on your heel and head for the door, your heart pounding in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You’ll double up on shifts at the bar or go back to waiting tables like you did throughout college. Whatever keeps you away from this bullshit.

As you stride down the hallway toward the entrance, you pass Javier and Steve. Javier’s face is stormy, brows knitted together as if he’s still reeling from whatever heated discussion they just had.

The moment he spots you, his expression shifts. There’s a flicker of surprise, maybe even concern.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks.

You yank the heavy, probably expensive for no reason, front door open, the sound echoing through the hallway. “I just quit,” you snap, voice sharp as glass. “See you never.”

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @libre-sol . @cherrysugarx . @goodvibesonly421 .

finally started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out. muchas gracias mis putitas (gn) (endearingly) 🖤

#pedro pascal #javier pena smut #javier peña smut #javier pena fic #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña narcos #javier pena x you #javier peña x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic

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specialgradefckr · 29 days ago

Text

tw: explicit content, incest, satoru/reader, satoru/suguru, shoko/reader, codependency, very twisted relationship dynamics, implied abusive/neglectful childhood

suguru had never known what to make of the two of you.

satoru the six eyes and his twin sister. satoru who was his best friend, and you, the girl who looks just like him.

satoru who let suguru bend him over and fuck him until he cried, only to roll off the bed, pulling out his phone.

god. he knew satoru was a dick, but this?

it hurts more than it should. they'd never talked about it, never even called each other friends. he should have figured this wasn't anything special.

but what the fuck is satoru doing on his phone?

"satoru?" he says, trying to sound casual.

everything has to be casual with satoru. low-key. being with him feels like he's coaxing a wild animal. get too close, and he might just bolt.

bolt, only to hit him out of the blue days later with a picture of a candy and a smarmy comment about suguru's taste in food. or his hair. or his power as a sorcerer, or whatever was going through that malfunctioning brain of his.

god, why the fuck does he even like him again?

satoru turns back so suguru can see his smirking face.

god. that was why. the face of a fucking angel, a smile that made his heart skip. why did it have to be on this asshole?

"what, suguru? you feelin' lonely?" satoru drawls.

it's a question he knows the answer to. keep it chill. don't show your hand. don't get too close or he'll get scared.

it aches. "shut up," he says, "i'm just curious who you're texting right after i pulled my dick out of you."

he smirks back when satoru pauses, hesitates.

"who's this person you're thinking about right after you cum?" suguru drawls. he's proud of how distant he manages to sound.

satoru's eyes dart towards him, all ice blue and piercing.

"nobody," he says, setting his phone face down while he pulls on his pants.

he blinks. "what are you..."

satoru ignores his question, strolling out towards the door while waving goodbye. "later, su-gu-ru~"

"but this is -"

before his eyes can furrow, satoru closes the door behind him.

"...your room."

he'd thought that it meant something different this time. satoru always left right after they fucked, he never stayed.

but this is satoru's room. so he'd either kick suguru out, or let him stay.

he hadn't been prepared for him to just... leave. his own room.

what's wrong with him? seriously.

suguru glances at the downturned phone. flips it over.

nee-chan~ (2)

his sister? it beeps.

nee-chan~ (3)

no, don't. i'll ask shoko

you'll ask shoko to do what? satoru has a lock, so he can't see.

seriously, i mean it

after a moment, there's another message.

are you ignoring me, or just busy with him?

don't come over. slut

...what?

the message notification disappears along with the message.

suguru gets a strange feeling.

he looks around satoru's room. he finds some girl's clothes.

does satoru even like girls? they could be yours. he's seen you in his room before.

the strange feeling starts to get. stranger.

there's condoms in here, too, which is weird because satoru has never asked him to use them. or used them himself. he whined when suguru suggested it, actually. asked if he was scared of getting knocked up.

ugh. stupid, insufferable, endearing little shit. he wants to have him in his arms right now.

but it doesn't mater what suguru wants. satoru just left. like he always does, sooner or later.

picking up the phone, he makes his way out. down the hall, towards the girls' dorm.

shoko is already there when he gets there. holding out an arm to stop him.

he raises a brow.

"she's sleeping."

"how do you know i'm here for her?"

shoko shrugs. "why else would you be? saw gojo go in there. anyways, they're asleep now."

"can't be. i was with him just a few minutes ago."

the look she gives him is... strange. everything about this situation feels... off.

he pushes past her, and she sighs.

there's no noise inside, at least. he looses a curse to twist the lock on the door, turn it form the inside.

and it's surprising because - god, what was he expecting?

you're there, curled up beneath the blanket with satoru laying behind you, arms wrapped around you and holding you close.

it's romantic, sure. intimate.

but nothing weird. well, nothing too weird. satoru's always been weird, and you're just like him, so of course you're both weird together. you've always been close. you're his twin sister. what is he thinking?

with a toss, he lets satoru's phone fall onto the floor.

he avoids shoko's gaze as he closes the door and stalks off.

(he doesn't see her anxious glance at the door.)

"he's gone," satoru whispers to you, brushing his thumb over your nipple as you bite your lip.

"shut up," you hiss, putting a hand over his. "i can't believe you did that. why did he follow you? what did you say to him?"

his other hand, threaded beneath your panties, wriggles playfully.

"whaaat? you said you wanted to go to bed. i didn't want to make you wait." he sighs dramatically, "i'm the strongest sorcerer, you know. i need my rest~"

and without you, there is no rest.

as soon as your body is against his, it's like all the tension leaves him. you're there, with him, and everything is all right.

all his worries fade away when he can wrap his arms around you and feel you embrace him in return. mind blank at the soothing sound of your voice. never mind the words you're saying.

"yeah, but do you need to do... this." you say fruitlessly. "you could have come later."

"didn't wanna come later," he kisses your shoulder, "wanted to see you now."

you wriggle in his arms, too wide and too strong to escape, even if you wanted to.

it's enraging. it's gratifying. you don't know what it is, and never have.

he must have been fucking suguru. and after he got his, he came to you.

should you laugh, or cry?

"i could have asked shoko." you mumble almost miserably.

but a sigh escapes you as he fondles your breast. satoru always knows how to make you feel good.

maybe not as good as shoko does, but you're still nice enough not to say that to his face.

"what? to sleep with you?" satoru scoffs, "you can't sleep without me, either."

neither of you have ever slept alone, not a single night in your life.

not even when you were deathly ill and the clan begged the precious six eyes to stay away and not catch your sickness.

satoru had stayed by your side the entire while. held your hand while your head pounded and your body ached. wiped your tears when you cried.

because you were very young, and very sick, in more pain than you'd ever felt before. you had honestly thought you were going to die.

there had been no servants, no mother or father or caretaker. only satoru holding you close, lifting you to drink some water and medicine. telling you that you couldn't die. he wouldn't allow it.

and to your child's mind, that had been reassuring. your brother never left you. your fever broke and you were okay, just like he said you would be.

now, you know better. now you know satoru would lay in bed with people who weren't you, even if he always came back (for now).

now you knew what it was like to have someone else by your side.

(but was it enough? could it ever be enough? could it ever be what you have with him?)

"i'll never know until i try." you turn in his arms to face him, and he allows it.

blue eyes. beautiful, beautiful blue. a pretty face. almost as pretty as shoko's.

you've been learning, lately. you used to think of the mole on her cheek as an imperfection, the cigarette smoke a bad habit.

now? you still think it's a bad habit, but the mole is charming. and you don't hate the smell as much because shoko took you out shopping for perfume.

she asked you which one you liked the most, and bought it for herself. she wears it every friday when you have your girls night out with utahime.

where you get drunk enough to make out with her until she brings you back to the dorm, kissing and fondling and touching.

she asks you if it's okay. asks you how you like it best. asks you to touch her this way, that way.

it's not like how it is with satoru. but she makes you feel good, makes you happy. she wants you to feel good. when you cry she kisses your tears away, like she knows better than to ask but wants to comfort you anyways.

when was the last time satoru tried to comfort you?

"hey," satoru breathes into your ear, pulling your panties down, "c'mon."

when you think of her, your heart flutters. when you think of satoru, your stomach flips, and your whole body aches.

you don't know what love is. you don't think satoru does, either.

otherwise, why would he ever leave geto's arms? when he's so obviously head over heels for him?

you clasp one arm against his chest as you reach down, stroking his cock to hardness. geto must have made him cum (satoru has never made you cum). must have fucked him.

satoru rolls you so you're on top of him.

his shirt is off, baring his lean, muscled chest. your brother, your strong, handsome, beautiful brother, looking up at you with wandering eyes and greedy hands.

your hands are equally greedy. running over his chest, ghosting over his nipples until he shivers. oversensitive. he always is after he's been with geto.

satoru's got a condom out already. he slips it on, leaning forward and pinning you down beneath him.

he doesn't have to use condoms with geto. he doesn't have to be the one on top all the time, either. geto can fuck him. he must like that.

geto's a special grade sorcerer. geto's a man. he's not his sister.

his cock is sliding up and down against your entrance, wetting the condom as he nips at your breast.

he always leaves marks like this, but never where anyone can see.

does he leave marks on geto?

