#she's just talking about air drying her hair and i go 'i think your hair is very pretty' like good GOD

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 20

Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: angst

A/N: im scheduling 3 of these to post back to bsck lol hopefully it works 😇🤣

The three of you were sprawled across the living room floor, wine glasses in hand, surrounded by face masks, nail polish bottles, and the kind of snacks you’d regret in the morning. Wanda had taken it upon herself to paint your toes, and you giggled as she playfully swatted at your ankle to keep you still.

“Stop squirming,” she said, trying to keep a steady hand. “You’re gonna mess it up.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, taking another sip of wine. “But it tickles.”

Natasha sat cross-legged beside you, a clay mask drying on her face, her wine glass already nearly empty. She was watching you both with an amused smile, though her eyes flickered with a faint shadow of something heavier.

The conversation had been light—work drama, a funny story from Wanda’s day, a ridiculous TikTok—but the wine was starting to loosen your tongues. Feeling the moment, you took a deep breath and decided to jump in headfirst.

“So,” you said casually, but your voice carried enough weight to grab their attention. “What are we going to do about Steve?”

Natasha froze, her wine glass halfway to her lips. Wanda’s brush paused mid-stroke on your pinky toe, and both women turned to look at you.

Natasha recovered first, setting her glass down and crossing her arms. “What do you mean?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

You raised an eyebrow, not letting her off the hook. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Natasha hesitated, glancing at Wanda, whose wide-eyed expression made it clear she was just as curious. When Nat didn’t say anything, you leaned back on your hands and sighed. “I don’t know how I missed it, honestly. It was written all over you last night.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, and with a muttered “Oh, for God’s sake,” she grabbed the wine bottle and poured herself another glass, chugging half of it before setting it down with a dramatic clink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said flatly, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Wanda let out a soft laugh, finishing your toes and sitting back. “Oh, Nat. We love you, but that’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard.”

Natasha shot her a glare, but you didn’t back down. “Come on, Nat,” you pressed gently. “It’s us. Just be honest. What do you want to do about Steve?”

Natasha exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair and smudging a bit of her drying mask. “What can I do?” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. “He’s still hung up on you. Always has been. I don’t want to be anybody’s second choice.”

Wanda immediately shook her head, her expression fierce. “That is impossible. Once Steve realizes how much of an idiot he’s being, he’ll see what’s right in front of him.”

You nodded in agreement, leaning closer. “Wanda’s right. I couldn’t agree more. But what do you want, Nat? What do you really want?”

For a moment, Natasha didn’t answer. She stared into her wine glass, her face unreadable. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but raw. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve been on the outside looking in for so long that I guess I’m just… used to it. It’s easier to stay there than to hope for something that might not happen.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with unspoken pain. You reached out, resting a hand on hers. “Nat, you deserve to be happy. You deserve someone who loves you, who’s crazy about you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah, well… I don’t want Steve to be the one that got away. Like you are to him.”

Your heart clenched at her words. “It’s not like that,” you said softly.

Natasha’s eyes met yours, her expression firm but kind. “Of course it is,” she said. “And it’s not your fault. It’s just the way things are. But he has to get over you before anything can happen between us.”

Wanda’s hand found Natasha’s, squeezing gently. “You’re not wrong,” she said softly. “But that doesn’t mean it’s hopeless.”

You nodded, your chest tight with emotion. “Steve just needs time. And when he finally lets himself see you for who you really are to him… Nat, I know it’ll be worth it.”

Natasha’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though her eyes were still clouded with doubt. “I hope you’re right,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

The room fell into a brief silence, the weight of the conversation settling over all three of you. But then Wanda, ever the ray of sunshine, clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough doom and gloom. Gimme your feet Nat, your next!”

The tension broke, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Natasha rolled her eyes but nodded, holding out her wine glass. “Fine. But only if you promise not to paint my toes like a five-year-old.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter and teasing, but Natasha’s words lingered in your mind. You couldn’t shake the hope that, somehow, everything would fall into place for her—and for Steve.

The apartment was alive with laughter, the clinking of beer bottles, and the occasional groan as someone lost a hand of poker. Sam sat sprawled on the couch, his feet kicked up on the coffee table, while Bucky leaned back in his chair, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. Steve was seated across from them, quieter than usual, nursing a drink and staring at his phone a little too intently.

“Alright, boys,” Bucky said, smirking as he dealt the cards. “Prepare to lose whatever dignity you have left.”

Sam snorted, reaching for his beer. “Big talk for someone who still owes me twenty bucks from last time.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ll take it out of my poker chips tonight.”

The banter was light, the atmosphere easy—at least on the surface. But the undercurrent of tension was impossible to ignore, especially with Steve’s unusually subdued demeanor. He hadn’t laughed at Sam’s jokes, hadn’t chimed in on Bucky’s playful jabs, and his replies were clipped, almost robotic.

As the game progressed, Sam turned the conversation to safer, more personal waters. “So, Buck,” he began, his tone casual but his grin mischievous, “how’s the love life? Things going okay with your girl?”

Bucky’s face softened immediately, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Okay?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Sam, she’s everything. She’s smart, kind, funny… she keeps me on my toes. I mean, I don’t know how I got so lucky. It’s like—” He paused, his blue eyes lighting up as he searched for the right words. “It’s like every time I look at her, I realize she’s my home, you know? She’s it for me, I hate how long it took for me to get my shit together.”

Sam let out a low whistle, leaning back with a wide smile. “Damn, Barnes. That’s the good stuff. I’m so happy for you, man.”

Bucky chuckled, clearly flustered but grateful for the encouragement. “Thanks, man. It’s about time, right?”

But while Sam’s smile remained genuine, Steve’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His cards remained untouched in front of him as he stared at the table, his drink abandoned.

“Yup,” Steve said abruptly, his tone short and flat. “That’s great.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing slightly. “You good, Stevie?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, glancing at his phone again. “Just… got some stuff on my mind.”

Before Bucky could press further, Steve stood up abruptly, grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket. “I gotta go somewhere.”

Sam straightened in his seat, his eyebrows furrowing. “Go where? It’s poker night.”

“Just something I gotta take care of,” Steve replied, his tone distant as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “Don’t wait up.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Bucky and Sam staring after him, bewildered.

“What the hell was that about?” Bucky muttered, sitting back in his chair, his brows knitting together in concern.

Sam let out a nervous chuckle, running a hand over his face. “Man, I don’t know.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, watching Sam closely. “Alright, spill. What’s got you looking like you’re about to jump out of your skin? Is it why Steve left?”

Sam hesitated, clearly torn. “It’s not about Steve.”

“Then what is it?” Bucky pressed, his tone softening. “I know it’s not just because I’m kicking your ass at poker.”

Sam sighed heavily, setting his cards down and rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I was gonna wait, but… I got an offer. A big one. Job-wise.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s great, man. What’s the problem?”

Sam leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his expression conflicted. “It’s out of town. Way out of town. Like, completely out of state. It’s a great opportunity, Buck. Better pay, more responsibility, and I’d get to work with a nonprofit I’ve been following for years. But… it means leaving all of this. Leaving you guys.”

Bucky’s expression softened as he processed Sam’s words. “Shit, Sam. That’s… big.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, laughing bitterly. “Tell me about it. I’ve been sitting on it for a week, trying to figure out if it’s the right move.”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “And? What’s your gut telling you?”

Sam shrugged, his shoulders heavy with uncertainty. “My gut’s telling me to go for it. But my heart? My heart’s telling me it’s gonna suck, leaving everyone behind.”

Bucky nodded slowly, his eyes steady on Sam. “Look, man. I can’t tell you what to do, but… you gotta do what’s right for you. We’ll still be here, no matter where you are.”

Sam looked up, his eyes filled with gratitude and something deeper, something almost fragile. “You mean that?”

“Of course,” Bucky said firmly. “You’ve been here for us through everything. It’s our turn to be here for you.”

Sam let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Thanks, Buck. That… that means a lot.”

Bucky grinned, clapping Sam on the shoulder. “Now, don’t think I’m gonna let you leave without kicking your ass at poker at least one more time.”

Sam laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Bring it on, Barnes. Bring it on.”

But even as the mood lightened, both of them couldn’t help but glance at the door Steve had walked through, wondering what storm might be brewing behind his quiet exit.

The farmers market was its usual lively self—vendors calling out deals, the scent of fresh bread and flowers wafting through the air, and the hum of chatter everywhere. You walked arm-in-arm with Bucky, the soft brush of his hand against yours grounding you.

“Where’s Steve?” you asked, glancing around the booths for the familiar blond head.

Sam, walking ahead, glanced back over his shoulder. “Said he couldn’t make it today.”

You frowned slightly, your chest tightening at the thought. “Okay,” you murmured. “Next time.”

Natasha shrugged from beside you, but her quick glance toward Wanda betrayed her curiosity. If she had any deeper thoughts, she didn’t share them, instead wandering off toward a display of ceramics. The sight made you smile.

The group naturally splintered into pairs, each gravitating toward their favorite stalls. You and Bucky hung back, trailing through the market at a leisurely pace, his hand brushing yours every so often, an intimate yet casual connection. The weight of the locket resting against your collarbone felt comforting, grounding you to the present.

Nearby, Natasha let out a delighted squeal, holding up a small ceramic cow. “Oh my God, look at this!” she exclaimed, waving it in your direction. “It’ll go perfectly with the rooster and duck I already got Steve.”

You and Bucky exchanged amused glances, both of you laughing softly. “Nat,” you teased, walking over to her, “are you building him a farm?”

“Practically,” Sam muttered, shaking his head as he joined the conversation. “Goddamn, Nat. You’re going to have the whole barnyard at my house next.”

Natasha just grinned, holding the cow close. “Or something,” she said cryptically, turning back to the vendor to pay. Sam rolled his eyes, muttering something about barn animals under his breath as he dragged Bucky off toward the crepe stand.

Wanda busied herself at the flower stall nearby, selecting a bright bouquet of daisies and sunflowers. Meanwhile, you wandered toward the jewelry stall where the locket had been, unable to resist curiosity. You’d gotten the locket back, thanks to Steve, but you wanted to piece together the rest of the story.

“Excuse me,” you said to the vendor, offering her a polite smile. “A while ago, there was a locket here—this one.” You touched the small gold heart resting against your chest. “Do you remember it?”

The vendor’s eyes lit up as she nodded. “Oh, I remember that locket very well. My granddaughter found it at a party. She thought it was worth something and brought it to me.”

“Your granddaughter?” you echoed, your heart skipping a beat. “Who is she?”

“Her name’s Kate,” the woman said, her tone warm and fond.

You froze for a moment, blinking in surprise. “Kate?” The name felt heavy on your tongue. “Wow… small world.” you muttered

The woman nodded, her gaze flicking to the locket on your neck. “And then that sweet young man bought it. He was so determined to get it for you.”

Your heart clenched at the thought of Steve, the memory of him giving it back to you still fresh. “He did,” you said softly. “He brought it back to me. I’d lost it at a party, and… it meant a lot to me.”

The woman smiled knowingly. “He talked about you the whole time he was here. The way he spoke, you’d think the sun rose and set on you. I always wondered about the two of you, did you end up together yet?”

You didn’t know what to say, your throat tightening at the words. "No, we, I -- " Before you could fully respond, warm arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you back into the present.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky murmured against your ear, his voice low and affectionate. “What’re you up to over here?”

You tilted your head to look up at him, his closeness making you smile automatically. “Just… reminiscing.”

The vendor’s eyes softened as she watched the two of you, a twinkle of understanding in her gaze. “Ah,” she said simply, her voice rich with amusement. “Now, that makes sense.”

“What makes sense?” Bucky asked, his brows knitting together as he looked between you and the woman.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” she replied with a wink. “Enjoy your day.”

Bucky’s hand rested protectively on your lower back as he guided you away, his expression puzzled. “What was that about?”

“Just a little backstory about the locket,” you said, touching it lightly. “She was telling me how her granddaughter found it at a party. Apparently, Kate brought it here.”

His brow furrowed. “Kate? Seriously? Small world.”

“Very,” you murmured, the warmth of his touch and the reassurance of his presence grounding you.

“Anyway,” he said, nudging you gently. “Sam’s probably inhaled three crepes already. We should catch up.”

You laughed, letting him lead you toward the crepe stand where Sam and Natasha were already bickering about toppings. But as you glanced back one last time at the jewelry booth, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of how everything, somehow, had come full circle.

The apartment felt emptier than usual. The clock ticked past ten, and Bucky still wasn’t home. You sat on the couch, your laptop balanced on your knees, pretending to focus on some edits for work. But your eyes kept flicking to the door, your thoughts spinning.

You knew Bucky’s schedule like the back of your hand. You worked for the same company, after all. There wasn’t a meeting or late deadline you hadn’t already accounted for. So where was he?

Your phone sat untouched on the coffee table. No texts. No calls. A creeping sense of unease settled in your chest, mingling with irritation. He always let you know if he was running late—always. Until tonight.

By the time you heard his keys jangling in the lock, it was almost ten. The door opened, and there he was, his hair slightly disheveled, his shirt untucked. He looked exhausted but smiled the moment he saw you.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted, kicking off his boots and heading toward you.

You closed your laptop with a sharp snap, your jaw tight. “Hey?” you repeated, your voice tinged with annoyance.

Bucky’s smile faltered. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” You stood, setting the laptop on the coffee table. “You’re two hours late, Bucky. You didn’t call. You didn’t text. I’ve been sitting here worried sick.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in your tone. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. I got caught up with uh Sam after work. We went for a drink—”

“A drink?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “You know your schedule, and you know I know it too. You could’ve told me. It’s not that hard to send a text.”

Bucky frowned, stepping closer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it’d be such a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” you snapped, crossing your arms. “We’ve barely started this relationship, and you’re already pulling this?”

“Pulling what?” His voice edged with frustration now. “I’m not ‘pulling’ anything. I went for a drink with my best friend, and I’m sorry I didn’t text. But this—this feels like an overreaction.”

You recoiled slightly, his words stinging. “Overreaction?” You laughed bitterly. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about tonight, Bucky. It’s about us. About whether you actually take this seriously.”

“Seriously?” he repeated, his voice rising. “You think I’m not serious about you?”

“Well, you’re not exactly proving it right now!”

His jaw tightened, his blue eyes flashing with hurt. “Doll, you’re reading too much into this. It was one night. I didn’t think I needed to check in like I was some damn teenager.”

“Maybe you should’ve,” you fired back, your voice cracking. “Because that’s what people in relationships do, Bucky. They care enough to let the other person know what’s going on! I got scared, what if something happened to you? What if i lost you before i even had you! Or what if you dont actually want this or care about me or, or--”

The words hung heavy between you, the silence sharp and suffocating.

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t care about you?” he asked quietly, his voice softer now, but no less pained. “That’s what you think?”

You hesitated, your anger warring with the guilt creeping in. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I’ve been scared, Bucky. That if something goes wrong, we’ll fall apart. That this won’t last.”

Bucky stepped closer, his expression softening as he reached for your hand. “Doll,” he murmured, his tone gentle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I messed up tonight. I should’ve texted. You’re right. I would have been upset if you didn’t tell me either, I’m sorry”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “I just don’t want to lose you,” you said, your voice breaking. "I cant lose you”

“You won’t,” he promised, his grip on your hand tightening. “I swear. I’ll do better. I want this—us. More than anything.”

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the tension slowly melting under the weight of his sincerity. Then, before you could overthink it, you surged forward, your lips crashing into his.

Bucky responded instantly, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you flush against him. The kiss was desperate and heated, years of pent-up longing pouring out all at once. His hands roamed your back, his fingers digging into your skin as if grounding himself in you.

You pulled back slightly, breathless, your hands cupping his face. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that again,” you whispered.

“Never,” he vowed, his voice husky. He kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

The two of you stumbled toward the couch, his hands tugging at the hem of your shirt. “I just can’t keep my hands off you,” he murmured, his lips brushing your jawline.

You laughed softly, tilting your head to give him better access. “Remember,” you teased, “you’re the one who wanted to take things slow.”

Bucky pulled back slightly, his lips curling into a smirk. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”

You grinned, tugging him back down for another kiss. But before things could go any further, your phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table, breaking the moment.

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “Of course.”

Bucky chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It’s for the best,” he said, though his darkened eyes betrayed just how badly he wanted to ignore it.

You looked up at him, arching a brow. “How long are you going to make me wait, Barnes?”

His lips twitched into a smile as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Soon, doll,” he promised. “No one wants this more than me. But I want to do it right.”

You sighed, nodding. “Okay. But don’t keep me waiting too long.”

“Never,” he said, standing and pulling you up with him. “Now get that pretty ass up. I brought dinner.”

You laughed, swatting his arm as he grabbed his phone. “Also,” he added with a smirk, “next time I’m late, just spam me like Wanda spams the group chat.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest told you everything would be just fine.

You sit across from Sam, your lunch tray untouched as he stirs his soup absentmindedly. You notice he’s quieter than usual, a far cry from his typical animated self.

“So,” you start, trying to break the silence, “are you going to tell me what’s got you looking like you lost your best friend, or am I supposed to guess?”

Sam chuckles softly, but the sound lacks its usual warmth. He sets his spoon down and leans back in his chair, meeting your curious gaze. “I wanted to tell you first. I mean, out of the whole group.”

Your stomach tightens at his serious tone. “Tell me what?”

He hesitates for a moment before taking a deep breath. “I got a promotion.”

The words take a moment to sink in, and when they do, your face lights up. “Sam, that’s amazing! Why do you look like someone kicked your dog? This is huge!”

“It is,” he agrees, his smile faltering. “But there’s a catch. The position is… halfway across the country. I’d have to move.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh.” The excitement in your voice fades, replaced by a bittersweet pang in your chest. “When?”

“In a couple of weeks, maybe less,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s why I’ve been so MIA this week. I’ve been at the VA, getting all the logistics sorted out.”

You nod slowly, the news settling heavily over you. “Wow. That’s… a lot to process. But Sam,” you say, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand, “this is incredible. I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.”

He smiles, his eyes softening. “Thanks. It means a lot to hear that from you.”

A thought flickers in your mind, something not quite adding up. “Wait,” you say cautiously. “You’ve been at the VA all week?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, pretty much. I haven’t seen anyone. You’re the first person I’ve had time to sit down with.”

Confusion twists in your stomach. “You didn’t see Bucky?” you ask slowly.

