#slinging a towel over my shoulder

[yeagersss]

Your husband, Sukuna, stepped out of the shower just as you were done with your morning skincare routine.

He walked over to where you were, drying his hair with one towel while the other loosely wrapped around his waist.

You watched as he stood next to you, slinging the towel over his shoulders before staring at himself in the mirror.

It's a rare sight to see Sukuna with his hair down. Just one of the few things you have the privilege to witness. You smiled softly and reached up to brush away the wet strands clinging against his forehead.

"Your hair is getting long, love."

He simply gave you a hum as he grabbed his hair gel. You absentmindedly played with a lock of his hair as you thought of something.

"I've been thinking..."

"Oh no." Came his gruff, sarcastic response which earned him a smack on his shoulder. He smirked at your annoyed pout.

"Well, what is it? You can't just leave me in suspense." He said, squeezing some gel in his hand before slicking back his hair.

You rolled your eyes and then sighed. "I think you'd look pretty good with black hair."

He raised his eyebrow at that suggestion before looking back at himself in the mirror. "Really now?"

"Mmhm. It'll match your eyes and make your tattooes look prominent—"

"They're already prominent as hell, woman."

You rolled your eyes again. "I'm just saying. I'm not asking you to actually dye your hair, love." You said, leaning up to kiss his cheek before leaving the bathroom.

Sukuna looked back at his reflection and squinted his eyes in deep thought.

Two days later, you almost jumped out of your skin at the unfamiliar sight of a mop of black hair on your couch.

But then you realized it was your husband, Sukuna, when he turned to look at you with that signature cocky smirk on his stupidly sexy face.

"There you are, wife. Where were you? Late shift again?"

Oh, he knows what he's doing to you. He knows. But he decided to keep acting oblivious as he stood up and walked closer to you. His smirk streching into a feral grin.

"What's this? My usually talkative wife is suddenly speechless? Something on your mind you would like to share—"

He didn't get to finish the sentence and resorted to cackling out loud as you, somehow, conjured up the strength to tackle him to the floor.

You two spend a few good hours there before finally moving to the bedroom.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

gold ring

words: 1.3k

warnings: brief suspicion of cheating, established relationship, soft!rafe, proposal, fluffy

“rafe!” you groan out, tired of hearing his phone constantly dinging for the past ten minutes. 

when rafe doesn't answer, you slap your laptop closed, frown on your face as you head up the stairs, muttering to yourself about him interrupting your work that he KNOWS is important.

“rafe!” you shout, entering his bedroom. you can finally hear the spray of the shower, explaining why he was letting his phone go off.

you grab it from his bedside table, yanking the charger free as you go to silence it, but upon trying to stop the dinging, you skim over the notifications.

you don't believe it at first. it must be some kind of mistake, you're sure.

you click on the name of rafes ex girlfriend, opening up the text message thread.

rafe: when can we meet?

ex: whenever works for you 🥺

ex: i miss you a lot btw

ex: this friday at 6pm? we can meet at the country club like we always used to. maybe get dinner? can't wait to see you xxx

you frown at the messages, quickly locking the phone and setting it down when you hear the shower turn off.

rafe steps out with just a towel wrapped around his waist.

“hey princess.” he smiles. “how's the essay going?”

“fine.” your tone is cold, surprising rafe. “your phone was ringing so i silenced it.”

you walk out of the room without another word, needing to return to your homework, but when you sit back down at what has become your desk, you can't concentrate on the words on the screen, your anger bubbling over.

you want to confront rafe, but you need time to breathe otherwise the entire conversation will be unintelligible as you simply sob.

you head upstairs, grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder as rafe emerges from the closet, fully dressed.

“where you going babe? got study group?” he questions, glancing at the clock on the wall, realizing there's no way study group would be meeting this late.

“going home.” you mumble, making sure everything you usually leave at rafes is stuffed in your bag.

“you are home?” rafe questions, his expression turning sad when he sees you're not joking.

“no, im not rafe.” you sigh. “i want to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

truth is, you've practically moved into tanneyhill since you started dating rafe, but technically you still live at your parents house, only a few doors down from rafes.

“is everything alright?” rafe asks, trying to reach out for you. “what did i do wrong?”

you can't help it anymore, his obvious disrespect for your relationship, something you put years of work into only for him to go back to his ex girlfriend.

“how about you ask your ex?” you question, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“my ex? what are you talking about?” rafe asks, again trying to hold you by your shoulders, but you take a step back before his palms can land on you.

rafe: ive asked you a million times to give that ring back. you never should have taken it in the first place. it was my grandmother's and now it belongs to y/n, not you.

“i saw your texts, rafe. when can we meet? are you fucking kidding me!?” you shout the last sentence.

“baby, wait.” he says softly, grabbing his phone. he opens up the messages, scrolling up so you can see the full context.

ex: i don't know where it is 

rafe: bullshit. give it back or ill call the cops

ex: fine. 

rafe: when can we meet?

“see, baby?” rafe places a soft hand on your shoulder. “i was just trying to get my shit back. i have no interest in my ex at all. i love you.”

“oh, rafe!” you coo out, throwing your arms around his shoulders. “im so sorry i doubted you.”

“it's okay, id also be pissed if you were texting your ex. i didn't tell you just because i wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“keep what a surprise?” you furrow your brows together.

“what do you?- ohhh.” rafe finally catches on, letting out a chuckle. “i see what you're doing.”

you giggle, rising to your tiptoes to press a kiss to rafes soft lips. 

“now let's get back to work on that essay, yeah?” rafe says. “i can help you.”

“and what do you know about microbiology that could possibly help me?” you snicker.

rafe rolls his eyes dramatically. “fine, but i can at least be there for moral support.”

--

you've been expecting it for months now, wondering when rafe will pop the question. you know he got the ring back, and while he's taken you on romantic dates and moonlit walks on the beach, you're not sure when he will actually drop to one knee.

“what are you thinking for your nails this week?” your girlfriend asks.

originally, you were doing all white and plain, but recently for summer you've been branching out to bright colors again.

“why, is there a certain color i should get?” you raise your eyebrow at her. 

“well i was gonna get a sparkly white, maybe we could match.” she shrugs. it's no discredit to your friend, but her acting isn't good enough to fool you, and you're sure that rafe asked her to make sure you get something appropriate and properly bridal.

you of course get simple nails that you hope will compliment a silver ring on your finger.

you look at the calendar hanging on the wall, reading through your events for the upcoming week, trying to figure out when rafe may ask the question.

you ultimately give up on trying to figure it out as you head further into the house, calling out for rafe. 

“baby? where are you?” you shout, surprised when you don't get a response. you head up to your bedroom, figuring he must be in the shower, but the bathroom door is wide open when you enter.

you almost miss it, so set on finding rafe, but the dress laying on the edge of the bed ends up catching your attention.

put this on and meet me outside.

you recognize rafes handwriting instantly. you set the paper to the side and look at the dress. its a soft light pink material, nearly white.

you are quick to undress and put on the flowy dress, admiring yourself in the mirror before touching up your hair and makeup next. rafe knows how you like to prepare for big events in your life.

your steps are slow, or at least you attempt to keep them slow, as you want to cherish this moment. your eyes light up with the glow of the backyard, string lights hanging from every tree, and on the edge of the sand, is rafe.

“oh.” you cover your mouth, feeling tears well up in your eyes. this has to be the moment. you run to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he spins you.

“baby, i haven’t even asked yet.” rafe chuckles, setting you down.

“and i’m already saying yes.” you giggle, although it’s no secret to rafe what your answer would be.

“still-” rafe places his hands on your hips, stilling you before he drops down onto one knee, pulling a box out of his pocket. he flips open the lid to reveal the most stunning ring you’ve ever seen, it’s exactly what you envisioned and somehow so much more.

“you’ve made me happier than i ever thought possible. you fixed all my broken pieces and made me whole again. there’s no one else i’d rather spend forever with.”

rafe looks up at you, tears brimming in his eyes, overwhelmed with the emotion of the moment. “will you marry me?”

“yes!” you squeal, falling to your knees alongside rafe and pressing your lips against his. “yes, yes. a million times yes.”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @cameronswiftie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0

[mrsnishimuraaa]

caught red handed

PAIRING: idol!niki x idol!fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: as engenes tune into enhypens weverse live, but they hear faint noises in the background and realize that 2 members are missing..

GENRE: smut, fluff

m.list

game nights were always fun in the dorms, but you snuck away to have a shower because you were sweaty and hot from practice. the boys hear the bathroom door open and clap in a joking way applauding you for finally coming back. "thank you thank you" you joke and bow sarcastically "ill be back just let me get dressed" yelling out as you closed your bedroom door. "one sec guys i want my hoodie from my room" niki excuses himself from the living room

"yeah okay just watch yourself when you come back, were gonna go live" jay raises his voice so niki can hear as he wanders off, but that sentence goes in one ear and out the other.

your bedroom door opens and you get startled, pulling your towel closer to your body "you scared me!" you huff as niki smiles at you and lies down on your shared bed. continuing to dry your hair in the mirror, as niki sits back and watches you. the towel lifting ever so slightly when you raise your arms to get the top of your head, exposing your bare ass a little bit as niki feels all the heat in his body rush down south.

you can see him in the mirror "done staring?" you laugh at him as he shakes his head smiling "i cant help it" he laughs as he readjusts his legs "just drop the towel its not like i haven't seen you naked before" he was joking at first , until you actually did it. no matter the what felt like millions of times he'd seen your body it always felt like the first, your plump ass and hourglass figure that makes him want to climb walls.

he gets up pondering his way over to you to hug you from behind, kissing the top of your head, staring back at you in the mirror eyes trailing over your naked figure in pure admiration "your so beautiful" his thumb rubs over your hip as he places a kiss behind your ear. your smiling back at him like a idiot in the mirror "how come im naked and your fully clothed" you chuckle as you place your hand over his "oh so you want me to get naked?" he raises an eyebrow , placing his chin on your shoulder. "maybe" shrugging.

but niki takes you seriously, throwing his shirt over his head and also giving you a moment to admire his toned body, tanned skin and sexy abs that you want to ride 24/7 but your snapped out of your thoughts when you hear "you wanna take em off for me pretty?" he runs his hand through your hair, and takes a glance at his sweats. you nod , biting your lip as you take down his sweats and boxers in one go, exhaling deeply as you watch that long dick of his be free.

he chuckles deeply at the way your staring, you can never get over how big he is. backing you up onto the door, pressing you against it that makes a small noise through the house. that the boys in the living room ignore, thinking maybe something just fell.

you feel your lips being engulfed as niki closes the gap, grabbing you underneath your thighs to pick you up and press you against the door, it makes it much easier for him as for how much shorter you are. as he presses you against the door again, supporting you with such ease as you moan into his mouth, hands slinging around his shoulders as his tounge makes its way into your mouth, the messiness of the kiss making it a hundred times better. he sneakily brings a hand to rub through your folds, causing you to moan into his mouth a bit louder this time, arching your back in his hold and pulling his hair tighter.

you feel his middle and ring finger slip into your wet and needy hole, you gasp sharply struggling to kiss him back now as he fucks your warm hole with his fingers, keeping a steady pace earning countless moans and whines from you hes satisfied at the way you can barley kiss him back, he loves the effect he has on you. just before that knot in your stomach is about to snap, he takes his fingers out of your needy pussy. pulling back from the kiss "you want my dick now hm?" he taunts you and you nod at him "words baby" his hot breath on the skin of your neck "please ki, i need it so bad" you beg out to him.

"thats it baby" he breaths out, looking down as he lines himself up with your hole thats practically begging for more. as he pushes in and bottoms out , both throwing your heads back, a sharp inhale from niki as you whine at the feeling of being so full. carrying you a few steps to the desk as he lays you down, never pulling out as he spreads your legs a bit more, before he begins to thrust into you, the sound of moans and heavy and deep breaths fill the room alongside the sound of skin on skin.

'do yall hear that in the background'

'ik im not tweaking out'

'r we being pranked'

the comments on the live pop up, a very very faint sound of moans can be heard in the background, yet the members never notice, all too invested in mario cart to even glance at comments or even open their ears.

."yeah that feels good dosent it?" hes giving you slow yet deep strokes, he knows it drives you crazy. your eyes rolling back as you choke out moans that can barley pass your lips, so dazed in the pleasure of niki's cock hitting that spot so deep in you. he knows your body like the back of his hand, reaching to rub circles on your clit as he gains a steady pace, fucking you deep and passionately watching as your eyes fill with tears from straight plesaure. "oh niki!" your grabbing on to anything in your reach, niki grabs your hand as you squeeze it so hard he thinks you might break it on him.

the squelching sound your pussy makes as he thrusts so deeply into you, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix as you repeatedly moan out his name, its the only thing you can manage to peice together right now. "harder baby please im so close" those words coming out of your mouth and niki is obeying you in seconds. keeping his thrusts deep but now making them so much rougher. it takes the breath out of your lungs as he plows into your pussy with the perfect amount of roughness that has you almost screaming "fuck niki! oh shit!" he knows your close by the way your clenching around him so tightly.

"yeah you gonna cum? cum for me pretty" his words of encouragement send you over the edge, your orgasam taking over you as you moan out his name, chasing his own high he keeps fucking into you, the overstimulating feeling making you whine as he gives one last rough and very deep thrust, filling you to the brim with his hot cum as he throws his head back and groans.

slowly pulling out as you wince at the feeling of emptiness "your such a good girl for me" helping you stand to your feet, placing a hand around your waist as if he knew your legs would be weak. laying down with you, cuddling you and making sure you feel loved and taken care of.

meanwhile comments on the live are still rolling through about it, it was so faint fans couldnt tell what it was at first, but grew to assume it was the two of you, your relationship was public but people did not expect that.

jake is scrolling through the comments on his own phone, having given up on mario cart long ago, he sees a few odd comments

'tell me i wasnt the only one who heard that'

'was that niki and y/n'

jake furrows his eyebrows together, thinking for a breif moment before realization hits him that maybe he wasnt just hearing things. immediately texting niki

jake | 8.39pm

yo are u and y/n in your room?

nikis phone lights up, its just a simple message from jake probably just wondering why the two of you are taking so long, niki replies wit a simple 'yeah , y?'

jake | 8.40pm

bro i was reading these weverse comments and they said they were hearing shit in the background, was that yous?

niki taps you on the shoulder to get your attention and you look over , he replies with 'are you guys live?!'

jake | 8.42pm

yea, jay told you eairler didnt he?

niki just rubs his hands on his face, sighs and replies with ' bro i must not have heard , were they hearing moans perchance'

jake | 8.43pm

yes, that is so wild, i knew i heard smth myself

you and niki have nothing to do exept laugh, looking at eachother as he turns off his phone and throws it onto the night stand.

you guys were trending on twitter the next day.

[bjwmastermind-writes]

his assistant ~ harry castillo x f! reader

A/N: I had this idea about him and it completely stopped all my uni reading so I put away the pdfs and got to writing this beauty. I was kicking at my feet giggling and screeching aaaaaaaaa

warnings: age gap (early twenties reader, mid forties older boss harry), workplace relationship / power dynamics (boss × assistant), alcohol, smut, fingering, oral sex (f! receiver), unprotected sex. Let me know if I've forgotten any warnings so I can add them.

minors dni ~ minors do not interact with this fic or my blog. I am not responsible for your consumption.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

Your day consisted of running after Harry. He was a busy man—and by extension, you were a busy assistant.

You’d landed this job thanks to a mentor’s referral letter, and you were forever grateful. It had changed your life: no more night shifts while trying to finish your bachelor's degree.

Harry was a reserved man, at first he didn’t talk much, but he had a sharp sense of humor. Over time, you’d learned how to read him, and together, you'd become a solid team.

He thought your work was exceptional. You were dedicated—sometimes too dedicated. If he stayed at the office all night, you stayed too, just in case he needed something. He told you more than once to go home, but you rarely listened.

Lately, he'd started dating again. That meant working out a lot. Sometimes you'd catch him right after a run, sweatshirt soaked through. It was hard to focus on your notes when he looked like that.

He didn’t need to work out. He was already unfairly attractive—but of course, you didn’t say that. Not your place.