"do you like him more?" you mumble, anxiety swirling in your gut. your lower half is a hot swirling pool of need, leaking for him.

and he inches in, making you whine, making you claw marks into his shoulder. you hope geto sees them.

satoru groans, low and throaty. it always feels like coming home when he's inside you. a perfectly matched lock and key.

his hand threads through your hair. you're so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. he'll admit he's a vain bitch, but who wouldn't be? looking like the two of you do.

maybe one day he should get you to dress up like him. wear a strap and fuck him, that'd be fun.

for now, you're warm and soft and perfect for him. so comfortable. and you're rambling about stuff that isn't important.

"what," he murmurs, breathy from the warmth of you around him, "who?"

if the frustration shows on your face, he can just fuck it away.

"geto." the name is swallowed by a swift thrust, hands planted on your hips.

you wish he'd touch your clit more (you never ask). you wish he'd answer your question (you're afraid to push). but your brother just doesn't think about other people.

"c'mon," he whines, "don't talk about some other dude. you're with me."

"you were with him."

"so?" he thrusts in harder, stealing your breath, like that'll win him the argument, "you're fucking shoko."

satoru fucks you breathless, then. pumping in and out so quickly that the friction has you shuddering, shivering, close enough that you finally start to squeeze around him.

it's always like this with him. you feel like you're drowning, helpless. all you can do is cling to him.

"satoru," you hate how pitiful your voice sounds, "satoruuuu...."

he's hitting you, so deep and so hard it hurts, pierces through the breathless haze and leaves you clenching around him.

"please," your breath escapes you with his next thrust.

please don't leave me. don't abandon me for him. don't discard me now that you have someone better. don't leave me all by myself...

tears dot at your eyes, squeezing around him. satoru's own eyes are wide and wild, his hips shoving into you staggeringly fast.

"i got you," he says, close, so close, "i've got you."

another deep thrust, painful as it is pleasurable, bruising and fast like his fingertips on your hips. he swallows your moans with a kiss.

he thinks he can eat up all your complaints, all your anxiety. hide away from his own by nestling himself in your body.

you don't want anyone but him, right? he's the only one who touches you like this.

the way you squeeze around him, the way your body feels against his, no one else gets that from you. shoko couldn't do this for you. no one could.

you say his name again and he's ready to burst. you love him always. you're so good for him. you make him feel good just by being there.

a part of his life. a missing limb. his precious sister, his beating heart, right there against his chest.

"there," satoru pants, "fuck, there, cum for me, baby..."

it's tears you blink away when he gasps and cums, burying himself inside you with a wounded sort of whimper.

you never do, when it's him. to be fair, you've never done it to yourself, either.

you only ever came when shoko fucked you. but fucked is such an ugly word for how gently she touched you, how soft she smiled.

"satoru," you whine again, "do you like him more than me? i like you more than shoko..."

satoru doesn't answer you. his hands move from your bruised hips to wrap around you, pull you close, plant kisses on your head.

"you know," he mumbles out your name. "you know."

there's a flash of rage. irrational.

he won't say it. he won't even say it. satoru will fuck you, his own sister. cling to you like he needs you to survive, sleep with you every night of his life.

but he won't say he loves you more than geto. he won't even say he likes you.

and you know - because you know him like the back of your hand, you were born with him, you spent every waking moment of your life with him until you came to the school - you know satoru loves you.

but he loves you like he loves air. it's always there. always accessible. it's not like the air will suddenly leave.

you curl into satoru's muscled chest, let him embrace you closer, sink into the silence that's only comfortable for him.

maybe there's something you can do about this.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jjk x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo smut #gojo x reader #suguru geto #suguru geto smut #satosugu #satoru x suguru #shoko ieiri #shoko ieri smut #shoko x reader #female!reader #gojo!reader #tw: incest (siblings)#gojo twincest

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bokutos-babyowl · 2 months ago

Text

The Bet

It was a silly bet. You never thought the boys would have taken it seriously. But little did you know, they were waiting for Max's approval all along.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI,

Max Verstappen X Reader X Charles Leclerc

Notes: This is my first time writing fics in maybe 3 years, so bear with me through the struggles of switching between academic and fic writing.

Word count: 1489

Summary:

Max had been on edge recently with what has now been talked about as the downfall of the Verstappen reign. At first, it was only a DNF, but then the real issues came—the McLaren boys, with their newly upgraded car, were doing wonders on the track while his car seemed to be falling apart at the seams. Max had always been competitive in and out of the bedroom, so why not mix the two? You said it as a joke, thinking that with a new prize on the line, he would win it. But that was far from the truth.

The bet was that whoever won the next race would get to use you in any way they wanted. The "they" being Max—he was the one you made the bet with, after all. Imagine your surprise when, despite starting on pole... Charles Leclerc wins.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.--.-

Waking up to Max’s blaring alarm was not how you assumed you would start the day, tangled in a mess after an evening at a team dinner that you left early—much to Horner's dismay after he saw Max follow you to the bathroom. Trying to find a phone half-asleep was not Max's strong point. Chuckling, you roll back into Max to distract him from getting up and causing the chaos of race day. Grabbing the phone and turning off the alarm, “I can’t wait to get fucked by the winner tonight,” you say to him with a kiss. Grinning, Max was quick with a comeback, “And if I don’t win?” Straddling his hips, you reply, “Well, I guess I’ll just have a new winner to be used by,” you say with a smirk, hoping to rile him up. But what you did not know was what happened in the paddock before dinner last night. His long conversation with Charles did not go unnoticed by some, leaving Horner mildly confused after you both left early.

Flipping you over, hands held above you, back arched off the bed, Max says almost mockingly, “Schat, wouldn’t you like to find out,” kissing you and then walking to the shower. With you confused, thinking of his words on the bed, surely he would not lose on purpose, right?

It was a tight race with Checo crashing out and a poorly timed pit stop on the Red Bull end. Getting out of the car, he was not the winner; he was second to who has been seen as his best bud of the week, Charles Leclerc. It was up on the podium he found you standing with the team. Making sure your eyes were on him, he gave you a menacing wink, looking between you and Charles.

After getting back to his driver room, you had nothing but questions about his small stunt on the podium. Yet when he opened that door, you knew it was not a time to ask him. Helping him pack up from the day, you headed back to the hotel. On the way to the hotel, Max was quiet, looking between his phone and you as you drove him back, thinking he was just tired. The whole way to the room was silent; you expected to open the door and go straight to bed. Yet the bet you made this morning was still happening, even if you thought it was null and void.

As Max opened the hotel door and you walked through, he slapped your ass. “Get the nice red set of lingerie on—you know, the one with all the lace. Be ready on the bed by the time I get back, Schat.” Nodding, you agreed. “With words, love, not your head. Will you be ready?” Looking him in the eyes, “Yes, sir.” “Good girl,” he says as he heads out of the door.

It did not take long for him to walk back into the room. As you are laying there in your red lacey set, you hear the door open. You hear Charles first. Walking in, Max showed a small smile, pleased that you did as he told you. You smile back, holding eye contact to see where he was going. “Fuck, when you said you had a present for me, I didn’t think you were a man to share,” said Charles. “It was all her idea. She said she wanted to ‘fuck the winner tonight.’ And after our conversation, I decided it would get you to stop following her like a lost puppy. So don’t be shy on my account. Schat, don’t be shy now, give the man what he won,” Max said with a smirk.

As Charles walked over to the bed, Max found his place on the chair, opening his pants just enough to pull out his member. Charles looked back at Max to confirm it was okay. Max nodded. Turning around, Charles pulled you flat on the bed, holding your hands as his tongue found its way into your parted lips. One hand wandered to your core to see how wet you were, as he dipped in a finger to find you soaked, showing Max. “Fuck, do you like it when I watch him fuck you, Schat?” Moaning as Charles moved down to your collarbone. “She squeezes my fingers so well, I can’t wait to fuck her.” With that, he turned you over, slapping your ass as you pulled it into the air. On all fours, he ripped off your lace panties. “She likes it rough; she is a good slut like that,” Max says, slowing down his pumps to delay his release.

With that, Charles loosened you up a little more before slamming it deep in you all at once. “Fuck, Charles, so full,” you moan as he lets you get used to his cock. He was a little longer than Max, as balls deep, the tip kissed your cervix just right. Max watched you with calculating eyes, giving him the nod. “She’s ready. Be careful; you won’t wanna stop once you start,” Max says, keeping his eyes on you. With that, Charles grabbed your hair, starting slow, building up pace. “Show him the works, Schat. Don’t leave anything out.” With that, you let go of all the tension pent up in your body.

He was a little longer than Max, as balls deep, the tip kisses your cervix just right. Max watches you with calculating eyes, giving him the nod. “She's ready; be careful; you won't want to stop once you start.” Max says keeping his eyes on you. With that, Charles grabs your hair, starting slow and building up pace. “Show him the works, but don't leave anything out.” With that, you let go of all the tension pent up in your body. Rushing towards your release, you can tell Charles is almost as close as you. Both moaning messes as Max pumps his cock to seeing you getting fucked by his friend. He watches as Charles fucks you through your organum, chasing his own. He can see the glint in Charles's eyes as he is about to spill his load in you. Right when you can feel Charles pulsing, ready to release, he suddenly is pulled out of you by Max.

You let out a sound of complaint as Charles spills his load on your ass. You can feel your insides itching to have that second release as Max grabs your throat, pushing you up so you're back in facing him as you can feel the nudge of his cock. Max motions Charles, and you kneel in front of you, your tits pressing against Charles's nipping mouth. Slowly he guides Charles back into you, before he slowly inserts himself. Hearing a whine of concern, he kisses up your neck. “Relax, schat; I got you. I won't let anything bad happen.” You trust him wholeheartedly as you slowly get used to the new stretch you have not felt before.

