#so it revealed me and i was running away from it and i pulled a yak

[ijustwannabecool]

Moments You Wish You Caught on Camera

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary... Six strangers. Six ordinary places. One unforgettable couple. This is a collection of short, cinematic glimpses into Max Verstappen’s life with the woman he’s loved since high school. Seen through the eyes of strangers who just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.

A/N: Happy reading. I loved writing this piece and I hope to write more pieces like this, with Max and other drivers. You guys let me know who you wanna see next. As always enjoy it and have a beautiful day!!!

If you enjoy this story don't forget to like, reblog, and comment your thoughts and feedback.

---

The Pediatric Waiting Room

— Sofia, a tired new mom running on a lukewarm oat milk latte, not expecting to witness a world champion be a world-class dad.

It was 8:07 a.m., and Sofia was already regretting not canceling the appointment.

Her youngest had just started cutting teeth and had been up at 3:15, 4:52, and again at 6:01—each time with a cry like she was personally offended by the universe. Her toddler was whining for screen time, the diaper bag was short one essential wipe packet, and her phone had just died after playing Cocomelon on repeat.

The waiting room was mercifully empty. Cold, quiet, sterile. Just her, a too-small chair, and a little boy whose nose was running like a faucet.

Then the door creaked open, and in stepped someone she almost didn’t believe was real.

First, the man. Tall. Athletic. Messy hair tucked under a cap. Hoodie. Sweat shorts. That kind of effortless “I’ve got my shit together even though I definitely haven’t slept” vibe.

Then the baby carrier.

A tiny girl inside, swaddled in a soft floral blanket, a yellow pacifier in her rosebud mouth. Peaceful.

Then the toddler on his hip—grinning around a banana biscuit, curly hair tousled like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into a Gap ad.

And then her.

The woman.

Clearly postpartum. Puffy eyes, leggings, nursing tank, hospital socks still peeking from her sneakers. Yet… radiant. And holding herself like she was used to being loved out loud.

Sofia couldn’t look away.

They settled into the opposite corner. The man gently set the baby carrier down first, then lowered the toddler into a seat with a whispered, “Remember our agreement? Sit quietly until snacks, yeah?”

The toddler gave a dramatic thumbs-up.

Y/N approached the check-in desk, voice low and melodic as she confirmed their appointment for baby girl’s six-week weight check.

Max—because now Sofia realized that’s who he was, Max Verstappen—leaned over the carrier, adjusting the pacifier and brushing a finger over the baby’s cheek. His hoodie bunched at the elbows, revealing the black-and-gray ink on his forearm.

“She’s still got those hiccups, huh?” he murmured to her, voice so soft that Sofia almost didn’t hear it.

“She’s just dramatic like you,” Y/N teased, returning to sit beside him.

“You say dramatic, I say expressive.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately, curling into his side.

Sofia turned her gaze back to her own child, who was gnawing on a toy giraffe like it owed him money, but she couldn’t help but steal glances at them.

There was a rhythm to them. An unspoken choreography. Max peeled open a pouch of applesauce, offered it to the toddler with practiced hands, and even remembered to wipe the crumbs off his chin without missing a beat.

Y/N shifted the baby, cooing when she stirred. “She’s getting fussy.”

Max was already unzipping the diaper bag. “Bottle?”

Y/N frowned. “Shit. I think I forgot it. I—” Her voice cracked with guilt. “I thought it was in the side pocket. I triple-checked. God, I’m so tired, Max.”

“Hey,” he cut in immediately, warm and gentle. “She’s fine. We’ve got options. We always do.”

“I didn’t bring a cover either,” she added quietly. “I’ll go feed her in the car.”

“No,” he said firmly, already pulling his hoodie over his head and handing it to her. “You stay here. We’re good right here.”

He used the hoodie to drape over her shoulder while she adjusted her top and helped the baby latch on.

“There we go,” he murmured, rubbing small circles into her back. “You’re doing great.”

The room was still, silent, except for the suckling sounds and the cartoon jingle still stuck in Sofia’s head.

After a few minutes, Y/N whispered, “I just… I don’t know if she’s getting enough milk. She pulls off a lot. I think I messed up something with my supply.”

Max shook his head. “Babe. She’s got cheeks like brioche buns and arms like croissants. She’s fine.”

Y/N huffed a laugh, resting her head against his. “Croissants?”