You tossed a towel at him, which he caught midair. He peeled off the drenched sweatshirt, revealing the results of his dedication. Either he was too comfortable with you now, or he'd forgotten you were still in the room.

“Fucking hell.”

He turned toward you, raising an eyebrow.

You quickly held up your phone. “This thing just froze. Fucking hell.”

He nodded, and you prayed the earth would swallow you whole.

But he knew what you meant.

__________________________

It was late at the office. The only two people left were you and Harry. He sat at his large desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, though he kept glancing your way.

You were focused on your phone, scheduling appointments, replying to emails. He liked watching you when you were focused—your scrunched nose, the way you bit your lip when you made a mistake. How you always tucked your hair behind your ear like it helped you concentrate. To him, it just gave him a perfect view of your neck—like a subtle invitation to that sweet spot close to your ear.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

You looked up, caught off guard. “Uhm... no? I had an oatmeal bar a few hours ago.”

He frowned. He hated how often you skipped meals because of work—because of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added. “Go home. I’ll grab a salad or something later.”

“I was thinking,” he interrupted, “we could get dinner. Together.”

You blinked. “You want to have dinner... with me?”

“We spend the whole day together. Don’t see the issue with having dinner, too.”

You hesitated. “Wouldn’t that get me into trouble? I mean... HR?”

“I’m the boss,” he said. “You won’t get into any trouble. It’s a friendly invitation.”

You considered it. Honestly, you were starving—and if you waited any longer, your stomach would probably start growling audibly.

“Sure. Why not,” you shrugged, grabbing your jacket and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

You followed him into a fancy restaurant. The kind with low lights, gold accents, and a wine list thicker than a Bible. You resisted the urge to take out your phone for a picture.

A waitress led you to your table before disappearing. Harry pulled out your chair for you. You murmured a shy thank-you to which he hummed. 

He sat across from you and you observed how he got comfortable taking off his jacket. 

Harry handed you the menu, but you were too aware of everything—the ambient jazz, the soft clinking of cutlery, still trying to process this entire situation—being out with him, in public, like this. It’s not like you hadn’t been in public with him before, you were constantly in public but the dynamic was different. you weren’t there holding his jacket while he had dinner with someone else, or sitting at the bar or a different table to keep an eye if needed. No, you were sitting with him at the fancy restaurant. 

Moments later, a tall brunette waitress appeared. Thin smile. Sharp eyes.

"Can I get you something to drink while you decide?" she asked, not once looking in your direction. She flipped her hair as she awaited his response.

Your brows lifted slightly. Harry noticed.

He didn’t blink. “We’ll take the house Cabernet. Two glasses.”

That’s when she looked at you—finally. One long, assessing glance. Then a bright smile aimed only at him.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “Is she even of legal drinking age?”

You stiffened. Your hand tightened around the edge of the table.

You were ready to correct her. “Actually, I’m his—”

But Harry’s tone cut through first. Calm. Controlled. No smile.

“She’s my partner, actually.”

The waitress blinked. Her face held a flicker of something before she masked it with another sweet smile.

“Right,” she said slowly, lingering a second too long. “I just—thought she was your daughter at first. That’s all.” She gave him a wink like it was a private joke.

You opened your mouth, fully ready to set her on fire with words— Are you always this unprofessional, or am I just lucky tonight?

But Harry reached across the table, fingers brushing your hand lightly. Just enough to anchor you.

“She’ll have the same wine as me,” he added firmly, not breaking eye contact with the waitress. “Thank you.”

The message was clear: You can go now.

She hesitated—then turned, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.

You looked at him. “Partner?” you whispered, incredulous. “Castillo, what the fuck was that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather I let her mock you as my child or my assistant?”

“But I am your assistant.”

“And I wasn’t about to let her reduce you to that. Not when you’re sitting here with me.”

You opened your mouth again—then closed it. Your cheeks burned.

“Just say thank you,” he added, voice low. “Or gracias.”

“…Gracias,” you muttered, still glaring at the now-empty space where the waitress stood.

A few minutes passed in silence as you both read the menu. Then you snorted.

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Sorry, just—the idea of being your partner,” you said, covering your mouth to hide your grin. Good joke. Will never happen.

“Why is that funny? Am I that bad-looking?”

“No! It’s just... me? Being with you? Me?”

“Well, you’re not bad-looking either. I don’t see the humor.”

“Thanks... I guess.”

“I mean—you’re gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. Hell, I’d be lucky, if I wasn’t older.”

You blinked. Thought you’d misheard. But before you could ask, he was waving the waitress back to take your order.

She returned a few minutes later, two wine glasses in hand and a bottle tucked expertly in the crook of her arm. This time, she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

She set Harry’s glass down smoothly. Then yours, with a forced politeness that made you want to laugh.

"Well," you said under your breath, watching her walk away stiffly. "She doesn’t seem like quite a fan of me."

Harry smirked. “You think?”

“She looked like she wanted to throw the wine in my face.”

“I wouldn’t let her waste the good stuff.”

The wine ritual followed, soft and flirtatious. He swirled his glass and held it near your face.

"Swirl first," he said softly. "Let it breathe. Then smell. But don’t shove your nose in like a rookie.”

You chuckled. “So you’re a sommelier now?”

“No, I just have taste.”

You mirrored him. Swirled. Smelled. Sipped.

“Any notes?” he asked, lips curled in amusement.

"Yeah. Grapes," you deadpanned.

He laughed, eyes crinkling—and for a second, it felt like there were no titles between you. No roles. Just two people. Sitting across from each other. Maybe on the verge of something stupid, or something real.

The wine helped. So did the food.

The waitress returned with two beautifully plated dishes and the thinnest layer of civility. She set Harry’s plate down with practiced ease, then yours with stiff politeness. Her jaw was tight. She didn’t say a word this time.

When she walked away, you finally exhaled.

Harry raised his glass slightly toward you. “To surviving the service industry.”

You clinked his glass with yours, managing a small laugh. But your mind wasn’t really on the food. Or the wine. Or the waitress.

It was still on him.

Specifically: “Hell, I’d be lucky… if I wasn’t older.”

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it wasn’t driving you quietly insane.

You watched him from across the table as he cut into his steak—calm, focused, unbothered. How was he always like this? Controlled. Grounded. Like nothing ever rattled him.

You bit your lip and stabbed at your salad.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

“I’m eating,” you replied, a little too fast.

He raised a brow. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink it. “Just... still running through what she said, I guess.”

He studied you for a second. “Let it go. She’s not worth that much space in your head.”

“That’s not—” You paused. “It’s not about her.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his eyes still on you. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated. Then took a sip of your wine, buying time.

“If I wasn’t older…”

That’s what it was, that damn line.

You swallowed, not just the wine, but the way your heart seemed to lurch every time you replayed it.

“It’s stupid,” you said finally. “Forget it.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You don’t usually get this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you lied.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Right.”

You poked at your food again. Then quietly you proceeded “So what did you mean?”

He looked at you, serious now. No smirk. No tease.

“I meant what I said.”

“About the age thing?”

He nodded. “I try not to think about it, but yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I’d cross a line just by wanting more than I should.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “And what happened on Monday didn’t help.”

You stared at him confused. “What happened on Monday?”

He held your gaze. “You tossed a towel at me. I took my shirt off. And you said, fucking hell.”

Your eyes widened. “I said it because—”

“I know why,” he said. Still calm. Still steady. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

You stared at your plate, the flush spreading to your neck.

He added, voice barely above the hum of the restaurant

“I think about it too. You. More than I should.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

Because when he reached across the table—just for a moment, just to brush your hand with his fingers again—you didn’t pull away.

_____________________________

The air outside was cooler than you expected. Or maybe it was just the heat still clinging to your skin from the conversation.

Harry walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, silent. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk near the curb. The night stretched around you both—quiet, electric.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, not facing you. “If I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned, finally looking at you. “At the table. I shouldn’t have said that—about thinking about you. Or the age thing. It wasn’t appropriate.”

You stepped closer. “Harry—”

“If it put you in a weird position, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. You closed the distance, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and pressed a kiss to his lips. His mustache grazed your skin, warm and soft and just rough enough to make your breath catch.

He didn’t kiss back at first. He just froze, lips parted under yours, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then, slowly, his hand came up—fingertips grazing your waist as if to make sure you were real.

You started to pull away, panic bubbling in your chest.

Shit, shit! What did I just do?

But he caught you and kissed you back. Not rushed. Not messy. Just steady, grounded, certain. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been holding back for too long—and now, the dam had cracked.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close, your breath still caught between you.

He looked at you like he was trying to piece together what just happened. And you looked right back. Not saying anything, just holding his gaze.

Yes.

That happened just now.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed a line,” he murmured. His voice was low. Honest.

“I crossed it for you,” you said.

His lips twitched—barely. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how to yet. He stared at you like you were some puzzle he’d never expected to solve.

Then, without another word, he took a step back and held out his hand.

You didn’t hesitate.

_______________________

The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Full.

You sat there, lips still tingling, eyes on the window. The city blurred past in soft golds and blues. 

Neon signs flickered. A woman smoked on a balcony. A dog pulling its owner across a crosswalk. A man hailed a cab. Life was still happening—but all you could feel was him.

His presence beside you. His warmth in the space between the seats. The echo of his mouth on yours.

You tilted your head, eyes tracing the curve of the moon through the window. It followed you quietly, like it knew. Like it saw everything.

Every red light glowed too long. Every block felt like a held breath.

He gripped the wheel tighter than usual. Jaw tense. He checked his mirrors often, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing anything. His jaw worked silently, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview, like any movement might pull him out of the moment.

You kept quiet. Let the silence stretch.

Finally, his voice broke through the quiet. Low. Controlled.

“I meant what I said.”

You turned your head slowly. “Which part?”

He glanced at you, just once.

“All of it.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then looked away, smiling just a little.

“Good.”

You finally made it to his building. He pulled into the underground garage, the soft hum of the engine echoing off the concrete walls.

He parked in his usual spot. You recognized it—you’d been here before. Dropped off folders, laptops, contracts he forgot in the office. Walked these exact halls with purpose, never pausing. Always professional. Always business.

But this time?

This time you didn’t have a file in your hands. You weren’t on a clock. You weren’t his assistant.

You were just you.

And that changed everything.

He turned off the engine, but neither of you moved for a second. You could feel the air shift. Not heavier—closer.

He got out of the car without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few seconds later, your door opened—and there he was, standing beside you like it was nothing.

He looked at you. “You coming?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still sitting there, fingers lightly pressed against your thigh, your body catching up to what your heart had already decided.

He didn’t rush you.

Just waited. One hand resting on the open door, the other in his coat pocket, his eyes on you like he could see the entire storm happening behind your stillness.

You exhaled slowly. Then you stood.

His gaze followed you as you stepped out of the car, close enough to feel the warmth of his body in the chill of the garage.

No words. Just the soft click of the door closing behind you.

You followed him to the elevator.

________________________

The elevator opened into the apartment directly.

You stepped in first. You’d been here before, of course—several times. Late-night contract drop-offs. Files he forgot in the office. You knew the layout by heart, knew the scent of the place, even the way the light curved in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

But you’d never walked in like this.

Not without an agenda or a deadline.

Not as a guest.

And suddenly, the space felt different.

It wasn’t sterile or cold like you used to tell yourself. No sleek, lonely bachelor energy. No leather-and-glass cliché.

It was warm.

Low lighting. Art on the walls. A worn leather chair near the window, a record player spinning soft jazz in the corner. Shelves with actual books, not props. A thick wool throw draped over the couch. A scent like cedarwood and something expensive lingered in the air.

“Wow,” you breathed, almost instinctively.

Harry loosened his tie. “You’ve seen it before.”

You looked at him. “Yeah, but not like this.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Fair.”

He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. This bottle looked different—older, deeper colored.

“Private collection?” you teased.

“Something like that.” He poured carefully, then handed you a glass.

You swirled it. “Swirl, breathe, smell... sip?”

He smiled again, slower this time. “You remembered.”

You sipped. You could feel his gaze linger on your mouth.

“It’s really good,” you said, clearing your throat.

He stood in front of you, not close enough to touch—but enough that you felt it. The gravity of him. The silence stretching between you again.

He stayed standing across from you for a moment, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone now. You watched him, your glass warm in your hand.

Neither of you said a word.

But everything was being said.

You stepped toward him at the same time he stepped toward you. The shared gravity was inevitable.

He reached out first, not to kiss you again, but to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles grazed your cheek, and it made your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He smiled, something half-there. “Not sure.”

You were close enough now that you could feel the heat of his chest through the thin barrier of space left between you. His hand lingered at your waist. Yours found his wrist, thumb tracing the veins beneath his skin.

You weren’t sure who moved first this time. Maybe both.

The kiss was quieter now. Slower. Less urgent, more intentional. Like you were both realizing there was no clock ticking. No one to interrupt. No need to hold back.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you kept your eyes closed. Let the silence wrap around you.

“I wasn’t planning this,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said. “Me neither.”

But neither of you moved away.

You barely noticed how close you’d gotten until your glass tilted slightly, the wine catching the rim. A splash landed on his shirt, dark red soaking into crisp white.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

Harry glanced down. Then up at you, completely unfazed.

“It was coming off anyway,” he said simply, already working the buttons open with one hand.

You stood frozen for a beat too long, your wine forgotten.

He peeled off the shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. His torso was lean, toned in a way that only comes from quiet consistency—not vanity, just discipline. His skin was warm under the golden lighting, a scattering of freckles across his shoulders.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how to function.

He looked at you again, this time slower. “You okay?”

“I will be if you stop looking at me like that,” you murmured, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know what’s going to happen.”

He stepped closer again. “I don’t,” he said softly. “That’s kind of the best part.”

He took your glass and set it aside—carefully—then turned back to you.

His eyes were darker now. Focused.

He wanted your full attention.

He gripped your waist and pulled you closer, his touch no longer tentative. Confident. Sure. With one movement, he shifted your weight, guiding you until your legs wrapped around him instinctively.

He walked—slow but deliberate—until your back met the wall.

The kiss broke for only a second, just long enough for you to catch your breath.

Then it came crashing back—furious now. Hungry. His mouth on yours like he’d been waiting all night to be this unrestrained.

Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers tugging just hard enough to make him groan against your lips. He pressed into you, anchoring you to the wall, one hand exploring the curve of your hip, the other trailing along your ribs, steady but searching.

He kissed like he knew you—like every inhale, every tilt of your head, was familiar already. Like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

He pulled back just long enough to catch your breath—his lips parted, his chest rising with yours in sync.

And then he moved.

He didn’t say a word, just adjusted his grip on your thighs and carried you across the room. You tightened your legs around his waist instinctively, fingers still tangled in his hair as he walked the two of you toward the bedroom.

You weren’t sure when your shirt came off. Somewhere between the hallway and the doorway, between kisses along your neck and soft, breathless gasps you couldn’t hold back.

He dropped it on the floor like it had never mattered, and by the time you reached the bed, all that was left between you and the sheets was skin and heat and a thousand quiet yeses.

He set you down gently. Like he knew this wasn’t just about desire—it was about something else. Something you both hadn’t dared name yet.

But right now?

You didn’t need a name.

You needed him.

He laid you down gently, like he didn’t want to rush—like he wanted to memorize every second of this.

And then he hovered above you, just for a breath. His eyes swept over you—bare skin, flushed cheeks, your mouth still parted from the last kiss.

You felt his fingertips brush the side of your neck, slow, reverent. His gaze followed the motion like he’d traced this path a hundred times in his head.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed just beneath your jaw first—soft, careful. Then lower. Warmer. His breath fanned over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and your pulse jumped.

You felt it coming before it happened.

That spot.

That one spot—right behind your ear, the one he always glanced at when you’d shift your hair during long office days. The one that always felt too exposed when you wore it up.

He found it.

And kissed it.

Not quick. Not teasing.

Slow. Open-mouthed. Intentional.

Your fingers tightened against his back, your breath caught, your whole body arching slightly beneath him.

“Been wanting to do that,” he murmured against your skin.

You shivered. “Yeah?”

“Since the first time you tucked your hair back,” he whispered. “Drove me fucking crazy.”