He frowns. “No. Why?”

You pause, debating whether to bring it up. “He told me he went out for a drink with you the other night,” you say carefully.

Sam’s eyebrows lift in surprise before he shakes his head. “Nope, not me. I mean, maybe he went with someone else, but it wasn’t me.”

You try to push down the unease creeping into your chest. Bucky lying to you? It doesn’t make sense. But you decide to tuck the thought away for now.

“So, who else knows about your promotion?” you ask, steering the conversation back.

“Bucky,” Sam admits with a small grin. “He found out on guys’ night. But don’t be mad at him. I made him promise not to say anything until I was ready.”

“Of course I’m not mad,” you say quickly. “I get it. It’s your news to share, not his.”

Sam looks relieved and leans forward, his expression soft. “I’m gonna miss this, you know. Just hanging out with you, laughing about dumb stuff. You’ve been one of my closest friends for years.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me now,” you tease, though your throat tightens with emotion. “We’re not getting rid of you that easily. You’ll visit, right?”

“Of course,” he says firmly. “And you better come visit me, too. I expect postcards, care packages, the whole deal.”

You laugh, but the weight of the news still lingers in the air. As you finish your lunch, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. But for now, you focus on Sam, determined to make the most of the time you have left with him.

[cherrymoonvol6]

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[elliewithcellie]

Girl, Interrupted

summary: Eddie crashes by your home when you least expected, but everything happens for a reason, right?

wc: 1.8k

cw: PURE SMUT (MDNI 18+), basically no plot, friends to fwb?, oral (f receiving), Eddie is a tease, fairly bold reader lol, fingering, talk of p in v sex, hair pulling, orgasms idk let me know what else

a/n: my bestie bought me slutty pajamas for my birthday, and since I'm a hypothetical whore, this has been on my mind nonstop. Finally took a break from my spn series to write this down. This is the filthiest thing I've written to date but definitely short and sweet

Eddie’s jaw fell slack as the door opened before him. He knew he shouldn’t have shown up to your place uninvited. Sure, you were his best friend, and of course, you had said he could come over whenever, but that never truly meant unannounced. He was already kicking himself for showing up as late as he did when you opened the door.

Your oh so short pajama shorts were the first thing that caught his eye, how your thighs spilled out beneath them, the cotton begging for relief. His eyes trailed higher to your tank top one size too small. The hem rested just above your midriff, the outline of your hips more prominent than he had ever seen. Your face was flush, pinks and reds lining your cheeks. He fought the urge to pinch himself, scared that he was dreaming, scared that he’d wake up to the absence of you and very real feelings emerging.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” you asked, your arms crossing over your chest. “I thought you had a date.”

Date, what date? Eddie’s mind was going numb. His brain was flatlining at the mere sight of you, more exposed to him than he’d ever seen you. Fight or flight kicked in, debating on whether to say something or just turn around and leave. He was almost sure he was not supposed to see you in this state.

“I—uhh—it didn’t go well, so I cut it short. But I know you love the place, so I figured I’d bring over the leftovers.”

“Oh, sweet. Thank you.”

Eddie hesitated, scared to ask, but his interest piqued. “Is someone—you’re alone right now, right?”

Your eyebrows pinched together. You exhaled a dry laugh. “Please, I’m always alone. Come in. Tell me about your date.”

You ushered Eddie inside and settled into your couch. You pulled a blanket over you, and Eddie released a sigh. He couldn’t believe the hold you suddenly had on him. It was like he was in high school again, ready to combust at the sight of a shoulder. At least with your legs covered, he was less inclined to think about spreading them.

“Was it really that bad?” you asked, drawing Eddie from his thoughts.

“She was just so boring,” Eddie complained. “Like, there’s nothing wrong with her, but it was like we were from different planets! She didn’t know Metallica! How am I supposed to bond with someone when there’s nothing to relate to?”

“Did you think of showing her?”

“Showing her what?”

“Metallica!” you laughed. “Wouldn’t that be kind of romantic, you know, to introduce that to her? Maybe tell her you’re in a band? It’d be like showing her a whole new world. And maybe you’d get a groupie out of it.”

Eddie swatted at the air. “It’s not worth it. We were both bored. And it was clear she wasn’t looking to rock with a guitarist.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“You didn’t meet her. She’s pristine, a Chrissy Cunningham type. Meant to be with a lawyer or some shit.”

You leaned in closer to Eddie, your blanket sliding down your thighs. “Those are the girls who fantasize about guys like you the most. Those girls on the straight and narrow, the ones who seemed destined to be sweet stay-at-home moms or perfect career women, those are the ones who dream of just one night doing something they never thought they could. Something so wild that when they’re taking their kids to soccer practice, or their ‘perfect husband’ is asleep on the recliner while they're doing the dishes, they can think back to that wild night when they fucked a rockstar.”

Eddie’s lip trembled as chills coursed through his body. You leaned back against the couch and shrugged like what you said was nothing. You had to be on something, he decided. Never had you been so frank when the topic of sex came up. Your face was still flushed with color, and you couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position on the couch, shifting yourself from one side to the other to no specific rhythm. Heat radiated off of you, though you weren’t known to be the furnace between the two of you. Something struck Eddie as so foreign but so familiar as he took you in.

“Would you fuck a rockstar?” Eddie found himself saying.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do I seem like one of those straight-and-narrow girls to you?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Eddie said, a newfound confidence overtaking him. “You came up with that way too fast to act like you don’t think of it, too. So, would you fuck a rockstar?”

You bit your lip and shifted in your seat. You huffed into the couch. “Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Eddie asked, egging you on. “You’ve been squirming since I got here, sweetheart. Is something on your mind?”

Your eyes trailed from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Tonight is not the night to ask me that.”

“Why is that?” Eddie chuckled. “Were you in the middle of something? Was something left unfinished when I so rudely interrupted? And now all you can think about is the ache between your legs?”

You shuddered at his words. “Eddie,” you said, your voice shaking.

“I could help you.” Eddie leaned closer, his words almost a whisper. “Because I may not be a rockstar, but I’m sure I could give you the night of your life.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Don’t tease me. It’s not funny.”

“No one’s laughing.” Eddie pulled the blanket back, his hands resting on your thighs. Your legs slightly opened on instinct. “What kind of friend would I be, huh? If I didn’t at least offer?”

Eddie didn’t know where this bravado came from, but he didn’t care. All he knew was the longer you looked at him like that, the harder he got.

You grabbed him by his shirt and forced his lips on yours. Nothing soft or sweet came from your lips. You were needy and desperate, clinging to him like he was the air in your lungs.

The urgency shocked Eddie, but he quickly found your rhythm. He smirked against your lips as he pulled his jacket off. His hands snaked from your thighs to your hips to your ass, lifting you onto his lap. You groaned into his mouth as he rolled you against him.

He was sure he was dreaming now. Only there did he ever picture you above him, grinding your hips into his. Only there did he imagine you moaning from his touch. But never were his dreams this vivid, this real, this fucking good.

He pulled you from him and pushed you back onto the couch. You whined at the loss of contact. He’d never seen your eyes so dark, so lustful, so hungry for him.

He slid down to the floor onto his knees and pulled you to the edge of the couch. “You still want my help, sweetheart?”

You nodded emphatically.

“I need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“Please help me, Eddie. I need you. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

You lifted yourself up as Eddie pulled your shorts down your legs. Eddie’s cock jumped at the sight of you. He bit his lip to maintain what little composure he had left.

“Aww, your poor little pussy’s just as needy as you, isn’t she?” He spread your knees apart, the cold metal on his fingers sending chills up your spine. The throbbing between your legs only intensified, a small whimper escaping your lips.

Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. There was no time for teasing, no time to explore. You needed him, and he was going to deliver.

He dove into your aching pussy like a man starved. You jumped at the contact, your hands flying to his hair. His tongue worked overtime, kitten-licking your clit before diving in for more.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he said, smiling against you. You moaned in response, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him closer.

Your sounds turned him on even more, searching for his own release as he rubbed himself against the couch. His mind was in a daze, in utter disbelief that anyone could look so perfect for him with your legs spread and your back arched. Your chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his tongue, and your lips formed a perfect ‘o’. Oh, how Eddie wanted to feel your lips around his cock. How you’d sink down on him, your perfect innocent mouth being completely sinful just for him.

He placed a finger at your entrance and pumped in and out, his thumb now circling your clit. Your head fell back. “God, yes, Eddie. Just like that.”

“I need you to do something for me, baby,” Eddie said as he added a second finger.

“Wha—what’s that?” you asked, breathless.

“I need you to tell me what you think of when you get off. Tell me what you were thinking of before I showed up at your door.”

“I—I oh god,” you shouted as Eddie’s lips found your clit. “I—I thought about you on your fucking date.”

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned into your pussy, the vibrations shooting up your spine.

“I pictured you fucking her from behind, her skirt hiked up to her hips, her panties to the side as you fucked her in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“Fucking C—Christ,” Eddie stuttered, his hips rutting into the couch faster. “Keep going.”

“Then it was me you were fucking. You grabbed me by the hair, so I could watch what you were doing to me,” you said, your voice shaking with every word. “Eddie, please. I’m close. Please.”

“Come on, baby. You can do it. Tell me what I was doing to you.” He was past dreaming at this point. He was sure this was heaven. Hearing your words had him reeling. He didn’t want to stop, didn't know how to stop. He just knew he needed to see you come.

Your lip trembled. “Your hands were all over me, playing with my tits, your lips on my neck, and—and your big cock pounding into me over and oh-ver and—and Fuck! Eddie, don’t stop! Please, please, please!”

Your orgasm crashed down on you, expletives and Eddie’s name on your lips. Eddie continued to pump his fingers in and out of you like a madman as he lapped up your cum.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” he moaned against you.

You pushed his head off of you and caught your breath. Eddie took a breath, too, leaning back against his heels. You pulled him back up to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on your lips.

“That… was so hot,” Eddie said, releasing a breath.

“Can it be my turn to help you?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Eddie’s cheeks rouged slightly, his eyes trailing to the growing wet spot on his jeans. “I had a turn already,” he said, guilt painting his words. He leaned in toward you, a devilish smirk joining his features. “But I’m not done with you. Not yet.”

[dyaz-stories]

JUJUTSU BOYS + POST SHIBUYA HURT/COMFORT

following Shibuya, the Jujutsu boys are in dire need of some comfort

featuring: nanami, yuuji, megumi, maki, inumaki, yuta, gojo

word count: 4.7k (600-700 words per character)

cw: canon divergence for nanami and gojo, season 2 spoilers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, descriptions of injuries, everyone needs a hug, some fluff ig, established relationships, not proofread

NANAMI

“He woke up,” Shoko informs you, closing the room to Kento’s door behind her. She doesn’t bother with small talk, gives only the necessary information since Shibuya. You don’t blame her. You understand why she would choose to keep her energy for what she thinks is essential. So when she approaches you, hands buried in her pockets, you know there is something she believes is that important to tell you.

“Is he— Has he said anything?”

“He thanked me — you know how he is. But, um— he’s lost an eye, and he’s badly burned. There’s nothing I can do about that. I’m sorry.”

She sounds genuinely dejected, but you shake your head.

“It doesn’t matter. Without you, he wouldn’t be alive. Can I—”

She gives you a faint smile.

“Sure. You can go in.”

You don’t wait for her to have finished her sentence to open the door. Kento looks up at you, and you take him in for a second. An eye patch covers his left eye, and that whole side of his body is burnt, badly, with fresh bandages covering it. It doesn’t stop you from launching himself into his arms, and he catches you without missing a beat.

“You’re alive,” is all you can say, repeating it like a mantra.

“I am,” he answers. “I apologize for worrying you.”

So very like him, apologizing while he’s lying on a hospital bed after suffering from horrific injuries.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” you whisper into his neck, tears rolling freely from your cheeks. “I don’t— I don’t—” I don’t know how I would have kept living without you.

His eye is filled with fondness and love, when he looks at you.

“Does it hurt a lot?” you ask, gesturing at his left side.

“It does not,” he answers. “Shoko’s abilities are quite remarkable for that. I am healed. The bandages are mostly to stop the skin from becoming too dry — due to the size of the area, she couldn’t do it all herself.”

“Then… can I kiss you?”

He swallows around the lump in his throat. If he is honest, when Shoko talked to him after he woke up, one of his greatest fears was that you would be disgusted by him. He knows you find him handsome — found him handsome, at least. He knows that this was thinking far too little of you, and yet relief washes over him at your question.

“You can always kiss me.”

You’re cautious when you do, don’t want to risk hurting him, despite what he’s just told you. Your lips feel like coming home, and he loses himself in you, if only for a moment. All too soon, he feels the need to pull away for air. Even with Shoko’s miracle work, he feels weak, a sensation he finds himself hating with his entire being. He likes being strong, likes being your rock, likes supporting you in any situation. He despises the fact that that has been taken away from him.

“I think it would be for the best if I spent the night here,” he tells you. “The chair isn’t very comfortable, so if you wish to go home, I wouldn’t—”

You shake your head immediately.

“I’m not leaving you anytime soon. I’m spending the night here. I’m sure I can find a pillow and a blanket somewhere, and I will be just fine with that.”

Aren’t you just adorable when you’ve made up your mind?

“If that is okay with you, that’s fine with me,” he nods. “But, first…” He opens his arm on the right side. “Would you join me?”

There isn’t much space in the bed for the two of you, but you make it fit, leaning against the wall so he can have his head against your chest. Even though he wants nothing more than to revel in the moment, he feels his eyes closing, lulled by the beating of your heart and your fingers carding through his hair.

He loves taking care of you but he supposes that, for the time being, it won’t be too bad if he’s the one being taken care of.

YUUJI

Finding Yuuji following the Shibuya Incident requires you to venture into the belly of Tokyo, making your way through curse after curse, stepping over the bodies of sorcerers and humans alike, never taking the time to stop. At least Megumi had warned you that he was likely to keep moving, so you hadn’t given up hope yet, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t afraid for him. Not physically, no, you didn’t think there was anything left here that could actually hurt him, but, based on what Megumi had told you, his head hung low, you can only imagine how devastated he must be.

You spot him when he finishes off a curse, on a rooftop near you. It isn’t long before you land there yourself, and there he is.

“Yuuji!”

He freezes when you call out his name, and turns towards you oh so slowly. When he looks at you, you could almost cry with relief. There he is, your Yuuji. A little worse for wear, but alright. You take a step towards him, ready to run into his arms, when he takes a step back.

A tall man wearing a kimono, his hair tied into two buns, lands in front of him, between the two of you.

“Who is that?” he asks Yuuji. “Do you want me to take care of it?”

There is quiet resolution in his voice. He doesn’t sound like he wants to kill you, but you don’t think he would hesitate to do it.

“N-no,” Yuji says, his voice hoarse. “No, it’s alright, Choso. Would you mind…?”

The man nods, still not showing any emotions.

“Of course. I’ll give the two of you some space.”

He throws you a threatening glance — as if you could ever be a threat to Yuuji — before jumping off the building.

You take another step forward. This time, Yuuji doesn’t move, but he refuses to meet your eyes.

“Don’t,” he says. He sounds weak.

Another step.

“Why not?”

He closes his eyes.

“I’ve killed—” A deep, shuddering breath. “—so many people.”

Step.

“That wasn’t you.”

You say it softly, gently, but you’re not sure that he can hear you, as he is now.

“It’s still my fault.”

His voice is no stronger than a whisper.

“It was Sukuna’s doing.” Step. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Step.

You’re close to him now, close enough to see his hands balled up into fists, his lower lip trembling, how he scrunches his face so he doesn’t cry.

“Yuji,” you call, and in your mouth, his name sounds like a term of endearment. “It’s not your fault.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t have anything more to say. He wants so, so badly to believe you, but his heart, his mind, and Sukuna’s voice in the back of his head are all whispering that you’re lying. When you reach him, your hands go up to his face, cradle it like it’s a precious porcelain. You trace the scar on his forehead, stroke the one on his lip with your thumb, and then you press your lips against it with great care.

And he falls apart.

Your arms are around him as he lets himself fall to the ground, and you let him bury his head in the crook of your neck as he sobs, let him hold on to you like a drowning man to a lifeline. You stroke the back of his head gently. The motion is soothing. Soft. Loving.

“I’m a monster,” he chokes, and tears fill your eyes.

“You’re not,” you promise, voice breaking. “You’re not. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He gasps like he’s breathing for the first time in days, and you keep him there, in your arms. He’s not okay yet — won’t be for a long time. But he’s alive. He’s breathing. He’s moving forward, one small step at a time.

You will be here to support him until he can stand on his own again.

No matter how long it takes.

MEGUMI

Megumi has always been the quiet type. He keeps his feelings close to his chest, lets people in on his thoughts only in spare, carefully chosen sentences. He turns away if emotions overwhelm in, deals with the worst of it privately, would never let anything spill out if he could help him. Emotions are his problems, and he cannot bear the thought of them hurting someone other than him.

Still, you’ve always been able to read him. The softness in his eyes when he looks at Yuuji and Nobara, the smile he doesn’t quite allow to make its way to his lips when Gojo decides to spoil him, the way he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest so he can hide his face in your neck, even if you can spot his ears turning red. The way the corner of his lips turn down, too, when his mind drifts towards Tsumiki, the twitch in his jaw when someone brings up his father, the clench of his fists when he feels hopeless.

You can read him like a book.

He is even quieter when he comes back from Shibuya, and his emotions are expressed even more minutely, blink and you’ll miss it.

You can only watch from the audience in one of the numerous meetings that follow his return. Him and a number of other sorcerers testify, and you have to hear him recounting the same details over and over. You’re here to see, helpless, how he lowers his gaze when several sorcerers recommend Yuuji’s execution, and how his eyes dull when his sentencing is pronounced.

But he never comes to you. At first, you assume he can’t — there are a number of physicals for him to clear. You reason that he must be exhausted, must want his space for now, and resolve to give it to him. It’s on the day of the last council, when he averts his eyes to avoid meeting yours, that you realize what was happening.

He’s been avoiding you.

It’s a half-hearted attempt, one that comes to an end when you knock against the open door to his room. He doesn’t look up at you when he answers.

“Come in.”

His room is almost bare, but you know he keeps pictures from the two of you in his drawers.

You sit on the bed next to him, let your knee brush against his. He doesn’t move away.