“You heard me. That’s pure Dutch baby chub. I know quality carbs when I see them.”

When the nurse finally called them back, Max scooped up the toddler, hoisted the carrier with his free arm, and glanced at Y/N.

“You okay, mama?”

She nodded. “As long as you’re right here.”

He grinned. “Always.”

Sofia watched them go, still stunned by what she’d witnessed: a world champion who didn’t care about being recognized, a mom who looked like a goddess in leggings, and a love that looked like it was built on inside jokes, sleepless nights, and endless grace.

She pulled out her phone to text her husband:

"We’re trying skin-to-skin tonight. And also, maybe don’t complain when I forget wipes. Just tell me I’m doing great like Max Verstappen did.”

---

The Tiny Café in Tuscany

— Luca, travel writer, espresso enthusiast, and recently dumped romantic.

It was a sleepy café tucked on the corner of a side street in San Gimignano—one of those blink-and-you-miss-it places where the tiles were chipped, the espresso machine screamed like an old woman in a mood, and the overhead fan wobbled dangerously every time someone opened the door.

Luca had been coming here every morning for a week, hunched over his laptop, pretending to update his travel blog while actually stewing over a messy breakup with a man who said things like, “I need freedom” and “You’re too intense.”

It was on day five, as he swirled the last bitter sip of his third espresso and stared blankly at the same paragraph for the sixth time, that the door jingled behind him—and he looked up.

The couple didn’t match the usual tourist aesthetic. No clunky cameras, no loud American voices. Just a man in a navy hoodie and black shorts—tall, relaxed, with sun-kissed skin and a quiet sort of confidence. His hand rested lightly on the lower back of the woman beside him, who was wearing loose linen pants and a tank top tucked in with no effort but all the grace in the world.

They were talking softly in a strange blend of Dutch and English—Luca caught pieces of both as they approached the counter.

“No, Max,” she laughed, gently elbowing him. “You had two yesterday.”

He mock-pouted, a hint of an accent curling around his words. “That’s called balance. Two yesterday, one today. I’m growing.”

The barista, clearly familiar with them, didn’t even ask for names. Just smiled and went to work preparing their usual: two cappuccinos, one extra hot, and a slice of fig-and-honey tart.

They slid into the table directly in front of Luca—angled just enough that he could pretend to be focused on his screen while secretly watching them over the rim of his coffee cup.

“I had a dream last night you forgot our anniversary,” Y/N said as she took the first sip of her coffee. “You gave me socks.”

“Were they at least good socks?” Max asked, pretending to be offended.

“They had race cars on them.”

He grinned. “So… on brand. What’s the problem?”

“You told me they were on sale.”

Max placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “Discounted love. Brutal.”

She leaned in, nudging her shoulder into his. “You know what’s worse? I still said thank you in the dream. Like a chump.”

“You’re a very polite chump.”

They laughed—quiet, unassuming, private laughter that made Luca feel like he was seeing something he wasn’t meant to.

He watched Max tear off a piece of tart and offer it to her on his fork. She opened her mouth with the same ease someone might accept a kiss.

The domesticity of it all—the comfort, the familiarity, the rightness—ached in Luca’s chest.

They weren’t checking their phones. They weren’t documenting the moment. They were just… being.

Max leaned his elbow on the table, fingers threading lazily through the ends of her hair as he spoke. “Do you remember that café in Bruges? The one with the green door?”

“The one where the waiter spilled a whole espresso in your lap?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, eyes soft. “I think that was the first time I realized I wanted this with you. All of it.”

She blinked, caught off-guard. “Because I laughed at you?”

“Because you didn’t care about the stain. You just said, ‘Well, now you match the chair.’ And I remember thinking… fuck, this is the person I want next to me when things go wrong.”

Y/N’s expression crumpled slightly with affection, her hand reaching to curl around his wrist. “You never told me that.”

“I didn’t have the words then.”

Luca was still staring when Max glanced up, eyes locking with his for a brief second.

Not in a confrontational way. Just a knowing look. Like he knew Luca had heard everything. Like he didn’t mind, as long as it made someone believe in something again.

He turned back to Y/N, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“You still get this little line here,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the corner of her eye. “Right before you cry. You’ve had it since we were seventeen.”

She swatted at him. “Stop making me sentimental, Verstappen.”