You smiled. Then gasped—because he kissed it again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to your hip, anchoring you to him like he couldn’t risk letting you drift too far.

And from there, he took his time.

Your moans were like music to his ears.

He’d imagined this—more times than he cared to admit. But he never let himself get too far. He’d always pulled himself back, always shut the door on the thought before it became too real, too dangerous.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

And he was here. With you.

No phones. No appointments. No schedule, no glass wall between you.

Just the two of you. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.

His mouth moved across your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—slow, devoted, like he had all the time in the world. And for once, maybe he did.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers trailing over his torso with reverence, until you found his belt. You unbuckled it with practiced ease, metal clicking softly in the quiet room. You pushed his pants down, your breath hitching as he helped you.

“Fucking hell” you blurted as you caught the sight of his hard and heavy cock. 

He stroked himself slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched your reaction—your gaze locked onto his cock, pupils blown, breath hitching. A bead of precum formed at the head and you gulped. There was a fair chance that he could split you in half, not only because of his cock but his size as a whole. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he crawled onto the bed, his face inches from yours. His hands slid to your sides, fingers warm and sure against your skin.

He mirrored your movements, trailing down your waist until he reached the waistband of your pencil skirt—the one he’d seen you wear so many times. The one he’d fantasized about taking off, but never dared to touch.

Until now.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slid it down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The tension between you stretched, thick and warm and crackling.

And when the skirt hit the floor along with your panties, and he saw you like that—laid out for him, flushed, eyes dark with want—he exhaled like he’d finally, finally let himself breathe.

Your hands cupped his face, guiding him back to your mouth, and he settled between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had. Harry removed your panties tossing them across the room. 

His fingers rubbed along your folds, feeling the wet pooling in your cunt before curling inside, his lips neared your clit, kissing it softly before licking across your entire cunt, He lapped on your clit, groaning onto it. The feeling of his tongue and his mustache caused an electric shock down your spine, driving right onto his face. 

“I need you so bad” His voice deep as he added another finger, his mouth still on your clit making his words vibrate against you. 

You struggled to respond, breath catching in your throat—but you managed, voice low and trembling with want.

“What’s holding you back? We’re already in this.”

He looked up at you, mouth still on you, hands gripping your thighs like he needed to anchor himself to something.

Your words hit him like a match. The final green light.

And just like that, restraint vanished. Neither of you cared how this would turn out—how messy, how complicated, how reckless. Consequences could come later. Right now? You just needed each other.

Desperately.

He gripped your thighs tighter, stretching your legs wider as he pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched at the sudden movement. He aligned himself holding his heavy cock to your entrance and using the wetness to lube himself up before entering you. Your eyes locked as he pushed into you—slow, steady, deliberate.

His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second, like he wanted to see all of it—your reaction, your unraveling, the way your mouth parted with a breathless moan.

Your face contorted with pleasure, head tipping back as the stretch overtook you. One hand flew to the sheets, clutching them tight as your body arched, trying to take more, feel everything.

He slid in fully, deep, until there was nothing left between you. Just heat and breath and that dizzying sense that everything had just shifted again—and this time, there was no going back. 

He finally moved—slow at first, steady, dragging his hips back just enough before pushing in again. Then he found his rhythm and hovered over you groaning against your neck, the sound low, guttural. Every thrust hit deep, every shift of his body pulled another breathless sound from your lips. Your hips rose to meet his, chasing every movement, matching his pace—desperate, shameless, hungry for more. You didn’t care how it looked or how it sounded. It was true. 

There were no sharp sounds, no declarations. Just soft gasps, broken moans, fingers digging into skin like you were afraid to let go. Afraid this was a dream. Afraid you’d wake up if you did.

“Harry… fuck,” you whined, digging your nails into his hair as you got closer to the height of pleasure, your walls spasming around himpulsing in tight, desperate waves that pulled a groan from deep in his chest. He wasn’t far behind.

 “Shit–“ he breathed, jaw clenched, his rhythm stuttering as your release crashed over you, coating him. 

Shudders wracked your body, hips arching into him as the pleasure overtook you. You felt it—wet, warm, everywhere—coating him, slick and overwhelming.

He tensed inside of you and followed with a rough, broken sound, thrusting deep one final time as he came undone inside you. Your cry was caught in his mouth, swallowed between kisses and the sound of skin against skin.

Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as the release wracked through you, relentless and blinding.

He groaned against your lips, his rhythm faltering as he gave in too—lost to you, to the feeling, to the way you came around him like your body had been waiting for this moment, and only this.

And when it was over—when the last shuddering breath passed between you, and his lips found that spot behind your ear again—you felt something settle in your chest.

Like this hadn’t just been inevitable. It had been waiting.

Everything about him felt real—the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, the way he moved with you like he already knew you this way. Like maybe, he always had.

Every stroke, every kiss, every whispered breath between tangled limbs felt like a quiet confession neither of you had dared speak aloud. You were wrapped in him—in his scent, his voice, the slow, grounding pressure of his body against yours.

You shivered again—even in his warmth.

This wasn’t just crossing a line. This was burning it.

Then, without a word, he shifted beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gently turning you onto your side. His chest pressed to your back, steady and warm.

You felt his hand settle low at your stomach, fingers curling softly against your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you go. Like he wouldn’t.

His arm was heavy—comfortably so. It grounded you, pinned you in the best way. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Just his breath at your neck. The quiet hum of the city outside. And sleep, finally pulling you under.

__________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long golden stripes across the sheets. You stirred before he did, blinking against the light, the warmth of it settling over your bare skin. The sheets were soft. His bed smelled like clean linen and cedar, something calm and clean and unmistakably him.

Turning your head, you found him beside you—still asleep. Or maybe just pretending. Either way, you took the moment. Let your gaze linger on his face, softened in sleep, free from the tension he always wore like armor. He looked younger like this. Softer. Still Harry—but not the boss version. Just him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

But your phone buzzed somewhere from the living room, and it pulled you back into reality like a hook.

He opened one eye slowly. “Don’t answer it.”

You turned back toward him. “It might be important.”

“Then let it be important later.”

You laughed, burying your face into the pillow. “You’re not helping me keep my job.”

“I am your job.”

You groaned. “You would say that.”

He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear again, fingers trailing lightly along your jaw before settling at your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him, his eyes still soft with sleep but awake in a way that said he was fully here.

“Do you always wake up this smug?” you murmured, voice low and a little rough.

“Only when I’ve earned it,” he said, smiling faintly.

You shook your head, pressing your face into the pillow to hide your own grin, even as your leg brushed against his under the blanket. The air between you was warm but stretched—hovering in that space between comfort and the edge of a conversation neither of you had dared touch yet.

A quiet beat passed. 

“So… what happens now?”

He looked at you for a moment, the question lingering in the space between your bodies. Too big for right now. Too real.

He exhaled. “Let’s get coffee first.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re really gonna dodge the question with caffeine?”

“I’m not dodging. I’m delaying with style.” He sat up, stretching slightly. “Priorities. Coffee first, emotional unraveling later.”

You slipped out of bed a moment later, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward the doorway, grabbing the first thing you saw—a folded Nirvana tee left on the edge of a chair. It smelled like him—clean, warm, something like cedar and sleep and skin. You tugged it on, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked barefoot into the kitchen.

Harry was already there, sleeves rolled up again, hair slightly messy, standing by the stove with a French press and two mugs on the counter. The smell of coffee wrapped around you like a second shirt.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so... I went basic. Milk and sugar are there.”

You sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island, tucking your legs up beneath you. 

He chuckled softly and slid a mug toward you. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a sip, eyes on him as he leaned back against the counter, his own mug held in both hands. It felt oddly natural—like you’d done this before, like waking up in his apartment and drinking coffee together was part of some soft, familiar routine you’d already built in your head.

Except it wasn’t. This was new. Dangerous. Beautiful.

You stared into your coffee, letting the warmth settle into your palms, your shoulders beginning to loosen in the stillness between you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle, even comforting. The scene felt like it belonged. Him. You. Coffee. Morning light stretching across the floor.

It fit too well. 

And then, like something small tugged loose, the comfort began to unravel. Your breath caught in your chest. Your thoughts sharpened at the edges. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t safe. You’d slept with your boss. You’d crossed a line and blurred it so deeply there might not be a way back.

Your fingers tightened around the mug, your body going still again—not frozen, just quiet, the kind of quiet that comes when a thought hits too fast, too sharp. He noticed. His voice softened when he spoke, like he was already reading the shift in you. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his mug down and stepped closer, resting one hand on the back of your chair—not quite touching, but close enough to feel. “We don’t have to name it,” he said, calm and even. “But I meant everything I said. And everything I did.”

You held his gaze, heart thudding, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “I meant it too,” you said quietly. “All of it.”

It wasn’t a full spiral. Not regret. Just a flicker of panic—the kind that comes after something good, something real. The kind that makes you question if maybe you dreamed the whole thing. But he caught it. And he soothed it. Not by promising anything, not by fixing it, but just by being steady. Present.

Because it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t a mistake. And he knew that.

He nodded once. “Then we don’t panic.” His voice was calm, certain, like a soft line being drawn in the quiet. “We go to work,” he said simply. “We don’t pretend it didn’t happen. But we don’t have to define it right now either. We just—go slow. If that’s okay with you.”

You nodded. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly along your arm before resting there—warm, grounding. Not pulling you closer. Just there.

Neither of you moved after that. You sat quietly, shoulders barely touching, hands around your mugs, the sun crawling across the floor like it had all the time in the world. The coffee cooled slowly.

No pressure. No rush. Just a shared breath in the soft quiet of something beginning.

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!!

All support is welcomed 💕✨ REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS HELP THIS STORY GROW!

[capricornlevi]

"don't squirm."

your instructions to nanami sounds more like a scolding -- but, in your defence, he's making the task of giving him a clean shave very, very difficult.

"ken, don't make me tie you to the towel rack. you'd be stuck for hours staring at the ugly orange tiles of my ensuite bathroom, which would be a terrible way to spend your day, truly," you say with a sigh, rinsing the razor off in the sink. "a fall from glory if i ever saw one."

"i wouldn't exactly call it glory," nanami says with a half-smile, the same one he always uses to try and make you feel better. it doesn't work this time but you return it anyway. "i was knocked out for most of the shibuya fighting. missed all of the action."

he's speaking lightly, conversationally, but you can tell he's not ready to talk about it just yet. one arm in a sling, the other too bruised to lift above his shoulder, a black eye, some minor wounds -- but some of his friends didn't make it out.

you don't have to guess that he feels guilt for surviving; he told you as much that very first night, while the pain meds were wearing off. but then a new realisation dawned on him, and he collapsed in another wave of guilt, clutching at you and apologising as you held him.

he'd feel terrible for dying, for leaving you, but he feels bad for living, leaving them all in shibuya when he could have, should have, wanted to help.

you can't pretend you know what it feels like. you weren't there. all you can do right now is tell him that the guilt will melt away over time, the guilt he feels towards you and them both, and that there'll be a night sometime in the future where he'll sleep the whole eight hours through without waking in a cold sweat.

and, in the meantime, you can help him shave.

"nearly done," you say, angling the razor carefully, trying to avoid any piece of skin that still looks tender and sore. "and ....... done! beautiful," you finish with a kiss on his freshly-shaven cheek, ignoring the bitter taste of the remnants of the shaving gel, instead focusing on how the gesture puts a little brightness back into his eyes.

"beautiful?" he repeats lightheartedly, gesturing at the bruising with soft chuckle.

"beautiful," you affirm, gently cupping his cheek and angling his face so you're both looking in the bathroom mirror. he sees the reflection of you smiling, eyes full of unspeakable love, the way your entire body gravitates towards him. "beautiful always."

[fireinmoonshot]

drabble dump 2 | joaquín torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: Two more drabbles inspired by some headcanons: Joaquin and how much you love his curly hair and Joaquin holding your handbag for you. Warnings: I don't think there is anything. Word Count: 745 A/N: I'm finally home from my trip 🎉 But I had a diverted flight late last night so my 45 minute flight home ended up being almost 4 hours of travel in the end, so I'm feeling extremely exhausted today – hence posting another small little drabble collection tonight. I have received so many requests from you all this weekend and I cannot wait to start writing them now that I'm home 💗 Thank you for all the love on my fics I posted while I was away.

Curly hair.

Every time Joaquin washed his hair, you loved getting to see his curls come out in full force again. He never did anything to style them, usually leaving his hair as it was or putting some kind of mousse or gel in it to tame it a little. But curly haired Joaquin was your favourite out of all of his looks.

It might’ve had something to do with the fact that he was also almost completely naked, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and that his hair was still a little wet, dripping water onto his chest as he walked out of the bathroom and back into your bedroom. 

From your spot, sitting in bed and scrolling on your phone, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. “Damn, my man looks good right now,” you said, meeting your eyes as he grabbed a towel and started to dry his hair a little.

Joaquin laughed, shaking his head. “Just right now?”

“Hmmm,” you pretended to think on it for a minute. “You do always look good, but you look especially good right now… you should wear your hair curly more often, baby. It suits you so much.” 

He put the towel down over his shoulder and turned around to look at you again, raising his eyebrows. “You think so? Or is it just because I’m shirtless, freshly showered and wearing nothing but a towel that makes you think that?”

You smiled to yourself as he walked closer to your side of the bed and sat down on the edge of it so he was closer to you. You reached forward to touch the curls, even though they were still wet. 

“I mean, that certainly has something to do with it, but it’s not the only reason I love when your hair is all curly,” you admitted. “I’m just saying, maybe you should look into how to style it and keep the curls in longer. I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to you doing that…”