“I haven’t seen you since you came back,” you say. You know better than to broach the subject directly, wouldn’t want to spook him.

“I know,” he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. I just came to check in on you.”

He’s quiet for longer than he should be.

“…I have to go back out there. I have to talk to Itadori.”

You read between the lines. You know that he would give you more than that if he felt he could, understand that he is trying to make this as painless for you as he can.

You reach for his hands and squeeze it.

“Okay.”

There’s a pause.

“…you sure?”

You know that’s not the question he’s asking. You know he wants you to feel able to yell at him, protest, scream until there’s nothing left of the two of you, all so that you will feel better, even if he leaves unloved and a little more shattered than he was when he arrived.

“I’m sure.”

The sigh of relief he lets out sounds more like a sob. Next thing you know, he’s letting his head drop onto your shoulder, black hair tickling your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m sorry. Can I— Can I just stay like this a little longer? Please?”

You keep yourself still, reach up to cup his cheek, stroke it softly.

“As long as you need.”

He moves his head so he can press a kiss to your cheek, lets his lips linger there longer than he needs to. When he turns around, you see he’s turned crimson.

The outside world might have turned into hell, but this room hasn’t yet.

In here, the two of you can hope that simpler, happier times will come again some day.

MAKI

Maki supposes that there are worse ways to wake up than with her head in your lap. By the time she comes to, Reverse Cursed Technique has done its job — mostly. If she could muster it, she would be glad that she wasn’t awake to feel it processing. It’s always felt foreign to her, and she hates feeling it on her body.

What she hates more, though, is the tingling of the burns on her face and body.

“Isn’t there anything to be done about that?” you’re asking Shoko when her eyes flutter open. You’re mindlessly running your fingers over the scarred skin, and it feels fresh and soothing.

“I’m sorry,” Shoko says, sounding exhausted but always taking the time to answer students’ concerns. “RCT can’t fix burns. Non-sorcerers have done some progress in that domain, I think. Maybe she’ll want to look into it.”

“I hope she won’t care,” you mumble.

“Why,” Maki asks, and you look down at her in shock, “is it that bad?”

She pushes herself up, looking around for her glasses, but stops when she realizes both you and Shoko are staring at her, mouth gaping.

“You’re something else,” Shoko finally comments, a tired grin forming on her lips. “Thought you’d be asleep for at least another day. Well, if you need anything, I’ll be in the next room, alright?”

She leaves with a wave of her hand, some of the weight of the past week taken off her shoulders, now that she’s done her work.

When Maki turns to look back at you, you already have her glasses in your hand. You’re careful when you pass the branches over her ears to put them on her, and she lets you do it, studying your expression. Your eyes are red from crying, and you look tired, too, but at least she cannot see any injuries on you.

“So?” she raises an eyebrow at you, and her skin stretches uncomfortably. “Do I really look that terrible?”

You shake your head and smile at her, reaching up to cup her cheek.

“You’re as stunning as always. I’d just hate it if you thought otherwise.”

She leans into your touch, closing her eyes. Her whole body aches. She cannot pinpoint any real physical pain, but there is an overall soreness  that she wants to stretch out. She would, if she could bear the thought of losing your touch, if only for a second.

“What about my hair?” she asks, trying to add a playful inflexion to her tone. “Don’t tell me you let them do whatever they wanted with it.”

You shake your head, mirroring her expression.

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” you say with a fake eyeroll. “I’ll have you know it looks super stylish.”

She nods, then turns her head to kiss the inside of your palm. She likes the way it flusters you, how you bite your lip and glance away to hide it from her.

“Do you— do you want to hear about what else has happened?”

Her smile dims, and she shakes her head.

“Can I get a minute of this first?” Her voice comes out hoarser than she would like. “Y-you can tell me afterwards. I just— I just need a minute.”

“Of course,” you reply, softly.

When you open your arms, she doesn’t hesitate a second to plunge in. She rests her cheek against your chest, and you wrap her in a tight hug that she returns without missing a beat. You’re warm and soft, as you always are.

She’ll get back to fighting, to throwing her whole body in the line of fire soon enough, that is a promise. She’ll mourn the dead, she’ll shed tears.

But first, she gets a minute of respite, in the arms of the only person that can give it to her.

INUMAKI

You rush through the emergency room, unbridled fear in your veins. The place is a morgue. There are more dead than living in here, and you’d be horrified if your mind wasn’t focused on one person and one person only — one that you cannot find. Cursed energy is no use right now, not with the place being such a mess.

“Ieiri!” you finally call when you see her passing by, pale as a corpse, not examining a body for more than handful of seconds before moving on to the next. “Where— Where is Toge?”

She looks straight through you. The dark circles under her eyes are even deeper than usual.

“Alive. That way.”

She point vaguely in a direction and then she’s gone, but it’s all you need. You find yourself running, unceremoniously opening and closing doors in your desperate search for him. When you find him, you could almost cry in relief.

“Toge,” you call, and you’re afraid your legs will give in underneath you.

He looks at you with wide eyes — eyes that you love so much, because they always say everything his lips can’t. Despite everything that’s happened tonight, they’re full of life, and that is the sight you’d been hoping for the most.

It’s only after looking inside that you realize what’s happened to his arm.

You walk over to him, sit on the chair next to his bed. He holds his hand out for you to take, and when you do, he squeezes it between his fingers, three times. His own, silent way of saying ‘I love you’. You lean forward, resting your elbows on the bed and hanging your head low.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you whisper. “I was so scared.”

You feel his lips on the top of your head, and you cannot help but smile. It feels selfish, smiling in such circumstances, when so many people have lost their lives and their loved ones. But you’re reunited with him, and it is the only reaction that feels appropriate. You look up at him. Without his usual clothes, the seal on his mouth is on full display.

“Do you want a scarf?” you ask, gesturing at your bag. You always carry one, as well as cough syrup, just in case.

Fondness flashes in his eyes, but he shakes his head. Reluctantly, he lets go of your hand to tap on his phone. The movements are clumsy, and a knot forms in your throat, watching him do it, but you can’t think of anything to do to help him.

‘No need,’ the phone reads when he turns it back towards you. And then, after a line break ‘Sukuna attacked.’

You’d hear about that. You… had just hoped it wasn’t true.

“So, Itadori…?”

“Bonito flakes,” he answers, shaking his head. Silence falls on the room.

You usually like silence with him. It feels comfortable, like an old friend you’re happy to welcome. Tonight, though, you feel the need to blurt out “I’m so happy you’re okay.”

His lips turn downward, and he gestures at his arm dejectedly, but you shake your head, and you stand up so you can sit on the bed, by his legs. You grab his hand in both of yours.

“I would take anything as long as it means you’re back here with me. I know— I know it’s selfish, but I just— You’re everything.”

Toge presses his forehead against yours when you start crying. Gently, he frees his hand so he can wipe the tears running down your cheeks. He doesn’t get to express his emotions freely, so you do it for the two of you, that’s how it’s always been between you. That doesn’t stop him from tilting your chin so he can press his lips against yours. The kiss is soft and gentle.

“I love you,” you say for the both of you.

He wishes he could tell you that he hasn’t felt like he’d truly made it back from Shibuya until he saw you walking through the door.

When he kisses you again, he thinks you’re aware of it.

YUTA

“They agreed to entrust me with Itadori’s execution,” Yuta tells you when he finds you, anxiously waiting for him to come out of his meeting with the higher-ups. “I had to take a binding vow, but that won’t be a problem.”

He says it so casually, and you can’t help but sigh. Immediately, his eyes fill with worry.

“Is something wrong?”

You can feel his eyes scanning you, looking for an injury, and that brings a faint smile out of you. As if anything could hurt you here, in one of the last jujutsu strong place in Japan.

“I just wish you wouldn’t have to do that,” you admit with a shrug. “I wish there was another solution.” I wish you didn’t think the weight of the world is yours to take now that Gojo isn’t here to bear it.

“Oh!” He lights up, and you hate that he feels relief, because to him, it is inconsequential as long as it’s happening to him. “That’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Well, someone has to, since he won’t do it himself. You reach for his hand, fiddling with his fingers, and you can’t help but smile when you feel him freeze. You can’t believe he still reacts to your touch that way, no matter how many times you do it.

“Breathe,” you say, glancing up at him.

He flushes when he realizes he was, indeed, holding his breath.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He doesn’t have to apologize, but he always does.

“Then I’ll go and keep an eye on Toge and Maki,” you decide. “I heard Maki’s recovering well, but I’ll see if there’s anything more they need. Maybe I’ll help Toge get back to his family.”

Yuta hesitates.

“You don’t— You don’t have to do that for me, you know?”

Ha. Guilty as charged. You’re just trying to take some of the weight off his shoulders so he won’t have to carry it all alone. You wrap your arms around his neck, smile when he turns even redder. He doesn’t move away from you though, and, after hesitating, he even closes his hands on your waist. The touch is feather-light, and you think he’d take them off if you breathed a little too hard. But it’s there, and he’s come a long way, truly.

“I know. I just want to.”

He’s crimson, but his eyes still soften at your words. With a sigh, he leans his forehead against yours.

“What have I done to get this lucky?” he marvels, and he sounds so loving you think you might just melt in your spot.

“You deserve the world,” you answer truthfully.

He lets out an embarrassed laugh that you interrupt with a kiss. His lips are soft and cautious against yours, and he is nothing but tender. You know he’s doing his best to restrain himself, both because you’re in a public space where someone could walk by and because it takes a lot more to get him out of his shell.

“Wh-what was that for?” he asks when you pull away, a pout in his voice.

“For luck,” you hum in reply. “You better come back to me.”

His fingers tighten on your waist. He doesn’t want to let go. If he could shut the whole world out and live only in your arms, he thinks he would do it in a heartbeat. But there are people out there who need saving, and you know even you can’t stop him from going to help them.

“I’ll keep your friends safe until then, okay?”

No matter what you tell him, he still doesn’t think he’s done anything to deserve you. That means he should let go of you, be on his way and wish you well on yours. Instead, in an impulsive move, he wraps his arms tighter around your waist to pull you flush against his chest in a tight hug.

You laugh in surprise and hug him back, and in that moment, he is absolutely certain that there is nothing that could stop him from coming back to you.

GOJO

“Guess who’s back!” Satoru calls when he walks into your home as if nothing’s happened, as if you haven’t spent hours on the phone with various sorcerers, trying to understand what on earth was happening and if he was even still alive.

You turn to look at him with daggers in your eyes, and you want to scream, but you don’t find the words when you take in the sight of him. There’s blood on his face that he hasn’t bothered to wipe off, his clothes are torn, the blindfold he’s holding in his hand is in an even sorrier state, and despite the smile on his face, you don’t think there is a muscle to his body that isn’t in a state a tension.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He shrugs, walks across the room to grab a towel that he vigorously rubs against his face.

“I’m always okay.”

The sentence sounds empty, and you’re about to go up to him when he drops the towel to move towards the bathroom with a groan.

“It’s not coming off,” he says before splashing his face with water.

You follow him and watch as he repeatedly rinses his face. The blood has long come off, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with it. He pours generous amounts of soap on his hands, but there is nothing more to take off there. You wait a few seconds more before joining him. You still his hand with a pressure of his wrist, clean off the remaining soap, and cut off the water. He lets you do it, just as he lets you guide him back to the bed to sit down.

“What happened?” you urge him, keeping his hands in yours. He feels so far away, even if he’s sitting inches from you, and you’re desperate to bring him back to you.

Long seconds go by before he answers you.

“I made a mistake,” he finally says, words pulled out like teeth. “That’s what happened.”

You would tell him that everyone makes mistakes, but you know what’s prompting this. He isn’t everyone. He doesn’t make mistakes. He is Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, the one in charge of preserving the balance of the world after he’s irremediably altered it simply from being born.

Your hands come up to his face, and you trace his jaw with careful fingers. He closes his eyes. Lets you ground him. He can’t think of anything else he needs more right now.

“You’ve done so much,” you whisper. “I’ve been talking to Shoko — she says that without you, human losses would be much worse.”

He lets out a humorless chuckle.

“That is always true.”

Coming from someone else, it would sound like bragging, but you know that Satoru is only stating a fact. He always saves the day, which makes this so, so much worse. You climb on the bed behind him, start massaging his shoulders. Despite himself, he can’t help but relax into your touch. He doesn’t feel like he deserves that, deserves the comfort you’re bringing to him, and yet, as always, he’s powerless against you.

“But wasn’t the point always that your students would be able to take over?” you ask, softly. “And they did. They saved you. Sounds to me like you did well, Satoru.”

Did he? Sure doesn’t feel like it.

“Hm, I guess Yuji and Megumi did real well tonight,” he admits, and he lets himself lean back into your arms fully. “Just wish… Just wish it hadn’t turned out like that.”

You press a kiss to his temple, and he sighs. He doesn’t think he will be okay again tonight. Probably not tomorrow, either — maybe not before a long time.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’d be nice.”

His eyes follow as you walk back into the bathroom.

“You’ll join me?”

A smile flashes on your face.

“Sure.”

He won’t be okay any time soon, but with you by his side, he thinks he can at least try to get there again someday.

thank you for reading! as a note, gojo's piece is written under the hypothesis that he was unsealed but unsealed before the end of the night. I hope you enjoyed these pieces, please consider reblogging and/or letting me know your thoughts in a comment, interactions are the best way of supporting me and of keeping me writing ^-^

more jujutsu kaisen x reader here (primarily gojo x reader)

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: You Look Like You Love Me

Request: "I wondered if you could do a Tyler Owens fic where it’s the end of the day and everyone’s exhausted from chasing all day and stuff. Readers just gotten out of the shower and is in her sleep dress, hair wet and decides to join all the storm chasers/ the team out by the bonfire so she throws one of Tyler’s flannels on, puts her boots on and goes to find Tyler and once she does there’s a slow song that comes on the speaker (I feel like they’d have music playing that the whole parking lot can hear) and it just ends with them slow dancing by the fire looking into each others eyes and talking about their future, JTyler just has this look on his face knowing he is going to marry this woman one day<3"

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: none

A/N: thanks for the request, this was such a cute idea / fun plot to write :) Enjoy!! 

“You comin’?” Tyler asked, giving your hand a slight squeeze and nodding towards the group of people already clustered around the fire. 

You offered a small smile, which was about all you were capable of after the long day you’d had. 

“I’m really tired,” you explained. “Think I’m just gonna grab a shower then crash.”

You didn’t miss the look of disappointment that flashed across his face. But it was quickly replaced by a gentle nod. “Course, let me just grab our stuff, then I’ll head up.”

“No, you stay,” you encouraged him, nodding towards the group. “This is right up your alley, don’t miss out because I’m a tired slug.”  

Tyler tipped his head to the side affectionately. “You’re about the cutest tired slug I think I’ve ever seen,” he said in a tone that was far too serious for the context. 

You shook your head, lips tugging into a grin as you pulled your hand away from his to adjust the bag slung over your shoulder. “Shut up,” you mumbled adoringly before nodding towards the fire. “Look, they have music goin’. Why don’t you go slow dance with Boone or something?” 

“Yeah alright,” Tyler agreed, taking a step backwards. His tongue poked through his teeth in the same way that, even after almost two years together, still made your stomach flip. “I’ll be up in a little while.”

“Have fun,” you called before he turned and began walking towards where everyone else had gathered. 

Meanwhile, you had the pleasure of trudging up a flight of stairs to get to the room Tyler had booked for the night. After nearly eight hours of driving that day, the muscles in your legs felt wobbly as you made the ascent. But when you finally were able to climb into the room’s shower– the warm water rinsing off all the dirt and sweat you’d acquired for the day, you sighed out a breath of relief. 

Although you appreciated how good it felt, you didn’t waste time in the shower. Instead, you quickly lathered up your hair, rinsed it out, and scrubbed yourself clean before grabbing a towel from the rack and drying off. Before long, you had your wet hair combed out, pajamas on, and were crawling into the queen bed positioned in the center of the room. You climbed in with full intentions of passing out without a second thought. 

However, to your absolute dismay, that wasn't the case. Instead, you tossed and turned, almost nodding off– but then reaching for someone that wasn't there yet. Eyes snapping open, you sighed defeatedly. It wasn’t uncommon for you to have a hard time sleeping without Tyler. But with how exhausted you felt, you’d been hopeful. 

You laid there for about half an hour before giving up. You were just growing increasingly frustrated and knew that no amount of laying there without him was going to work. 

So instead, you climbed out of bed, grabbed Tyler’s flannel, which laid conveniently at the top of your bag and threw your boots back on. Your hair was still damp when you left the room. Luckily the June air was warm– even after the sun had gone down. As you climbed back down the stairs, noise from the fire and people gathered filled your ears. You heard music coming through a nearby speaker and the collective murmuring and laughter from each conversation blurring together in a loud hum. 

As you approached the crowd, it didn’t take long before you spotted Tyler and the rest of the crew. He was sitting back in a camp chair, dimples on full display as he laughed at something Lilly was saying in the chair next to him. Boone was crouched on the sand, knees tucked into his chest while he used a stick to poke at the fire. Dani was kicked back in an adirondack chair, sipping casually on a beer. Meanwhile, Dexter was nowhere to be seen– presumably already gone to bed for the night. 

Wrapping his flannel tighter yourself, you began weaving your way through the crowd of people and towards him. Tyler spotted you after only a moment, like his eyes were born to find you in a crowd. At first his gaze was worried, eyebrows knitting together in a look of concern. 

“There she is!” Boone announced your arrival like your own personal cheerleader. 

You offered a smile and mumbled a weak hello before heading right for Tyler. 

“Hey baby,” he said. He moved like he was going to get up, but before he could, you walked to his side and plopped yourself down across his knees. Instantly, his hand found your waist while you wrapped your arms around his neck, nestling your face into the crook of his shoulder. 

“Everything okay?” he murmured, lips lingering along your hairline. He ran a hand up your back soothingly. 

You nodded, inhaling the scent of him. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah,” Tyler said, already knowing that what you really meant was, just couldn’t sleep without you. “We can head up, if you want. Let me grab my stuff.”

But you shook your head. Pulling away from him long enough to watch the scene around you. “No, it’s nice out here. Let’s stay a little longer.”

You felt his lips connect with your temple. “Whatever you want, baby.”

“Did you and Boone get to slow dance?” you asked, a hint of playfulness evident in your tone. 

Tyler snorted. “No, we hadn’t gotten the chance yet.”