You give them a small moan alerting them that it was okay to move now. With the sounds of thrusts and moans, you are lost in a teetering bliss between being too full and not full enough. Charles starts circling your clit, and Max is teasing your nipples, on the brink of pain. Your eyes roll back, and you are on the verge of your next orgasm, overstimulation starting to prickle your senses. With a loud moan, you fall into your next orgasm. “Fuck, schat, did I tell you you come cum?” Max whispers in your ears, whining as you know what happens next, as they are still going. Charles is slowly losing pace, focusing on your clit, and he gives the notion that he is about to come.

Coming in you with a load moan, he slowly pulls out, as he is not focused on your clit, pushing you into overstimulation. Max keen on getting his way can make your body tense up on him knowing that you are both so close. “That's its Schat. Let go for me.” With that, you fall over the edge, your body burning with overstimulation, as Max keeps his pace, letting you come down before coming in you.

Charles catches you from falling to the bed as Max composes himself. Getting off the bed, Max gets the supplies to clean you up as he sees you falling into sleep with Charles holding you close. After cleaning you up, he gently wipes Charles, who moans with how sensitive he is. “If this is what I get for winning, I might fight for pole more often,” he says with a yawn. “Don’t get too comfy; you know who she comes home with at the end of every race,” he says, and he crawls in on the other side of you, taking you from Charles's grasp.

#charles leclerc x reader #fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 x reader #max verstappen smut #f1 imagine #moy writes #max verstappen x reader

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silliest-donkey · 6 months ago

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“You’d be easier on my mind if you actually wore some damn pants”

You looked up from your phone. The voice you had heard almost startled you. You were casually laid back on your bed - which was the second bed of the room. On the first one, Ellie Williams, some nerdy chick you had met at college, was laying down on her stomach. She had offered you the chance of being roommates on day one. Even though, only a week after moving in, it already started feeling more like a curse than a great deal. You knew choosing to live under the same roof as someone you had just met was beyond reckless - but you had no other choice at the time.

"Excuse me?" you scoffed.

"You heard me."

You chuckled weakly, still struggling to process her comment. "I'm wearing shorts," you attempted to justify yourself, a hint of sarcasm lacing your words.

Ellie's response was immediate and defiant. "Still, it's not enough coverage," she retorted.

You let out an exasperated sigh, unable to believe that she was making such a big deal out of something so trivial.

"Ugh, seriously? We're both girls, plus, you're not my mom." you protested, trying to inject some logic into the conversation.

However, Ellie was having none of it. Her sharp retort cut through the air with a fierce determination. "It doesn't matter," she countered, unyielding in her stance.

You shook your head in disbelief, feeling a mix of amusement and irritation at Ellie's stubbornness.

You noticed your roomate's gaze lingering on your thighs, her brows furrowing slightly. A subtle flicker of nervousness crossed her face, as if she was trying to restrain herself from fixating on your legs. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip, betraying her inner turmoil.

“You could just be wearing sweatpants or something..." your roommate pleaded.

You couldn't believe how worked up Ellie was getting about some simple pyjama shorts. Her desperate attempts to prove her point were almost comical. It sounded like she had lived in someone's basement for the last nineteen years of her life.

"Come on, Ellie," you retorted. "It's not the middle ages anymore. I'm not going to wear sweatpants just because you can't handle a bit of exposed skin."

“No, I just don’t want to be constantly looking at your thighs!” she exclaimed, clearly getting annoyed.

The stubborn girl's sudden outburst took you by surprise. A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you realized the implication of her words.

"So it's a problem that you can't keep your eyes off my thighs, huh?" you teased, unable to resist the opportunity to rile her up even more.

Ellie's face flushed a deep shade of crimson, realizing she had inadvertently revealed more than she intended.

"What? No, that's not... I didn't say that.." she stuttered, her eyes darting away from your smug expression.

You had stopped paying attention to her the moment she started stumbling over her own words. Now with your headphones on, you blissfully ignored Ellie's stares as you watched a show on your phone. Or, at least, Ellie thought so.

She laid back on her bed, frustrated, resting a tattoed arm over her forehead.

A heavy exhale exited her lips, as she flipped her body onto her stomach, the stirring sounds of her covers disturbing the silence. She was trying her best to hide how much the simple sight of you was affecting her.

Ellie grabbed a pillow and pressed it around her head, doing whatever she could to avoid looking at you. But it was so hard to do so when the very thing she was trying to ignore was right in front of her. She eventually gave up and let her eyes travel over your curves.

Her gaze took in everything, as she finally allowed herself to stare at her heart's content.

Ellie's passionate visual study of your features started at your shoulders, before slowly wandering down your body, taking in every piece of skin that wasn't hidden by clothing. As the poor girl tried her best to push away the sensations of arousal, she found it increasingly difficult to ignore the growing heat and tension within her. Every glance she allowed herself to take seemed to fan the flames of her desire, and she could feel her inhibitions slipping away from her control with each passing moment. Despite her efforts to remain composed, her body betrayed her as her heart raced and her breath grew shallow, signaling that she was losing the battle against her own ache.

Before she could realize it, Ellie's thighs were humping the sheets of her bed. Her lips, slightly parted in adoration, occasionally let out soft gasps. She felt like she was melting into a puddle, so needy, only from looking at your thighs. The dry humping did nothing to soothe the feeling, if anything, it intensified the tingling sensation she was subjected to.

Ellie bit her lip so hard it almost started bleeding, her jerky fingers gripping the bedsheets in a pathetic attempt to keep herself from doing anything she would regret. However, the longer she just laid there and stared, the more she felt the last shreds of her dignity and self-respect fade away into nothingness.

She slowly pulled the covers of her bed over her shoulders, her hands sliding under her clothes. Her thumbs lowered dangerously over her shivering skin, from her breasts, down to over her stomach until she felt her clit.

Ellie sneaked a shy finger into her underwear. Just one. A small, nearly inaudible moan escaped her twitching lips as she felt the fleshy folds of skin on either side of her vagina throb.

Your roomate thanked god you were wearing headphones. You were only meters away, and she was pleasuring herself at the half-naked sight of your thighs alone. It felt so humiliating, and downright outrageous, but she loved the thrill.

Her index was now coated in her natural lube, desperately pressing and stroking her swollen button. It was a losing battle, Ellie's mind, clouded by pictures of you and only you, was slowly turning to mush. Hell, you were offering her such a perfect combination of charms that it felt like it was altering her own brain chemistry. She kept her forehead against the bed, her moans muffling into the covers as she was already reaching climax. She couldn't look at you anymore now that she had committed to her urges so pathetically. She probably wouldn't even be able to look at herself in the mirror for a few days, now that she thought about it.

Ellie remained for a few moments in the same position, struggling to catch her breath. She didn't even notice before a long time that she was drooling all over her bed, her mind stuck on the sight of your perfect, supple thighs, looping, replaying, repeating in her pretty little dozed off head every single one of the witty comebacks you had given her earlier, which had made your lips move so attractively. After panting onto her bedsheets for what felt like hours, she finally got a grip of herself, and raised up from her bed. Her knees wobbly, she cleaned up while you were still laying down with your headphones, visibly fixated on whatever you were watching on your screen.

Forgetting about this was not negotiable with her brain. From now on, she would probably get wet only by seeing the tiniest bit of your exposed flesh. And, she wasn't going to make anymore rude comments anytime soon. How could she blame you for anything when she was the creep? When she was the one who got sickly obsessed with you to the point you were a constant turn-on for her?

The thought alone of anyone else getting to see you like this made her want to punch the goddamn wall. Ellie was well aware of how toxic this was, that you did not owe her anything and did not deserve her to be bossy with you. However, the more she tried to calm herself down, the more conflicted she was getting. She found herself crouched down on the bathroom floor, burying her heavily blushing face into her arms.

Your roommate had realized too late how much of a hold you had on her.

[masterlist]

#lesbian #wlw #wlw smut #tlou smut #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams #sub ellie williams #ellie smut #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader

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dearsnow · 7 months ago

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YOUR REAL BOYFRIEND

- you go on your first date with your “bar boyfriend”, who seems a whole lot nicer than the guy that tried to pick you up earlier. (bob floyd x fem!reader, fluff <3, you don’t necessarily need to read part 1 but it provides some context)

PART 1

word count: 1,686

a/n - i did not expect part 1 to do so well, omg 🥹 thank you all for the love. if i had the writing stability I would’ve turned this into a series, but there is still time for that yet lol. enjoy this fluffy part 2 <3

You sit in your small apartment anxiously. Your first text to Bob has just gone through, and in the heat of the moment, you threw your phone across your bed and smothered it with a pillow. It was a simple thing, just saying “Hey! I’m Y/N from the bar :)”, and you really have nothing to be scared of, but your breaths are uncomfortably quick in the early morning. It’s like you just took a five mile run. You pick up the book on your bedside table and flip through a few pages, failing to read a single word.

You only put down your fruitless attempt at calming yourself down when your phone gives a muffled buzz from underneath your pillow. You grab it quickly, seeing his just-saved name flash across the screen.

Bob: Hello, Y/N from the bar! I was a bit worried you weren’t going to reach out, but I’m really glad you did.

You: Of course I reached out. You’re a nice guy, I would be stupid not to.