Joaquin chuckled to himself. “Okay, angel. I’ll take your word for it.”

~~~

Joaquin holding your handbag for you.

One of the many things you loved about Joaquin was that he never thought twice about things that you asked of him. He was so head over heels in love with you that he would do anything for you – holding your handbag was like second nature to him.

“Baby,” you pulled him aside as the two of you started to walk out of the restaurant.

You’d come out to dinner with your co-worker and their partner, a double date, and realised you needed to use the bathroom before you left. It was going to be at least another half hour before you got home. 

Joaquin looked at you, a little bit of worry in his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna go to the bathroom, will you wait for me here?” 

He nodded and you started to walk away before he realised you were still holding your handbag. He didn’t hesitate before hurrying after you. “Angel, give me your bag.” 

You turned around upon hearing his voice. “Oh, you wanna hold it? I can just take it in there with me, I don’t mind.”

Joaquin stared at you and held out a hand for you to place the bag into. He didn’t need to say anything for you to give in and take the bag off your shoulder before placing it in his hand. He walked back over to where your co-worker was waiting while you were in the bathroom, slinging the bag over his shoulder as he did.

There wasn’t a single moment that he cared about the fact that he was an adult man, well dressed in one of his nicest suits with your handbag over his shoulder. All he cared about was that you could go to the bathroom without worrying where to leave your bag and that everything inside of it was safe. 

Even when someone walked past him and gave him a strange look, he didn’t blink.

When you rejoined them a few minutes later, you tried to remove the bag from Joaquin’s shoulder but he shook his head. “I can carry it till we get to the car, angel,” he said, reaching down with his other hand to take yours as you followed your friends out of the restaurant. 

You don’t know if you could love him any more if you tried. 

[deonsx]

Hope i’m not too late to request 😭

but i’d love a sae fic where the reader is a very famous hollywood actress, and the content would just be her in japan with sae coming to that u20 meeting, coming to the match, cheering for him, being shown on the big screen while doing so, and fluffy moments in front of the paparazzi

and also how the crowd and especially how the u20 members would react to it all (sendou would be interesting since bro wants an actress gf so bad lol)

i’ve been binge reading your posts the whole day today and i just HAD to request 💕💕 thank you so much 🤭

hiii love!! You made it before the last hours, I loved this request have a good read (also the rq has already closed, thank you to my loves who sent requests still, but I haven't finished the ones in the event yet. I will be ready for a new event) AND THANK YOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS(｡◕‿◕｡✿)

Sae sat with the rest of the U-20 team during their pre-match briefing seemingly unbothered by the noise outside. But even his teammates couldn’t resist teasing him “Yo Sae care to explain why she is wearing your jersey” Sendou smirked nudging Sae’s arm “You’re dating her right You have to be. There’s no way she’d just show up for no reason”

Sae shot him a bored look “Focus on the game”

“But-”

“Shut up” Sendou groaned but didn’t stop staring at the monitors where the VIP section was being shown live “Man I swear if I had an actress girlfriend I’d retire from football right now. Goals achieved”

“Good thing you don’t” Sae replied flatly but his lips quirked up ever so slightly. The match began and the tension was palpable. Every time Sae got the ball the crowd roared but the cameras inevitably panned to you. You clapped enthusiastically leaning forward in your seat and when Sae’s shot curved perfectly into the net you jumped to your feet cheering louder than anyone else

The stadium erupted. Fans screamed his name but all Sae could hear even amidst the chaos was the faint echo of your voice. He looked up at the stands and found you beaming hands clasped in excitement. He allowed himself a brief glance just long enough for Sendou to notice

“Did you just smile at her” Sendou asked incredulously running beside Sae as they moved back into formation “Play the game” Sae said but there was a rare softness in his tone

The game ended with a U-20 victory. Sae dominated the field but the post-match buzz wasn’t just about his performance. The cameras couldn’t get enough of you rushing down to meet him at the sidelines. You threw your arms around him unbothered by the press or the dozens of lenses capturing the moment

“You were amazing” you said voice slightly breathless. Sae let you hug him one hand resting casually on your back “You’re loud you know that”

“You like it” you teased pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. The photographers captured every second your bright smile his subtle but unmistakable fondness. Fans online exploded with reactions some gushing about your chemistry others lamenting how “unfair” it was that Sae got the girl of their dreams

Back in the locker room the teasing was relentless “I can’t believe it” Sendou groaned throwing his towel to the floor “She was hugging you Sae. Hugging you. Meanwhile I can’t even get a text back”

“You’re embarrassing yourself” Sae replied tying his shoelaces “I don’t care. Introduce me. Tell her I’m funny” Sae stood slinging his bag over his shoulder “She’s not interested in idiots” The entire team burst into laughter as Sendou collapsed dramatically onto the bench

Later that evening Sae and you managed to slip away from the chaos and grab a quiet dinner. The restaurant was discreet but a few paparazzi still lingered outside “You’re the talk of Japan right now” you teased swirling your drink “How does it feel to be the center of attention”

He leaned back in his chair the corner of his mouth lifting slightly “I could ask you the same thing” You laughed leaning across the table “Oh please. You’re the real star today. I was just a very enthusiastic fan”

“Too enthusiastic” he muttered though his tone lacked any real annoyance “You didn’t seem to mind when I was screaming your name” Sae’s gaze lingered on you for a moment soft and unguarded “Maybe I didn’t”

Enjoy!

[santaasi]

roommates with a problem

pairing: jj maybank x roommate!reader

summary: living with jj maybank is like playing with fire — you swore you wouldn’t get burned, but when he finally touches you, you go up in flames.

warnings: NSFW 18+, language, teasing, edging, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), mild dom!jj, dirty talk, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 4.4k

a/n: I'm still insecure about my smut writing skills so if it's bad just live with it :(

ᯓ★ now playing…

camila cabello - shameless

LIVING WITH JJ MAYBANK IS AN EXERCISE IN RESTRAINT.

It shouldn’t be like this. He’s your best friend. Your partner in crime. The only person who can make you laugh even when you're seething with frustration, who knows the exact rhythm of your moods like a song he’s memorized.

But there’s a problem. A serious, maddening, pulse-spiking problem.

JJ never wears a shirt.

At first, you blamed it on the summer heat. The first time he stumbled out of his room, half-asleep, golden in the morning light with sleep-ruffled hair and sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips, you barely spared a thought.

Once. That’s all it was.

But then it kept happening.

JJ, stretched across the couch like it’s his personal throne, one arm tossed lazily over the backrest, his phone in one hand and that trademark smirk tugging at his lips. JJ, fresh from the shower, towel hanging precariously off one hip, droplets of water catching the light as they trailed down the carved muscles of his chest. JJ, in the kitchen at sunrise, humming off-key while flipping pancakes, looking like the most sinful version of domestic bliss you’ve ever seen.

It’s cruel. He’s cruel.

Strutting around like temptation personified, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you.

But deep down, you know better.

Because JJ never fails to be wherever you are. If you’re in the kitchen, nose buried in your seminar notes, he suddenly appears — digging through the fridge, drinking straight from the milk carton, standing there all golden skin and bare torso, with that lazy grin and eyes that flicker toward you like he’s watching, measuring. If you’re curled on the couch, trying to drown your thoughts in some forgettable show, he’s suddenly pressed up beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into the heat of him — solid, bare, intoxicating.

It makes you think about things you shouldn't. About the way his voice would sound against your neck. About the way his fingers would feel trailing up the inside of your thigh. About the kind of noises he’d pull from your throat if you just gave in — just once.

It keeps you up at night, staring at the ceiling in the dark, breath shallow, thighs pressed tight together, mind spiraling.

So you run. You bury yourself in your studies, spend long hours in the library under the guise of academia, while Kiara, Sarah, and Cleo tease you relentlessly about your new obsession with “higher learning.” When you’re home, you hide — lock yourself away in your room like it’s a sanctuary, a shield against temptation.

But JJ notices. Of course he does.

Because now, he’s in your doorway more often than not. Leaning against the frame like a goddamn oil painting, abs flexing with every stretch, golden hour light wrapping around him like it’s in love. He doesn’t need a reason to be there. Sometimes he just wanders in, drops himself onto your bed like he belongs there — like he belongs to you — and watches you. Calm. Unbothered. Smirking like he’s in on the joke you haven’t caught up to yet.

It’s like he’s waiting for something.

Waiting for you to break.

And God, you're so close.

BUT ONE EVENING, EVERYTHING CHANGES.

It’s one of those days — the kind that grates down to the bone, fraying nerves until even the air feels hostile on your skin.

You overslept for your ancient literature exam. Rushed across campus half-dressed, only to be turned away — your professor stern and unmoving. Your laptop crashed mid-submission, eating hours of carefully chosen words. And the barista at your usual spot? Got your order all wrong. Too much syrup, too sweet, sticking to your tongue like everything else today.

By the time you unlock the front door, you’re done.

Done with the day. Done with the world. Done with JJ fucking Maybank and his entire unbearable existence.

You shed your coat in the hallway, kick off your sneakers without caring where they land, and stalk toward the kitchen in search of comfort — salt, sugar, anything to soften the edge carved into your mood.

And of course — of course — he’s there.

Leaning against the counter like he was sculpted for it, bathed in the golden warmth of the kitchen light. He’s shirtless — because why wouldn’t he be — skin bronzed and smooth, the sharp cut of his abs flexing as he cracks open a beer with one hand. His lips curve into that signature smirk, the one that always manages to feel both lazy and dangerous. He tilts his head back for a sip, throat working slow and deliberate, like every movement was made to be watched.

It’s obscene. It’s infuriating. It’s — God — it’s unfair.

You slam the fridge shut harder than necessary, crossing your arms tight across your chest like it’ll protect you from whatever this is.

“For God’s sake, JJ,” you snap. “Put on a damn shirt.”

He doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just glances at you sideways, one brow arched, amusement dancing in those sea-glass blue eyes.

“Why’s that?” he drawls, voice syrupy and smooth, laced with mock innocence. “That bother you?”

Your jaw clenches. “It’s just–”

The words dissolve under the heat of his gaze. And then, without thinking, without filtering–

“It’s distracting.”

JJ shifts. His entire demeanor changes — like a predator catching the scent of something new. He straightens slowly, that ever-present smirk deepening into something darker, sharper. More interested.

“Distracting how?” His voice lowers, slides across your skin like warm honey. “Can’t stop looking?”

He runs a hand through his blond hair — slow, purposeful, like he knows what he’s doing. His abs flex with the stretch, and you hate the way your stomach tightens in response. Hate it. Crave it.

“I didn’t know my abs were such a problem, princess,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Unless... they’re not the problem. You just like looking.”

Your breath hitches.

And that’s it.

That’s all he needs.

His grin shifts — cocky giving way to hungry — as he steps away from the counter, sauntering toward you with the kind of deliberate slowness that makes the air grow thick and hot between you. Every step coils something tighter inside your chest, your stomach.

He stops just in front of you — too close — his bare skin radiating heat, the faint scent of salt and soap and pine enveloping you like a second skin. The kind of scent that would cling to your sheets. To your skin.

Your thoughts go quiet. Your whole body just... buzzes.

He leans in — barely. Just enough that you feel the warmth of his breath, the tension hanging on the knife’s edge between you.

“Say the word,” JJ murmurs, eyes locked on yours. They’re darker now, stormy with something unreadable — desire, challenge, restraint. “Say the word, and I’ll put a shirt on.”

You don’t say anything.

Because the truth?

You don’t want him to.

You never have.

“You could just admit you like me and save us both some time.”

JJ’s voice is quieter now, stripped of the usual teasing lilt. There's still self-satisfaction tucked into the edges — but underneath it, something else coils. Tighter. Waiting.

You scoff, reaching for something to ground yourself. Anything.

“Oh, please, I…”

The words stumble, falter, because he steps closer — and the warmth of his skin hits you before he even touches you.

JJ tilts his head, smirk deepening. “Yeah?” His voice dips, thick with amusement. “Did you say something?”

You exhale sharply, forcing your gaze away from his chest. But it’s no use. Frustration sparks, flaring hot in your gut, tangled with something you don’t have the guts to name. You meet his eyes with a scowl, jaw clenched, lips tight in irritation.

He sees it.

And he relishes it.

His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, fighting a grin. His eyes flick to your mouth — slow, deliberate — then back to yours, darker now.

“Oh, you’re annoying me.”

JJ laughs, low and rough, raking a hand through his hair as he watches you—really watches you. Not just looking, but studying, like he’s learning every inch of you by heart.

“Liar,” he murmurs.

Something twists low in your stomach.

“Excuse me?”

He leans in — not enough to touch, but enough that your breath shortens, your skin prickling from the heat between you. And then, almost casually, his fingers graze your wrist.

Not accidental.

“You could’ve asked me to wear a shirt weeks ago,” he says, voice velvet-soft, touch featherlight. “But you didn’t.” His fingers skim higher, ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner arm. “You just watched.”

His voice drops again, almost reverent.

“And I was disappointed.”

Your breath catches. A shiver dances down your spine.

He notices — of course he notices.

His smirk shifts, darkens into something heavier. Hungrier.

“Tell me to back off,” he says, quiet now, the tease barely hanging on. Beneath it, something real. Something dangerous. “And I will.”

The silence thickens, clings like humidity before a storm.

“But if you don’t…” His gaze dips to your lips, and your knees damn near buckle. “I think we both know what’s going to happen next.”

You open your mouth — but nothing comes out. Not when he’s this close. Not when his lips hover by your cheek, not when his breath dances across your skin like a promise.

Your body betrays you. Heat blooms low in your belly, every nerve aching, reaching, wanting.

He lingers. Waiting. Testing. Letting you break.

“You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

You should.

You really should.

But your fingers curl into the waistband of his sweatpants, gripping the soft fabric like it’s the only thing tethering you to gravity. His breath catches — barely, but it’s there — and then, without hesitation, you pull him in and crash your mouth to his.

And the world shatters.

It’s not gentle. It’s heat and hunger, teeth and tongue, all the tension you’ve fought against burning through you like wildfire. You gasp against his mouth, and he swallows it whole, pressing you back until the counter bites into your spine — but you don’t care. You just want.

The kiss deepens, greedy and overwhelming, stealing your breath and every last coherent thought with it. For a second — for one sharp, electric second — you forget anything else even exists.

Only this. Only him.

JJ moans into your mouth, low and guttural, as if the sound is torn from somewhere deep inside him. His hands slide around your waist, fingers splayed and gripping like he needs to anchor himself, and then he pins you back against the counter in one fluid motion.

You gasp as he lifts you, your spine arching with the sudden motion. The cold marble kisses your thighs before his hands part them and then his hands pushing the hem of your skirt higher, standing between your legs like he was always meant to be there.

“Jesus,” he breathes against your skin, his lips skimming down your jaw, warm and reverent, like he’s memorizing you. His palms press flat against your hips, grounding you, burning into you. “You should’ve just told me.”

“Tell you what?” you manage, your voice trembling as your fingers thread through his hair. It’s grown out a little — just enough for your hands to sink into — and the softness of it, the familiarity, makes something inside you ache. You’re breathing like you’ve just run a race, chest rising and falling against his with every ragged inhale.

“That you wanted me,” he murmurs. His teeth graze your throat, just barely, and a sigh escapes your lips — soft, helpless, aching. “Would’ve saved us months of pretending.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, but your voice is wrecked — breathless and wanting.

He laughs against your neck, but it’s not cocky anymore. It’s shaky. A little desperate. Like he’s unraveling in real time. And then you kiss him again — harder, deeper — and that’s when the teasing ends.

The tension snaps, turning molten in an instant.

JJ growls low in his throat, hands tightening on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His body pushes into yours, chest to chest, hips to hips, until you feel every sharp angle of him. His hands slip beneath your shirt, callused fingertips skating down your sides, and the heat of him makes your knees tremble.

You moan into his mouth, and he answers with a sound that makes your whole body shudder — part hunger, part prayer.

You don’t even register the moment one of his hands slides down, bunching the fabric of your skirt in his fist, the other curling beneath your thigh. He draws you closer, dragging you toward the edge of the counter with a strength that makes your breath catch. You tilt your hips instinctively, and the pressure between your legs spikes like lightning in your veins. You lift your hips for him, heart pounding like a drum in your ears, and the fabric pools around your ankles.

And his hands–

God, his hands are everywhere.

Skimming over bare skin. Tracing lines down your thighs. Gripping, squeezing, worshiping.

You’re dizzy with it.

Every ounce of restraint you’ve fought to keep? Gone. Obliterated the second his lips crash back into yours.

JJ moans into the kiss like he’s starving for it, pulling you closer, tighter, until there’s no space left between you. You can feel the heat of him, the weight of him, the tension humming through every inch of his body as he grinds forward — slow, just enough to tease.

Your fingers slide over his chest, skimming sweat-slick skin, and he twitches beneath your touch, breath hitching when your nails graze down his abdomen.