“Shame,” you muttered groggily. “You’re such a good dancer.” 

“Well you know I’d much prefer to dance with you.”

“Hey,” Boone piped in. “Now see? I know y’all are the world’s cutest couple and all that bullshit. But that right there very much hurts my feelings, T.” 

You both laughed at his antics. 

“Sorry, Boone,” Tyler said. “You’ve got tough competition.”

“Aw, c’mon Boone,” Lilly said. “Don’t let them get to ya. Dani and I will dance with you– c’mon.” 

Together, the three of them got up and joined the crowd of people dancing, leaving you and Tyler alone. 

“Alright, Owens,” you said, mustering up the strength to climb off his lap. “Our turn. Show me what kind of dance moves you got.”

He let you drag him towards a quieter part of the lawn. Using one hand, Tyler gripped your waist and pulled you close. With the other, he cupped your hand to hold out from him. Gently, he began swaying you back and forth to the beat of the song. 

“I don’t know if you’ve ever told me who taught you to dance,” you observed. 

“My mom,” he replied softly. His green eyes sparkled– the same way they did anytime he talked about his mom. 

“I’d never wanted to go to any of the school dances– never had an interest. I was always workin’ the farm or out with friends. But in my junior year of high school, I was trying to impress this girl. Her name was Sally Wakefield– so, I bought us a coupla’ tickets to the prom without even asking her first.”

“What?” you laughed. 

“I know, I know–” he said. “I got the order a little backwards there. Anyway, I went to my mom and told her I had a date to the prom and that I had to learn how to dance before. So, we spent an entire weekend in the living room. She had me push all the furniture– the couch and table and all the chairs, to the side and make a little dance floor. She put her Elton John records on repeat and that's how I learned to dance.” 

“That’s really sweet,” you smiled, just imagining teenage-Tyler slow dancing in the living room with his mom. 

“Yeah, well it didn’t end so sweet. I asked Sally Wakefield to prom the next Monday at school and she laughed in my face,” he chuckled. “So all that hard work went right to waste.”

You scoffed. “Fuck Sally Wakefield.” 

“I actually ran into her at the market a few years back– she was really nice. She’s married, has a few kids now..”

“It was for cathartic effect, Tyler. But if you insist– fuck high-school version of Sally Wakefield.”

“Oh–” he nodded. “Right. Yeah, fuck high school Sally Wakefield.”

“Plus,” you added, melting a little inside as soon as your eyes connected with his. “I don’t think all that hard work went to waste. I, for one, really enjoy dancing with you.” 

His face beamed as he gazed down at you softly. “Remember that night we went line dancin’ when we were down in Austin?”

You let out a bubble of laughter as you leaned into his embrace. “Oh my God, and Boone slipped on the lemonade that lady spilled–”

Tyler chuckled. “Him and his beer went flyin’.”

“I swear I have never seen a human being hit the ground that hard,” you said through your laughter. 

“Me either–”

“Remember when we went to your cousin's wedding– and they had that live band and an entire dance floor and we were like… the only people using it? Everyone else just stayed at their tables.”

Tyler shook his head. “Still can’t believe that.”

“Yeah, I mean ninety-five degrees or not… if I go to a wedding, I’m dancing.”

“What about your wedding?” Tyler asked suddenly, gaze softening as he peered down at you. 

Something in your chest fluttered. It wasn’t the first time Tyler had mentioned weddings or marriage, but every time he did, it pleasantly reminded you that you two were in this for the long haul. 

“What about my wedding?” you said, trying to sound casual. 

“Will there be lots of dancing at your wedding?” 

You pulled back gently from Tyler’s embrace, just enough so that you could get a better look at him. You marveled at how handsome he really was– especially under the soft, flickering glow from the fire. 

“Of course there’ll be dancing– lots of it. I wouldn’t want all your mom’s hard work to go to waste now would I?”

Tyler’s swaying slowed as he took a moment to really study you. His gaze was soft and sweet and intimate all at once. Unable to help yourself, your face broke out into an even wider grin.

“What?” he wondered.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, biting your lip. “You’re just lookin’ at me like you love me. And that makes me smile.” 

Tyler beamed. “I love you so much– you know that, right?” 

Without even hesitating you nodded. “Course I do,” you replied, leaning your head against his chest and allowing him to tighten his hold on you. “I love you, too.”

For a few more minutes, the two of you swayed casually to the music. Tyler’s embrace was safe and warm and comforting, and the longer you danced like that, the more tired you became. 

“Think we’ll see anything tomorrow?” you yawned sleepily into his shirt. You felt his cheek rest on top of your head, nestling you into the crook of his neck.  

Tyler clicked his tongue above you. “I don’t think so. Dexter wasn’t tracking anything on the radar, but you never know.” 

“What if we just had a slow day tomorrow? We could just sleep in and hang out here for another day? I saw they had a pool out back– that’d keep Boone entertained.” 

“That’s not a bad idea,” he said. “I think we could make that work.” 

You smiled against his skin, eyelids growing heavier and heavier. Gradually, you began leaning more and more of your weight against him, until finally, he gave your back a gentle rub. 

“Let’s say you and I head up to the room, yeah?”

You nodded against him, too tired to reply. 

“There we go,” he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You leaned into his side, letting him guide the way. He called goodnight to everyone for you before practically carrying you up the flight of stairs towards the room. 

When you were finally inside, Tyler helped you climb into bed. You frowned when he didn’t immediately follow. Instead, you watched him head into the bathroom and close the door. 

With how tired you were– you were surprised you didn’t fall asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. But the longer you laid there without Tyler, the more awake you felt. 

After only a few short minutes, he emerged from the bathroom and crossed the room quietly. 

“You’re not asleep yet?” he asked, peeling back the covers and climbing into bed beside you. “Thought you’d be snorin’ by the time I came back.”

Without replying, you scooted across the bed until you were wrapped back up in his embrace. You felt arms wound around your waist, anchoring you to him. You smelled his aftershave and mouthwash as you nuzzled into his chest. You heard the sound of his heartbeat, even through the fabric of his T-shirt. His presence totally engulfed all of your senses– and you knew that was exactly how it should be. 

As you finally drifted off, all you knew was Tyler, Tyler, Tyler. 

And what a wonderful thing to know. 

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[ervotica]

milf!reader fucking coach!patrick because she wants her son to get accepted into his tennis program and they’re old friend who used to fuck in college but she despises him but she’ll do anything for her son👀

warnings; smut, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), cum eating, a smidge of foot stuff if you squint, hate sex, exes (ish) to lovers (ish)

a/n; your honor i need him actually

imagining him wolf-whistling at you when you seek him out on the courts, racket strapped over your shoulder, hand limply holding a basket of tennis balls as you watch him practice his serving, trying and failing not to ogle his entire body through his clothes.

a sweat soaked tank top, slick and transparent. the smell of musk and man and tennis. thick corded thighs dusted with dark hair as he moves fluidly, as though the racket is an extension of himself. a thick bulge in his shorts that, no matter how much you hate him, you want to have your mouth on.

he’s all fire and passion and heat, and you know from experience that trait rings true in all areas of his life.

“so, you’re a milf now,” he drawls, beckoning you closer with a tip of his chin. your mouth is dry, chest so hollow it feels like you’re about to crumble from the inside out.

you roll your eyes, hoping to look more confident than you feel, taking place on the other side of the net.

“and you’re still a prick. your point?”

“why are you here?” he presses, tossing the ball up and catching it with a skilled ease that has your stomach flipping.

“how do i guarantee my son a place in your tennis program?” the words feel heavy on your tongue, struggling not to curl your lips into a sneer at the sight of his smug expression.

“you think i’m a prick but you want me to teach your son?”

“i think you’re a prick but i know you’re good at tennis. and you’re a good teacher. and i want him to be good.” his brow quirks. at least you’re honest.

he discards the tennis ball behind him and crosses the distance between you, long legs coming up to step over the net.

“i can think of a few things.”

that’s how you find yourself at his place, legs slung over his shoulders. it’s wet and dirty, each rock of his hips squelching as he feeds you his cock into your needy cunt inch by inch.

“yeah, know this pussy missed me, baby,” he rasps, pinching at your twitching clit. his throat works around a thick swallow, lips parted in a groan when you clench your cunt round him, shifting your hips upward to allow him to sink further into the wet clutch of you.

“stop talking to my pussy, you freak,” you hiss, quickly silenced as he flattens his thumb over your swollen bud, rolling it in tight circles until you’re creaming round him, wailing with the sheer force of your orgasm

he lifts your ankle, turning his flushed face to mouth at the smooth skin there, huffing hot air against the sole of your foot that has you squirming.

there are some perks to fucking patrick zweig.

he knows every inch of your body, knows what makes you tick and which buttons to press to keep you babbling nonsensical filth beneath him. knows your pussy, knows how to fuck you until you cry.

you’re clinging to his shoulders, almost drawing blood as you dig your knuckles further into that skin, because you know him just as well. know that this gets him going, keeps him rutting into you with that fervour that - despite yourself, despite hating him - you’ve missed so desperately.

because despite hating patrick zweig, no one fucks you like he does.

when he cums it’s in excess, spurt after spurt of it until you’re plugged full and it’s flooding you, dripping out of your spasming hole and gathering over your furled asshole. he gathers some of it with two fingers, feeds it into your eager mouth.

“i’m sure we can work something out about those tennis lessons, sweets.” and he grins, all teeth. the look should have you balking, send you running, but you find yourself drawn to it, clinging to the familiarity of him.

you’re caught in his honey trap once again, and he has no plans of letting you get away this time.

because you both know, no matter how much you claim to hate him, he’s the best sex you’ve ever had.

and he’s sure he can make you love him. just with a little time.

[atyourmerci]

Ethical dilemma

Therapist!ellie (read part 2 here)

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!ellie, bratsub!reader, sexual tension is fuckin palpable, blindfold, hypnosis, walked through orgasm, talks of masturbation, mutual pining but there’s laws oh no!, no y/n, no pdor

A/N: I fear this is so self-indulgent I will not be elaborating

X

“Highly unethical,” the auburn haired woman gives a small laugh, standing from her seat to walk you out as she always did. You’d asked about the details of the girl you see in her waiting room after you every Thursday. Dr. Williams was not privy to your sexual endeavors that came from her own hands…well her office for this manner.

She was a good therapist, best you’d ever had truly. Sure she understood all the lesbian lingo, formalities and functions that didn’t need to be gaysplaned to an unfortunate witness. But it felt as if she truly understood you, had a true knack to play out your actions before you ever thought of them. It was her job to fix your fuckups, not predict them.

She felt it, when you changed. How much thicker the air got, how she could slice it with her knife. The way your body expanded in her chair shifted, opening your chest for sight. Your gaze started to only focus on her, directed, pointed even, letting your lips open. When you started drawling out moments of your sexual endeavors down to every touch, how you tried to read her as she read you. You tried to make her crack, see any sense of appeal, to which she responded akin to a brick fucking wall.

Hell she knew your ‘new hookup’ was a sham, you were just dying to plead to her how unsatisfied ‘she’ left you. She knew the person you were, she knew you best after all, didn’t she now? You’d never stay, and she clocked it.

But she played your game, nodding along, letting you babble about all the times you had to finish yourself off afterwards.

She’d let herself have that, the pleasure of thought, the images of your panting breath, dry fingers, and cracked lips. In another life she’d agree to help you out, fix your ache. But Ellie was an ethical woman, level-headed, and morally sound, this was not her circus to corral.

She’d just remind you to focus on yourself, in whatever form that came.

‘Tell me to fuck myself’ you’d pray in your mind, begging for a mere innuendo from her, anything to use for later. You wished she’d talk you through it, and she would, in another life.

The entire time you’re rambling on she’d think of the ways she would walk you through it, praising you for how good you were doing, how beautiful you looked messy and broken down just for her. But a respected woman has limitations, rules, structures built exiling that from her will, “is there a reason you keep going back to her? Even though you don’t feel satisfied?”

“I need it,” you remark frankly, desire white hot that ate away at your skin like a bad infection.

“You need sex?” Ellie questions, her eyes forming into a squint as her head cocks. She cant seem to write this down, engulfed by your blatant admission.

“Don’t we all doctor…don’t you?” came out utterly direct, shifting your weight to your forearms that now rested on your thighs that allowed your blouse to reveal the peaks of your breasts. Maybe you were trying to intimidate her, and maybe it worked.

“This isn’t about me,” she said, but not what she thought, and you clocked it. The way her teeth drew in her bottom lip, the furrow of her brows, busying her gaze down to her blank paper. Never mustering up a reason to record your sessions, what was she to say? Lines blurring to an extent that shouldn’t allow you to still be here.

“But isn’t it?” you dart back, a grin easing up your lips, equally as maniacal as it was sensual. A pleading request for her to sink her teeth into, to rip the flesh from bone.

She should have asked you to never return, refer you to another doctor. Suddenly so aware of her surroundings, breaking herself from your delusions, “thats time, I’ll walk you out,” but she couldn’t, giving you a pitied smile, standing from her chair.

-

“Id like to try something new today,” Ellie says, an air of hesitancy rings through your ears.

“You going to reveal the skeletons in your closet Doctor?” You say in a teasing manner, crossing your legs in your usual spot, but Ellie remained standing.

A glimmer of a smirk forming on her lips, “have you heard of hypnotherapy?”

“First a doctor, now a magician what a pay drop,” you snide.

“Do you trust me?”

She had you lie on her couch, uncharted territory, too spacious for comfort, for rules and barriers, “now close your eyes for me,” Ellie remarks, seated on top of the coffee table, inches from the couch.

“what if I cant keep them closed, will I fuck up the juju?” you say peeping at her with one eye.

“I have a bandana-“ knowing you’ll cut in with your sexual advances she cuts off your process, “-for hypnosis, would you like that?”

You tie the black cloth around your eyes, cutting off the essential sense, suddenly so aware of your body. Feeling the tips of your fingers, the race of your heart, beating the blood to your veins.

“Tell me what you see,��� the doctor pries, watching your open mouth, the way it releases at her words. The steady rise and fall of your chest, the control she had over your undirected weight.

“its just me.”

“Where are you?”

“I- I don’t know, it’s white everywhere,” Your senses so heightened, feeling the breath as it escapes your throat.

“What are you feeling,” Ellie says palming her hands, eager to break you down. The desire the scale the walls of your mind.

“Frustrated,” your breath beginning to shorten, that eery feeling creeping back into your bones.

“what else?”

“it hurts- hurts so bad” the burning to be satiated, body still yet so charged.

“Whats making it hurt?” Ellie could help, ease your killing wounds. Would she, or would she watch as you wilt like a flower in the beating sun?

“I cant fix it, it wont stop,” you pant out, sweat dripping down the valley of your chest.

“Are you touching yourself?” she leaps, walking the tight rope as a foot slips.

“yes-yes,” your mouth agape, fists balling into a white grip at your sides.

“You need to finish, don’t you?” she revels in your pain, the unstilted need.

“I need you,” you corrupt, breaking the thin layer of morals that stood between you and your desires.

“Im there with you, aren’t I always?” she taunts, voiding herself of her principles. Allowing herself to play into her horrors, you were merely a symbol of prey.

“Please-“ you breathe out, on the cusp of release at the expense of her mercy. Blood running hot as your cunt pulses untouched.

Bringing her mouth to the edge of your face, you feel her breathe through your body, breaking through your flesh.

Ever so softly, “let me satisfy you.”

[keerysfreckles]

lay all your love on me — LN4

pairing: lando norris x piastri!reader

summary: the aftermath of y/n's worst date she's ever been on, lando comes to pick her up.

warnings: one curse word, not proofread

a/n: dedicated to kayla bae 🤭🤭 comment if i should make a part 2!!!

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

y/n can't remember the last time she went on a decent date. in the past year she's been on five dates, none of them doing any justice.

two of them were too busy staring at her chest from the low neckline of her dress. one wouldn't stop talking about the football game plastered on the tv behind her at the sports bar he dragged her to. one didn't even show up.

and now, the fifth date, he isn't taking anything she says seriously.

she tried explaining how she's able to travel a lot due to her brother being a formula one driver, and the bloke just laughed in her face. claiming "girls can't be that into racecars".

y/n's never wanted to punch somebody as hard as she wanted to punch the man in front of her.

he then started talking about his own career, which lead y/n to talk about hers. however, to the man across from her, having a degree in communications does nothing to improve y/n's future.

this man was suffocating. every word he uttered just made y/n's blood boil.

it got to the point where y/n simply left. she left the man there, at the restaurant, with the most dumbfounded look displayed over his features.

she couldn't stand to be there another five minutes, so she simply left. no apology, no goodbye.

the chilly monaco air did not help her sour mood, in which she didn't bring a jacket with her. the walk to her apartment wasn't far, maybe twenty minutes.

the more and more the girl thought about her date, and the previous ones, she couldn't help but feel sorry for herself. the past five times she's gotten dressed up, and was excited to learn about someone new, she just left disappointed every time.

y/n didn't even know why she wore the heels she has on. she's never worn them, so she's praying she doesn't get blisters the next morning.

groaning, she pauses to take off her black heels. her shoulders slightly relaxing as the pain from her feet falls into the pavement with every step.

now y/n wasn't sure if the rumbles she heard behind her was thunder, or just the roaring of engines passing in the streets.

she pushed the thought off for now, and went back to thinking about her failed dates. she didn't think it was her fault, but maybe she was just unlovable. there was a chance it wasn't the people she dated, and that she was the one with the problem.

the over consuming thoughts had now gotten best of the girl. before she knew it tears were welling up at her bottom lashes. she didn't care about her makeup anymore, choosing to wipe at the tears now mixing with her mascara.

seconds barely pass, and it was final that the rumbles y/n heard earlier was thunder. meaning rain would shortly follow after. she groaned again, wanting to do anything but walk home in the rain.

she could easily turn around and wait the storm out in the restaurant, but she didn't want to face the man she left at the table again.

she then decided to call her brother.

however her plan quickly backfired once she remembered oscar and lily went out tonight, somewhere over an hour of where y/n is now. so calling oscar was out of the question. the phone didn't even let out a full ring before she hung up.

to make matters worse, y/n felt big drops of rain hit her shoulders.

there weren't many other options y/n could give into tonight. her close friends were all in france for god knows what, oscar was busy, and y/n just wanted to go home.

call her pathetic, but y/n couldn't help but cry. her night has only gotten worse, and she couldn't do anything about it.

after mere minutes, her hair was soaked from the now heavy pouring rain, she had no doubt her makeup was fully ruined, and she was sulking underneath a flickering lamppost.

she let out a dry chuckle after scrolling through her contacts once again, now seeing the only person left to call. the only person who'd answer her tonight.

on the third ring, he picked up.