“I’m serious. It’s my favorite wrinkle.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wrinkle?”

“Expression line,” he corrected immediately, grinning like he was proud of himself.

They finished their cappuccinos slowly, not rushing, like they had all the time in the world.

And when they stood to leave, Max held the door for her—let her step out first like it was second nature—and tucked his sunglasses over the bridge of his nose without releasing her hand.

They disappeared around the corner.

Luca stared down at his blank document for a moment longer before finally typing:

“Sometimes love doesn’t need to be loud to be heard. Sometimes it just needs a morning, a fig tart, and someone who remembers your first wrinkle.”

And for the first time in days, he meant every word.

----

The School Fundraiser

— Camille, 27, first-year teacher, very overwhelmed, very underpaid, and absolutely not ready to witness Max Verstappen handing out juice boxes like a literal dad dream.

Camille had been teaching first grade for exactly four weeks and seventeen hours.

And she already knew that if one more parent tried to explain why their child didn’t need to follow “standardized discipline guidelines,” she would fake her own death and move to Spain.

The school fundraiser was supposed to be a “light lift,” according to her ever-optimistic vice principal.

Which was, apparently, a lie.

Because nothing about organizing a bake sale, a bouncy house, three food trucks, a dunk tank, a raffle, and a very temperamental face-painting volunteer felt light. Her hair was frizzing. Her shirt was stuck to her back. A juice box had exploded in her tote bag.

She was stress-sorting Capri Suns when she heard the murmurs.

“Is that…?”

“No way.”

“Wait, that is Max Verstappen.”

Camille looked up—half expecting it to be a false alarm or some dad who just looked like him. But no. It was him.

Walking across the school field in a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, sunglasses pushed back into his hair, a backpack slung over one shoulder… holding hands with his toddler.

Behind them was a woman holding a baby strapped to her chest in a linen wrap, her other hand gripping the shoulder of a little boy in a Lightning McQueen hat who was dancing along the pavement like the ground was lava.

They looked so normal. And yet, not.

Max squatted down to fix the toddler’s shoe, glancing up at his wife. “Did we bring sunscreen?”

Y/N patted her tote. “Already did them before we left.”

He nodded. “That’s why you’re the boss.”

The baby squirmed in the wrap, and Y/N bounced instinctively, her voice light. “You’d think we’d remember to bring the pacifier.”

Max reached into his pocket and pulled one out. “Already ahead of you.”

“God, marry me.”

He glanced up, deadpan. “We are married.”

She smiled. “Marry me again.”

They made their way to the games area, Max lifting the toddler up so he could see better. “Where to, kleine muis?”

The little boy pointed at the duck pond game with such confidence that Max saluted. “Duck game it is.”

Camille tried to focus on organizing the juice cooler, but her eyes kept trailing back to them—especially when they came to her table.

“Hi!” Y/N greeted. “Can we grab some waters?”

“Of course,” Camille replied, fumbling a little. “They’re… they’re cold-ish.”

“Honestly, cold-ish is perfect,” Y/N said with a warm smile. “We’ll take four.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think the kids will go straight for the soda?”

“They can try,” she said, already tucking the bottles into her tote.

Max turned to Camille with a grin. “Let me guess. First year?”

Camille blinked. “How did you…?”

“The look of despair. I had the same one during my first press conference.” He said.

She laughed despite herself. “I wasn’t aware that despair was that universal.”

“It is. But you’re doing great,” he added sincerely. “This all looks amazing.”

Y/N nodded, reaching into her wallet. “Can we donate directly to your class?”

Camille’s heart skipped. “Oh—you don’t have to—”

“We want to,” Y/N insisted gently, tucking a folded bill into the donation jar.

Camille glanced down after they walked away and nearly choked.

A hundred euros.

Who just casually dropped that into a fundraiser jar?

The answer: apparently Max Verstappen’s wife.

—

An hour later, Camille was managing the chaos near the dunk tank when she saw them again—this time sitting on a picnic blanket beneath the shade of a tree. The toddler was in Max’s lap, licking an orange popsicle with sticky fingers. Y/N was lying on her side, her baby curled up against her chest as she wiped her son's mouth with a napkin.

“Easy, liefje,” she murmured when he got too excited and nearly dropped it.

“He’s trying to break his own record,” Max said, biting into his own popsicle and wincing. “Brain freeze. Why do I do this to myself?”