His grip on you tightens in response, enough to bruise, enough to make your head spin.

“You’re driving me insane, you know that?” he whispers, voice rough, wrecked, as he mouths at your jaw, your throat. He stops just beneath your ear, breath hot as he bites — soft, sinful — and then soothes the sting with his tongue.

You inhale sharply, tipping your head to give him more access. “Am I going crazy?” you rasp. “You’re the one walking around here like some goddamn sinner straight out of an Abercrombie ad.”

JJ lets out a laugh — hoarse, strained. “Could’ve just said something, sweetheart.”

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug, forcing him to look at you.

His pupils are blown, lips kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding it together.

“Do you think I’ll give you pleasure?” you breathe, dragging your nails lightly down his torso again, watching him flinch, jaw clenching.

He exhales harshly — and then his hands slide under your thighs, gripping your ass and lifting you off the counter like it costs him nothing.

You gasp, but he swallows the sound with another kiss — hungrier, rougher — as he carries you across the apartment. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and the friction between your bodies steals the breath from your lungs.

He pins you against the wall outside your bedroom, pressing into you like he’s trying to burn himself into your bones.

There’s no mistaking how much he wants you now.

No more games.

“Still want me to wear a shirt?” he murmurs against your mouth, teasing, breath fanning over your lips.

You don’t hesitate. Not for a second.

“Shut up,” you whisper, tugging at the waistband of his sweats, voice ragged, eyes burning. “And get in my fucking bed.”

JJ grins like the devil himself before throwing open your bedroom door and tossing you onto the mattress.

"You're going to regret saying that, honey," he warns in a low, dangerous voice.

And when he leans over you, eyes darkened with real, bone-deep desire, you realize — he’s absolutely right.

JJ doesn’t waste a second.

The moment your back hits the mattress, he’s on you — all over you. His mouth is hot and demanding, kissing you like he’s been starving for it, like he needs you just to breathe. It makes your stomach flip and your thighs tighten around his.

"You have no idea," he croaks between kisses, his hands sliding under your shirt, "how long I’ve wanted this."

Your breath catches as his fingers trace up your stomach, slowly — deliberately — moving higher.

“Yes?” you tease, trying to keep the upper hand. But your voice betrays you — already breathless, already unraveling for him.

JJ giggles — low, cocky, and utterly rude — but it slips into a sharp gasp when you grind up against him, the friction catching him off guard.

“Hell, yes,” he growls.

His lips find your neck next, kissing wetly, sucking just enough to make you shiver before biting down — leaving a faint mark that makes your pulse race.

“You’re gonna be trouble,” he murmurs, his hands gliding down your sides like he’s memorizing every inch. “I’m already fucking squirming and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

You want to snark back — but then he yanks your shirt off and just stares.

That hungry, greedy, possessive look in his eyes steals the words from your throat.

“Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then his lips are on you again — hot and open-mouthed — trailing fire down your collarbone, over the curve of your breast, until his tongue flicks over your nipple.

You arch beneath him with a moan. “Damn, JJ…”

Your fingers thread into his hair, tugging hard.

He groans, rolling his hips against you — and God, you can feel how hard he is.

“Can you feel that, honey?” he pants, voice wrecked and teasing all at once. “That’s what you do to me. Walking around, acting like you don’t want to–”

He bites again, sharp enough to make you gasp.

“Like you don’t want me to ruin you.”

Your nails drag down his back, digging in until he hisses.

“Then do it,” you whisper — your voice cracking, already undone.

JJ freezes.

Just for a second.

He stares down at you with wild eyes, dark and blown wide, like he’s about to lose control completely.

Then–

His hands are on your thighs, yanking off your skirt and underwear in one swift, fluid motion.

Before you can even catch your breath, his mouth is on you.

Your head falls back against the mattress. “Fuck, JJ–”

He moans at the sight of you, sprawled out beneath him, your legs parted, your body offered up like some fevered prayer.

“This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmurs against you, voice muffled, drunk on you. His tongue teases, circles, slides — then sucks you in deep, pulling a desperate cry from your lips.

You clutch at him — his shoulders, the sheets, the headboard — anything.

But he just laughs, sinful and smug, squeezing your hips tighter to hold you exactly where he wants you.

“Take it, baby,” he rasps, pushing two fingers inside you, curling them just right. “Be a good girl. Let me have you.”

And you do. God, you do.

He fucks you with his mouth like it’s a goddamn art, like it’s the only thing he was born to do. His tongue works you relentlessly while his fingers curl and thrust, and soon, you’re a mess — whimpering, clawing, begging.

“JJ, I… fuck, I can’t–”

“Yes, you can,” he growls. One of his hands reaches up, finding yours, intertwining your fingers.

You squeeze his hand like a lifeline.

Your back arches, a strangled sob caught in your throat, moans pouring from your lips like prayers.

“Come on, baby,” he groans, mouth hot against you. “Let me feel it. Give it to me.”

When he sucks at just the right spot, your vision goes white at the edges.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave — violent, shaking, devastating.

JJ moans as you fall apart against his mouth, as your body trembles under him. He doesn’t stop — licks you through it, drinks in every sound, every shudder, until you’re spent and wrecked and still gasping his name.

You're breathing hard, blinking up at the ceiling, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened, when JJ wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smirks down at you.

“Yes,” he murmurs, crawling back up your body, voice thick with arrogance. “That’s what I thought, baby.”

You don’t even get the chance to fire back with something smart, because his mouth is already on yours — and fuck, you can taste yourself on his tongue.

You moan into the kiss, needy and undone, and your fingers tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, desperate for more.

JJ chuckles against your mouth. “Patience, honey.”

“To hell with patience.” Your palm slides over the front of his pants, and he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder, body taut with restraint.

For a second, it seems like he’s going to tease you again — draw it out, make you beg.

But then he pulls back, sits up, and yanks off his sweatpants in one quick, determined move — like he needs to be inside you, like he’s got something to prove.

And… yeah.

You stare.

Because holy. Shit.

Of course, you’ve heard the rumors. Everyone’s heard the whispers on campus about JJ and his — well. Let’s just say his confidence isn't unfounded.

But seeing him like this? Big, thick, hard — real? That’s something else entirely.

JJ smirks like he knows exactly what you're thinking. His hand wraps around himself, slow and deliberate as he strokes, watching your face with a look that’s all heat and hunger.

“You’re looking at me like you wanna eat me alive,” he rasps, voice ragged now.

You lick your lips, pushing up on your elbows, gaze locked on him. One hand reaches out, fingers aching to wrap around him — to feel every vein, every inch.

“Maybe I do.”

JJ groans, grabbing your hips and pulling you flat again.

“No,” he growls, voice dropping dark and deep. He hovers over you, pinning your wrists to the mattress, eyes blazing. “Your turn comes later.”

Then he shifts between your thighs, spreading them wide, and you feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance.

“Right now,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

You shudder beneath him, breath catching. “Bold of you to assume I remember it now.”

JJ laughs — really laughs — and your heart stutters.

And then his grin fades, eyes darkening again, and he pushes in.

Deep.

Slow.

Devastating.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your fingers flexing in his grip as he fills you inch by inch.

JJ curses under his breath, pressing his forehead to yours, shaking.

“Jesus fuck,” he groans. “You’re so tight. So warm. Fucking perfect.”

He pulls out just a little, then pushes back in — deeper, harder. You moan, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

And then he does it again.

And again.

And again.

Each thrust hits deeper, harder, rougher — his grip on your wrists tightening as your body arches up to meet him.

The world narrows to this — his breath scorching against your ear, the way his hips snap into you, merciless and unrelenting. The mattress creaks beneath you, the headboard knocks rhythmically against the wall, but it all fades into nothing compared to the sound of JJ breathing your name like a curse, like a promise he knows he’ll break the second you ask him to.

Your back arches when he angles just right, dragging a broken moan from your lips. He grins, teeth grazing your jaw.

“There she is,” he pants, dragging his hand up your side, fingers splayed wide like he’s memorizing the feel of your skin. “Knew you had it in you.”

He palms your breast roughly, thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaks beneath his touch, and when you whimper, he pinches — sharp, sudden, delicious.

You cry out, clenching around him, and he groans like it physically hurts to hold back. “Fuck, you like that, huh?”

“JJ–” you gasp, nails raking down his back, leaving angry red lines in your wake. He hisses, slamming into you harder, the sound of your bodies echoing in the humid, sex-thick air.

“Yeah?” he growls, mouth finding the sensitive spot just below your ear, sucking until your hips jerk. “That what you needed, baby? Me–… ugh…  inside you, owning you?”

“Yes–… God, yes–”

His hand moves to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, firm enough to make your breath catch, intimate enough to make your head spin. His other hand tugs your leg higher around his hip, and he thrusts deeper, grunting low in his chest.

JJ grabs your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes lock.

“Then look at me when you come,” he says, voice thick and rough. “Take it like you fucking mean it.”

And you do.

Your body bows beneath him, pleasure snapping through you like lightning, your vision going white as you clench around him, shaking. He holds you through it, murmuring your name over and over, like it’s grounding him, like it’s the only word that still makes sense.

You barely register his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering — until he lets out a broken groan and spills into you with a shudder so full-body it pulls a whimper from his throat. He stays there, buried deep, panting against your neck as his weight settles over you, heavy and warm and exactly where you want him.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. His hand traces lazy patterns along your ribs, then drifts lower, slipping between your legs just to watch you squirm again, already too sensitive.

"Fuckin’ insatiable,” he mutters, kissing your breast, dragging his tongue over your nipple before giving it a soft bite. You twitch, gasping, and he grins like a man who knows he’s wrecked you.

Eventually, he shifts, pulling out with a wet, obscene sound that makes you both hiss. You can feel him dripping out of you, thick between your thighs, sticking to your skin.

You should care. You don’t.

You’re still catching your breath when he breaks the silence.

“So…” JJ says, grinning crookedly, his voice still hoarse. “You still want me to start wearing shirts?”

You smack his chest weakly. “You’re such an asshole.”

But you kiss him anyway — deep, slow, and toe-curling. He tastes like sweat, like salt, like the stupid grin he’s still wearing when you pull back.

To hell with the shirts.

To hell with the rules.

Roommates with a problem? Yeah. The problem is, you’ll never get enough of him. And the real problem? He feels exactly the same.

thankx for reading <3

gosh, writing smut is so hard for me. every time I do, I feel like it’s awkward or badly written and I get so embarrassed lol. so if you’ve got any thoughts, I’d really appreciate any feedback—whether in the comments or my inbox! :3

                                    – your santi 🪐

masterlist

[liiixsturniolos]

𝒮𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒹𝒶𝓎

chris sturniolo x reader!

(just fluff, use of 'baby', 'y/n')

♡ You are adamant about going to work, although you're in horrific crippling pain from cramps and back ache on your period. The triplets are NOT letting you leave. You're in for a cozy day inside instead.

Your eyes flutter open uncomfortably, you blink away your sleep, and try to sit up. Turning to your bedside, you pick up your phone wearily, missing it with your shaky hand the first time, and turn it on. The screen blinks "4AM." A rippling, aching pain is shooting through your lower stomach.

You sigh to yourself, "Fuck." as you lift yourself up from your cozy, warm bed and into the freezing bathroom to shower.

"Baby?" Chris knocks on the door worriedly, "Are you okay?" You shout a shaky reply from the shower, barely able to speak or stand up and wash yourself. The pain from your stomach was crippling.

Bursts and shoots of pain would linger for minutes on your lower abdomen, making you curl over in pain. You're yelping like an injured dog, Chris then bursts in to check on you. You stand there, curved over in the marble shower, groaning in agony as you attempt to stand straight and wash yourself.

"Let me help you, okay?" Chris asks, lifting up an eyebrow and beginning to remove his clothes. He slips into the shower and up next to you. You look up at him with sad, wide eyes. "Awh, I'm sorry baby." He tells you, as he cleans your back gently with some soap.

You breathe in vanilla scent of your shampoo, and for a second forget how bad the cramps are, focusing just on Chris' hands massaging through your hair. But of course the pain comes crashing back again eventually.

Chris jumps out of the shower first, bravely making himself freeze so he can lift a warm towel off of the rack for you.

He waits for you to step out of the shower and then wraps you up in it. You shiver and shuffle back to your shared bedroom. He gets himself changed, into a plain black t-shirt and his underwear. Then crawls immediately back to your bed next to you, to rub your shoulders with his hands and try to warm you up.

"Want me to get you some pyjamas out?" He asks softly.

"No, I'll need my work clothes." You respond. Putting on your bra.

"What?" He snaps back confused.

"I can't miss work." You tell him. Slinging the rest of your clothes.

"Of course you can, you can barely walk." He insists.

You slowly scrape yourself up from the bed. "I can walk." You mumble, limping over to the wardrobe.

"You're kidding me." He chuckles.

"Y/n, you are not going to work, you're in pain." He demands.

"I'll take some medicine, I'll feel better once I just get moving." You lie through your teeth. Exiting the room you some how climb your way upstairs and into the living room where Matt and Nick are. Flopping yourself down onto the couch.

"You don't look good y/n." Matt retorts.

"Yeah, I'm well aware." You say grumpily, with a pout on your face and a groan out in pain as your lower back starts to ache.

"Someone tell her she is not going to work today, the woman can barely walk from her cramps." Chris rolls his eyes.

"I'm going." You sigh.

"You definitely aren't y/n." Nick laughs.

"You guys don't make my decisions for me! I'm grown. I can go to work if I want to! Stay out of it!" You lash out, jumping up from the couch and attempting to storm away.

Until you realise this is stupid, you love your job but not this much. Standing up so fast made you realise how much pain you actually were in and how right the triplets were. You flunk back onto the couch, cramps practically stabbing your stomach. "Shit- nevermind." You cry, tears running down your face faster then you could try to stop them.

"C'mere baby, awh." Chris kisses your forehead, pulling you on top of his body, your head resting on his chest.

Matt gives you a gentle stroke on the arm, and Nick mutters an "I told you so." then fetches you your hot water bottle.

"Your gonna be jus' fine baby, its okay." Chris whispers, pushing stray hairs behind your ear and stroking your face with his thumb.

"Let's watch a movie, kay baby?"

"Mhm." You crack a small smile. He'll always make you feel better. You cuddle up closer to him, pulling the blanket over you both and breathing in the freshly washed smell of his wet hair, and his clean, soft shirt. You feel his heavy, slightly muscly arm wrap around you.

This one was dedicated to the bitches on their periods 🥲

I haven't written fluff in a while, so I thought it was due! :) I hope you liked this! <𝟑

taglist hoes: @matthewsroses @chrislilcumslvt @pvssychicken @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @sturniolo-fann @matts-myloverboy @emely9274 @sophand4n4 @uncannyguava @chrisfavoritewhore @certifiedstarrr

[hearts4hughes]

a/n: i saw this tiktok and KNEW i had to write something about it. this entire trend is turning my writing wheels😭😭

this was it. the very moment you’d been waiting for. the moment when you could finally prove to rafe that you weren’t just sarah’s best friend. that you could be hot and sexy like the girls he flirted with. hell, this was your chance to erase every embarrassing exchange between you and him beforehand and replace it with something different.

when sarah told you about a cameron family beach day and invited you, you immediately accepted. it wasn’t long before you were at her door clad in your cutest bikini and beach bag in hand. she gushed in excitement, rambling off about all the fun things you could do together. yet, your focus was on rafe as you stared at him out of sarah’s bedroom window.

his muscles flexed as he carried bags into the car. his sad excuse of a shirt exposed the sides of his rock-hard stomach and impeccable arms. your mouth watered as your mind went straight to the gutter.

you quickly snapped yourself out of it when sarah playfully smacked your arm, muttering something about how you were zoning out again. “come on, let’s go before rafe leaves without us.” she teased, grabbing your hand and dragging you downstairs.

the car ride to the beach was nothing short of torture. sarah kept talking a mile a minute, oblivious to the way your eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror to catch glimpses of rafe. he was sitting up front, one hand lazily gripping the steering wheel, the other tapping against his thigh in time with the music blasting through the car. you were convinced he caught you staring a few times, but if he did, he didn’t say anything.

you couldn’t shake the nerves bubbling in your stomach as you stepped out of the car, the warm sand crunching beneath your feet. sarah was already running ahead, dragging her towel and cooler behind her, but you hung back, adjusting the straps of your bikini nervously.

“need help carrying that?” rafe’s voice startled you. you turned to find him standing closer than expected, his signature smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

���n-no, i’m good.” you stammered, clutching your bag tighter. smooth, you thought. real smooth.

he raised an eyebrow. “suit yourself.” he said, effortlessly slinging a surfboard over his shoulder before heading down to the water. you watched him go, trying not to let your jaw hit the sand.

a few hours later, after you’d settled in and soaked up the sun, sarah was dragging you into the waves. “you have to at least try surfing,” she insisted, shoving a board into your hands. “rafe’s great at it. he can teach you.”