"y/n? is everything okay?"

y/n hasn't gotten asked that in a long time. so she simply let out a choked sob. she tried answering, but her voice failed her again.

"lando," she managed to get out, only to have her cries over power her words.

he was quick to ask her what happened to make her this upset. to which he only got small answers in between more cries and jagged breaths. he knew he had to do something.

"can you tell me where you are?" he asked, while slipping his shoes on before running out of his apartment towards the parking garage.

he was glad to finally get a normal answer out of y/n, as he pulled out of his parking space with a loud screech of his tires. his windshield wipers did almost nothing to help him see in the rain, only making him driver faster, wanting nothing more than to get y/n in the warm and dry comfort of his car.

he drove carefully down the street address she gave him.

then he saw it. his heart broke at the sight in front of him.

y/n sitting on a bench, with her head in her hands. heels discarded by her feet, and her wet hair sticking to her back and shoulders.

her head picked up at the headlights of lando's car, and the sound of his driver door opening.

"god, y/n are you okay?"

lando kneeled down in front of her, placing his warm hands over her knees.

all y/n could do was lean forward into lando, wrapping her arms around him for some form of comfort.

lando couldn't care less if his shirt was getting wet, he could easily put on a new one once he got home. all he cared about right now was the girl in his arms.

he helped her get to the passenger side of the door, before jogging back to the bench to grab her heels. as he threw them into the backseat his eyes moved to an extra jacket. he was internally thanking his past self for leaving this inside.

y/n shivered out a thank you, for the hoodie and at his action of turning the heat on.

the ride back was silent. a comfortable silence, mostly because lando didn't want to pressure the girl into talking about exactly what happened tonight.

after lando turned left, y/n spoke up, "wait, lando you made the wrong turn. my apartment's that way."

she pointed out the window, but lando simply shrugged it off.

"y/n you haven't had the best night," he starts by pointing out the obvious, "so you can crash at my flat tonight, okay? we can watch as many rom-coms as your little heart desires. i know how much you love those."

y/n chuckles at his ending sentence, but can't agree with him more.

as soon as lando pulls into the parking garage, he helps y/n up the stairs to his apartment door. he successfully opens the door with one hand, as y/n's shoes are hanging over his fingers in the other.

he watched as y/n crossed her arms over herself once he shut the front door.

"do you want a hug?" he held out his arms with a small smile adorning his lips.

y/n walks closer to him, her barefeet hitting the hardwood with each step before she rests her head on his shoulder.

one thing y/n loves about lando's hugs is how secure they feel. his arms always end up wrapped tightly around her, and she swears she feels her bad mood leave her body whenever she's in his embrace.

after a few moments, lando speaks up, "do you want to change? i bet i have some clothes that'll fit you."

y/n nods before ridding her face of any tears. she then follows lando to his room. she sits on the edge of his bed, watching carefully as he grabs a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"i'll be out in the living room. take your time," he speaks softly, kissing the top of her head before he leaves the room.

y/n finally lets out a sigh. a sigh filled with many different emotions. too many to count, so y/n distracts herself by changing into the much more comfortable clothes lando grabbed.

she tried running her fingers through her damp hair as she exited his room, but her hair became too tangled from the rain.

lando's small smile made it's way to his face once y/n came into the living room.

"you feeling any better?" he pats the spot beside him on the couch.

all y/n does is nod, but lando senses that something's still bothering her.

he brushes off the thought for now, as he and y/n search for a movie to watch.

after eight minutes of flicking through netflix, y/n breaks the silence.

"lan, do i seem unlovable to you?"

the question certainly caught the brit off gaurd. he took a moment to think about his response before answering, but no certain response would be the right one.

"woah, what makes you think that?"

y/n gets more quiet, becoming more self conscious of herself as she sits beside lando.

she shrugs before responding, "every date i've been on in the past year has gone wrong. i can't help but think if it's something i'm doing. that i'm the one with the problem, not all the guys i've seen."

lando's heart breaks at y/n's statement. how long has she been feeling this way about herself?

"you're not unlovable y/n. it's all those idiots that don't know what they're missing out on. you're one of the greatest people i know, and if any guy you date can't see that, he's not worth it."

lando wasn't sure where his small speech came from, but the look from y/n made his heart beat faster than it did before.

she looked at lando with nothing but adoration. a blush covered both of their cheeks now, and before y/n could really register anything her brain was processing she leaned over to quickly kiss lando.

yes, she was kissing her brother's best friend. yes, she was kissing lando after she had a horrible date.

was it a bad idea? probably. but y/n needed one thing to go right tonight. she could only pray this was the thing.

just as lando got used to the feeling of her lips against his, she pulled away.

she couldn't read the emotion on his face, making her start to ramble.

"i'm sorry. i'm so so sorry lan. i- i just needed one thing to go right tonight. and i thought maybe kissing you was the right thing to do. shit, i'm sorry. i can leave-"

y/n's sentence was cut off, now by lando pushing his lips against hers. his hand found it's way to the back of her neck, as hers balled up the material of his shirt to try and bring him closer to her.

their panted breaths mingled together as they were only centimeters away from each other. their eyes filled with adventure and lust, both wondering where this thing could lead to.

[k8martins]

•*⁀➷ interlinked

summary: lil blurb, cuddling w kate after practice

request: no / yes

warnings: none, absolute toothache fluff

a/n: tired as hell writing this so i hope it’s fire.. and tysm for the love on my other fics!!

——————————————————————————

you sat on the bed as kate finished up her night routine. she had finally come home from her practice, and you refused to fall asleep until she was here. kate came home looking typically exhausted; you urged her to take a calming shower and then the rest of the night could be spent intertwined. it was apparent that she was in a rush, the way she was frantically brushing her wet hair and drying it.

finally, she was done and walked toward you and the bed. kate was ready to just climb and collapse in your lap.

“wait, baby lemme lay down first,” you said softly, giggling at the desperation to be close to you. kate groaned tiredly as you scooted back to the headboard. you held your arms open as she crawled onto you. before settling onto you, she kissed you softly on your lips, then tried to get another on your chin. kate could never steal enough kisses.

it always felt so right cuddling with kate, the way she would naturally melt into your arms with her head on your chest. the warmth your bodies created made you want to stay that way forever, tangled up with her. it was addicting to hear her breathing slow down and watch her weary eyes flutter shut. the lazy kisses never failed to make your heart swell. your hand always found its way to her shiny hair, gently stroking small pieces. either that, or slowly running your hand up and down her back.

this time, the smell of kate’s body wash was floating in the air. you loved deeply breathing in her scent any time of day, but especially after she showered. you brought your face down to sniff her hair, which made her giggle and hide her face in your chest.

“you’re such a weirdo,” she teased.

“sorry kate,” you said, smiling dumbly.

before bringing her face back up, she peppered small kisses along your chest. it was several pecks later before her beautiful eyes met yours again. continuing to stroke her hair, you felt her gently gripping at the fabric of your shirt. she kept her big blue eyes on yours before looking away, but keeping her head angled up towards you. nothing needed to be said except for comfortable silence; solitude in hanging onto each other.

“practice was so annoying. i was just thinking about you the whole time,” kate admitted, breaking the silence. sometimes she wanted to talk about it, sometimes she didn’t. you could hear the tired rasp in her voice, and didn’t want to pry.

“mhm… well i’m always here waiting for you when you’re done.”

kate smiled and closed her eyes against your chest. she moved her leg so that it was draped over yours. her hand also came up to the ends of your hair, lazily twiddling it and murmuring about how soft it is.

“even if you had practice at like… really late… and came home at like 2 a.m i’d still be awake. i swear,” you said, giggling but telling the truth.

kate laughed at your ridiculous comment and brought her eyes back up to yours. they were half lidded and heavy, but open just enough to stay looking at you.

“you know you don’t have to do that.”

“but i want to do that.”

she hummed and pulled you closer, if that was even possible. taking one big sigh, you knew kate was ready to fall asleep.

“i’m soooo tired,” kate said in her raspy voice.

“just go to sleep,” you whispered.

kate almost instantly fell asleep at your words, still holding onto you tightly. you gave her one last kiss on the head before drifting off to sleep.

[goldenstring6123]

This happen to my bestie last week ajsjsjsjsns

She came to school all moody instead of cheery and vibrant and it's not normal to see her like that– I asked what happened, at first she doesn't speaks and just shook her head. Like, 20 minutes later, she suddenly cried. I was there next to her and comfort her, (I literally get all concerned and panicked)

During break, I asked again why she is like that and she told me that her mom told her to die out of frustration (Like– girl, wth) it is all because her little sister overslept and make her late for school. And her mother also late for works.

So, can I ask how LaDS men comfort their partner when they're feeling down? 🥺🥺

Thanks ♡⁠(⁠Ӧ⁠ｖ⁠Ӧ⁠｡⁠)

Lnds: Comfort for a crying heart

Warning: Comfort. GN!Reader

Author's note: I'm sorry to hear that about your bestie, no person should ever be told that especially by their mother. I'm sending my hugs to you, your bestie and everyone who's having a hard time! You have my full love and support!

Zayne: The Patient Comforter

Zayne never sensed the shift in your personality that day. He knew there was something different with you, but he didn't think much of it, considering it was morning time. When he got home after work, he found it odd that his house was very silent. It was as if it had gone back to the days when you hadn't moved in yet. He entered your shared bedroom and found you sleeping, but it was odd, too, because the room was too dark and the air was too dry.

He changed his clothes and tucked himself into bed, but unlike his usual routine, he wrapped his hand around your waist and buried his nose in your hair. You were running hot, and simply by that alone, he knew you had been crying. He hugged you while you sobbed quietly and tried to catch your breath.

"It will be alright, honey," he would whisper to you and rub your arms. When you rolled over to him, you immediately buried your face in his chest. There was nothing to say to him at all; it was just one of those bad days when all the bad things chose to be at the forefront of your mind. Zayne stroked your hair and pulled you in closer to his chest, not minding the snot and tear marks you were making on his gray shirt.

When you let go of him and scooted back a little, he went to the kitchen and brewed you tea. He came back and handed it to you while waiting to see if you wanted to tell him how you felt. You looked so tired in his eyes, so he was very, very patient with you. You both talked to each other for a good hour or two, and Zayne listened intently, asking you how you felt.

He wiped your tears for you and lent you his shoulder when you spoke. His hand held onto yours, and his thumb brushed the back of your palm while you cried again.

Rafayel: The Comforting Joker

Rafayel is more perceptive than you thought. The moment you stepped into his house, he could see that you were in a bad mood. He stared at you, and the first thing he asked was, "Why the long face?" which was pretty odd considering that you were smiling.

You thought you were holding it in so well, but when he asked that question, everything seemed to slowly topple down in an instant. You found a way to distract yourself in his home, but Rafayel was having none of it. He looked so serious about it, and not a single hint of teasing escaped his mouth.

His frown made you frown as well. You decided to give in and tell him what was wrong, how you felt heavy when you woke up in the morning, and how things seemed to go wrong the moment you got out of bed. The moment a single tear fell down your cheek, Rafayel pulled you into a tight, long hug. He said a lot of stuff to try and cheer you up, and he did his best to make you laugh even if it made him look stupid; he didn't mind doing it for you.

Along the way, he talked about how he'd rate bomb that rude store and punch that post you walked into, and as stupid as that sounded, you managed to let out a stupid laugh. When Rafayel saw that, he was more than glad to see you slowly getting back on your feet.

Throughout the whole day, he gave in to your whims, doing things that you liked and eating the food you wanted to eat at that moment. He acted all cutesy for you because he knew you liked that about him the most, but he didn't joke with you in return. Instead, he acted all romantic and such.

Xavier: The Silent Comforter

Xavier could sense that something was off. Everything was in its place, and you were acting practically the same as every day, but he couldn't help but be instinctively close to you as if the energy he was sensing was oozing out of your body. He was quiet beside you, tending to his own entertainment, but the moment he heard a sniff, all his suspicions were confirmed.

Xavier kept his lips shut and reached an arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. He didn't say a word to you. You continued to sniffle and hiccup while watching the movie, but both of you knew you weren't actually paying attention to the show.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

Xavier would pat your arm or your thigh to comfort you, placing a kiss every now and then. He listened intently to your rants and your concerns, nodding and asking the right questions. It was his strategy to get you to relax and let it all out naturally. Albeit he'd have a hard time trying to understand you through your sobbing, all he knew was that you needed him at that moment.

It didn't take long for you to calm down and doze off to sleep, feeling the emotional exhaustion weigh you down more than you'd like to admit. You always fell asleep on his lap because he would always comb through your hair while you spoke.

A few hours later, you would wake up next to Xavier on the bed, and on the night table was some convenience store food that he bought.

Sylus: The Kissing Comforter

Sylus didn't know you were having a bad day, even if you were going on and on about that small little thing that made you feel so infuriated. Although he was listening very, very intently, offering you some practical advice and partially suggesting that he could deal with it for you, it wasn't until you headed to the restroom that Luke and Kieran sneaked into his office after hearing the entire thing.

Sylus was confused when the twins told him that you were crying on the way to the bathroom. At that moment, Luke and Kieran thought that their boss was too…insensitive. Sylus knew the look on their faces.

When you headed back to his office after half an hour, Sylus was waiting for you by the door. He pulled you into his grasp and brushed his thumb under your puffy eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked, and you burst out crying ugly like you did in the bathroom. He frowned when you told him that you were just having a bad day, but Sylus could see right through you.

Your efforts in brushing your own misery aside were futile at best.

He picked you up and carried you to the couch, and he patted your back like a baby. You went on and on again about how you felt so bad and why everything was going in the wrong direction, and this time, Sylus was quiet, shushing you and telling you, "Don't cry; everything will be better tomorrow." When you had nothing left to say, Sylus slowly began to distract you by giving you kisses in between cries, touching you, and petting you until you couldn't think of anything else for a few minutes. He nibbled on your ear and whispered sweet nothings alongside comforting words.

Author footnotes: I'm more than sure that their way of comforting the reader/you would vary depending on how you particularly act when you're having a bad day so I decided to go generic and not specify anything... Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost |

[xoluvx]

sit on it; b.eilish

Billy was silly and dorky. Billie was also your best friend. She made you laugh. You had a million and one inside jokes. Not one day you spent with her was dull.

So it wasn't something new or shocking or remotely gross when she'd wash her strap in front of you.

"Did you boil it?" you asked eyeing her as she wiped it down. She'd normally air dry, but she'd promised you dinner and she needed to stuff it back in the box before she left. It might be surprising, but she was very neat about these kinds of things. You don't know why, it just made sense in her brain and you were her very supportive friend so you didn't question it.

"Yes, I fucking boiled it," Billie made a face that you reciprocated. You stood by the dresser, leaning on it.

"Damn Billie, you love cock huh?" you teased watching the way her hand wrapped around the dildo while cleaning it. Billie smirked feigning a loud sexual moan as she pretended to jack off of the fake dick. Her brows furrowed, mouth opened, hand pumping. You couldn't help but laugh. This was common in your friendship.

Billie reached for the harness.

“Do you want to see it on?” she asked and you batted your lashes.

“Sure,” you replied intrigued.

You watched her struggle trying to get it over her pants. She had to pull on the straps to adjust it to the bulkiness of her jeans readjusting it again so it wouldn’t fall.

“Cute?” She asked posing. Her skin peeked through the itty bitty white tank she wore with a little girlie flower at her chest.

“Adorable,” you cooed like you were talking to a baby. You wiggled your finger at the fake cock. “Look at this little guy,” your baby voice filling the room.

“Sit on it,” Billie teased, but you couldn’t detect much playfulness in her voice the second time she said it.

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head as you held your hips.

“Sit. On. It.” Those three little devilish words daring you.

"Okay," you accepted the challenge shrugging your shoulders. You pushed your body off the dresser approaching her. She was now sitting at the edge of the bed. You straddled her waist, leg on each side of her body, hands on her shoulders. You sat firmly on the dildo as Billie held your back, one hand holding her as she leaned back on the mattress.

“You would’ve broken my dick if it was real,” she winced and laughed as your heads leaned in together. Make that a million and two inside jokes now.

“Sit on it for real,” she whispered this time reaching between your bodies. You inadvertently raised your hips and she softly rubbed the dildo against your underwear.

You didn’t think, you didn’t feel. You hiked up your skirt pushing your underwear to the side aligning your pussy with the dildo. You lowered yourself slowly as Billie watched your face. Your mouth opened, your brows raised in delight. Your breathing grew heavier until you were planted on her lap and a soft moan whimpered out of your body.

The stark contrast of her rough jeans and her soft shoulders invoked something in you. You simply started moving. Your hips swaying. Your fingers digging into her skin. Billie bit her lip trailing her hands under your skirt and under your underwear causing you to release a louder moan. The friction of your underwear rubbed in all the right places as you quite literally rode your best friend.

Billie groaned when you increased the pace. Her own underwear under her jeans bunched and rubbed on her clit.

When you finally dared to look at her, her eyes were filled with lust. Her cheeks flushed and her lips begging to be kissed.

“Can I kiss you?” You chocked feeling the tightness in your pussy. Yeah, you were riding her strap but something about kissing was too intimate. Like riding her was something the two of you were going to play off and laugh about. But kissing? You’d probably be thinking of that your whole life.

“Please,” Billie nodded and you squirmed at her submissiveness. You dove for her lips tugging at the back of her head. The hair pulling ensued a moan that vibrated through your body as your lips connected sending shock signals down your spine.

This was the hottest and probably dumbest thing you’d done. And Billie was your best friend and a darn influence so you did a lot of dumb things.

But this. This was one took the cake. Or perhaps welded the orgasm because you were shaking in her arms, lips quivering as you declared you were coming. And Billie only held you closer begging you to cum on her cock and that statement alone could’ve had you coming again. Your body shook, your thighs clenched, your hands lost in her hair.

You leaned your head on her shoulder trying to process the whole thing as the bliss from your orgasm washed over your body.

“What just happened?” You croaked still resting on her shoulder. Body spent.