You internally groan before hitting send. He makes your insides turn to mush just by typing on a screen. At this point, you’re scared of professing your undying love.

He is a nice guy, and a polite guy, and honestly an everything-you-could-ever-want guy. You barely spent thirty minutes with the man and you already find yourself wanting to slip a ring on his finger. He’s different, a really good kind of different.

Bob: I’m flattered.

Bob: This might be too soon, but would you want to go out sometime? I know this nice place by the beach where we could get to know each other better.

You: I’d love to!! Lmk the details and I’ll be there <3

As you fling your phone across your bed again to kick your legs, you almost feel bad for it. The man of your dreams is asking you out, and you can’t physically handle the joy that’s pouring out of you right now. You can just imagine his quiet, smooth voice talking away while his eyes light up. When you get the date plan, you eagerly type it into your calendar.

Saturday, 5:30 PM, Ocean’s Cove Seafood and Bar. It’s perfect.

You don’t know how you can get through the rest of the week with the date looming in your mind, but, somehow, you’ll have to find a way to manage.

Your management ended up being text conversations with Bob so frequently it felt like you were always checking your phone for a new message. For the first time in your pitiful dating history, he was the one reaching out often and matching your energy. Talking with him is like a breath of fresh air. It’s almost better than than the fresh air you’re breathing now, walking through the open entrance of Ocean’s Cove. You immediately notice a very handsome man sitting at the table you’re directed towards, with his sandy hair styled perfectly.

As you walk over, he stands and pulls out your seat for you, only sitting down himself when you’re situated. His cheeks are tinted pink. “Hi.” He offers, clearing his throat. “You look really beautiful.”

“Thank you, Bob. You look amazing too.” You say, reaching out to brush against his blazer’s collar. “You always do.”

His face grows impossibly redder.

Just like the first time you met, you fall into the rhythm of conversation easily. It’s awkward, at first, as things often are, but it quickly becomes one of the best talks you’ve ever had. Your food is eaten between giggles and playful comments.

“He seriously made you do five hundred push-ups for someone else’s mistake? Man, you must hate this Hangman guy after he pulled that.”

“Oh, everyone hates him. In a loving way, mostly. Just be glad you’ve never been around him while he’s drunk.” Bob’s eyes are lit up, and the sight is better than you could’ve ever imagined.

You wipe your mouth with your napkin gently, trying to not rub your makeup on the soft cloth. “Wait, what’s he like drunk? He’s gotta be a character.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, and you engrave the sound in your memory. This is amazing. “He gets so competitive, but he’s too drunk to throw the darts straight or hold the pool cue proper. It’s really funny, because he thinks he’s doing well until the darts end up pinned through Maverick’s uniform.”

“Oh geez,” you laugh. “That reminds me of my old friend. She drunkenly spilled tequila down the front of our boss’s suit while trying to impress our coworker.”

“It seems like we’ve got a lot in common.” He smiles. He’s about to say something else, but your waiter stops in front of your table before he can get the words out.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, sir, but we have another couple waiting for your table. We have a three hour policy.”

Three hours? You’ve been here for three hours? You check the dimming light and realize that what you thought was forty minutes was, in fact, a hundred and eighty. Bob pulls out his card and signs the receipt, seemingly a little embarrassed that he also didn’t realize the time. “Here. Sorry for the trouble.”

The card is whisked away before you can even request a separate check. “I would’ve paid for that.”

“No can do.” Bob says, placing his hand over yours gently. “It’s my treat.”

You try to formulate a response to his kindness, but your mouth falls dry. All you can do is whisper a “Thank you,” as the waiter comes back with his card and ushers you out politely.

The outside air is heavy and chilly, cut with the smell of sea spray. As the sun dips below the horizon, you shiver. Without a word, Bob drapes his blazer around your shoulders. You turn to him, eyes slightly wide. “Are you sure?”

The question is about more than just the blazer. It encompasses everything you’ve wanted to say to him, everything that you’ve been worried about from the beginning. Is he sure that he wants to do this? That he really actually likes the person he just so happened to save at the Hard Deck?

“Always.” Is his simple reply. Your hand finds his, and he entwines your fingers like it’s natural. “I apologize if this is overstepping-“

“Do you want-“

You both start and stop at the same time. “Continue.” You say, a smile working its way up to your eyes.

“No, you go.” He insists. He swings his arm a bit, taking your hand with him. You can feel his blazer dip past your hand and onto his, as the sleeves are too long for you.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go down to the beach with me. It might not be good for our formal clothes, but I really like you, and I want to spend more time with you. As much time as possible, actually.”

This time, it’s his eyes that widen. “You read my mind. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

You laugh, a sound that’s music to his ears. It’s perfect, like everything about you. Like your humor and your storytelling ability, like the slope of your shoulders and the softness of your hands. He could spend his whole life drowning in you. “Then let’s go, before we miss the entire sunset.”

You pull him along, your thumb smoothing over his own, and he thinks he’d let you lead him anywhere. “Look, the beach is so pretty at this time of day! It’s like something out of a magazine.” You exclaim, expensive heels digging into the sand. You can’t bring yourself to care about washing the sand off, not right now.

“It’s almost as pretty as you.” Bob breathes. He doesn’t expect you to hear it, but you do. You turn around and slide your palm over the smooth fabric of his shirt, playing with the collar, before kissing his cheek softly.

For once, you take initiative in your movements. You can’t let him slip away; you think you’d be devastated if you didn’t see him again, if you never told him exactly how you feel. “I’d say it’s nowhere near as pretty as you.” You can tell your face is warm, and his definitely is. “We need to do this again.”

“For sure.” He murmurs. His expression is conflicted, and you feel a small bit of insecurity bubbling up. Does he not want this as much as you do? He takes a small breath of air, eyes flicking up to the sky for a brief moment. His glasses slide down his nose just a bit, but he doesn’t push them up. He’s only focused on the words timidly making their way out of his mouth. “Please stop me now if you don’t feel the same way.”

“If ‘feeling the same way’ means wanting to continue talking, I wouldn’t stop you for the world.” You can feel a hint of anxiety in your tone. Bob takes both of your hands, and the small butterflies are eaten by larger, rougher butterflies. Think atlas moth sized butterflies.

“In that case,” he almost whispers, “would you let me be your boyfriend? For real this time. And I won’t hold it against you if you say no, or want to wait, because I know we’ve only really been talking for a week, and-“

You cut him off with a kiss. His lips are soft and don’t demand anything from you. He reaches for the back of your head, cradling you like you might break. When you finally break away, his glasses are just a bit crooked. You reach a hand up to fix them. “Yes. Yes, I’d love it if you were my real boyfriend.”

“Awesome.” Is all he can manage to say. You giggle anyways, placing your hands on his chest.

“Next time, if a creep hits me up in a bar, we won’t have to lie.”

He places a sweet kiss on your forehead. “If I’m there, I hope he wouldn’t even think to try.”

Taglist: @seitmai

#solar eclipse.#robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #top gun maverick x reader #bob floyd fic #bob floyd #robert floyd #top gun fluff #top gun headcanons #top gun x reader #top gun fandom #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun movie #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fic

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hatsukeii · 4 months ago

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god, love's fuckin' embarrassing! / bsf!suna rintarou x reader

genre(s): fluff + a bit of crack, bsf to lovers, mutual pining, mutual DENIAL SMH, set in pre-timeskip second/third year, "love is embarrassing" x "love is embarrassing", suna lowkey is a sleazy heartthrob who just gets girls, fumbling his feelings in front of a baddie but it...works???

warning(s): dirty jokes, "suna ur a p3do" jokes and punchlines (he's not), and a kys joke LMFAO, also just INSANE/irrational behaviour from diff girls out of obsession/lovesickness because i have defs! met people like that... but other than those nothing! gn reader too i THINK if it's not lmk i'll fix it :)

wc: ~3.3k

tldr; suna rintarou swears he gives up, because love is just so fucking embarrassing. i mean, seriously, what kind of guy is placing all his bets on his best friend that he's definitely, totally, 100% not in love with? (he is.)

Suna Rintarou arrives at your house approximately fifteen minutes later than he agreed to. When he walks in with your spare key, you’re already on the couch, legs propped up on the armrest and back pushed into the plush seats as you scroll on some random forum. He takes aim, and tosses your spare key from the doorway, hoping it hits you in the face. You drop your phone at the same time, and it ends up bouncing off the case and onto the ground.

“Asshole.” You yell from the couch while reaching to claw at your keys, just loud enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to wake the rest of your household. “You said you’d be here by ten to debrief. Was she that bad?”

Suna frowns, something you, fortunately, don’t notice. You’ve regained control of your phone now, moving on from your forum to your photo album. Through the reflection of the television, his figure is blurry, but approaching. The fabric behind your head dips when he flips onto your couch, legs hanging from the headrest and head lolling off the seat. You finally find what you were looking for, shoving your phone into his face.

“The scale? Seriously?...Solid nine-point-five. Not a ten, though. Redeeming factor was that she had big tits, but that wouldn’t have mattered anyways, because she’s fifteen.” You drop your phone on his nose. It slides off his face and onto the ground again.

“Fucking gross, Rintarou. You’re so gross. This is why you can’t keep any girl for longer than one hour.”