that was how you ended up waist-deep in the ocean, trying not to panic as rafe waded toward you. he was grinning, the sun highlighting the sharp angles of his face. “alright, you ready to learn, or are you just gonna stand there staring at me?”

you felt your cheeks heat up instantly. “i—I’m ready.” you said, trying to sound confident.

his hands were on your waist, steadying you as you struggled to balance on the board. his voice was low, teasing but encouraging, as he guided you through each step. and when you finally managed to stand up and ride a wave, the feeling was nothing short of euphoric.

you threw your hands in the air, laughing and cheering as the wave carried you to the shore. it wasn’t until you turned back to look at rafe that you noticed his expression had changed. he looked… stunned.

and then it hit you.

the cold breeze against your chest. the way the straps of your bikini top floated beside you in the water.

your bikini top was gone.

your blood ran cold as the realization sank in. you froze, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest, but it was too late. rafe was already swimming toward you, water glistening on his toned chest, his smirk so wide it almost hurt to look at.

“well, that’s one way to celebrate,” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “didn’t know surfing was that freeing.”

“oh my god,” you whispered, face burning hotter than the sun as you tried to back away toward the shore, but rafe cut you off, stepping closer.

“relax,” he said, his tone playful as his eyes flicked down for just a second too long. “it’s not like i’m complaining or anything.”

“rafe!” you hissed, glaring at him as you crossed your arms tighter over your chest. “this is not funny.”

“you’re right. it’s not funny.” he paused, letting his eyes meet yours. “it’s hilarious.”

you let out a frustrated groan and tried to make a run for it, but rafe caught your arm, pulling you to a stop. “hey, hey. i’m kidding,” he said, though the grin on his face didn’t falter. he reached for the shirt draped over his shoulder—a rarity for him to even have one—and handed it to you. “here, cover up. unless you’d rather me keep enjoying the view?”

“you’re the worst,” you muttered, snatching the shirt from his hand and pulling it over your head as quickly as possible. the muscle shirt didn’t cover much than before, but it’d have to work.

“yeah, but you love it,” he shot back, his teasing grin only widening when you glared at him. “besides, you looked great out there— on the board, i mean. though, uh, this new look isn’t bad either.”

you rolled your eyes. “just help me find my top,” you mumbled, desperate to change the subject.

“anything for you,” he said, winking as he turned toward the water. “but if we don’t find it, i’m sure i can think of a few other excuses to keep you in my shirt.”

you blushed, shaking your head as he chuckled. “just get to searching, surfer boy.”

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. Smut, slight fingering, dry humping, male!receiving, kissing, flashing, nudity

A/N: Is this 10 pages of tension and smut? Pretty much! Also this is barely proofread tbh...

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P20: Dreamy Reality

His hands are warm—and a bit pruney. The lake is barely glowing, the remaining sunlight above the horizon having an orange glow that cascades on the ripples of water beautifully. 

“Fuck.” I curse. 

Of course it happened. 

This dumb top had slipped undone the second I let my hands loose, forgetting to hold it manually up. My toes are barely brushing against the bottom. I struggle to keep my forearm sprawled over my chest in an attempt to keep some sort of decency. 

“Here, lemme help,” Chris laughs, coming behind me and brushing my hair to the side. 

The air seems to wither to a soft gust of wind, the only sound being a couple ruffeling branches and wandering leaves. Grey clouds swarm above us. I feel his hand delicately knot the bikini top around my neck, his fingers drifting down onto my upper arms as he leans down, his lips brushing against my ear from behind me.

I don’t get it. 

One second, we’re messing around, playing mermaids, acting like kids. The next minute, it’s this—the sort of tension that’s unbearably dreamy. 

My pulse hammers against my chest. The sliver of sunlight droops below the horizon, the heavy clouds above us starting to shift the density of the air as light pebbles of rain drop on the surface of the lake. 

“We should, um…” Chris mumbles, lightly massaging over my arms, “-we should…should go back before our towels are drenched.”

I nod my head, turning around in his hold as he stares through me. 

My mouth runs dry, my lips parting as I let my eyes wander down to his lips. The memory of how good it feels sucks me into a portal of thoughts, my mind lingering towards every echoing sensation I can remember from the last time we kissed.

It always made me burn with an electrifying, yet comforting warmth. 

The only time I could recall feeling any sort of similarity was going home after being in the snow and bitter cold all day. Wrapping up in a blanket, turning on the fireplace, and drinking hot chocolate. 

It’s overbearingly warm, but it feels good. 

A heavy drop of rain falling on my nose makes us both freeze before laughing. Chris grabs my hand floating on the surface of the water, pulling me towards the dock before climbing up the ladder, offering me a hand as we both stand on the wooden platform.

“Geez,” he huffs, unfolding a towel before wrapping it around my shoulders as we watch the wooden planks splotch with rain, every inch getting more drenched by the second. 

Greedily, I hold the towel around me tighter, slipping on my flip flops as I watch him get the other towel. Chris slings it over himself, holding the cloth together with one hand before reaching his free hand downward, intertwining his fingers in my own. 

A puddle of warmth in the bottom of my stomach erupts, traveling up to my chest as he gives me a gentle smile. 

“Ready?” he asks. 

Nodding, I start to take steps alongside his own. 

___

I don’t know what we’re doing. 

The shower water is pelting softly on my skin, the pressure flicking against my nipples as I feel him stand behind me. 

“Is this…is this okay?” he asks, gently massaging more soap on the underside of my breast. 

Humming in response, I let myself lean further against him. His fingers drift over the sensitive bud, his breath heavy against my neck as he moves his hand with care. 

There’s two showers, there was absolutely no reason for this to be happening. Especially not when we both need to get warm and Chris refuses to let me stand out of the hot water for even a second. 

But he doesn’t feel cold. He feels like a searing warmth of comfort, a tingling heat that leaves my skin aching for more of his touch. 

My lips gape open as he lightly pinches the nub, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. I feel him everywhere—his breath, his lips, his hands, his chest…

And I feel it—him. Hard and throbbing behind me. 

“God, so pretty…” he whispers, the words so quiet that I can’t tell if he’s telling me or talking to himself. Either way, it makes my stomach drop. 

A depleted sigh escapes my mouth as his hands maneuver to my waist. I miss his hands on my chest. There’s something about the sultry act that’s so intimate yet pure. 

We’re moving dangerously slow physically, but it’s so intense that it’s hard to endure every subtle touch. 

My breath hitches as his fingers curve over my hip. The pulse in my ears seems to echo other places, my legs feeling weaker as my inner thighs start to burn with desire. 

“Chris.” I gasp, his hand dancing hesitantly into the crease of my upper thigh and pubic bone. 

“Can I…I won’t do too much, I just…fuck,” he rasps, his free hand resting over my stomach with a flat palm, keeping me planted directly against him. “-just wanna touch you.” 

“M–mhm,” I hum, giving him approval. 

One of my hands clutches up into his hair as his chin rests in the crook of my neck, the other clutching onto his wrist over my stomach as I feel his fingers prod lower. 

God. 

I feel dizzy. 

Chris huffs with a small laugh, pulling his free hand over my stomach a little tighter as he clutches me closer. “You good?” he asks. 

My eyes roll as I feel him stop directly above the heat radiating from my core. I hum again, but Chris retracks his hand slightly, a whine pushing through my lips as my inner thighs tense. 

“I wanna hear it—want you to tell me this is okay,” he says. 

There’s something about his voice. It’s deeper, more apparent with genuine intention. I let myself inhale shakily, mindlessly clutching onto his wrist tighter as I nod. 

“Please, Chris. I—I want you to touch me.” I remark, my tone barely above a whisper. 

A sharp moan erupts through my lips. His fingers gently glide through my wet folds, accompanied by the running water that seems to pelt directly against my throbbing clit. 

“You know,” he kisses along my neck, his fingers exploring through my heat, circling around the puffy bud, “-I promised I’d try to keep my hands to myself, but fuck…you make it impossible, you know that?” he purrs, sucking on the spot directly beneath my ear.

It’s all so overwhelming. The subtle touches were already overbearing. Hell, even the way he looked at me felt like too much sometimes. 

This is a new kind of high. My mind is astray, the only thoughts all tracing back to him and this moment. I feel dizzy, my knees buckling as I let myself relax further against him, letting his arm support the majority of my weight. 

“Ch—Chris,” I whine.

I feel him smirk against my neck. He kisses over my pulse, the slight movement of his fingers between my legs becoming utter torture. 

“-’m sorry, sorry,” he coos, slowly moving his fingers back up, petting over the lower part of my stomach, “-don’t wanna move too fast, but—god, you make it so….” I feel his length pressed against my backside, my imagination running rampant as he slightly grinds himself onto my damp skin. “-so hard.” he says.

The double meaning of his words is evidently apparent. My eyes roll to the back of my head, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. 

“We should get out,” he mentions. 

I hum thoughtlessly, my brain occupied by dirty thoughts of how good it will feel when he stretches me with his—

“C’mon,” he tuts, pulling me out of my own head with a subtle squeeze on my hip. “-let’s dry off and get warm before we end up falling or—or….moving too fast.” 

___

The storm is only growing worse. Rain turned into slight hail, the pebbles knocking relentlessly on the windows of the house as we lay on the couch in front of the burning fireplace. 

“Yeah, I think it might be best to stay the night,” Chris points, his hands rubbing over my bare legs that are sprawled across his lap. 

Mia didn’t pack pajamas for me. Afterall, this wasn’t a part of Chris’ plan, the storm wasn’t even accounted for in the weather this morning either. 

Now I’m sitting next to him on the couch, in front of the fireplace with his hands thoroughly massaging my legs while I’m dressed in his T-shirt. 

Chris has grey sweats hanging low on his waist, the hem of his briefs sticking out from the waistband just slightly. 

Focus. 

I keep repeating the statement to myself, swallowing thick amounts of saliva, hoping to not accidentally drool. He looks hot. His hair is still slightly damp, his hands more certain as they grip along my thighs and calves.

“I swear I didn’t mean to keep you trapped or anything. There’s multiple beds, I can—” 

I lean forward, pressing a swift kiss on his lips to silence his worried rambling. My eyes look into his, the slight gleam of blue vibrance making my heart feel softer in my chest. 

“Chris,” I start, petting over his cheek as I cup his jaw, “-it’s okay. I know you didn’t plan this and…it’s not like we don’t have sleepovers anyhow.” I puff, laughing dryly. 

It’s not like I can sleep without him either. Even when I did somehow manage to drift off, I never woke up refreshed. Without him, I felt like I got hit by a bus in the mornings. 

“I know, but…I don’t want you to think I wanted to take you here for…ugh, I just—I really am trying. I…I want you to see that.” he states. 

“Chris.” My head swivels from side to side, a gasp of disbelief falling from my lips. “How could I think otherwise? This—this is the most special I’ve felt in a while. I mean—you woke me up at 5 in the morning, with bacon, driving us here.” I breathe. 

He licks over his lips. I readjust myself, laughing slightly as his face falls from my legs being pulled from his grip. 

As I stand in front of him, he stares wide-eyed as I sit down, straddling his lap. I smile at his shocked expression. My hands comb through his hair, my chest fluttering as I feel his hand gently rest on the tops of my thighs. 

Taking a deep puff of air, I resume the explanation, “-you made sure Mia packed me a bag, you got us good fucking food, and you even gave me a stuffed animal after taking me to be with all those animals.”

I shift in his lap, scooting impossibly closer as he wraps both his arms around me. “Chris. This is all perfect.” I pronounce, dipping my head down to brush the tips of our noses together playfully. 

“You’re perfect.” he remarks, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth. 

Chris pulls back, but he doesn’t move far. I still feel the tickle of his breath against my mouth, the gulp he swallows echoing and filling me with a bit of pride. 

The look in his eyes is hypnotizing. My body seems to gravitate more towards him, his tongue gliding and licking over his lips swiftly as he lets out a shaky breath of anticipation. 

I lean forward, capturing his lips on my own. Chris moans into my mouth, swallowing a groan as he holds me a bit tighter, his lips slotting between mine as I feel a warmth of knots tangle in the pit of my gut. 

“Perfect, so perfect,” he coos, barely pulling away for a breath before reattaching himself to me. 

Hungrily, I kiss him back. I feel dizzy in his arms, leaning more onto him, melting in his hold as he hugs me even closer. 

A chorus of errotic moans echoe through the room. 

When Chris instinctively pulled me tighter against him, he pushed me directly on top of the hard bulge in his sweats. 

Our eyes meet. His lips are parted, his cheeks are flushed. I feel my hands clasp onto his shoulders for balance, hesitantly rolling my hips with purpose. 

“God, fuck,” he rasps, his eyes squinted shut as his teeth bit into his lower lip. 

Repeating the motion, I’m caught off guard as he desperately attaches his mouth back onto mine, his tongue greedily wandering my mouth as hums and moans vibrate between our lips. 

Fuck.

I break the seal between our lips. My chest rises and falls rapidly, gasping for breaths as his lips trail down the side of my neck sloppily. 

“Chris,” I moan, my brows knitting together as he controls my hips with his hands, grinding me onto the thick bulge that glides perfectly through my panties. 

His forehead rests against my collarbone. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling as he hits directly against my sensitive bud that seems to be pulsing with need. 

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, gripping me tighter, dragging me down with more force as I feel his tip poke against my entrance through his sweats and my underwear. 

So close, yet so far.

His hands stop momentarily. But between the throbbing heat between my legs and the sounds spilling from his mouth, all my body can do is chase the pleasure. 

“Don’t—don’t wanna…go too fast-” 

I cut him off, yanking on his hair even more. The motion pulls a deep groan from his lips. Vibrations from the noise against my collarbone seem to multiply across my body, piling in the bottom of my stomach as I roll my hips sloppily. 

“Let’s just…just do this—please, I,” a helpless whine falls from my lips, my thighs burning with a relentless pressure as I lose the rhythm of my movements. “-so close, please, I—”

“Yeah?” Chris husks, leaning up, pushing back some of the hair sticking to my sweaty forehead. My mouth drops into a perfect circle. One of his hands cups behind my head, pulling me into the crook of his neck, the other hand halted on my hips, grinding me hard against him. 

My legs quiver with every upwards motion of his hips lifting from the couch. I let my hands tangle in his hair, shrieks and gasps falling from my lips as I feel myself edge closer and closer to the unwavering euphoric bliss. 

“I—Chri—my god,” I pant, crying as he ruts himself perfectly against me. 

He cradles my head in the crook of his neck firmly. “There you go,” he coos, keeping his actions the same as I let out a cry followed by a deep moan, “-that’s it, c’mon—fuckkkk,” he purrs, riding me through the high as I shake and tremble on his lap. 

It takes me a minute to catch my breath, but when I do, realize how pained he looks. 

He didn’t finish. 

My panties are soaked. I look down between our bodies, an evident wet spot making my already warm cheeks flourish with even more vibrance. 

“Fuck, that’s hot…” Chris whispers, mostly talking to himself. 

I shriek as his fingers touch me through my underwear, jolting from the overstimulation. 

“Sorry, I—sorry,” he swallows, unable to stop himself from pushing his bulge down, almost as if he’s trying to relive some of the ache. 

The familiar thought of his dick in my mouth makes my heart jumble in my chest. 

Chris helps me as I try to stand up with shaky legs, his hands firm on my hips. I let my knees sink onto the floor, my hands resting over his thighs as I stare up towards him. “Can I?” I ask, sliding my fingers up further. 

The look on his face almost makes me laugh. He’s shocked, his eyes wide as his lips open and shut repeatedly. 

“I–uh, you don’t—we—I,”

A giggle erupts from my throat at his chaotic rambling. “I want to.” I mention, hesitantly sliding my palm against the fabric of his sweats until I feel his dick beneath the clothes. 

Chris freezes at the touch. I smile with lustful eyes as he blinks down at me with uncertainty. “Are you…are you sure? We don’t need to rush anything—”

“I want it so bad, Chris.” 

The words rolling off my tongue seem to make his eyes roll before my hand gently strokes him through his sweats. He nods quickly, his lips parted with helpless puffs of air as his hands start to push my hair behind my shoulders. 

“Fuck, okay, just—shit, baby,” he hisses, tangling his hands in my hair as I quickly pull his length out of his pants. 

God. He’s big. 

Each vein running along his length makes my mouth water uncontrollably, the thought of feeling each detail inside of me making the yearning to taste him even stronger. 

I lean forward, holding him by the base as I gently press a wet kiss onto his sticky tip. Peering up, Chris is now staring directly at me, his stomach tensing and relaxing repetitively as he bites down hard on his lip. 

“So big, Chris,” I coo, gasping as he tugs my hair harder. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he rushes, petting over the sore spot on my scalp before making the same make-shift ponytail. 

Gathering a wad of spit in my mouth, I stick my tongue out, gliding the muscle against his length slowly. His hips slightly lift off the couch, his tip sliding across my cheek before he mumbles another apology. 

“You’re…driving me crazy.” he mumbles. 

A grin sprawls across my face as I look up at him. I roll my tongue around his tip, pride gathering in my chest as he lets out a pitiful noise. 

“Good.” I reply, sucking gently around the top of his length, humming as I taste the salty and clean essence of his pre-cum. 

Chris is gone. His hands are tighter in my hair, pulling too hard before dropping as I let out a whine. I watch as his fists gather the couch cover in a white-knuckled grip, my mouth watering even more as he lets out a moan of my name. 

The pulsing in my stomach is accompanied by determination. I swallow more of him. My eyes watering as I feel his length driving into the back of my throat while I bob my head up and down. 

“God—fuck, b–baby,” he struggles, his cock twitching in my mouth as I jerk off the bottom portion of what I can’t accommodate any further down my throat. 