“You sat on my cock,” she teased and squeezed your ass before helping you off carefully. You wobbled and she held your arm as you feigned a giggle still very much sensitive. She adjusted your underwear and flattened your skirt.

“Fuck,” she looked down at the glistening dildo and her jeans which were stained as well.

“I should change my pants before dinner,” she teased undoing the harness and dropping it on her bed. You nodded walking to her mirror trying to fix yourself up.

“Do you need an extra pair of underwear?” She asked now reaching in her closet. You saw the matching underwear she was wearing through the mirror and shook your head before realizing she couldn’t see you.

“No, I’m okay,” you replied stepping out of them. You were going commando. You’d just clean up before you left.

Billie stepped out of the closet looking like she hadn’t just fucked her best friend. She reached out for your hand and you grabbed it as she led you out of the room.

“You’re gonna have to wash that again,” you teased pointing behind you.

“After dinner,” she smirked squeezing your hand.

“After dinner,” you echoed as she ushered you out of the room.

Flashes of what had transpired seared into your brain.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Cherry Blossom. aka - Cherry, Part Four.

a night of conversations, kisses and long awaited confessions.

pairing - bestfriend!steve harrington x female reader

warnings - cursing, kissing (but no real smut).

word count - 2.6k

authors note - the babies are back!! no smut in this one - it was getting too long. but don’t you worry… there’s gonna be so much smut in part five !! sorry for the cliffhanger. love u <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

series masterlist. main masterlist. inbox.

The smoke from the bonfire is stinging your eyes, ash sticking to the strands of your hair. Orange embers burn rapidly, dry wood being occasionally thrown on top by drunk boys with red cups in their hands.

The music is way too loud for a forest party, but no one seems to care. Someone’s haphazardly strung lights between the trees, creating a surprisingly cosy ambience. The atmosphere is alive, charged with the electricity of being out later than curfew.

“M’lady!”

You laugh, accepting the drink from Eddie’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you, kind sir,” you say as you curtsy sarcastically, making both of you laugh harder. “Hey, you didn’t bump into Steve on your way over here, did you? I haven’t seen him for like an hour.”

The curly haired boy kicks the toe of your sneaker with his.

“Saw him with that Clara girl, talking by the lake.”

You take a steadying breath, pretending it doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

“You should go and check if he needs rescuing,” Eddie jokes. “God knows she can talk for hours without coming up for air.”

You smile at him, pulling at one of his curls.

“Good idea. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” he winks, pushing you in the right direction.

You saunter down towards the water, spotting your best friend instantly. He’s stood with his arms across his chest, weight on one hip as he tries to listen to whatever Clara has to say. The minute he sees you, his posture is straightening, lips quirking up at the corners.

Clara turns around to see what Steve is looking at, her face falling when she recognises you.

“Hi. I don’t mean to interrupt! Just wanted to check if you needed another drink, Stevie.”

The boy grins, beckoning you closer with a nod of his head. When you’re near enough, he leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, all affectionate and tender.

Oh.

You don’t do that.

The two of you have kept your romance completely behind closed doors, up until now. It hasn’t got a name, never mind a label, and you don’t need people asking questions when you don’t even know the answers yourself.

You could blame it on the alcohol, but you know Steve’s on his first drink. With your head spinning, you look up at him as if he is the sun and all things warm. He looks down at you the exact same way.

“I’m gonna go see where my friends are,” Clara says a little too loudly, strutting away with as much confidence as she can muster.

You have a sudden feeling that you’re the villain in her story, but you’re not entirely sure why.

“How many drinks have you had?” Steve asks as he pulls a strand of hair away from your face.

“This is my second. I was nursing my first one, Eddie says.”

The boy laughs, and you grab onto his bicep for support. The sound of it is enough to buckle your knees.

“This is my first. It’s not doing much for me.”

“You want something different? I’m sure Robin has that beer you like in her bag.”

“Nah, I’m okay. Don’t think I’m gonna drink any more tonight.”

Steve slips his hands into the back pockets of your jeans, pulling you in closer and keeping them there.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he whispers back.

And then he kisses you. Again. It’s slow and careful and so romantic that you think you might start crying about it.

“What time is it?” he asks when he pulls away as if nothing happened.

“Eleven thirty.”

“You wanna stay a bit longer?”

“Not if you don’t.”

Steve presses his lips to your forehead, hands cradling your cheeks.

“I kinda wanna go home.”

You smile at him, all soft and sweet.

“Then let’s go home. I’m getting a little cold, anyway. And I didn’t bring a jacket.”

“Will you ever learn?” he laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“If it means I have to stop wearing your jackets that I know you bring to parties just for me? No, I won’t.”

You weren’t supposed to say that out loud, but the way Steve chuckles soothes the sting of the accidental wound.

“Let’s go home, Cherry Baby.”

Home. The assumption that the two of you will always be returning to the same place makes your heart so full, you wonder how it doesn’t spill over.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You good?”

“Feet hurt.”

This happens every single time the two of you go to a party, so you feel as if you’re reliving a memory.

“Hop on.”

“Steve-”

“Cherry. Come on. We’ll get home quicker this way.”

You can’t argue with that. Steve crouches as you jump onto his back, his hands wrapping around your thighs to keep you steady. You wrap your arms around his neck from behind, resting your head on top of his.

“Comfy back there?”

You hum, the noise of agreement enough for Steve to start walking.

The two of you chat each others ears off on the way home, talking about nothing and everything. You laugh so hard at something he says that you end up with a mouthful of his hair, which he in turn finds hilarious.

“Have you thought any more about what I said the other day?”

“You say a lot of things, Steven.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and giving your thighs a squeeze.

“About college.”

You go quiet for a moment, and Steve wonders if he’s chosen the wrong time to have this conversation.

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s talk about it later, okay? When I’m not constantly worried I’m gonna accidentally trip and kill you.”

You nod, and he feels it. You know it needs to be a discussion sometime soon, but perhaps having it when you’re being carried down the street on your best friends back isn’t all that practical.

“Love you,” you mumble into the crook of Steve’s neck.

He shudders a little at your lips on his skin, leaning his head sideways to rest against yours.

“Love you, Cherry Pie. More than anything.”

You let Steve piggyback you all the way to his front door. Neither of you say anything else. Neither of you feel the need to.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Steve bumps his hip into yours as you both brush your teeth, laughing at your shocked reflection in the mirror.

“Are you okay?” you ask as you place your toothbrush back in its holder, right next to his.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

You hop up on the bathroom counter, sitting up so you’re eye to eye with the boy in front of you. He takes a step forward, standing between your legs as he splays his cold hands over your thighs.

“Why’d you ask?”

You trace over his fingers where they rest on your skin, quiet for a moment.

“You seemed pretty eager to go home tonight. It’s unlike you. You love a party. Leaving at eleven thirty is like… unheard of, for King Steve.”

“King Steve would rather be at home with you than at a party with all those people.”

“Really?”

“Really. Clara was going on about something or other, the music was too loud, and I could feel the chill coming in. It hit me, all of a sudden, that I’d rather be in bed. Or, anywhere else, as long as I was with you.”

You lean forward to rest your head against his chest, sighing when he starts playing with your hair gently.

“You’re a softie,” you mumble into his shirt. “And a mind reader.”

“It’s my one talent,” he chuckles. “I wish reading your mind was a college major. I’d be the best in the world.”

You shake your head, laughing like you can’t help it.

“If I don’t move soon, I’m gonna fall asleep on this bathroom counter.”

“Want me to carry you?”

“Contrary to popular belief,” you tease as you hop down, “my legs actually do work.”

Steve gasps, all theatrical and exaggerated, which only makes you laugh harder.

“Come on, sleepy girl. Let’s go to bed.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“We’re not talking about stuff.”

You whisper it into the darkness, the trees rustling outside Steve’s window serving as the only sound you can hear.

“Hmm?”

Your legs are tangled with his, tired head resting on the boys shoulder as your sides are pressed together. You’re both lying on your backs, staring at the ceiling.

“We keep saying we’ll talk about stuff, but we haven’t been. It’s not like us.”

“You mean, like, feelings?”

“Yeah.”

All that can be heard now is two sets of heaving lungs. Steve’s hand finds yours under the duvet, fingers intertwining.

“Is there something specific that’s bothering you?”

“Not bothering me as such. I just… I think the more we don’t talk, the more complicated things become.”

There’s silence for a moment, before Steve speaks.

“I’m scared, Cherry.”

The tone of his voice is paper thin and vulnerable, and you will yourself not to cry about it.

“Of what, Stevie?”

You squeeze his hand, tucking yourself further into his side until there isn’t an inch of space between you.

“Of… everything changing. You’re my best friend in the entire world, and I know that what we’ve been doing isn’t typical… best friend stuff. I just…” he takes a deep breath, exhaling carefully. “I worry that something will happen and we’ll break up, and I’ll lose you forever.”

His voice cracks on the last word, fear seeping through his pores. Yet, he continues.

“I’d die without you, Cherry. I really would. I don’t know what it’s like to live in a world where we’re not… us.”

You turn onto your side to face him in the dark, reaching up to cradle his cheek softly. You rest your forehead against his temple, pressing a kiss into his skin.

“I’m scared too. I have been ever since that first night in my room. Not because I don’t trust you, or because I don’t feel that way about you… but because I don’t want to lose you either. More than anything, I don’t want to lose you.”

“Why didn’t we talk about this sooner?” he laughs, throat thick with emotion.

“Because we’re us. And whether we talk or don’t talk, we know we’ll figure it out. We always know we’ll be okay.”

“I love you,” he whispers into the dark. “More than all the stars in the sky.”

“I love you,” you whisper back. “More than all the grains of sand on all the beaches in the world.”

You press another kiss into his temple, letting your lips linger on his soft skin. He smells so familiar, so warm, so yours… you can’t help but inhale, chuckling when he shudders.

You continue to leave kisses across his jaw, over his ear, down his neck. He tilts his head to give you better access, groaning when you nip at his throat with your teeth, licking over the scrape to soothe him.

Steve pulls you in as if you weigh nothing, moving you so you’re lying on top of him. You sit up, straddling his lap, as he does the same so you’re chest to chest. Running his hands under your shirt and over the bare skin of your back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You look so pretty like this,” he hums against your lips. “Prettiest girl in the world.”

“You wanna talk about pretty?” you tease, running your fingers through his hair. “My pretty, pretty boy.”

Steve’s hips buck up into yours, making you giggle.

“Oh, you like that? You like it when I call you pretty? Or do you just like it when I call you mine?”

His hips buck again as his cheeks flush pink.

“I am yours,” he murmurs. “Always have been.”

You thought you had the upper hand for a minute, but now you just want to cry. You’re overwhelmed by the way you feel about the boy underneath you, unsure of how to process it without bursting into tears.

“All mine,” you whisper, tracing the features of his face with your fingertip.

Steve takes a deep breath, watching your eyes as they look over him again and again, taking him in as if it’s the first time. He decides it’s now or never.

“Cherry?”

“Stevie?”

Your voices are low and careful, irregardless of the fact that you’re alone in the house.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your heart stops, and so does the world outside. Everything pauses, the two of you suspended in this moment in time.

Steve takes another breath, exhaling it carefully before meeting your eyes and continuing.

“You don’t have to say it back. Now, or ever. I just - I needed you to know.”

You blink back tears as you watch his face, biting your lip to stop them from falling.

“Steve-”

“Hey, I told you. You don’t have to say anything, babe. I know-”

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“Just-”

You surge forward and kiss him with all the affection you can muster, trying to express your feelings. You grip his hair, plastering your bodies together where you sit in his lap still. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in as close as he can.

“If you let me talk,” you say when you pull away, all breathless, “you’d hear that I have something I’d like to say.”

Steve smiles, humming in acknowledgment and encouraging you to keep going.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

The boy looks shocked to hear it, as if it’s news to him.

“What’s that face for?” you laugh.

“I just… I didn’t expect you to say it back.”

“Steve,” you chuckle, looking at him sternly. When you realise he’s being serious, you double down. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. When we were kids, and someone would say the word ‘husband’, I always pictured you. I was so convinced it was always going to end up being you and I.”

“Why… why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Why didn’t you?”

He laughs, and the sound makes you feel as if you’re on cloud nine. You can feel his heartbeat where his chest is pressed to yours, frantic like he’s just ran a marathon.

“Fuck, I love you.”

He leans up to kiss you, all saccharine and honey sweet.

“Say it again,” you whisper against his lips.

“I’m in love with you, Cherry.”

“Say it again.”

“I, Steve Harrington, declare that I am completely, utterly, ridiculously in love with this girl right here. I always have been. I always will be.”

You can’t help but throw your head back with laughter.

“And I love you. So much.”

The words you’ve always said mean so much more now. It’s a welcome change, one you never thought you’d see happen.

“Hey Steve?”

“Hmm?”

You lean in, nosing at his jaw as you murmur into his ear.

“Want you. So bad.”

“Fuck, honey,” he groans, all low and rough.

“Please. Want it to be you.”

Looking up at you with big eyes, he searches your face for any kind of hesitation.

“Are you sure?”

Smoothing his hair away from his face, you trace your thumb over his bottom lip.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grins. “I’m about to rock your world, Cherry Blossom.”

@psychicnerdcat @allcheesemelts @valerievortex @swiftsgirlfriend @steviespookie @betweenstarsandsatellites @mrsjoequinn @internallysalad @saucypeanuttt @empathyroad @niceskyler @spookysins @theoraekenslover @7minutes-tomidnight @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @clairesjointshurt @livsters @diffrent-spokes @regular-joe-shmoe @ihatepeanutss @ladyburberry @thenonweeknd @abarelyexistentbeing @jennaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @slut4gaga @hopelessromanticwriter @mgchaser @wintrsoldrluvr

[jinnie-ret]

cigarette duet

poly!stray kids x ninth member!reader

genre: angst, fluff at the end

content warnings: smoking, mentions of rehab, mentions of recovery

word count: 3k

summary: you get hounded by your boyfriends after they catch you smoking. how will they react when you disappear and go off the radar?

requested: @ihrtlix

It has been a while since I've written! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get around to the requests for this event but I'm getting back into the swing of things! Hope you enjoy! Please don't take offense to any opinions presented in this imagine. Enjoy! And if you want to be tagged in anything I write please lemme know! <3

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Perhaps you had smoked one too many cigarettes last night. Waking up the next morning after battling your stresses with the addictive feed of nicotine, your throat felt dry, hoarse, scratchy even.

"Baby, are you sure you're not sick?" Felix fussed, placing his hand delicately on your forehead to gain an idea of your temperature. "I mean, you don't feel hot, but maybe you're coming down with something?"

"I'm fine, love, just need some water," you kiss his hand that was pulling away from your face, offering a reassuring smile after clearing your throat.

And in your mind, that was enough. You didn't notice the little things that your boyfriends did however.

"Binnie, what are you doing? You look like a perv haha," Hyunjin giggled at the sight of Changbin rummaging through the laundry basket and sniffing your hoodie.

"Ssshhh, keep it down. And plus, it's not being pervy, people in relationships do it all the time. It's comforting smelling each other's clothing," Changbin righteously pointed out to his boyfriend, puffing his chest before adding, "well, normally it is..." he sighed.

"Woah that's mean, you can't say our girlfriend smells," Hyunjin pushed Changbin's shoulder, laughing again but with wide eyes this time round.

"No, no, you've got the wrong idea anyways. I think... I think Y/N's been smoking. I can smell it on her hoodie," Changbin sighed, tossing the white hoodie of yours back into the washing basket that was full to the brim. He was about to continue his spiel of conspiracies until he jumped when your arms wrapped around behind him.

"Aw, babe, are you doing the washing? Thank god for that, I was worried it would never get done," you squeezed him tightly once more before kissing him on the cheek and continuing your venture into the kitchen, Felix trailing behind you.

"I think she's getting sick, I'm gonna see if we have any meds in the cupboard, or some throat sweets at least," Felix pouted as he walked past his two boyfriends, Hyunjin ruffling his hair on the way.

Changbin threw a meaningful look at Hyunjin, alarms going off in his head because it only added more fuel to the blazing fire of thoughts in his head.

"Look, we don't know that she is smoking for sure. Maybe she's just been around some friends that are?" Hyunjin whispers hurriedly, yet this caught Seungmin's attention, and his ears too.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Seungmin casually stood between the two, grabbing laundry detergent and capsules from the cupboard to act natural yet because practical at the same time.

"I'll explain later, to all of you. I'm just a bit concerned," Changbin sighed, rubbing his hand across his face before actually making a start on the chore at hand.

It was an escape for you, much like it was for other people who smoked cigarettes. And plus, you hadn't been doing it for long. You thought what could the harm be when you didn't do it a lot? Plus, it was handy that none of your boyfriends batted an eyelid in the studio when you said you wanted to go outside for some air. In fact, it gave the opportunity for Changbin to lay out his thoughts to the rest of your boyfriends who hadn't yet heard his observations.

"Y/N... I don't think she'd do that, I can't picture it," Jeongin shook his head, shaking his hands in confusion because the picture being painted in front of them seemed very unlikely and it wasn't a nice one to think of.

"And she knows it's too risky. First of all we're idols. I hate to say it but we have to think about that first in situations like these. Even when we're drinking we've got to be careful. If you're right about this, Binnie, then..." Chan groaned, leaning back into his seat with a huff.

"But she did just go out 'for some air'," Han added on, brows furrowed as he thought what Changbin was saying was quite plausible.

"Ok. We'll go check then," Minho shrugged as he stood.

"What?" Felix too stood up.

"We can't sit here and keep worrying. Let's go check and see for ourselves. If we're wrong... And I hope we are... Then it's fine," Minho grabbed his phone and shoved it into his pocket, scanning around the room for his boyfriends' reactions.

"And if we're not wrong, then what?" Hyunjin voiced his concerns.

"Let's just hope we're not," Chan was first to walk out the door, the rest of Stray Kids following along after him like ducklings and their mother. Apart from this time it wasn't the cute, adorable scene you'd hope for, especially because they could smell the smoke and see your lax figure as soon as they rounded the corner to the back of the building.

"No. Y/N you've got to be kidding me!" Chan snatched the cigarette out of your hand and immediately stomped it out.

"Chan I-" you fumbled on your words, eyes wide as you had all eight of your lovers stood in front of you. And the way they looked at you made you stomach twist into knots you were sure you'd never felt.

Disappointment. Anger. Concern. Indifference.