Y/N chuckled, tucking her bare feet under his thigh. “Because you never learn.”

He looked at her for a second too long.

Then, with all the gentle devotion in the world, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I’m glad we came.”

She closed her eyes for a second, as if just letting herself feel the moment. “Me too.”

Camille tried not to stare. But it was like watching a scene from a movie that somehow escaped into the real world.

No drama. No noise. Just… partnership. Parenting. Love.

When the toddler reached up and touched Max’s cheek with a melting hand, Max just kissed his palm and said, “Sticky boy. My sticky boy.”

Camille went home that night and told her roommate, “Max Verstappen came to our fundraiser and made me believe in love again.”

And she wasn’t even exaggerating.

---

The Supermarket

— Zoë, 35, single, newly heartbroken, and very much just trying to buy oat milk and not cry in the produce section.

Zoë wasn’t in the mood to see anyone that day.

She’d cried in her car for twenty minutes in the parking lot, then sat scrolling through TikTok about “healing energy” while pretending she hadn’t just been ghosted by a man who once wrote her a poem about her freckles.

All she wanted was to get through her grocery list and be home before the sobbing resumed. The universe, however, had other plans.

Because as she turned into the snack aisle—debating between regular sea salt chips and the fancy truffle ones that cost way too much—she saw them.

Not in a tabloid. Not on TikTok.

In real life.

It was Max Verstappen.

Pushing a slightly scuffed shopping cart, baseball cap backwards, hoodie on, brows furrowed like he was solving a math equation instead of comparing two different brands of oat milk.

Next to him was a woman who could only be described as… anchored.

She didn’t look like a celebrity’s wife. She looked like someone who smelled like vanilla and fresh laundry. Her hair was tied in a messy bun. Her leggings had a juice stain near the knee. A toddler sat in the cart seat, happily munching on crackers.

And trailing behind them—barefoot inside Spider-Man crocs—was a little boy in a Red Bull jacket, holding a box of waffles like it was treasure.

“Did you write down whether it was the almond milk or oat milk that made her stomach weird?” Max asked, waving the carton slightly.

Y/N squinted at her notes app. “It just says ‘milk (weird tummy?)’ — which is completely useless. This is past-me setting us up for failure.”

Max sighed dramatically. “She’s going to be gassy for three days and we’ll never sleep again.”

“We never sleep anyway.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Zoë tried to duck behind a display of pretzels but ended up knocking a bag off the stack. It crinkled loudly. Mortifying.

Max glanced up — not with irritation, but mild curiosity — and when their eyes met, he gave her a small, polite smile. Then turned back to his wife like the world had narrowed back to just them.

“Do we have enough diapers?” Y/N asked.

“Define enough.”

“For two nights away and three ‘blowout emergencies.’”

Max tilted his head. “So… a hundred?”

“Give or take.”

He smirked and offered her the oat milk carton. “We’ll gamble. She’s had worse.”

Zoë followed them — not intentionally, just… coincidentally — into the produce section.

They were standing by the bananas when the toddler in the cart dropped her snack container and immediately began to whimper, tears bubbling up in her big blue eyes.

“Oh no, don’t cry,” Y/N cooed, reaching for it—but Max was faster.

He picked it up, brushed it off, and crouched so they were eye-level. “Hey, kleine prinses. Look—it’s back. Just a little floor spice. Builds immunity.”

The baby blinked at him, then gave a hiccupy giggle before popping a cracker into her mouth.

“You’re so weird,” Y/N said fondly, watching him rise.

“You married me,” he shot back, brushing his hands off on his sweats.

“And I’d do it again. But only if you promise to stop saying ‘floor spice’ in public.”

“I make no promises.”

The little boy—Ezra, they called him—was tugging at Y/N’s sleeve, holding out the waffle box.

“Can we get two? One for home and one for the car ride?”

Y/N crouched down, eyes level with his. “Do you promise not to eat them all before dinner again?”

“I pinky swear on Daddy’s racing helmet.”

Max gasped. “That’s legally binding. Now you have to behave.”

Ezra beamed as his mom kissed the top of his curls and stood back up.

They wandered past Zoë again near the bakery, Max now balancing a bouquet of tulips awkwardly in one hand.

“Who are those for?” Y/N asked, amused.