Pushing himself up, he plucks your phone from the ground, and tosses it onto your stomach. With the rate that he’s been going at, Suna doesn’t think he wants to keep anyone for longer than one hour. Sure, casual flirting is exciting. Hookups don’t sound half bad either. But the next time that Suna catches somebody he’s never spoken to with a love letter in their hands, he swears he will run into the nearest vehicle. It’s not to say that Suna Rintarou wants to be a prude for the rest of his life, no, not at all. He just doesn’t want to spend half an hour chasing someone off his tail again, for the fifth time in his life.

“Not my fault they think I’d appreciate them casting love spells and carving my name into their walls.” He glances at your grossed-out grimace, and nods knowingly, a nod that says yeah, it’s been that bad. “I’d rather die alone if that’s what I end up doing while in love.”

You snicker, turning your entire body so your legs rest on the seats of the couch and your back leans against the armrest. Suna eyes your shirt up and down, frowning at the old, but persistent coffee stain that refuses to wash off. He doesn’t think he’s ever getting that shirt back, but he’s okay with that. He wasn’t going to ask anyways. “She was not in love with you, Rin. Stop being an egotist.”

Something goes off in the kitchen, and Suna suddenly notices how his nose tingles at smells of burnt sugar and butter in the air. You hop off the couch, disappearing into the kitchen only to return with a bowl that Suna thinks might be bigger than your chest- your head. When you set the bowl down on the fabric between your crossed legs, and stuff handfuls of popcorn into your mouth, he sighs. There’s no running from this after all.

“So? What’s the Mitsuki level warning?” You raise your brow expectantly, the same way that you do at every debrief session, which Suna never fails to show up late to. Thankfully, that usually gives you more time for the everything shower, because the sessions also never fail to carry on through the night, and into the next day.

Ah, Mitsuki, his recurring nightmare. In hindsight, Suna should have known better than to try anything with her, of all people. For fuck’s sake, she drew gore of pre-existing couples, and posted them publicly with pride. “Not that bad, my god. You think she was a villain or something? It was only, like, cried and told me that I must be in love with someone else level bad.” For the record, that’s not even a level 1 warning on the Mitsuki scale. You roll your eyes, mouthing booooo with popcorn stuffed in your cheeks and sticking a buttery thumb down. The horrors that you’ve had the displeasure of hearing about are enough to turn anybody away from love. In fact, they’re enough to undo the security of happily married parents, and an unproblematic friend group at school, and the fact that Suna Rintarou has been looking a little too decent recently. You chalk it up to him finally cutting the stupid hair short.

Suna’s hand invades the popcorn bowl, picking for the glossiest piece. He knows it’s in there, somewhere, the piece with the best butter to caramel ratio, the one that you always find before he does when he shares a bucket with you at the movies. To his disappointment, it is once again, gone. He settles for one that has enough butter, and pops it into his mouth. You throw a dry piece at his face. He eats that one too.

“Keep going? I need to update my catalogue of your botched dates.”

“It wasn’t even a date!” You throw another piece of popcorn at his face, and this time, he chucks it back at you. “I agreed to show her around the area tonight because she asked, and I was assigned to her, of all the new first years! I didn’t think she would break down when I said no to hooking up now, did I?” You snicker, pointing accusingly at Suna and wiggling your finger. Then, you sign directions- directions he knows all too well from telling you too much about lovesick underclassmen whose feelings go unrequited. Out the door, to the left, straight for three blocks, take a right, it’s the blue sign ahead. It’s the police station. He claws at a handful of popcorn and throws it at you while you hold your stomach and cackle.

“I’m gonna kill you, I swear.”

“Nah, you love me too much.”

“Bullshit, I don’t.” Any type of love is too embarrassing for Suna Rintarou to be in, whether it’s what his parents have, or whatever Atsumu has got going on with that foreign chick from “another school,” or if it’s throwing popcorn at him in his old Gorillaz t-shirt, which he is still, never getting back. “Kill yourself. I hate you. If you have one hater, it’s me. I’m your biggest opp.” Yes, of course he hates when you pull this shit, because it’s not like he’s glad that underclassmen ogle over him on the daily. How is he supposed to explain that firstly, he doesn’t want to catch a case, and secondly, he thinks they’re tainting the very concept of love by embarrassing themselves like that?

You put a halt to your mindless laughter and gasp, eyes widening and pointer finger shooting up in front of you. “Whoa there!” The feigned altruism of your voice makes Suna wish he was actually dead. See? No love here. One for Suna, none for love. “Hate is a strong word, Rin. You shouldn’t hate, you should love! Love thy neighbours! Love wins!” Popcorn crumbs line his t-shirt now, and Suna clicks his tongue, running a hand over the plasticky print. It’s in pristine condition, spare for the splotch of brown, conveniently placed in one of the four white areas on the shirt. You swat his hand away, throwing a coy smirk in his direction as you shake the fabric to let the crumbs fall off. He tries to wince, holding back the muscles in his cheeks from moving the wrong way and smiling, and a pained smoulder comes as a result. Better than a smile, especially when you’re prodding at him to choose love. That would have been embarrassing, and very, very hard to explain.

“Love does not win.” Suna turns on the television now, your muted reflections turning to colour as some reality show drones on. Oh look, it’s Love Island, where all the female leads are a little stupid, and the male leads are trying unnecessarily hard not to think with their dicks. “It’s sad, and half the time girls that say they’re in love with me end up running away crying because of it.”

You hum, questionably. Is that what he thinks love is? Well, yes, it’s sad, obviously. Embarrassing too. You’ve seen it in the sappy texts that your freshly-dumped friends foolishly shoot to their cheater exes, and heard it in Suna’s many escapades, including, but not limited to being car-chased by Mitsuki onto your poor neighbour’s lawn, which they still haven’t managed to get fixed. Still, it always wins, because somebody else thinking they’re in love with Suna means that you get to hear all about them for hours on end, and then try to convince him that there’s obviously somebody better, or at least sane, that's around the corner, ready to love him normally. Not you though, because that’s, again, embarrassing. Although you admit that you wouldn’t mind if he ever asked.

“I told you, Rin, they’re not in love with you. They’re obsessed, it’s different.”

Suna shrugs, blowing a raspberry. He doesn’t think you know what you’re talking about, because if you ever needed him to, Suna Rintarou would undoubtedly lay his life down for you, no questions asked. If you ever wanted another shirt, he’d give you his collection, then buy you more if that still isn’t enough. He’d let you off the hook for snatching the best piece of popcorn in the bucket from him, and settle for the butter pieces with only bits of caramel on the edges. Hell, he’d even swallow his ego, and just date you if it helped you with anything. But he would rather die than hand you a love letter stamped shut with red wax, or push you up against a locker in the middle of school rush hour, and has never, in his life, wanted to watch you sleep through a bedroom window like Mitsuki has to him. Obsession, in the name of love, is sorely inapplicable to Suna Rintarou. Therefore, he must be romantically inept. It’s okay, he accepts it.

“I don’t see a difference. How could you?”

Your mind blanks at his question, unsure how to explain to Suna that somebody screaming I love you! with a DSLR camera full of his photos, taken of him in secret, in places that nobody but he should know, is nothing close to love. When you reach for the coffee table and place the half empty bowl of popcorn down, you catch his expression. His eyes are half-lidded, glossed over, staring tiredly at the television. You almost let it slip that you feel a bit sad for him.

“You’re kidding. Okay, give me a scenario, anything.” He hesitates, bouncing his leg up and down and tapping his finger against the seat of the couch. His eyes dart towards you, who are staring at him. He doesn’t look away.

“Alright, what would you do if you loved someone?”

In normal circumstances, you’d probably tell them, nothing. When Suna Rintarou is sitting beside you on your couch, however, it’s different. You think, looking at the ceiling to avoid any and all eye contact.

“Well, for starters, I wouldn’t try to fight their best friend.” You blurt out, remembering the black eye you suffered as a result of telling Mitsuki off for showing up at Suna’s doorstep in nothing but lingerie. “And I’d be okay taking a black eye for them anyways, it’s just not a nice experience.” Suna nods introspectively, looking back to the television. Nope, still Love Island, but it’s enough to occupy his scrambling mind. You continue.

“I mean, flowers are kind of embarrassing, and I kinda hate them, but if they wanted to give me flowers, I’d pretend to like them. Maybe try to keep them alive too.” By ascending the stairs to your room, you would see a single rose in a vase. It’s half-wilted, the water level decided with uncertainty a year ago when Suna thought it was funny to give you the rose from one of his secret admirers on Valentine’s day. “If they loved me though, they would know that I hate flowers.” See? Not love again, two for Suna, none for love, because Suna gave you the rose knowing that you hate flowers.

“I’d take lots of consensual photos of them, anytime, and everywhere.” Suna knows that you have an entire album, filled with god awful, non-consensual photos of him. That means you don’t love him, which is good! Because he doesn’t either, even if he also has an album of unflattering, non-consensual photos of you. Suna’s favourite is one that is actually quite flattering, where you’re leaning up against the handle of a shopping cart, and reaching for a bottle of mayonnaise on a rack. Non-consensual, unbeknownst to you, but he thinks you’d like it if he showed you. “Keep them in a cute little folder or something too.”

“Are you sure you’re not in love with anyone? Because you seem to know way too much.”

“I think s-” Stopping abruptly, you bite your tongue before the next words have a chance to come out. “I think I’m open to it.” You stretch, and your foot pokes into Suna’s side. He grabs it, sitting closer, and pulls you down until your legs rest on his own, which are now bouncing uncontrollably.

“Okay, good to know. What’s your type, then?”