"Let's talk about this inside," Changbin wrapped an arm around your shoulder as he spoke quietly to you.

Your heart was racing faster. They were going to think the worst. But you had a way out of this. It wasn't even that bad. Sure, over the past month maybe you'd have been spending more money on packs of cigarettes, yet on the inside you felt as if there were worse things you could be doing to yourself.

"Sit," Minho bluntly said, face unreadable, tone void of emotion.

And so you did.

"We'll just have a conversation about this, nice and calm, ok?" Felix nudged Chan in particular with his leg.

It seemed however that it wasn't a conversation, but more of an intervention. A heated one, at that.

"I can't be nice and calm, Lix! Our girlfriend is destroying her body, and for what?" Chan's voice rose ever so slightly, hands squeezing the arms of the chair he was tensely sat in.

"It's just a cigarette," you feebly replied. That backbone of yours was slowly wearing away the more and more anger you felt radiating off of your partners.

"Don't be ridiculous," Seungmin scoffed, "think of the damage it's doing. Think about your career."

"It's more than just the odd cigarette, right?" Changbin prodded, wanting answers to the millions of questions he had. After all, he was the first one to notice how you gradually stopped voicing your concerns to him but still sometimes had the habits that showed your anxiety.

"Well, yes, but-" you began but were cut off.

"No buts. That's... It's, you're hurting yourself, hurting your lungs. Why are you doing this, baby?" Jeongin took your hand in his, concern not the only thing glistening in his eyes, which broke your heart.

"It's just a nice distraction, that's all. It won't go on forever, I'll just stop when I want to," you shrug your shoulders, squeezing his hand to show you meant what you said.

"It's not that easy. Nicotine. It's addictive. You think you can just stop like that?" Hyunjin frowned, shaking his head.

"I know I can," you firmly said, urging them with your voice to trust you.

"I don't know what planet you're living on," Chan shook his head.

"Channie..." Felix bit his lip, feeling torn. On one hand he didn't want your boyfriend to be so tough with you, but he also disagreed with the choices you made, the ones you were making.

"No I'm sorry but Y/N, babe, you've made one of the stupidest choices you could make! Seungminnie is right, Jeongin too. It's damaging for your body, let alone your career. You keep this up, you're not going to be able to sing as well as before. And then it'll get to the point where you can't breathe as well anymore," Chan ranted, fiddling with the bracelets adorning his wrist as he didn't take his eyes away from yours, not once.

"I just told you it's not going to go that far!" your face contorted to one of disbelief.

"That's out of your control," Minho sternly redirected your attention to him.

"Wow. It's like you don't even trust me. I'm not some kid. I can make my own decisions. So what if I'm doing this for a little bit of stress relief? For a bit of fun. It helps me," your voice almost turns to pleading, wanting them to hear you out, hear your reasoning.

"It hurts you, baby. And when it hurts you, it hurts us as well," Han bit his lip after shakily speaking up. He didn't like this situation, not one bit.

"I'm not doing it to hurt you. I'd never do that," your voice wobbled, throat feeling as if it was closing up from the sob that was lodged down there.

"Too late. I mean just look," Chan emptied your handbag, empty packets of cigarettes and some not, falling out onto the floor of the studio.

"Y/N, that's a lot," Hyunjin gasped, clutching a hand on his chest.

"It's not. It's not that bad..." you denied as you knelt on the floor and tidied up the mess.

"You're in complete denial," Seungmin rolled his eyes.

"I'm not! I'm well aware of my actions thank you very much!" you shouted suddenly, causing everyone to freeze at the volume you had just reached.

The guilt set in. It was never meant to go this far. It was just meant to be for stress relief. Something to distract you from the aches and pains, physical and mental. It wasn't long until you'd be performing a special fanmeeting and relearning old choreographies and a cover had you feeling like you were being worked down to the bone. Even iconic dances like God's Menu were hard to remember, and you felt like you had no chance. No choice. It was like it fell into your lap so easily.

The first time you had stood outside to catch some air, it was for that genuine reason. And you weren't alone. You didn't know if the person worked at your company, if you knew them, whatever. But their hand offering you something that could bring you temporary bliss was a solution you were grateful for. Only now, you were seeing that it was short term.

"You need help. Seriously..." Chan spat, grabbing his backpack and storming out of the studio.

"Find a way to end this, Y/Nnie," Felix mumbled, stroking your hair gently before following Chan out with a rush.

"You're all just going to go?" your voice cracked. Were they leaving you now?

"We just need some time," Changbin sighed. And then he was gone too.

"You're leaving me?" you sniffled, standing up to face your boyfriends that were still in the room.

"Not like that, baby. We're just giving you time to think about how you can stop this, ok?" Han stroked your face as he made sure you knew this wasn't the end. And then he left too, Minho, Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jeongin leaving too.

All alone. Perhaps it was what you deserved. You relied on the cigarettes more than your boyfriends. And they were all you had left for the moment. That was when it sank in. You had to make a change. You had to stop this habit form taking over your life, from pushing away the people you love most, and from taking your life away.

•••

"She's sorting herself out at least... that's got to be commendable."

"I guess so. Let's just hope it doesn't get out that a JYP idol is at rehab for smoking."

"It won't. And she's doing well from what I've heard..."

This was the only time Han was grateful for the staff gossiping. Immediately, he felt calmer. Considering the boys had spent the last few days blowing up your phone and worrying where you went, it was an oddly relieving feeling hearing you were at rehab. They had tried asking JYP himself, asking the manager of the company where you were but all they said was that you were safe.

"I know where she is!" Han bursted through the apartment door, slamming it shut behind him as he panted out of breath.

"Woah, woah, ok, deep breaths, let's sit down," Chan, with the darkest circles around his eyes yet, gently sat Han down on the sofa. He felt awful. He thought he had driven you away from them all. From the group. From the relationship. And that had been eating him up inside. It was a wonder he could act so calm with the news of you going into rehab.

"Rehab? For smoking? I didn't even know that was a thing," Seungmin hummed in thought, his arms crossed.

"I didn't either, but I overheard the staff. They say she's doing well. It's a good thing, right?" Han's eyes stared through the souls of everyone gathered in the lounge, begging for some sort of confirmation that things would get better.

"I mean, at least we're a bit more in the know then our own fans about why our girlfriend is on hiatus," Changbin brushed his fluffy, dark hair out of his eye.

"Can't we go and see her?" Felix wondered, lifting his head up from where it rested on Minho's shoulder.

"We shouldn't," Minho quietly sighed.

"Why not?" Jeongin quickly turned to him, mouth parted in shock that he didn't want to see Y/N.

"No, he's right. She's gone there for a reason. To get better. It's what we all said to her, isn't it? We'll see her soon. And when we do... It'll all be better," Chan helped everyone see sense. He was right. You had listened to them. You went and got help and were solving the problem. If they suddenly ambushed you and got in the way of that... You'd be back to square one.

•••

Today was the day, you were finally going back to the boys. You spent a good 3 weeks at rehab, and had been advised on some good coping mechanisms to take your mind off of smoking and how to create some healthier habits. You had shown good progress and it was deemed acceptable for you to leave and spend time back with your loved ones. And you couldn't lie, you were incredibly nervous. You had dropped a text without reading the spam that littered the groupchat, notifying your boyfriends what time you'd be returning, but after that you once again did not read anything else that was sent.

"Oh my baby, I've missed you so much," Han was the first one at the door, pressing kisses all over your face as he took you into his arms, holding you lightly.

"I've missed you too," you cried immediately, despite the weight off your shoulders.

"You're good now, right, darling?" Seungmin softly tugged you away from Han, both of his hands cupping your face whilst his thumbs wiped away your tears.

"I'm better," you nod through tears, Seungmin pressing a kiss to your head and giving space for your other boyfriends to soothe you and reunite with you. It had only been three weeks, yes, but 21 days had never felt so long.

"I'm proud of you, come here," Changbin scooped you into his arms and lifted you slightly, making you giggle before your feet touched the ground once more.

"Thank you... I'm sorry. I didn't realise what I had done... How far it went, you know?" you began, looking down at the floor as Hyunjin came and wrapped his arms around you from behind, his long arms securing you to him.

"We're just happy to see you here, honey, healthier," he whispered into your ear soothingly.

"And please talk to us in future. We had time to think after that, moment, and we know you were doing it as an escape. But we're here for you," Jeongin pecked you on the lips, your heads pressed against each other for a moment before he too moved away.

"Always, we're always here," Felix reiterated what Jeongin preached, and kisses you as well, noses rubbing against each other as he moved away, a cute expression on his face.

"Come here," Minho opened his arms, and you reluctantly left Hyunjin's arms only to be happy again in the warmth of your other boyfriend's embrace.

"Thank you for waiting, all of you," you swayed with him in his hug, until you pulled away and it was only Chan left.

He stood a few metres away, back to you, shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

"Channie... babe," you sighed, tugging his hand to turn him and face you. His words had hurt you the most but it was also a huge wake up call. "Please, look at me, I'm not mad. I'm so grateful."

"I was too harsh with you," he bit his lip, hard, not wanting to let any tears escape.

"I needed it. Look at me now, I'm here, I'm better, and I've got habits I can stick to instead. Ones that won't hurt me. And they won't hurt you guys either," you looked up at him, one hand running through the hair at the nape of his neck and the other cupping his face.

"I'm so glad you're back... We were worried... Lost without you," Chan admitted, staring up at the ceiling before kissing you deeply, expressing all the emotions he had held back whilst you were gone.

"It's all good now. Plus, you should all be proud of me-"

"We are proud of you, baby," Jeongin cut you off stroking your hair.

"Well, be even prouder because I know how to bake an amazing carrot cake if I say so myself," you laughed, sharing a new skill that had occupied your stress and been taught whilst you were away.

"You can bake with me now! Oh my gosh! It's a miracle!" Felix cheered, tugging you into the kitchen as the other boys chuckled from behind you both.

"I didn't think you meant this very second!"

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kailee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist @crabrangoongirl25 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria

[nsfwruru]

pussydrunk manon from katseye x reader??

idol!manon x surfer!reader

oh my days brother, just think about how much of a fiend she is when it comes to surfer!reader she met while filming the music video for “debut” in Columbia. like she leaves abruptly during her part of the MV, just so she can be between your legs. just absolutely devoting her time to you— oh and don’t you worry that won’t be the last time!

cw: obvious smut (r!receiving, cunnilingus, semi!public sex, foul mouth reader, fingering), porn with some plot, fem!reader, reader is somewhat a tan queen, reader is a Spanish speaker, not proofread

There was just something about you to Manon, it wasn’t anything extraordinary, you just happen to catch her eyes constantly, maybe it was the Columbia air, or something about you just looked so good. Even when her other members tried to snap her attention off of the beach where you stood, zipping up your wetsuit ready for another casual surf on the beach, Manon was unable to pull her gaze away.

It had been about maybe, 6 even 7 reshoots of one specific part, give or take, where she constantly messed up her part of the choreography, because she was still hung up on you. At every moment she got, she trailed your body as you came out of the sea soaking wet, your hair damp, and your skin glistening, it made her miss every single beat. Truly, it wasn’t until her leader, Sophia, had quite literally knocked her to her senses, for her to actually get her part right. It was so bad to the point Sophia had to pry Manon away from the camera’s to scold her, telling her that if she didn’t get her act up, that someone would have to eventually cut her out of the MV.

“Come on’ Manon. We are all trying here, so whatever is going on with you and the beach you keep looking at— just get it together alright? You know what, just take 5’ alright, get your thoughts together, and then we’ll call you over okay?” Sophia spoke sullenly, it was clear to Manon that her poor leader was exhausted, and it made her conclude that there was only one way to solve this issue! If she were to be able to talk to that person who’s been catching her attention for hours at this point, maybe she’ll forget about the whole ordeal and focus.

Biting the bullet, and reassuring herself that she would miss all the shots she doesn’t take, she scurried her way over towards the beach. Searching around to see your figure whom was walking out of the communal showers after getting out of your wetsuit, and your regular dry clothes, it was apparent you were about to leave. Manon, who had no intention of letting such a bronze beauty go, pounced over to you, her face lighting up when she inched ever so closely.

“Ah wait— you! You there!” She called out, pointing her hands over to you as she ran closer, of course, since you really just came here to surf, you where taken aback by such a beautiful woman strutting her way over to your vicinity. “Ay— I mean… Tú ahí! Ven aquí!” The woman spoke in her very clearly broken Spanish.

Pointing at yourself, you looked around the area to see if she was referring to anyone else, but it was mostly likely directed at you as it seemed like she was running towards you. “Ah, me? You…you’re talking to me?” Manon nodded at your inquiry when she finally caught up to you, with your surfboard still gripped in one hand, and your other equipment in one hand, you tried your best to wave back at her.

She was out of breath, like she ran a marathon, Manon let out a long winded sigh, before fixing herself up. “Oh you— you speak English!”

“Well yes, but may I ask why you’re calling for me? Did I forget something on the beach, mi meil?”

Manon, who was now dancing circles in her head, regrading her composure after being completely whipped for you, not wanting anything more, (not to be crude or anything) but to be between your legs right now. She doesn’t waste anytime, knowing that sooner or later she’d have to back on set filming the music video that quite frankly, she didn’t care about right now.

“No it’s uh, it’s not that. You’re just so stunning I couldn’t get my eyes off you for awhile now and…”

Abruptly cutting her off on that comment with a light chuckle, finding it quite humorous that’s all she had to say, but quite in awe at her lethal face card, you too, unknowingly didn’t want her to leave your sights so soon. “Well thank you so much pretty girl, I could say the some about you! So, you, your single?”

“Yea!— I mean, yes I am, why may you ask?”

“You look, interested in me? Ah I mean— sorry that may be wrong, but people here are very straightforward, so I assumed you may had intend the same.” You admitted, not wanting to come off as snarky or insensitive, but truly meaning no harm to your words. Luckily for you, Manon was an expert at picking up social cues, and somewhat understood what you were putting down.

“No your completely right, your gorgeous, I wanted to just get your number so like, I could have some way of contacting you. You catch my drift?”

See that’s how it started, it was innocent, and you hadn’t minded spending your time with a beautiful woman for a few days in a row because she could only stay in Columbia for so long. Everything was slow, until it wasn’t, from what began as a friendship turned out to be nothing but a way to relieve her stress after another day of shooting.

Manon was so sweet in the beginning, offering to bring you over to the set while she was filming, showing you the inside and outs of the music industry. Even letting you be a backgrounder for a main shot which included her and her other 5 members, always making it apparent that she wanted to be near you every waking moment. Which was both endearing and suspicious as you’ve only met her for maybe 5 days at maximum.

It was all friendly really until you offered to stay with her alone at the backstage during her one off break, where things truly took a turn. She had finished a shoot and wanted to have another lighthearted conversation with you, without all her nosy members butting in, which had lead you to be in the makeup room that was all the way in the back of the building the company she worked for rented.

Manon, who knew her time was limited with you, had grew tired of waiting for you to make the next move again, and wanted to hurry this up so she could regain into her focus once more. As you spoke about your tales at sea, and dangerous waves you conquered by sheer luck, you dismissed the way her hands slithered around your inner thigh.

You tried to wave it off like it was just your hormones talking, but sadly you were unable to deny the heaving in your chest as she brought her face closer towards yours. It wasn’t long until you were sitting on one of the vanity desk, pinning up against a mirror and Manon, kissing her lips hungrily like it was the first meal you’ve had in days. Both of your hungers consumed each other, as suddenly you allowed entrance of her tongue into your mouth, dancing with hers as fisted a bundle of her shirt.

She needed to feel every inch of you so badly, she wasn’t even trying to pry off your jeans as this point, she just swiftly slid her fingers to unbutton and unzip as best she can before gliding her fingers into your undergarments. She rubbed your bud for a bid, creating a decent amount of slick from her fingers. “Hah, you’re a lot more easy than I imagined you’d be.” Manon giggled to herself before prepping you for her fingers, slowly inserting two, in a very agonizing pace, almost as if she was teasing you.

Gripping onto her shoulders in a mix of discomfort and anticipation, she could’ve swore you were digging so far deep into her skin to either leave cute or dents from where you held yourself. She found the way you winced your eyes in pain almost like a spectacle to her, finding it more amusing as she slowly, but surely made her way into fucking both her index and middle finger into you.

The sounds of your moaning and squelching of her fingers gliding in and out of you so easy was music to her ears, she wanted to hear more, she needed to feel more. She quickened her pace at unbelievable speeds, being a dancer and singer really did something to her stamina and speed as she didn’t slow down one bit. Fucking her fingers into your delicious tightness, she didn’t know where to focus, whether it be the way your hips buckled and grinded to the rhythm of her fingers, or how your body arched more and more when you came undone. (Maybe even when your body writhed whenever you’d suck her fingers up so quickly.)

It was all too much, it would be an understatement if you said it was just good, “Yeah good girl baby, you can come.” She would whisper foul words just like that as she’d let you unravel yourself all over her digits, fucking you through your high continuously as she wanted to see how tour faced looked again while she fingered you towards your high.

But knowing her, that wasn’t enough, she needed more, to taste how delectable you were. Manon, who had the stamina of course, of a dancer, didn’t even let you calm down from your high as she slid her fingers out of you with a sharp pop, reaching over to her fingers seeing the mess you made all over her.

Putting her fingers into your mouth to muffle your quiet mewls, she brought her face down at your bud, and gave it gentle kitten licks. Loving the taste of you as you just finished, making it all the easier to taste you, as your hips buckled by the sensation of pain from the previous high, you tried connecting your thighs together to stop her from licking. To no avail as she dug her nails into your plush thighs and spreader you open once more.

It took her no time to eat you out as your gripped onto the edge of the vanity to form some sort of stability between the both of you. Grabbing her knotless boho braids, trying to pry her off of you gently, but not enough to mess up her newly done hair, knowing you’d be told off by her from how long she spent getting it done. You pleaded with her to stop as you felt tingly and it hurt a lot, and that you were sore or whatever.

“Wait— hah— Manon! Stop, I can’t—“

She had no regard for your soft feelings, her mind was absolutely drunk on the taste of your pussy, she needed every drop you could give her, and wasn’t leaving until she got what she wanted. Her tongue exploring the deeper into you, feeling like you were about to burst as she had no indication of stopping. She even went as far as to reach her hands out and cover your mouth with her index and middle finger, and rub your bud once more, letting you come undone quicker.