He shrugged, adjusting the flowers. “You. You’ve been in a mood lately and I like it when you smile.”

She blinked at him, stunned for a moment. “I’m not in a mood.”

Max raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m maybe…slightly overwhelmed.”

“You’re allowed. But flowers still help.”

They shared a look so full of unspoken history that Zoë had to look away.

Later, while unloading at self-checkout, Max gently peeled open the baby’s fruit pouch and helped Ezra scan his waffle box. Y/N was half-asleep on her feet, leaning against the cart as he gently nudged her shoulder.

“Go wait in the car. I’ll finish up and load it.”

“You sure?”

He kissed her forehead. “Always.”

She left with the kids, and Max packed the groceries methodically, organizing by category.

Zoë stood frozen in line behind him, cradling her oat milk and sadness like a broken promise.

And then Max turned, caught her staring again, and—once more—just smiled.

Not like a celebrity. Not like a man who thought he was better.

Just a tired dad, happy husband, and guy who clearly lived for the people who called him home.

As he walked out of the store with a bag in one hand and tulips in the other, Zoë opened her Notes app and typed something new.

“It’s not the big gestures. It’s someone remembering oat milk, wiping cracker crumbs off your mouth, and handing you tulips in aisle seven because they just want you to smile again.”

---

The Train Station

— Matteo, 19, pizza delivery guy, chain smoker, and hopeless romantic against his better judgment.

He didn’t mean to stare.

But the girl was crying, and the guy was arguing with a vending machine, and somehow both things were happening like they’d done it a hundred times before.

Matteo was sitting on a bench at the Eindhoven train station, waiting for the 3:15. He was sweaty, out of cigarettes, and coming off a breakup where his girlfriend said he was “emotionally dense” because he forgot their six-month anniversary.

Whatever.

He wasn’t eavesdropping. He just… noticed things.

Like how the girl in the jean jacket had smudged eyeliner and messy hair twisted into a bun with a pen. And how the guy in the Red Bull hoodie kept slapping the side of the vending machine like it had personally insulted him.

“You’re not eating M&Ms for lunch,” the girl said, sniffling.

“I wasn’t going to. I was going to eat them for comfort,” he muttered, still jabbing the buttons.

“You literally have a race tomorrow.”

Max turned, grinning. “And if I crash, I want to know I died with peanut chocolate in my bloodstream.”

“Max.”

He sighed like it physically pained him, turned, and held out his arms. “Okay, okay. Come here, crybaby.”

She glared at him but walked straight into his hug. He wrapped his arms around her like he’d done it a thousand times.

Matteo watched her melt instantly.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against his chest.

“You’re allowed to be upset. Your parents were unfair.” He leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. “But I’m proud of you for coming anyway.”

She wiped her eyes. “I look disgusting.”

“You look like my future wife.”

Matteo blinked. He hadn’t expected that.

She shoved him lightly. “You’re such a liar.”

“Nope,” Max replied, tone light but his eyes serious. “I’ve known since the first time you wore that ugly jean jacket.”

“Hey!”

“You looked like someone who’d ruin my life.”

“And?”

“You did. And I love it.”

They were quiet for a minute, sitting on the bench beside Matteo. Close enough for him to smell her cherry chapstick and his cheap cologne.

Max reached into his backpack and pulled out a chocolate croissant wrapped in a napkin. “Didn’t get your M&Ms. Got you this instead.”

Her face lit up like a child on Christmas. “You remembered?”

“You always want croissants when you’re sad.”

“I do.”

Matteo saw it then���saw the whole damn thing. The beginnings of forever.

They were too young. Too reckless. A little dramatic. But there was something magnetic about the way they looked at each other, like they were already writing the rest of their lives in real time.

As the train pulled in and they stood, Max laced their fingers together like it was automatic. She leaned her head on his shoulder, still holding the croissant.

They walked onto the train like two people who didn’t know how rare that kind of love was. Who didn’t need to.

Matteo pulled out his cracked phone and wrote a note he’d forget about until years later:

“Sometimes forever starts at a vending machine. And the person who buys you a croissant instead of saying the right thing is the one who actually gets it.”

---

The Airport Lounge

— Helena, 42, business consultant, solo traveler, professional people-watcher, and casual believer in fate.

The Zurich airport lounge was surprisingly quiet for a Friday afternoon.