Your hands reach behind your head, cushioning it as you lie on the headrest. “Someone funny. And sane. Good looking too, but that’s a bonus.” No, this is bad. It’s two for Suna, but one for love, because Suna Rintarou is sane. Love Island on the television erupts into a flurry of applause, and when the two of you look at the screen, two people are kissing. One of them opens their mouth too much, and it clearly freaks the other person out. “Oh, and somebody who doesn’t kiss like…that.” You nudge Suna’s chest with your knee. “What about you? First year freshmen?” He pokes the side of your stomach, right where the coffee stain sits on his t-shirt.

“Fuck you.” His curses drone off, lost in thought. Does he want somebody tall? Short? Somebody who plays volleyball like him? No, that’s not it. He looks back at you, whose eyes are still trained onto the television. He thinks he should take another photo of you, one that he thinks you’d like just as much as the shopping cart one. It’ll be a lot of effort, trying to reach for his phone in his pocket with your legs over his own, but it’ll be worth it. “I just want somebody who won’t try to climb through my bedroom window at three in the morning.” Now that he says it out loud, it sounds like the bare minimum. “And maybe someone who actually wants me around, even if I’m not romantic or whatever.” You look back at Suna, and suddenly you’re putting every single person that’s ever confessed their love to shame just by being his best friend of four years, sitting beside him like you always have. Fuck, it’s two for Suna, and three for love. He’s not sure where the extra point came from, but he probably deserves it. “I think I just want somebody who loves me. Like, actually loves me.”

“What, you finally get it?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” Suna rubs at his gradually reddening face with both of his clammy palms. You smile, because you’re not sad for him anymore. Your best friend is finally starting to see that love isn’t being chased by a car, or being cornered with a letter, or even being kissed on the cheek by girls who barely know him, but somehow think they’re in love with him. “This is so fucking embarrassing. Oh my god. Love is so fucking embarrassing.”

“I know, Rin. It’s nice though, I think, when you’re in love.” Your words drift off into the air of your living room, and although you're punching yourself in your head, you come to the acknowledgement that you might just be in love with Suna Rintarou. Love really sets you up to embarrass yourself, especially when you realise it at a time like this.

“Have you been?”

You don't nod, and his stomach drops, because Suna Rintarou is pretending that he wants to make fun of whatever comes out of your mouth next, but hoping for you to say his name. Two for Suna, four for love.

“I probably am right now, but who am I to say? I know nothing more than you do. People don’t even go for me, which saves me the trouble.” You shrug helplessly. If love doesn’t come your way, then so be it. There’s nothing more embarrassing than putting out more than you get, which is exactly what you would do for only one person in the world.

“They would.”

“You serious?” Suna nods, legs coming to rest. “Proof, right now, or it didn’t happen.” It’s about to end horribly, and Suna Rintarou might never live this down, but he’s lost four-two to love, so placing all his bets on this is now obligatory.

“Okay, go out with me. I’ll take you somewhere nice.” You freeze, sitting upright. Your body is still as stone, legs still on Suna’s, which are shifting so he can turn and face you.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He doesn’t miss the grin that creeps onto your face. It’s a good sign, he thinks. A sign that you do, in fact, love him back, one way or another.

“Well, I’m funny, and I’m sane. That’s what you want, right?” Yes, that is what you want. In fact, upon closer consideration, Suna Rintarou is exactly what you want. Who would’ve guessed? Best friend of four years, like you thought, just around the corner.

“You would be correct. And I want you around, always, even if you don’t like romance, which is what you want, right?” Suna nods, because that is exactly what he wants.

“Okay, and you…actually love me, and are not just trying to see what boxers I’m wearing, right?” Your eyes dart between his own, and you think about the time Mitsuki somehow managed to steal Suna’s boxers after breaking into his house at three in the morning, before she was chased out and had the restraining order filed against her. No, you’d never stoop that low. Plus, you already know from shuffling through Suna’s closet for all these years, stealing t-shirts off of him. T-shirts that you still wear on rotation to bed, sometimes to go out. You don’t tell him about your friends asking you whether they’re your boyfriend’s shirts, and how you would respond, I wish, idiots.

“I do actually love you, Rintarou. Plus, I think I’d rather not see your boxers again, thanks. And if we go out, you’ll figure out whether you’re in love with me as well, and we can work with that.” The credits roll on the television, and it cuts to an episode preview. Suna looks at you, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, if you ever wanted him to, he’d show up to your doorstep, not just with more of his band t-shirts, but with handwritten love letters tied into a stack too.

“Nah, I know I love you. We can skip the date and just get together.”

author's note:

watch me post this at 2am sydney time and then get annoyed when no one sees it because 2am is a cursed time for me.... JOKES i don't care because i loved writing this so sosoossoos much and im putting it out as soon as im finished but THANK YOU FOR READING TILL THE END!!! i have a newfound love for suna rintarou thanks to all the research i did on his character both fanon and canon he's so me frl i need to have a suna in my life ngl... I HOPE THIS LIVED UP TO YOUR EXPECTATIONS THO!!! genuinely one of my favourites that I've written thus far

anyways tags!!!

@chuuya-brainrot @zzwon @akaakeis @blvewave @kongkhoi @hiraethwa @kuroppiii @catsoupki @laughingfcx @tulip-room @fiannee @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @wishi-selfships

ok love u all bye bye until next time

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space-matt · 5 months ago

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The great debate

chris sturniolo x fem reader

summary: finally the big question has been revealed, ass or titts?

request: yes -> @jcsturniolo11

author’s note: hope you like it, let me know!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺

English is not my first language, if you see grammar and typing mistakes, I apologize in advance! I just ask you not to be rude to me ♡

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺

The living room of the Sturniolo house was buzzing with energy. It was a lazy Sunday, the kind of day when the world seems to slow down, giving everyone the chance to relax and do absolutely nothing. That was exactly the plan for Chris, Matt, and Chris's girlfriend, Y/n, while Nick was out with Madison. The three of them were sprawled across the couches, surrounded by half-empty bags of chips and soda cans, idly flipping through the TV channels while Chris scrolled through his phone.

Chris was sitting on the couch, engrossed in his phone, when he made an observation. "Man, you ever notice people are always either ass or tits people?" His eyes remained fixed on the screen as he chuckled, stealing a glance at Matt, who was lounging on the other end of the couch.

Y/n, perched next to Chris with her legs curled under her, raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's what you're thinking about right now?"

Chris, defensive, set his phone down, saying, "Hey, it's a legitimate topic. People have strong opinions about this. I saw these comments on the stream—it's an actual debate."

From his corner, Matt snorted, running a hand through his hair and leaning forward with an amused grin. "Oh God, are we really doing this? The whole 'ass or tits' thing? Classic."

Rolling her eyes, Y/n couldn't help but smile. "Okay, fine," she said, indulging them. "If we're going there, I gotta ask—you guys are brothers. Do you agree on this, or do you have different opinions?"

Chris and Matt shared a knowing glance, the kind of silent brotherly communication that comes after years of understanding each other without words. Then Chris smirked. "Oh, Matt and I definitely have different opinions. But I’m not gonna spoil it for him."

Matt, looking slightly exasperated, leaned back in his chair and gestured dismissively. "You're making a bigger deal out of this than it really is. I just have a preference for the backside. A good—"

"Nope, spare me the details!" Y/n interjected, raising her hand to halt Matt's words, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I'm attempting to deduce this based on your personalities, but it feels like an impossible task."

Chris, always the provocateur, playfully nudged Y/n. "Come on, Y/n. You know me better than anyone. Take a guess which one I am."

Y/n tilted her head, squinting at him thoughtfully. She was partly engaging in the banter, but her expression revealed genuine curiosity. "Hmmm. I get the sense that you're attracted to the posterior, but you pretend otherwise to keep people guessing. You know, trying to be 'mysterious.'"

Chris burst into laughter, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Mysterious? When have I ever been mysterious?"

"You're mysterious in a Chris kind of way," she countered, poking him in the side. "You may appear nonchalant, but you always have something up your sleeve."

Matt chuckled. "Yeah, he wishes he had that kind of depth."

"Okay, but seriously, Chris," Y/n persisted, her inquisitiveness getting the best of her. "Which one are you?"

A tense silence filled the room. Chris leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper as if he were on the verge of disclosing the world's greatest secret. "Y/n... I'm a—"

Matt, displaying no interest in the suspense, interjected with a deadpan expression. "He's a titts guy. Always has been."

Chris feigned offense as his mouth dropped open. "Bro, you just spoiled the big reveal!"

Y/n burst into laughter, her eyes wide with playful shock. "Wait, really? I was so convinced you were going to say ass!"

Matt shrugged. "Nope, it's the classic misdirection. He talks as if he's a ass guy, but nope, he's been on team titts forever."

Y/n crossed her arms and leaned back, still amused but now fully engaged in the conversation. "Well, now I’m intrigued, Matt. What about you?"

Chris flashed a knowing grin, already aware of his brother's response. "Oh, Matt's the obvious one. He's an ass man through and through. No question about it."

Matt didn’t even attempt to deny it. He gave a slight shrug, a laid-back grin spreading across his face. "What can I say? It’s all about balance."

Y/n couldn't help but chuckle, feeling the warmth of the moment as she shook her head at both Chris and Matt. "You guys are truly something else. Is this really what brothers talk about when no one’s around?"

Chris let out a low, rumbling chuckle. "You'd be surprised how intense our discussions can get."