To her surprise it actually worked, she watched as your face twisted from sheer discomfort to immense euphoria, feeling like you where on cloud 9. The way her tongue swirled all around as she rubbed her thumb across your lower region, it was once again, all too much. Causing you to arch your back and release another wave of pleasure, this time atop her tongue.

She couldn’t believe the sight that was in front of her right now, pulling away from your sweet cum dripping cunt, she didn’t want to leave so soon. She wanted so much more, but noticing how the time flew by so quickly, she probably had maybe 2 minutes before Sophia, or maybe even Megan would burst inside and interrupt her. Finally deciding to pack it up as she left you a mess on the desk, picturing seeing you in different places with the same expression, she sighed as she spoke.

“Shit girl, you taste fucking good, I’ll meet you at your place after shooting. I can’t get enough of that.”

You nodded breathlessly at her comment before trying your best to put everything back onto your body, your legs in a complete state of soreness, comparably worse to when you first started surfing. She was amazing at what she did, and god did you both enjoy every single moment you got together before she had to go back to Korea.

god manon twin, I’m sorry if you ever have the indecency to ever see this😪 this was my most shameless moment I hope you forgive me anyways lol… i love tan!reader 😫😫

[thepixelelf]

ah! love - 2

genres: married life au, family au, fluff, comedy [best friends to lovers?] relationship: husbands 95 line x reader (feat. baby doremi line) words: 3.4k warnings and notes: mentions of alcohol; coarse language. y'all wanted more and so did I. any stuff in this au will likely not be chronological. I literally had to think about how to tell a kid they're adopted for this it sucked. (I still love it)

ah! love masterlist

Seungkwan learns a new word.

Seungkwan, like all other five (and a half!) year-olds, knows everything.

He knows how to cook eggs and how many sides an octagon has. He knows to always ask papa Jeonghan for extra sweets because he's the only one who ever says yes after you've said no. (His other parents also say yes, sometimes, if you've left the room, but Jeonghan is always the fastest to cave.) He knows Chan is a baby who doesn't know anything. 

And he knows he and Vernon are The Twins.

Because when it's time for dinner, and Seungkwan is playing with Vernon in their room, papa Joshua always asks you, "Can you grab the twins?"

When papa Seungcheol comes home from (well, hm, maybe Seungkwan doesn't know everything) wherever he goes when they go to kindergarten, he kisses you on the cheek in the entryway, kicks off his shoes, then crouches down, arms open and awaiting for Seungkwan and Vernon to barrel into them, and growls happily, "There are my twins!" 

And when he found you in the kitchen one night, while you were sitting on the counter (which is not allowed!!), with papa Jeonghan standing between your legs for reasons unclear to Seungkwan, you both looked surprised. Seungkwan concluded this was because papa Jeonghan had just whispered, "The twins are asleep," and Seungkwan was, in fact, not. 

Which is why he scoffs at the older girl who came up to him and Vernon on the playground. Vernon is busy building his sand tunnels, but the girl has Seungkwan's full attention.

"You are not twins," she says.

"Yes we are."

She is unrelenting. "No. My big brothers are twins, and they look exactly the same."

Seungkwan looks over at Vernon, who's now mixing wet sand and dry sand into a big ol' pile of sand soup. They don't look alike at all, he knows. His hair is black, and Vernon's is brown. His cheeks are rounder — sometimes you pretend to bite into them before planting a kiss — while Vernon's are a bit pinker.

"We are twins," Seungkwan says again, because maybe not all twins are like her big brothers. Maybe some twins are like him and Vernon.

Besides, his papas say they're twins. Why wouldn't they be?

The girl crosses her arms. "My big brothers have the same birthday."

Seungkwan is about to bite back, say something like maybe not all twins have the same birthday, meanie! but Vernon waves his hand in the air, yelling out, "Ms Han!" 

Their teacher comes over, bending and putting her hands on her knees as she asks Vernon what's going on.

He points at the girl. "She's saying we're not twins because we don't have the same birthday."

"Oh." Ms Han scratches the back of her neck, "Well, sweetie, the thing is…"

⭒

Jeonghan's shaky eyes glance at the rear-view mirror again, half checking for cars and half checking up on the babies in the back seat.

Seungkwan has been quiet the entire eight minutes they've been driving, which might be normal if he was any kindergartner other than Seungkwan. Vernon can get talkative too, but right now he's completely silent, immersed in squishing and un-squishing his favourite toy — a plushie shaped like a baked bean (Jeonghan has no idea where you found that thing or why Vernon is obsessed with it) — between his tiny fingers. 

Of course, Jeonghan had to be the one on pick-up duty the day one of their teachers finally gave them the whole, you may have to explain adoption talk. 

"So," he says, awkward, trying to smile. "How was school?"

Vernon squeezes his toy again. "It was," he says, and nothing else.

God, Jeonghan needs backup.

As soon as Jeonghan pulls up to the house, unbuckles the twins from their booster seats, and ushers them inside, Vernon pulls off his shoes and dashes into the house — to you, Jeonghan is sure. Vernon doesn't play favourites except that he does.

Seungkwan, though, looks up at Jeonghan and tugs his pant leg, saying, "Papa Shua wants to talk to you in his room."

Which isn't true, of course; Seungkwan hasn't been all of thirty seconds in the house, and Joshua isn't even home, out on an errand. But Jeonghan can take a social cue, even if it is from a five year old. As he climbs the stairs, he pulls out his phone and messages the guys to try to come home as soon as they can.

⭒

You're reading to Chan on the living room couch, him tucked under your left arm and a quiet Vernon who's wormed his way under your right arm clutching your shirt like you're both afloat in open water, when Seungkwan walks up, climbs onto your lap, (shoving the book out of the way in the process,) and presses his face into your stomach. He mumbles something you can't quite hear.

You chuckle, bringing a hand up to run over his soft hair. "What's that, baby?"

Slowly, he lifts his head, his eyelids low with the gaze of a war-hardened veteran. "They're lying," he says, no nonsense in sight.

Your hand pauses. "Huh?"

"We gotta leave. They lied. Could be lying about anything."

You try to smile past the confusion. "What do you mean?"

Seungkwan, sweet, adorable, chubby-cheeked Seungkwan whom you love with all your heart, fists the material of your top in both his hands, growling in a way you somehow know is protective. 

"We gotta get outta here."

⭒-⭒-⭒

"Please get me out of here."

Joshua snorted at your plea, his voice soft and teasing through the phone. “What happened to ‘living out your twenties’?”

You let your eyes roam over your surroundings — a house party (a frat one in particular, you were pretty sure) with flashing coloured lights, late 2000’s top 40 songs, and what must've been over a hundred drunken 18-22 year olds. A haze hung in the air that smelled like the unholy combination of cotton candy, root beer, green apple, and skunk. A younger friend you’d made at your internship had invited you, but they were nowhere to be seen.

“I take it back,” you said, walking through the house in search of your friend. “I’m old now. I’m a hermit.”

“You’re not old.”

You scoffed. “You’re only saying that because you don’t wanna admit you’re old.”

“No, I’m serious,” Joshua argued, though you could tell he was smiling as he spoke. “We’re only like a quarter of the way through our lives— there’s still so much ahead.”

“Okay Socrates, whatever.” You pulled your phone away from your ear when you felt it vibrate. Your friend answered your last message, telling you they were heading home to take care of another friend they trust, and that they’d text you when they got there. “I’m just trying to get out of here so I can go home, steep a nice cup of decaf tea, and, I dunno, take up knitting or something. Granny style.”

Some shuffling happened on the other end of the line, and you thought you heard Joshua say something, but not to you.

“Anyway,” you sighed, winding your way through the crowd to finally leave that steam room of a house party. “I just called to complain. I’m gonna call a taxi.”

“Don’t bother. I’m on my way.”

You paused, your hand on a stair railing. “What?”

“I’m coming to pick you up,” Joshua spoke with all the nonchalance of someone ordering coffee.

Glancing at your phone screen, you countered with, “It’s almost midnight.”

“Yeah, well, I’m already driving, so it’d actually be more inconsiderate of you to tell me to turn around if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Joshua…”

"Shush," he tutted. "Just stay on the line with me until I get there. And drink some water if you can." There was a pause as you heard noises through the phone. Joshua added, "But only if you find a sealed water bottle, or pour the water yourself."

You finally reached the front entrance, content to wait outdoors for your unexpected ride since the weather wasn't too bad. "Do I sound drunk to you?"

"You didn't drink?"

"I mean, I had one," you said with a shrug he couldn't even see. 

"Well maybe that explains why you're not having a good time."

"You're such a bad influence, Shua."

"Saying that to your designated driver is so rude, just so you know."

"I didn't ask you to DD!"

Joshua sighed playfully. "Yeah, yeah. As if you don't know we'd do anything for you."

Mouth open, you fumbled with what words to say in your head.

Did you know that? Maybe you did.

You knew that if you and Joshua had switched places, you would've done exactly the same thing he was doing now.

And why did he say "we"?

Before you could vocalize anything, Joshua said, "I see you. Turn around."

And there it was— Joshua's tiny, bright blue hatchback, affectionately dubbed the Blueberry by you and your three boys.

Speaking of whom…

"Jeonghan?" You blinked at the man in the passenger seat when he rolled down the window.

"Hey, devil," he let the nickname fall from his lips with a smirk. It was a new one, this moniker for you, his payback for you jokingly calling him an angel. He jerked his head in a gesture towards the back seat. "We're busting you out of this joint."

You huffed out a laugh at his joke, yanking open the back door of the Blueberry. Immediately, a pair of large, grabby hands pulled you inside. "Whoa— Seungcheol, you too?"

Too tired apparently to answer with words, Seungcheol only nodded, reaching over your shoulder to take your seatbelt, extend it over you, and buckle it in. He settled back down in the middle seat rather than the more spacious one on the other side of the car. Closing his eyes and crossing his arms, he relaxed his entire body and let his head fall onto your shoulder, all without a word.

"Were you asleep?" you asked him quietly as Joshua pulled away from the curb.

Seungcheol just breathed in deeply and leaned more of his weight on you.

"Guys…" You turned your attention to the two boys in front. "You didn't have to drag him along too. Did you wake him up for this?"

Joshua scoffed. "As if. You think I'd poke a sleeping bear on purpose?"

Twisting in his seat to face you, Jeonghan smiled in that sweet yet devious way you like so much. "He was worried about you all night, devil. Paced around the apartment for two hours, going on and on about 'kids these days' before he tired himself out and zonked on the couch. We tried to leave quietly, but he woke up and insisted on coming once he found out it was you on the phone."

"Oh," you said at the same time you thought you heard Seungcheol mumble, "Shut up."

You softly patted Seungcheol's arm, your fingers brushing against his with the way his hands were wrapped around his own biceps. "You know I can take care of myself, right?"

Seungcheol didn't answer, as you should've expected. Eyes still closed, he just flexed his fingers to hook one around your pinky and keep your hand where it was.

Meeting your eyes in the rear-view mirror, Joshua said, "We'd better get him home before he actually falls asleep back there. No way am I carrying him up the stairs."

"What do ya say, devil?" Jeonghan prompted. "Sleepover at ours?"

You smiled. "How could I ever say no to you guys?"

⭒-⭒-⭒

"Seungkwan," you say softly, a little bit confused and a little bit amused. "Who's lying?"

He sits up on your lap and cups both his hands around his mouth, only to not-really-whisper, "Parents."

"Me?" You point at yourself.

"Nooooooo!" Seungkwan whines with a pout, putting his hands on your shoulders. "Our other parents!"

You think about how Jeonghan was the one who went to pick up the boys from kindergarten... and how he's nowhere in sight now. "Papa Jeonghan is lying?"

Seungkwan nods emphatically, and to your surprise, Vernon nods too at your side. Chan sits in rapt attention of his older brother, who is probably blowing his four year old mind.

"And papa Shua," Seungkwan adds. "And papa Seungcheol."

You furrow your brows and tilt your head. "What are they lying about?"

"They said we are twins," Seungkwan finally reveals, and it starts to dawn on you. His words become frantic, voice wavering. "But Ms Han said we can't be twins because we have different birthdays, so we can't be twins bio-- bio--" He hiccups. "--logically."

"That's a big word," you say, because it's a struggle to respond with anything else right away. What-- Ms Han is teaching biology now?

Vernon gets out from under your arm and sits on his knees beside you on the couch. He holds up his hand for a high five. "Biologically."

Still a bit shocked, you high five him, then Seungkwan when he also puts his hand up. To be fair, that's what you do when they learn new, long words. The tears brimming in Seungkwan's eyes shouldn't deter learning encouragement, right?

"That's why we gotta go." Seungkwan sniffles. "Maybe they lie to you also. Maybe they are not biologically your husbands!"

God-- the parenting books don't teach shit like this.

"Seungkwan..." you start, though you don't know how to form the next sentence.

Vernon takes your hand and wraps all his tiny fingers around it. "Let's run away," he says with a determined nod, like a secret lover in a fairy tale.

Chan's eyes widen, and he throws himself around your middle. "I gonna save you!"

"Boys-- Wait--"

The front door bursts open to reveal a dishevelled Seungcheol. His hair is wild and fluffy, his tie loosened, and his suit jacket is in his hand rather than worn. He's barely thrown his shoes off by the time he catches sight of Seungkwan's teary eyes and your slightly-panicked expression. Immediately, he jogs towards the couch in, to you, obvious concern. "What's going on--"

But before he can get too close, Seungkwan lets out a terrified, demon-like shriek. He picks up the closest item -- the storybook you'd been reading to Chan -- and chucks it as hard as he can towards your husband.

It only hits the floor at Seungcheol's feet, but it causes him to freeze. He gawks at the book, then raises his head to look at you and the way your boys have all wrapped their little arms as tight as they can around whatever parts of you they can reach, their heads tucked in, hiding.

You can see it in his eyes-- him registering that they're scared of him.

"I--" His expression tightens, lips pressing together to stop from quivering.

From seemingly nowhere, Jeonghan appears, putting a comforting hand on Seungcheol's arm and pulling him out of the room. He whispers, "Let's give them a minute."

Both your husbands make eye contact with you as you tentatively hug your sons, and you nod, silently letting them know that you'll be okay.

("What the hell was that?" Seungcheol whispers harshly as soon as he and Jeonghan make it upstairs. "You said to come home ASAP-- I thought someone got hurt!"

Jeonghan crosses his arms. "Why wouldn't I just say someone was hurt?"

"You have got to be clearer in your texts.")

"Seungkwan." You readjust your body, trying not to jostle your sons too much. "Seungkwan, baby, can you look at me please?"

He lifts his head to meet your eyes.

"Did Ms Han tell you what 'biologically' means?"

Seungkwan's face scrunches up as he tries to find an answer to your question, and in that moment, Vernon sits up. "Real," he says.

"Now, that's not quite right," you tell them, and at that, all three of your boys look at you for an explanation. "A 'biological parent' is one of two people who made a baby, and that is their 'biological child."

The boys stay quiet, taking in the information. Thank goodness-- you don't want to have to skirt around the topic of "making" children.

"Biological twins," you continue, "are when two babies are made together, at the same time. Which is why they have the same birthday."

"We are not twins," Vernon reaffirms.

"That's right."

Seungkwan frowns. "Why do you call us 'the twins'?"

"It's just a nickname, sweetie. You and Vernon were born in the same year, and you do everything together, so for me and your other parents, you are kind of like twins." You smile. "Do you want us to stop calling you that? It's okay if you don't like it."

Putting a hand on his chin, Seungkwan ponders seriously for more than a few seconds.

"You can always change your mind at any time, okay?" you say, and he nods, continuing to think.

Chan tugs at your sleeve, and you turn to him. "Are you bio...ly marry?"

You chuckle. "No. Marriage is a little different-- your papas and I decided we wanted to be a family, so we chose each other, and to stay together. And now..." You boop Chan's nose, then Seungkwan's then Vernon's. "...you boys are part of our family, too."

Vernon perks up. "Did you choose us too?"

"Yup." You reach up a hand to ruffle through his brown hair. "And you know what? That makes you special. I may not be your biological parent, but I chose you three to be my sons, and I love you so much. That makes me your parent, don't you think?"

All three boys nod, Vernon still beaming, and Chan's hands clutching your sleeve. Seungkwan relaxes in your lap.

You hear the sound of the front door opening again, and, much slower than the last person, Joshua enters the house with two bags full of groceries. Chan pushes himself off you and slides off the couch to run towards Joshua, bouncing in front of him with his arms in the air. "Uppies."

Without a second beat, Joshua puts down the grocery bags on the bench by the door and scoops Chan into his arms. He walks up to the couch. "I just got Jeonghan's text. What's going on?"

You just smile and shake your head, taking one of Seungkwan's and Vernon's hands in each of yours. "And you know your papas love you more than anything too, right?"

While the boys nod, Joshua just blinks, totally lost. Chan hugs him tighter.

"I bet Seungcheol is a little bit sad about how you guys acted when he got home--"

Seungkwan pouts and drops his head. "I'm sorry..."

You squeeze his hand. "You don't have to be sorry, baby." You tighten your hand around Vernon's as well. "Either of you. You didn't understand something and it made you scared. That's okay. But now Seungcheol might not understand something, so we should help him, right?"

"How?" Vernon asks.

You tap your chin and look upwards, pretending to think. "Hmmm... How about we go upstairs and give him a biiiiiig hug!"

It turns out to be a great idea, because you find Seungcheol in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking desolate. Seungkwan and Vernon climb him like monkeys, though, and they wrap themselves around him, press kisses to his face, and as soon as you mouth to Seungcheol that you'll explain later, all is right in the world again.

There's no brighter a smile on Cheol's face than when he's with his sons.

You stand, watching, with your arms crossed, satisfied with the scene until Jeonghan comes up and stands next to you, mimicking your stance. You swat at his arm, to which he reacts with such a pained facial expression, you'd think you just cut it off.

"I cannot believe you abandoned me to deal with that on my own!"

"Hey! I called for backup, didn't I?"

You roll your eyes. "A load of good that did."

"Aw, c'mon, devil..." Jeonghan slides closer to you, then wraps his arms around you and leans in to press his lips to your cheek. "Can I kiss it better?"

⭒

Joshua watches you and the twins run into Seungcheol's room with no further explanation, and he turns his attention to the youngest in his arms. "You wouldn't happen to know what's going on, would you?"

Chan shakes his head. "I'm four."

"Right."