Helena had parked herself near the floor-to-ceiling windows with a glass of pinot and a half-read book she was pretending to finish. Her flight to Madrid had been delayed, and she was nursing the rare, delicious silence that came with noise-canceling headphones and no Slack notifications.

Until she noticed them.

They weren’t loud or dramatic. Just… still.

The woman sat curled up in the corner of a leather armchair, knees tucked beneath her, oversized hoodie swallowing her whole, damp curls loosely braided down her back. She had a book open on her lap but wasn’t reading it.

Instead, she was watching the man beside her — Max Verstappen, though it took Helena a moment to place him without the racing suit, the cameras, or the speed.

He looked softer like this.

He was seated slightly sideways in the chair, legs stretched out, thumb stroking lazy lines into her ankle where it rested against his thigh.

Her sock had a tiny embroidered mushroom on it. He was focused on it like it held secrets.

They weren’t speaking. Not really. Just occasionally exchanging glances, faint smiles, little movements that spoke volumes.

Max reached into his backpack and pulled out a tupperware container. “Eat,” he said simply, handing it to her.

“I’m not hungry,” she murmured.

“You always say that and then eat half of mine.”

She squinted at him. “Is it the good pasta?”

“The good one. From that place near the ferry.”

“…I hate you.”

He grinned. “You love me.”

“I do.”

Helena didn’t mean to watch. But it was hard to look away from something that looked so much like home.

After a few quiet bites, the woman reached over, tugging the hem of Max’s sleeve with childlike gentleness. “Do you have to go today?”

Max hesitated. “Yeah.”

He said it softly. Not coldly. Like he hated the truth of it just as much as she did.

She nodded, lips pressing into a tight line. “It’s just a few days. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t try to talk her out of it. Instead, he reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Open it after I leave.”

“Is this a love letter?”

“It’s a maybe-you-won’t-murder-me-for-being-gone-so-long letter.”

She smiled, but Helena saw the way her fingers tightened around the paper.

“I left little notes in your bag,” Max added. “One in your book, one in the snack pocket, and one in your makeup bag.”

“That’s excessive.”

“That’s love,” he shrugged.

Helena found herself blinking rapidly.

She wasn’t used to seeing people who still made space for each other like that. Who weren’t rushing, glued to their phones, or distracted by other people.

Just present.

After a while, Max stood, stretching slightly. His flight had been called.

He reached for his carry-on, then paused and knelt in front of her.

“C’mere,” he said softly.

She leaned down, and he kissed her — not rushed, not showy, but full. Her hands slipped into his hoodie, his thumb brushed her cheekbone, and Helena knew she wasn’t the only one watching now.

But neither of them cared.

When they parted, Max rested his forehead against hers for a beat. “See you Monday.”

“See you Monday.”

She didn’t cry. She didn’t cling. But as he walked away, she held that letter to her chest like it was armor.

Helena watched her breathe in slowly. Then she tucked the note into her book and picked up her phone—not to scroll, but to open the photos app.

She was scrolling through pictures.

Ones of Max. Their kids, probably. A dog, maybe.

Every one made her smile in that quiet, half-wistful way that meant: I’ll be okay, but I miss you already.

Helena turned back to her wine thinking about how beautiful of a relationship they had.

[manmuncher777]

Taken in tension

✧༺ Roommate toji x reader

✧༺ trigger warnings

✧༺ a/n - roommate tonji is my fucking favourite trope ever. Hi, impregnate me sir. Enjoy sexies xx

You didn’t see a lot of Toji.

That was half the reason why this whole roommate situation worked.

You both had your own lives, your own schedules. He was usually out — at the gym, running errands, disappearing for hours without a word — and you were busy enough your own things that you rarely crossed paths except in passing.

When you did, it was… easy. Surprisingly easy.

You were actually greatful you got landed with a roommate like Toji, he was there when you needed him, always fixing whatever you had broken, or helping you with heavy lifting. And you were quite happy to repay him in your own ways. You cooked dinner for the both of you most nights, and on the nights you couldn’t be bothered you would grab takeout.

He wasn’t messy — not enough to piss you off — and when he was, you didn’t mind picking up after him because he always noticed, always threw you a grateful look or a lazy, gruff thanks, sweetheart that made your stomach stupidly flutter.

Besides, he pulled his weight in other ways.