Matt's expression turned unexpectedly solemn as he nodded. "Yeah, like the ongoing debate of socks or no socks in bed. It's a highly contested issue."

Y/n couldn't help but groan, half in exasperation and half in amusement as she buried her face in her hands. "Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?"

Chris wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You've just been inducted into the never-ending debate club, Y/n. Welcome to the madness."

She shot him a playful squint, pretending to be unimpressed. "I didn’t sign up for this."

Matt's smirk was undeniable. "Nobody signs up for it. It just sneaks up on you."

Their laughter filled the room, the joy of their easy camaraderie spreading like wildfire. Amid all the lighthearted banter and goofy debates, it was moments like these—where time seemed to stand still—that made everything else in life worthwhile.

As Chris and Matt continued their playful banter about every conceivable topic, Y/n felt a surge of contentment. These brothers were a riot, and she wouldn't trade these moments for anything in the world.

--------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @sturniolosreads @mayhem-72 @dracoflaco @lyzsaphrodite @ifilwtmfc @xoxo4chrisss @soimightlikeoldmen69 @inlovewithmattstur @sturniolobendystrawsposts @tillies33ssss @junnniiieee07 @blackhorses-posts

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #space matt #ff #sturniolo smut #smut #x reader #female reader

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thedensworld · 25 days ago

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Is It New Year, Yet? | Y.Jh

Pairing: Jeonghan x reader

Genre: fluff, parents au

Summary: Every year, twins will make a new year list contained with everything they want to do.

Author note: hello everyone🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️ How's your 2024 so far? I hope you have a very warm heart this year and let's close the year with fluffy Jeonghan🙈🙈 (bcs i miss him sm???) However, i'll be back in 2025, stronger, wilder, angstier(?). Anyway, happy new year everyone!🎉🎊🎇

It was the day after Christmas, and Jeonghan was savoring the last moments of his holiday before the whirlwind of another tour swept him away to a different country the next day. He lounged on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through video apps and occasionally sending funny clips to Seungkwan. His twin daughters, Nabi and Nabin, were sprawled on the floor, completely absorbed in their drawings. Every so often, Jeonghan glanced at their work, smiling softly and murmuring words of encouragement at their earnest efforts.

"Appa, look!" Nabin exclaimed, holding up her masterpiece—a family portrait with a brightly decorated Christmas tree in the background. Beside her, Nabi proudly showed off her drawing of a vibrant fireworks display.

"Appa, is it New Year's yet?" Nabin asked curiously, her big eyes filled with anticipation as she remembered how close it was to the end of the year.

"Let’s check our New Year list, Nabin!" Nabi suggested, her excitement bubbling over as she scrambled to their room to grab their special book.

Jeonghan’s smile widened as he listened to their conversation. Sitting up from the couch, he watched the twins return with their "New Year Book List" clutched tightly in their small hands. The tradition had been his idea—a way to encourage the girls to dream big and set goals. Since they learned to write, he had urged them to jot down all the things they wanted to do in the coming year and reflect on them at the end of it. Over time, this simple activity had become a cherished family routine.

"We didn’t go to the zoo with Dad this year!" Nabi’s voice broke through the quiet, tinged with disappointment. Her little face was scrunched up in a pout as she flipped through the pages of the book.

Jeonghan’s chest tightened with guilt. “I know, sweetie. I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice warm but tinged with regret. “I really wanted to take you, but things got so busy.”

"Promise us we'll go to the zoo next year," the twins demanded in unison, standing before him with their arms crossed, their tiny frames exuding an almost comical seriousness.

Jeonghan chuckled softly, brushing their hair lovingly with his hands. “I can’t promise for sure, but I’ll do my best, okay?”

Though his tone was light, the weight of his words pressed heavily on him. The truth was, his packed schedule often robbed him of precious moments with his daughters. He loved them deeply—they were his entire world—but between concerts, tours, and promotional events, it was you who attended their school programs, ballet recitals, and parent-teacher events. Every missed moment gnawed at his heart, a constant reminder of what he was sacrificing.

But the New Year list was different. It was their request, a tangible hope etched in crayon and ink. This year, he hadn’t managed to take them to the zoo despite their enthusiasm for animals. Urgent commitments had forced him to reschedule, and the thought of letting them down again made his chest ache.

“I’ll work on it, I promise,” Jeonghan said earnestly, pulling the twins into a gentle hug. They giggled, their earlier disappointment melting away as they leaned into their father’s embrace.

"Next year, Appa will definitely come with us!" Nabin declared confidently, as if her words alone could make it happen.

Jeonghan smiled, a mix of hope and determination flickering in his eyes. He might not always be able to keep his promises, but for his daughters, he would always try.

"I wrote about having a brother this year," Nabi said, her tiny finger tracing over her list.

Jeonghan’s ears perked up. "Huh?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

Nabin leaned over to peek at her sister’s list. "Oh, right! We talked about that. Yes, Dad! We want a brother!"

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Having a brother isn’t as simple as writing it down on a list, sweeties. It’s a big responsibility.”

The twins pouted, clearly not satisfied with his response.

"And also," Jeonghan continued, moving to sit cross-legged on the floor with them, "it’s up to Mom. She’d be the one carrying him for nine months, you know."

Nabin’s eyes narrowed in confusion, her little hands on her hips. “Why not you, appa?”

"Yeah!" Nabi immediately echoed, mimicking her twin’s expression.

Jeonghan let out a hearty laugh, patting their heads. “We’ve talked about this before, remember? Only girls can carry babies.”

Nabin scratched her head, looking sheepish. “Oh, yeah… I forgot. Hehe.”

Nabi, however, climbed onto Jeonghan’s lap, her determination unwavering. “But don’t you do something about it, appa? I really want a brother.”

Jeonghan grinned and pulled Nabin onto his lap as well, wrapping his arms around both of them. “Hmm... I’ll talk to Mom about it, okay? But there’s a lot of other exciting things to do next year besides having a brother.”

The twins groaned in unison, clearly unimpressed with his answer. “But we want a brother!”

Jeonghan was about to respond when he heard the familiar sound of the door’s passcode being entered. Relief flooded him as he realized you were home. The twins immediately scrambled off his lap and ran to the door, their excitement bubbling over as they greeted you.

You stepped inside, a little pale but smiling warmly at your children. You’d been feeling under the weather since yesterday, likely from something you’d eaten during a Christmas gathering at a friend’s house. Still, seeing your family instantly lifted your spirits.

“Hi, babies! How was your day with Dad?” you asked, crouching down to let their little fingers curl around yours as they clamored to show you their New Year list.

“Mommy, look! Look at our lists! We had so much fun this year!” Nabi exclaimed, holding the book up to you.

"Did you?" you replied with a soft laugh, glancing at Jeonghan as you walked into the living room. “How’s the New Year list looking this year? We had a lot of fun this year, didn’t we?”

You sat beside Jeonghan, leaning into him slightly as he gently touched your forehead to check your temperature. “How are you feeling? Did the doctor say anything new?” he asked, his tone laced with concern.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him, though your voice was a bit weak. “Just some food poisoning, probably. I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”

"But it would’ve been more fun with Dad!" Nabin piped up suddenly, standing in front of you with her hands on her hips. “Daddy is a fun man!”

Both you and Jeonghan burst out laughing at her declaration. Nabin always had a knack for turning serious moments into comedic gold.

“Fun guy?” Nabi asked, tilting her head curiously.

“No,” Nabin corrected with a huff. “Fun man! Daddy is a man, not a guy or a boy!”

Jeonghan nodded in agreement, his chest puffing out playfully. “That’s right, baby. Daddy’s a man.”

You stood from your seat and made your way to the kitchen, brushing off the fatigue that still lingered. “What do you guys want for dinner?” you asked, your voice light and cheerful.

Nabi and Nabin immediately chimed in with their favorite meals, their excitement filling the air. Jeonghan, however, frowned slightly, his protective nature kicking in. “We can always order takeout, love,” he suggested, concern evident in his tone.

You shook your head, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. The doctor gave me a shot, and I feel much better now.”

As the four of you gathered around the dining table, Jeonghan took it upon himself to help by setting up the twins’ plates while you prepped dinner for the two of you. It was a simple routine, but moments like these felt special—a reminder of the quiet joys of family life.

"Jihyun talked about Santa this morning,” Nabi began, her voice thoughtful. “I don’t believe in Santa. It was her mom who gave her the present, right, Mom?”

Jeonghan stifled a laugh. “Did you tell Jihyun that?” he asked, glancing at his daughter with amusement.

Nabi shook her head firmly. “Nope, I kept it in my head. But Mom said it, didn’t you, Mom?”

You let out a soft chuckle, nodding. “I did. But it’s okay if someone believes in Santa. It’s part of the fun.”

Nabin tapped her chin with a finger, clearly deep in thought. “Hmm... I think Mom told us that because she didn’t want to give us Christmas gifts.”

Jeonghan burst into laughter at Nabin’s clever deduction, while you quickly defended yourself. “Hey! I got you two the plushies you wanted last week, remember?”

The twins giggled as the memory resurfaced, but Nabin wasn’t done yet. “But why does Santa give free gifts?”

Jeonghan set the twins’ plates down in front of them—Japanese curry tonight, a meal they loved. “Because Mom’s cooking tonight, we’re eating whatever she wants. That’s the rule,” he joked, winking at you.

Nabi, still fixated on the Santa topic, tilted her head. “Is Santa a god or something, Mom?”