It’s everything. The way he tastes, the way he sounds, and fuck—the way he looks is breathtaking. Head thrown back, his stomach clenching, his hands helplessly drifting for some sort of grounding, and jaw slack with a bit of drool catching in the corner of his mouth. 

I force myself to take more of him, pride consuming me as I hear him let out a string of curses. 

“Gonna—’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum. Don’t—don’t have to—holy shit,” he groans, stilling as his hips drive further into my mouth as I try to take him all. 

I gag, unable to taste anything as a warm sensation erupts down my throat. 

Chris pets over my hair, slowly retracting himself before staring at me with hooded eyes and flushed cheeks.

“You’re insane,” he points, pulling his sweats and briefs back up. 

Shrugging, I wipe my lips, standing before planting myself back in his lap. 

Chris clutches me closely, tipping us over until I’m laying on my back. I laugh at his hands pushing upwards at his shirt that I’m wearing. The feeling of his face nuzzling onto my stomach makes me feel warm, the drowsiness of the events finally catching up to me with the physical exertion. 

“Comfy there?” I joke. 

He snuggles in further, nodding gently as his hand pets over my waist. The gentle press of his lips next to my belly button makes me melt into the couch, the new addition of physical intimacy not seeming awkward or daunting at all.

It feels safe. 

He’s still the same person, cuddling into me like it’s the most important thing to do. 

“Even though that was great and all,” he murmurs, his words tickling against the hair on my stomach, “-my favorite part about today is still making you smile.” 

[xichilie]

mydei x reader (x phainon) where they were on a quest and they had to rest and they stayed at a hotel to rest except it was one room available with one bed, or u can make it two beds where mydei and phainon fight for whoever gets to sleep with reader heh (id perfer one bed…..) imagine them all 3 in one bed

i need more mydei x reader fanfics dont leave me hanging…….

The way I giggled and kicked my feet at this, one bed with mydei and Phainon YES, JUST YES😌

(BTW, mydei is wearing a shirt in the bed scene)

Mydei x (fem) reader x Phainon

Only one Bed

The rain had started coming down hard by the time Mydei, Phainon, and Y/N finally reached the small inn nestled between the hills. Their mission had taken longer than expected, and all three of them were exhausted. The golden glow of lanterns inside the building was a welcome sight as they stepped inside, shaking off their damp cloaks.

“I’ll go book us a room,” Phainon announced, stretching his arms. “You two just sit tight.”

Mydei scoffed. “Like I need your permission.”

Phainon shot him a grin before sauntering over to the innkeeper. Meanwhile, Mydei shifted his attention to Y/N, who was absently rubbing her shoulders as if trying to shake off the chill from the rain. Without a word, he reached over and took her bag from her hands, effortlessly slinging it over his own shoulder.

She blinked up at him. “Oh, you didn’t have to—”

“Just take it,” he muttered, looking away. “You always carry too much.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, but she didn’t argue.

Phainon returned a moment later with a slightly sheepish expression. “So… small problem.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “What now?”

Phainon rubbed the back of his head. “They only had one room left.”

Y/N tilted her head. “That’s not so bad.”

Phainon hesitated. “And… only one bed.”

There was a moment of silence as Mydei and Y/N processed that. Then Mydei let out a sharp exhale. “Absolutely not.”

Phainon crossed his arms. “You got a better idea, champ? Sleep outside?”

Y/N, ever the peacemaker, placed a hand on Mydei’s arm before he could actually consider that. “It’s a big bed, isn’t it? We can share.”

Mydei scowled, glancing away. “I’ll take the floor.”

“Fine,” Phainon said immediately, throwing an arm around Y/N’s shoulder. “Then I’ll keep her company in bed.”

Mydei turned back so fast Phainon barely had time to react. “Like hell you will.”

Phainon raised his hands in mock surrender. “Wow, relax! Just pointing out how ridiculous you’re being.”

Y/N sighed. “You two need to stop bickering. We can just share the bed. It’s not like any of us bite.”

“I might,” Phainon muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Mydei.

“Fine,” Mydei finally grumbled. “But you two better not kick in your sleep.”

They made their way upstairs to their room, which, true to Phainon’s word, only had one large bed dominating the center. A warm fireplace crackled in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the wooden walls.

“Well, this’ll be cozy,” Phainon said, already unfastening his cloak. “Who wants the shower first?”

“You go last,” Mydei said immediately. “Or else you’ll use up all the hot water.”

Phainon placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

Y/N chuckled. “I’ll go first, then.”

They both nodded, watching as she disappeared into the washroom with a towel. As soon as the door clicked shut, an awkward silence settled between Mydei and Phainon.

Phainon flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “So. Just us now, huh?”

Mydei shot him a look before leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Don’t talk.”

Phainon smirked. “Aw, come on. You’re not still mad about the bed thing, are you?”

Mydei scowled. “I should throw you out the window.”

Before Phainon could retort, the washroom door opened, and Y/N stepped out, drying her hair with a towel. Her damp locks clung to her shoulders, and the fresh scent of soap filled the room.

Both men froze. Mydei felt his cheeks heat up slightly, but he quickly looked away. Even Phainon, who was normally unbothered, rubbed the back of his neck as he cleared his throat.

Y/N, oblivious to the effect she had, continued towel-drying her hair. Seeing this, Phainon started to reach out. “Here, I’ll help—”

“Go shower,” Mydei cut in abruptly.

Phainon sighed dramatically but relented, gathering his things and heading into the washroom. The moment the door shut, Mydei let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His gaze flickered back to Y/N, who was still focused on drying her hair. Without thinking, he stepped forward and gently took the towel from her hands.

She blinked up at him. “Mydei?”

“Sit,” he muttered. “You’re going to catch a cold if you don’t dry it properly.”

She hesitated for a moment before obeying, sitting at the edge of the bed while he carefully ran the towel through her hair. She hummed softly. “You’re really good at this.”

Mydei scoffed. “You say that like it’s hard.”

She giggled. “Still, it’s nice of you.”

His hands faltered slightly at her words, but he quickly resumed. “Just don’t tell Phainon. He’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Mydei’s usually rough hands surprisingly gentle as he worked through her damp locks. By the time Phainon stepped out of the shower, stretching and sighing in satisfaction, he paused mid-step at the sight of them.

“Well, well,” he said, smirking. “Look at this cozy scene.”

Mydei tossed the towel at his face. “Shut up.”

Phainon laughed. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Y/N smiled. “He’s been very helpful.”

Phainon waggled his eyebrows. “Oh, I bet.”

Mydei glared at him. “Do you want to sleep outside?”

Phainon held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Let’s just get some sleep.”

They all climbed into the large bed, with Y/N in the middle. Mydei made sure to keep a respectful distance, but Phainon, being his usual self, sprawled out comfortably. To Mydei’s dismay, Phainon had no problem cuddling up to Y/N, and she didn’t even seem to mind.

After a few moments of silence, Phainon muttered, “This is kinda nice, huh?”

Y/N hummed in agreement. “Yeah.”

Mydei grumbled. “Go to sleep.”

Phainon chuckled. “Night, lovebirds.”

Neither of them responded, but in the dim light of the room, Mydei’s ears burned slightly.

As the night settled in, the soft crackling of the fireplace was the only sound filling the room. Phainon, being the most relaxed of the three, had no trouble dozing off first. He had sprawled out, his head resting against Y/N’s shoulder as he nestled closer, completely at ease.

Y/N, warm and exhausted from the long day, soon followed. Her breathing evened out, her body shifting in sleep as she unconsciously adjusted. At some point, without realizing it, she turned towards Mydei, pressing against his side, her head lightly resting against his chest.

Mydei, who had been lying stiffly on his back, immediately tensed. His golden eyes flicked downward, catching the sight of her peaceful face just inches from his own. Her warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt, and he could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing against him.

His heartbeat, normally steady and composed, faltered slightly.

For a brief moment, instinct told him to move away—to put some distance between them. But as he shifted slightly, her hand absentmindedly curled into his shirt, like she was seeking comfort even in her sleep.

He swallowed, exhaling quietly.

Phainon had draped an arm lazily over Y/N’s waist, holding onto her like a human pillow, his face buried in her shoulder. The sight irritated Mydei more than it should have. But Y/N’s warmth against him—her quiet presence—was grounding in a way he hadn’t expected.

His muscles, once tense, slowly relaxed.

“…Just this once,” he murmured under his breath, barely above a whisper.

Careful not to wake her, he let himself rest, his gaze lingering on the ceiling. Y/N remained nestled against him, her breathing soft and steady, and despite himself, Mydei stayed still, allowing her to stay close.

Sleep didn’t come as easily for him, but with her warmth beside him, he didn’t mind as much.

The soft golden light of morning streamed through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room. The fireplace had died down to a few embers, leaving only the quiet rise and fall of breathing from the bed.

Phainon was the first to wake, stretching his arms with a lazy yawn. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the light—until his vision settled on the sight before him.

Y/N was nestled comfortably in Mydei’s arms.

Phainon’s eyes widened slightly. At some point during the night, Mydei had taken her from his grasp and pulled her against him. Her head rested against his chest, one hand lightly curled into his shirt, and Mydei's arm was wrapped snugly around her, holding her close.

But the real kicker? Mydei was awake.

And he was smirking.

Triumphantly.

Phainon gawked. “You absolute—” He huffed. “I had her first.”

Mydei raised an eyebrow, his expression smug as he tightened his hold just a little, just enough to make his point. “Looks like she disagrees.”

Phainon groaned dramatically. “That’s not fair. I want cuddles too.”

Without hesitation, Mydei grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at his face.

THWACK.

Phainon let out a muffled yelp as he peeled the pillow away, pouting. “Rude.”

“Too bad,” Mydei said smoothly, settling back into the pillows.

Phainon huffed and crossed his arms. “This is favoritism.”

Mydei simply shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Phainon squinted at him before flopping back onto the bed dramatically. “Fine, but next time, I’m stealing her first.”

Mydei chuckled lowly. “We’ll see about that.”

Y/N, still blissfully unaware, snuggled closer into Mydei’s warmth, sighing softly in her sleep. Mydei shot Phainon one last smirk before resting his chin atop her head.

Phainon groaned into his pillow. “I hate you.”

Mydei closed his eyes, perfectly content. “No, you don’t.”

[kissingchamber]

brace face baby!

𝜗𝜚 synopsis: teenage romance and having braces definitely do not mix...

𝜗𝜚 pairing(s): MCU! Peter Parker x male reader with braces

𝜗𝜚 warning(s): bleeding, reader feels a little guilty for busting Peter's lip

𝜗𝜚 notes: English is not my first language!!! I got my braces off yesterday ^^ based on this post of mine

Having braces sucked. No more chewing gum or toffee for you— or teenage romance, apparently.

You and your boyfriend, Peter, were happily making out until his lip got caught in your braces. Your goddamn braces!

Now you two are sitting on the edge of his bottom bunk, you holding a paper towel to his busted lip with a concerned furrow between your eyebrows.

"'M okay! 'S just a split lip." He says, his reassurances slightly muffled by the paper.

It does help a little but you can't help but feel a little guilty. "I hurt you, though..." You look away, frowning.

Peter's hand grabs your wrist, pulling the paper towel away from his lips. It wasn't bleeding much anyway, you're just being a worrywart. "Dude, I have superpowers, a little blood won't kill me."

"But I hurt you, Pete—" You try but he interrupts you. "Nope! You know there's a strict no self depreciation rule in the Parker residence." You can't help but smile at his silly antics.

He smiles back, slinging his arm over your shoulder and pulling you against him. "There's that smile I love so much." You huff out a laugh, shaking your head.

He grabs your chin, pressing a soft peck to your lips— you don't kiss him back, not yet— and rests your foreheads together. "So, conclusion: not your fault."

You roll your eyes at him. "Alright, alright. It wasn't my fault, it was the stupid braces." Peter nods at that like he's proud or something, it's kind of adorable. "Yeah, those damn braces!" He says enthusiastically and kisses you again. You kiss him back this time.

𝜗𝜚 note: thank u for reading!! reblogs are appreciated :3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Roads Untraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is. 

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away  The blues walked in and met me  Oh, yeah if he stays away  Old rocking chair’s gonna get me  All I do is pray...’ 

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you. 

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones. 

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent. 

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue. 

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight. 

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line. 

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.  

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized. 

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides. 

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive. 

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang. 

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness. 

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here. 

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward. 

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?” 

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again. 

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily. 

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top. 

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America. 

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses. 

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly. 

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm. 

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.” 

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place. 

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right? 

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs. 

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?” 

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.” 

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow. 

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?” 

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.” 

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint. 

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?” 

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek. 

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl. 

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.” 

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?” 

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction. 

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.” 

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him. 

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.” 

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers. 

“Sure, it’s three.” 

“Number?” 

“310.” 

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign. 

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him. 

“It’s unlocked,” you say. 

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table. 

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly. 

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through. 

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” 

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.” 

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you. 

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.  

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath. 

“You okay?” He turns the question on you. 

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile. 

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance. 

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...” 

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.” 

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.” 

“Right,” you work more diligently. 

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?” 

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are. 

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial. 

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?” 

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach. 

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut. 

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.” 

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand. 

“You must be pretty far along,” he says. 

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.” 

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?” 

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.” 

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack. 

“So, you want some?” You ask. 

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.” 

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.” 

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--” 

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say. 

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.” 

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.” 

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...” 

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods. 

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.” 

[diamonddaze01]

thoughts on careers svt would have if they weren't idols

IN ANOTHER LIFE...

a/n: this was supposed to just be a list. and then my brain started working wc: 3k

HEADCANNONS/MINI DRABBLES UNDER THE CUT !

COUPS - SPORTS COACH

The rhythmic sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished gym floor echoes through the vast space. You lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching Seungcheol pace along the sidelines, his voice commanding yet full of encouragement.

“One more round! Push through! Give me everything you got!” His sharp gaze scans his players, sweat clinging to his temples as he assesses their movements.

You smile to yourself. It’s always been like this—watching him in his element, seeing the way his passion translates into motivation for his team. He’s intense, but his heart is in every word he shouts.

Eventually, he blows the whistle. “That’s it for today! Cool down and hydrate!” As his team scatters toward their water bottles, Seungcheol turns toward you. The exhaustion in his features softens as soon as he sees you standing there.

“Did I keep you waiting, babe?” he asks, slinging a towel around his neck as he approaches.

“Not really,” you say, feigning nonchalance. “I just like watching you yell at people.”

He chuckles, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t just yell.”

“Mm-hmm, sure.” You glance at his damp shirt, noting how it clings to his skin. “So intense. So scary.”

He scoffs, looping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in until the scent of sweat and fabric softener fills your senses. “I save my soft voice for you,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