Fixing the broken sink without you having to ask. Carrying all the groceries up in one go without a complaint. Reaching things off the highest shelves, half-laughing when you glared at him for making it look too easy.

You got along well.

It was chill. It was safe.

Still…

Sometimes, you caught yourself noticing things you shouldn’t.

Like the way Toji would drag his shirt off after a run, tossing it over his shoulder, his body glistening faintly with sweat — thick arms flexing, abs hard and cut deep, the waistband of his shorts hanging low enough to reveal the sliver of a v-line that made you bite your lip and look away fast.

Or the way his voice sounded in the mornings — rough and low, rumbling out of his chest when he mumbled a half-asleep ‘mornin’ and shuffled into the kitchen in nothing but sweats.

Or the way he sometimes smelled — fresh soap and something deep, earthy and masculine that clung to the air long after he left the room, leaving you dizzy if you stayed too long.

Not that you thought about it.

Not that you let yourself think about it.

Because this arrangement was comfortable, and you weren’t about to screw it up just because your stupid brain couldn’t help but drool over your hot, sometimes-shirtless, way-too-casual roommate.

No.

You had self-control.

You were fine.

Totally fine.

But you werent always aware that you werent the only one finding this arrangement a little… testing.

I mean you couldn’t always blame him, the apartment wasnt massive, so sometime it was hard for him not to notice you creeping towards your room from the bathroom in only a towel, or strutting past him while he was watching tv, shouting a quick goodbye with your tiny little dress on, something about a girls night. He wasnt listening in that moment.

And it took everything in him not to pocket those little panties of your he finds when sorting the washing, all outs of images flashing into his mind of you wearing nothing else but those little panties, waiting for home to get home.

Of course he did his best to remain respectful, only letting his eyes linger ling enough you wouldn’t notice.

One rule that you both kept in the apartment was no partners are allowed over, one night stands of girlfriends were a strict no no on both sides. You didn’t want to be disturbed by that, and well you were single as fuck so he didnt really have to worry. The walls were thin and the last thing you needed was some girl keeping you up all night.

Only issue for you with the thins walls is that if you ever want some ‘personal time’ you have to wait until you know Toji would be out. You would be mortified if he ever heard you like that, so you keep very discreet. Just you and your little box of toys.

The box of toys that you were currently rummaging through because he had finally left, popping out to grab some cigarette or something, then he’d just hop back on his Xbox or something. You had just got home from work, and needed a moment to destress, he would be 20 minutes, surely thats enough time.

Work clothes off, T-shirt and panties on. Candles lit and you were finally ready for a relaxing evening

Your box of toys that was open, despite you not touching it recently, the box that was left rather visible under your bed when you usually have it tucked away. And the one toy you wanted, that you would be finished fast with, was now missing its batteries. The slip of plastic to place the batteries in was left visibly opened with no batteries in there.

Where the fuck were the batteries?

You knew you had left them in there.

Tucked right inside your little velvet pouch — with your trusty toy buried safely beneath sweaters and old scarves — reserved for nights like tonight.

Nights when the sexual frustration got so bad it made you antsy, desperate for even a tiny bit of release.

Single. Stressed. Stupidly horny.

It wasn’t much to ask, was it?

Apparently, the universe — or more specifically, your goddamn roommate — had other plans.

You searched everywhere, in your desk, in drawers, not a single triple a battery to be found. And on such perfect timing, Toji was back.

Fucking great, looks like you were getting nothing tonight. ON all the days this could have happened.

You stared at the opened box, jaw ticking, the empty slot where the batteries once sat practically mocking you.

There was only one person who could’ve done this.

Your mind finally clicking, you live with one other person, and your certainly didn’t just throw away those batteries

One muscle-headed, thoughtless, lazy bastard who would rather loot your private stash than walk ten feet to the store.

You stormed down the hall, chest tight with irritation.

It was petty — objectively — but you didn’t care.

Because now you were still horny and now also pissed off, which was a dangerous combination.

Without even knocking, you shoved open Toji’s bedroom door.

He barely glanced up from his spot on the bed — legs spread wide, controller in hand, headset slung around his neck as he mashed buttons aggressively.

Casual. Relaxed. Like he hadn’t just committed the ultimate betrayal.

You crossed your arms and glared at him.

He finally looked up, pausing his game.

One dark brow lifted lazily.

“Problem, sweetheart?”

You wanted to punch him.