Jeonghan shot you a look, his lips twitching in amusement. “Wow, babe, you’re raising a philosopher,” he murmured under his breath.

You laughed softly and addressed your daughter. “No, sweetie, he’s not a god. Santa’s just a figure—someone who gives gifts to kids who’ve been good all year. That’s why your Santa could be me, your dad, or even your friend’s mom.”

Nabi let out a relieved sigh. “Good. I can’t imagine you with a beard and a red suit, Mom.”

You burst out laughing, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I think we’re all glad I’m not Santa.”

Later that night, after tucking Nabi and Nabin into bed, you quietly slipped into the master bedroom. Jeonghan was sitting on the floor, surrounded by neatly folded clothes and travel essentials as he packed for his upcoming tour.

“I don’t want to go,” he muttered, his voice heavy with reluctance as he opened his arms to pull you into his embrace.

You nestled against him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I know, baby,” you whispered, your hand gently stroking his back.

“The twins mentioned how many events I missed this year,” he confessed, his voice tinged with guilt. “It hurts. My heart aches every time I think about it.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, offering him the comfort he needed. “Don’t let it weigh you down. They were sad at the time, sure, but they also know how hard you work to give them the life they have. They’re proud of you, Jeonghan, even if they don’t say it.”

For a moment, silence enveloped the room, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then Jeonghan spoke again, his tone quieter this time. “They said they want a brother next year.”

You hummed, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “They’ve been talking about that all year, actually.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? I thought today was the first time they ever brought it up. I told them it was up to you.”

You let out a slow sigh, your gaze distant. “I don’t know if I’ll be ready. The twins are growing up so fast, and it’s already a challenge to keep up with them. I know you’re here to help, but… I’m scared, Jeonghan.”

He immediately tightened his hold on you, sensing the vulnerability in your voice. “Hey,” he murmured softly, “it’s okay to feel that way. We all get scared sometimes. I do, too. But we’ve got each other, right?”

You nodded, but the words still caught in your throat. “I know, but… you’ll leave again. Like before. And I’ll be alone.”

The whispered admission broke something inside him. He hadn’t realized how deeply his absences had affected you, not just as a mother but as his partner.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Should I take a leave? A hiatus? I’d do it for you and the twins in a heartbeat.”

You shook your head quickly, your hands clutching his shirt. “No. I can’t ask you to do that. What about the band?”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “There are thirteen of us, love. Missing one person for a little while won’t hurt anyone.”

You let out a small huff, burying your face in his chest. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to do that. I think I’m just being a little too sensitive tonight.”

He kissed the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Don’t apologize, love. It’s okay to feel this way. We’ll figure it out together, like we always do.”

Right before the concert started, Jeonghan decided to squeeze in a quick video call with his daughters. As soon as the screen lit up with their familiar faces, everyone in the room perked up, eagerly crowding around Jeonghan to wave at the twins.

“Hi, Nabi! Hi, Nabin!” came a chorus of greetings from the members.

The twins squealed in delight, and their eyes lit up when they spotted Seungcheol. They had a soft spot for him—unsurprising, given his habit of spoiling them with everything from Lego sets and plushies to clothes and candy.

“Uncle Seungcheol! Hi!” Nabin called out, her voice full of excitement.

Seungcheol grinned and waved back. “Hi, my favorite little humans! How are my girls?”

Before Nabin could answer, she turned to you, her voice suddenly secretive. “Mom, can we tell Uncle Seungcheol?”

The room erupted in laughter at her cheerful yet mischievous tone.

“What do you want to tell me?” Seungcheol asked curiously, leaning closer to the screen.

But the twins immediately shook their heads in unison, giggling. “Oh no, Mom said it’s a secret!”

“Tell me instead, baby,” Jeonghan coaxed, his voice playful as he tried to get in on the secret.

But Nabin was quick to deny him, shaking her head furiously. “No! It’s a secret to you too!”

Jeonghan gasped in mock betrayal, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “We promised there wouldn’t be secrets between us!”

The twins giggled harder, clearly enjoying his reaction. The room was filled with laughter, as the members, seated around Jeonghan on the couch, watched the interaction with amused expressions.

“Cute,” Wonwoo mumbled, glancing over at the screen. His quiet comment caught the twins' attention immediately.

“Uncle Wonwoo!” Nabi and Nabin exclaimed in unison, their excitement palpable.

Wonwoo chuckled, waving at the camera. “Happy New Year, Nabi and Nabin! What are you two up to today?”

“We’re going to bake!” Nabin said enthusiastically. But then, as if struck by a sudden thought, she turned to you. “Mom, can our brother look like Uncle Wonwoo?”

The room went silent for a beat, and Wonwoo blinked in confusion. “What? A brother? Are you… going to have a son, hyung?” he asked, turning to Jeonghan with wide eyes.

Jeonghan froze, his face a mixture of shock and panic as the other members whipped their heads toward him in curiosity. He immediately shook his head, his hands waving frantically in denial.

“No, no, no! That’s not it—” he stammered, but before he could explain, Nabi turned to you with an innocent question. “Mom, how does Uncle Wonwoo know? Did you tell him about our brother?”

Jeonghan’s jaw dropped, and his phone nearly slipped from his grasp. Seungcheol, quick on reflexes, caught it before it could hit the floor.

“What is going on?” Seungcheol asked, his eyes wide as he processed the conversation. He turned to Jeonghan, his expression one of barely-contained amusement. “Are you hiding something?”

The rest of the members, sensing the commotion, crowded closer, their curiosity piqued.

“What’s happening?”

“Jeonghan hyung, do we need to congratulate you?”

Jeonghan’s ears turned red as he scrambled to retrieve his phone from Seungcheol. “Nothing is happening! Stop making things up!” he exclaimed, flustered.

Without waiting for more teasing, he hastily stepped out of the room, putting the call on a private line. The laughter and teasing from the other members echoed behind him as he closed the door.

“Hello?” you answered, your tone light, though you sounded curious about the sudden call.

“Love,” Jeonghan began, his voice low and urgent. “Why do the twins think they’re getting a brother? And why do they want him to look like Wonwoo?”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter, the sound making his heart soften despite his panic. “Oh, they’ve been on about this for weeks. I thought they’d mentioned it to you already. As for Wonwoo… well, I guess they just think he’s handsome!”

Jeonghan groaned, leaning against the wall as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’ve got the entire group thinking we’re planning something, love.”

You chuckled again, clearly amused by his predicament. “Relax, Jeonghan. Just tell them the truth. Or… you could let them squirm a little.”

Jeonghan sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re too calm about this,” he muttered, though the warmth in his tone betrayed his affection.

“Because it’s funny,” you replied, your laughter ringing in his ears again.

And just like that, Jeonghan found himself smiling despite the chaos. You always had a way of putting him at ease.

At home, you sat on the couch, trying your best to look stern while the twins stood in front of the wall with their little arms raised in the air. Their small figures looked so comically guilty that you had to fight hard to suppress your smile.

“Not done yet?” Nabin asked, her voice tinged with a mix of guilt and curiosity.

“Not even two minutes,” you replied with a hum, glancing at the timer on your phone.

“We’re sorry…” Nabin mumbled, her pout making her look even more adorable.

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure. “What did I tell you about secrets? It was supposed to stay a secret until Daddy’s home.”

“We were just excited!” Nabi exclaimed in defense, her hands starting to drop. But the moment you let out a soft warning sound, she quickly pushed them back up with a small huff.

The timer finally beeped, signaling the end of their two-minute punishment. The twins immediately lowered their arms and turned to face you, heads bowed like little penitents.

“Mommy, we’re sorry,” Nabi said earnestly, her small hands clasped together. “We promise we won’t say anything about the secret until Daddy’s home.”

You let out a small chuckle, unable to stay stern anymore. Opening your arms, you pulled them into a warm hug. “Thank you for apologizing, sweeties. I forgive you. But remember, no more talking about this, okay? It’s just between us until Dad comes home.”

The twins nodded solemnly, their little faces glowing with relief. But just as the moment of seriousness seemed to pass, Nabi piped up in her usual curious tone, “I just want my brother to look like Uncle Wonwoo…”

Her words caught you off guard, and you laughed softly, brushing her hair back. “Is that so?”

Nabin chimed in, nodding eagerly. “Yeah! Is it possible, Mom?”

You crouched down to meet their eyes, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let’s see in seven months, okay?”

Their eyes widened, and Nabi’s little mouth fell open in surprise. “Seven months? Really?”

You smiled mysteriously, tapping your finger gently on her nose. “We’ll see.”

The twins squealed in excitement before bursting into giggles, their earlier punishment already forgotten as they began whispering about their potential “brother.” You watched them with a fond smile, marveling at how their innocent enthusiasm could brighten even the quietest days.

A week later, when Jeonghan finally stepped through the door after his long trip, the twins wasted no time. The moment they spotted him, they ran at full speed, their excited voices echoing through the house.

“Dad! We’re having a brother!” they announced in unison, their high-pitched voices practically bouncing off the walls.

Jeonghan froze mid-step, his suitcase still in hand, not even given a second to rest. He blinked at the two beaming faces before him, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “A... brother?” he asked, his tone filled with a mix of surprise and confusion.

“Yes! Mom said so!” Nabin chimed in, her hands on her hips as if to emphasize the gravity of the news.

“We’re so excited, Daddy!”

The end. See you in 2025!

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