You scrunch your nose. “You need a shower.”

“And you need to stop pretending you don’t love seeing me like this.”

Rolling your eyes, you tug him toward the exit. “Come on, Coach Choi. Let’s get you cleaned up before you start giving motivational speeches at dinner.”

He laughs, squeezing your waist. “No promises.”

JEONGHAN - THERAPIST

The clock ticks softly in the warm, inviting space of Jeonghan’s office. The scent of chamomile and old books lingers in the air, a comforting presence against the weight of heavy thoughts. You sit across from him, your fingers idly tracing the edge of a throw pillow, unsure of how to put your feelings into words.

Jeonghan watches you with patient eyes, his hands loosely clasped together as he leans forward just slightly—an invitation rather than pressure. “You don’t have to rush,” he murmurs, voice as gentle as the autumn light filtering through the blinds. “We can just sit for a while.”

You sigh, hesitating. He doesn’t push. He never does. It’s one of the reasons why being here, with him, feels different from everything else in your life. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s a steady rhythm, like the ocean pulling back before it brings in another wave.

“I just feel… stuck,” you admit finally, voice quieter than you intended. “Like I should be moving, doing something, but I can’t.”

Jeonghan nods, as if he’s already known this, as if he’s simply waiting for you to catch up to your own thoughts. “It’s okay to pause,” he says. “Even rivers rest in quiet pools before they continue forward.”

You let out a soft laugh. “That’s poetic.”

He smirks. “I have my moments.” Then, after a beat, “You’re allowed to take your time, you know. The world will still be there when you’re ready.”

Something in your chest eases, like the first inhale after stepping into fresh air. You glance at him, your eyes meeting his—warm, steady, reassuring.

“Thank you, Jeonghan.”

His smirk softens into something fonder. “Always.”

JOSHUA - GUITAR TEACHER

The soft strumming of a guitar fills the small studio, each note warm and precise under Joshua’s careful touch. You sit across from him, cradling your own guitar in your lap, fingers hesitating over the strings.

Joshua watches you with that ever-patient smile, his own guitar resting against his knee. “You’re overthinking it,” he says gently, tapping his fingers against the wood. “Let your hands move, don’t fight them.”

You huff, rolling your shoulders as you try again. The chord comes out choppy, buzzing where it shouldn’t. You grimace, but Joshua only chuckles, reaching out to still your hands. His fingers are warm against yours as he adjusts your placement, his voice low and encouraging. “Here, relax. See? Just like this.”

Your breath catches slightly—he’s close, the scent of his cologne mixing with the faint woody scent of the guitar. You glance at him, only to find him already watching you, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“You’re not focusing,” he teases, his voice lilting with barely contained laughter.

You scoff, nudging him lightly. “Maybe I’d focus better if my teacher wasn’t so distracting.”

Joshua grins, dimples deepening. “So it’s my fault now?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile. He taps your fingers lightly before pulling back, motioning for you to try again. This time, the chord rings out smoother, clearer. Joshua nods approvingly.

“There you go,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “Told you—you just have to trust yourself.”

And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to trust him too.

JUN - ACTOR

The dressing room is buzzing with quiet energy, the distant murmur of stagehands and the occasional call for places echoing down the halls. Jun stands in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his costume, the golden embroidery catching the soft glow of the vanity lights.

You watch from the doorway, arms crossed, a fond smile playing on your lips. “Nervous?” you tease, leaning against the frame.

Jun meets your gaze in the mirror, his expression flickering between amusement and feigned offense. “Me? Nervous? Please.” He turns to face you fully, hands settling on his hips. “I was born for this.”

You chuckle, stepping closer. “Oh, of course. How could I forget? The great Wen Junhui, master of the stage.”

He grins, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—something only you would notice. You reach for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll do amazing, Jun.”

His shoulders relax, and his fingers tighten around yours for just a moment. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

A knock at the door signals his call to the stage. Jun takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back before flashing you one last smile. “I’ll see you after?”

You nod. “Break a leg.”

As he steps out of the dressing room, you watch him go, knowing that no matter how many roles he plays, he’s always been your favorite leading man.

HOSHI - CHOREOGRAPHER

The studio is dimly lit, save for the neon glow of the LED strips lining the mirrors. Hoshi stands in the center of the room, hands on his hips, watching you with a thoughtful tilt of his head.

“You’re hesitating,” he points out, stepping forward as the music fades. “You know the steps, but you’re thinking too much.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re Hoshi.”

He grins at that, eyes crinkling. “And you’re you. Which means you can do this.” He claps his hands together, his energy infectious. “Again! From the top.”

You sigh but reposition yourself, exhaling as the beat kicks back in. This time, when you move, you focus less on being perfect and more on feeling the music the way Hoshi does—like it’s a second heartbeat. When you finish, breathless but exhilarated, you glance at him for approval.

Hoshi is already grinning, hands on his hips. “See? That’s what I was talking about.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in his gaze makes your heart stutter. “You’re annoyingly good at this.”

He winks. “I know. That’s why I’m your favorite choreographer.”

You scoff, but as he restarts the music, pulling you into another round, you know he’s right.

WONWOO - NOVELIST

Wonwoo’s fingers hover over the keyboard, his gaze fixed on the blank screen. He sighs, sinking back into the chair, and rubs his eyes with his palms. "Writer's block?" you ask, leaning against the doorframe with a coffee mug in hand. He nods slowly, exhaustion etched in his face. "I think I need inspiration." You walk over and sit beside him, your coffee warming your hands as you glance at the screen. "Maybe you should write about a couple where the girlfriend constantly saves the boyfriend from overworking himself," you suggest. He smirks, one eyebrow raised. "Sounds like a self-insert." You laugh softly, taking a sip of your coffee. "You love me enough to make me a main character?" Wonwoo turns his head slightly, his voice low but teasing. "You are the main character." Your heart flutters at his words, but you push the feeling down with a light shrug. "Then I guess you should get to work, huh? You're the one with writer’s block." He chuckles, but it’s the sound of affection in his voice. "I suppose I am. But maybe a little more coffee first."

JIHOON - PRODUCER

Jihoon adjusts his headphones with an intense look on his face, eyes flicking over the screen as he’s lost in the depths of his music. You tap his shoulder gently, and he blinks up at you, momentarily startled as if he forgot you were in the room. "How long have you been working?" you ask, your tone gentle but concerned. He pauses, his fingers still hovering over the controls. "Uh… not long." His voice is almost defensive, but a glance at the clock proves otherwise. "Li—" You don't even finish before he lets out a defeated sigh, knowing you caught him in his lie. "Fine, fine. Maybe a little longer than I should’ve," he admits, looking up at you with a slight pout. "Have you eaten?" Jihoon groans, turning back to his music as though he’s trying to block out your concern. "Music is my food," he deadpans, clearly trying to avoid the subject. You fold your arms across your chest, refusing to let him get away with it. "Eat, or I’ll unplug your speakers," you threaten, a smile tugging at your lips. His eyes widen in exaggerated horror. "You're evil," he mumbles, but you can see the corners of his mouth twitch as you shove a sandwich into his hands. He sighs, taking a bite reluctantly. "I’ll never understand how you get me to listen to you, even when you’re not asking for anything." "You’ll thank me when you’re not starving," you retort with a playful grin. He gives you a half-smile, the bite of the sandwich softening his earlier grumbling. "You know, you're lucky I don't want to argue about food."

MINGHAO - ART CURATOR

Minghao walks you through the gallery, his hand gently brushing the edges of a painting as he speaks softly. "This piece is about longing," he explains, his voice quiet, almost reverent. You tilt your head, studying the painting closely. "How do you know?" He glances at you, his gaze unreadable for a moment, before his lips curve into a small, mysterious smile. "Because I feel the same way when I look at you." Your breath catches, the sudden heat in your cheeks betraying your surprise. Before you can muster a response, Minghao smirks playfully, as if he knows exactly how his words affect you. "What? You wanted something poetic, didn’t you?" You roll your eyes, trying to mask the rush of emotion with a playful nudge to his arm. "You're ridiculous," you mutter, though you can't help the smile tugging at your lips. He shrugs, unfazed. "But you love me for it." You don’t answer immediately, caught in the unexpected warmth of the moment, his words lingering in the air like an unfinished note, but you smile. Yes, you do.

MINGYU - CHEF

Mingyu hums softly as he stirs the simmering soup, the rich aroma filling the kitchen as his sleeves are rolled up and his hair is slightly tousled from the heat of the stove. "Almost done," he calls over his shoulder, not looking up from his task. You sneak up behind him, grabbing a spoon from the counter and dipping it into the pot to steal a taste. The moment your lips touch the spoon, Mingyu’s eyes flicker toward you, and in a second, he’s beside you, blocking your way with a teasing frown. "Hey!" he protests, a slight edge of amusement in his voice. You grin, dodging him easily. "It’s so good," you tease, not even trying to hide your delight. He sighs, exasperated but fond, rolling his eyes. "You're lucky I love you." You smirk back, still holding the spoon. "I know." "That’s not fair," he grumbles, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you into him. "But I guess I’ll forgive you, considering it’s for your own good." You laugh softly, your chest pressing against his as he takes the spoon from your hand. "Next time, don’t leave me to suffer alone with just Skittles and iced lattes all day." Mingyu chuckles, brushing his lips against your forehead before returning to the soup. "Deal."

DK - MUSICAL THEATER ACTOR

Seokmin twirls you around the empty stage, his voice bouncing off the walls of the theater, rich and full of passion. "We should duet," he suggests with a twinkle in his eyes, his enthusiasm contagious. You laugh, shaking your head as you try to keep up with his spinning. "I can’t sing like you," you protest, your voice light but sincere. He pouts, his arms pulling you closer as he sways with the music. "But you can dance with me." You blink up at him, the air around you suddenly warmer as you feel the closeness between you two. He’s so confident in everything he does, even in his playful teasing. "See? Perfect." You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he hums a soft tune. "You just like showing off," you murmur, your smile small but fond. Seokmin chuckles, his hands gentle as they rub your back. "Well, duh," he says with a grin, his voice full of affection. "But I think you like it, too."

SEUNGKWAN - VARIETY SHOW HOST

Seungkwan spins dramatically in his chair, tossing his cue cards aside as if he's just kicked off a grand performance. "And now, a very special guest—my amazing partner!" he announces with an overly enthusiastic flourish, the mischievous gleam in his eyes impossible to miss. You raise an eyebrow, trying not to laugh at his antics. "You do realize we’re just at home, right?" He gasps, clutching his chest in mock disbelief. "No imagination! That’s why I’m the host," he declares with the kind of certainty only Seungkwan could pull off. You shake your head, laughing at his antics. "Fine. Interview me, then." He leans in close, his face turning serious, though the mischievous spark never leaves his eyes. "Who’s the most handsome, talented, and lovable boyfriend in the world?" You roll your eyes dramatically, pretending to think for a moment. "Mingyu." Seungkwan’s jaw drops in exaggerated horror, his face falling as he stares at you. "BABE—" You smirk, watching him flounder for words. "What can I say? Mingyu has the charm." Seungkwan pouts, but his smile can’t hide for long, and soon enough, he’s laughing along with you.

VERNON - INDIE FILMMAKER

You sit on the rooftop, your legs dangling over the edge as you watch Vernon adjust his camera, his brow furrowed in concentration. The soft evening light casts a gentle glow over him, and you can’t help but watch in awe as he carefully frames each shot. "Hold still," he murmurs, his voice low, before peering through the viewfinder to focus on the perfect angle. You smile, relaxing back against the brick as you tease, "You say that, but you always like the candid shots." He grins, not looking away from the camera. "True, but this lighting is perfect. Just trust me." You do, allowing the moment to linger. His gaze softens as he clicks the camera a few more times, the sound of the shutter almost melodic in the quiet evening. After a beat, he lowers the camera, eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity. "You know," he begins, his tone reflective, "every film I make is gonna have a little bit of you in it." Your heart stumbles, his words unexpectedly warm and poetic. "Vernon—" He cuts you off with a soft chuckle, his smile reassuring. "Shh, it’s poetic." You smile, the sound of his camera clicking again the only thing breaking the silence. It feels like a perfect moment.

DINO - DANCE STUDIO OWNER

"Again," Chan calls out, clapping his hands in time with the beat as the music blares through the speakers. "One more time!" You groan, wiping sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. "I think my legs are gonna fall off." He laughs, clearly amused by your struggle as his eyes gleam with determination. "No pain, no gain, babe." You glare at him, hands on your hips. "I thought being your partner would give me special treatment." He smirks, crossing his arms with an air of confidence. "It does—I’m only this tough on you because I know you can handle it." You huff, pretending to be annoyed, though a part of you appreciates his drive. "Unfair," you mutter under your breath. He steps closer, his gaze playful as he leans in. "I’ll make it up to you later," he promises with a wink, his words enough to lighten your mood even as the music starts again. You shake your head with a smile. "You better."

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ short bucktommy angst/whump with a happy ending, coz i love torturing my boys. 8x07 spoilers and verrrrrry loosely insp by a still from 8x08

typing

Why would he type type type and not send anything?

The alarms blare and Buck throws his baking back in the oven and sprints downstairs, but his mind is elsewhere. This? This is all muscle memory at this point. His mind occupies itself with other things, wondering what exactly Tommy might have wanted to say.

Evan. No. Buck. God, he still hates it that he called him Buck.

Can we talk? Tommy always was a man of few words. Or maybe Buck is just a man of many. But what does 'can we talk' even mean? He'd be spiralling just as hard as with the silent disappearing bubble. It's better this way.

MARRIAGE, EVAN??

God, he's an idiot. A pathetic, clingy idiot. Even now he would kill for a second round, just to dig that knife in deeper. At least then maybe, he'd be able to pick up what he'd missed before; where exactly that big dimpled grin and soft eyes had turned to hard words and hidden pain. At least then, he'd be able to fix it.

Hen watches him with a knowing eye.

“Stay strong, Buck,” she reminds him as they pull up to the scene. “Head in the game.”

Buck nods. He drops his phone on the seat and packs it away to the back of his mind, as best he can. Maybe he'll get to whip out the jaws of life. They always make him feel better. Shake it off, Buckley, let's go.

He's the last one out of the engine, and he hits the ground already triaging the scene. His senses expand, cataloguing the vehicles, the passers-by, the direction and nature of the accident. Eddie and Bobby are getting a run-down from a uniformed police officer on scene and it happens a splt second before Buck's mind catches up.

“A silver-” he overhears - “oh-”

He can see it in his minds eye, almost feel it even as his own heart sinks; the way recognition sets into Eddie's face. And then horror. He looks further down the road, to a sight that's partially obstructed from Buck's view. Partially, but not so much that he doesn't start running toward it because he has a feeling he knows, he knows, he knows who it is.

Why would he type type type and not send anything?

“Buck-” Hen warns, reaching to grab him but she's already missed.

Buck knows he should be helping but his world is caving in. Bobby's barking commands but all he hears is a wordless echo. Ravi hustles the balloons and the jaws up to the worst hit of the vehicles and Chimney is already there; medkit tossed over the worst of the shattered glass as he kneels by the dangerously crushed window and tries to make contact with the person inside.

“Buck.” It's Eddie this time, blocking with his body as much as he can – and he can, even with the full force of Buck throwing himself forward - but even he can't stop the terrible, terrible knowing.

“TOMMY!”

The name rips out of his lungs, because it's the truck: it's Tommy's pride and joy. It's singing along in the passenger seat and Tommy's smiling – sometimes he joins in, even though he wouldn't otherwise care for Buck's taste. It's Tommy slinging a greasy towel over his shoulder and hitching himinto the truck bed and making out until they both can't breathe. It's spilling the salt from hot chips in there; it's shoulder to shoulder at the drive-ins; it's getting fucked into the seats; it's polishing and vacuuming just last week because he can't help with the engine for shit. He'd put a little thing of jellybeans in the cup holder after - like his old detailer used to do, just to be cute - and it hits him that that's what those little coloured smudges are, intermingled with the crushed glass littered across the road.

What if he's in trouble and he needs my help?

“Oh, God, Tommy.”

The howling turns to hopeless. Breathless. The fight evaporates right out of him and he collapses forward into Eddie's arms. Eddie's embrace is firm and steadying as he lowers them both as gently as he can manage to the curb. Buck closes his eyes, sapped of the strength to watch any more but cursed by the knowledge of what's still got to be happening. Hen and Chim will be extracting Tommy's bruised and broken body onto a backboard right about now, and then lifting him onto a gurney. They'll be doing CPR if he's lucky – and they are, he can hear it, so at least there's that.

Then it stops.

For a few, horrible seconds all he can hear is his own hammering heart. Eddie's ragged breathing. Footsteps. Bobby.

“Buck.”

It takes a second, for him to gather the courage to open his eyes and look up. Bobby's demeanour is solemn and serious, but there's a softness Buck recognises well. A lightness that promises things might just be okay, as he offers a hand to pull Buck up from the roadside.

“He's asking for you in the ambulance,” Bobby says, and there's just a flicker, just an iota of a smile as he urges - “Go.”