You also wanted to climb him like a tree. Eyes glancing over him fully now, only just registering the fact he was shirtless, grey sweats hanging slutily low on his hips, enough to make a woman drool.

Neither urge was helpful right now.

“You stole my batteries,” you said flatly.

Toji gave a slow, exaggerated blink.

Then — fucking smirked.

“Needed ’em,” he said, shrugging, like that excused everything. “Controller was dead. Emergency.”

“Emergency?” you hissed, stepping further into the room. “Emergency? I needed them! Toji, you went through my shit! That was private”

His eyes flicked over you — lingering for a second too long on your flushed cheeks, the way your chest was rising and falling a little too fast.

It was obvious, wasn’t it?

What you had been about to do before he ruined it.

Obvious in the way your thighs pressed together, your arms crossed like you were trying to physically contain yourself.

Toji’s smirk widened.

“Ohh,” he drawled, voice low and amused. “That kind of emergency.”

You wanted to die.

You also wanted to hit him.

You also maybe wanted to straddle him and shut him the fuck up.

Instead, you ground out, “I want them back. Now.”

He set the controller down beside him, stretching like he had all the time in the world — the way his muscles flexed beneath the dim light of his room should’ve been illegal — and then patted the space next to him on the bed.

“An emergency?” you scoff, already frustrated beyond belief. “The hell do you need my batteries for? Your fucking remote? Seriously, I’ve been looking for those—”

He interrupts you with a lazy shrug. “Yeah, my controller died.” He repeated casually “You weren’t gonna use ‘em anyway, right?”

You stop mid-sentence, the realization dawning on you, but it doesn’t stop the heat rising in your cheeks. “I—I was going to,” you mumble, fuming. “I was going to use them, but now they’re gone because of you. You went through my stuff, Toji. Personal shit.”

Toji slowly rises from the bed, a calculated glint in his eyes. He’s still half-smirking, clearly enjoying the way your irritation is building. He walks toward you, the tension thickening with every step he takes. His large frame seems to fill the room as he stops just a few inches away, his presence overwhelming.

“You really need to chill, ma,” he says lowly, his voice like honey, but there’s a subtle hint of mockery in it. His hand reaches up, brushing past you as he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Seems to me like you were relying on some pretty weak shit to get off.”

The words hit you like a slap, but it’s his tone—condescending, taunting—that gets to you. Your lips part as you try to retort, but the heat in his gaze leaves you speechless for a moment

“I mean, really,” he continues, stepping in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “That plastic shit really get you off? Don’t you need something a bit more real?”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold your ground, but the tension between you is palpable. “I was fine before you came in and took everything,” you snap, although the desperation you feel is practically dripping from your words.

Toji smirks at your reaction, clearly reveling in the power he has over you. “Yeah? I don’t think so,” he says, leaning in a little closer. “I think you were getting a little too used to that weak little thing. You were probably so frustrated you didn’t know what to do with yourself.”

Your heart races, and you can barely focus on what he’s saying because of the raw, intoxicating way he’s looking at you. You hate how much you want to shove him up against the wall and take control, but you’re pinned under his gaze, unable to move.

Toji’s hand moves down your arm slowly, teasing, not quite touching, just enough to make you tingle with need. His voice lowers even more. “Now, I think I could give you something much more satisfying… if you let me.”

You open your mouth, but words fail you. Instead, you let out a frustrated sigh, your hands trembling as they fall to your sides.

Toji chuckles softly, sensing your growing desperation. “You still upset about the batteries, baby? Or do you need something else?

“Come get ’em,” he said, grin turning absolutely devilish. “Might even help you out, if you ask real nice.”

Your mouth went dry.

Your whole body heated.

Because suddenly you weren’t sure if you were mad anymore — or just aching for something else entirely.

You stayed planted near the door, arms crossed so tight it hurt, glaring daggers at him — but he only lounged back further against the headboard, hands resting behind his head, looking like he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world.

He tilted his head at you, that cocky little smirk pulling at his mouth.

“Poor girl,” he drawled, voice thick and mocking. “So flustered. Bet you were all set up too, huh? Lights off, blanket pulled up real nice… fingers already creeping down your stomach—”

“Shut the fuck up, Toji,” you snapped, face burning.

His eyes glinted — dark and full of something downright wicked.

“Ooh. Touchy,” he teased. “What’s the matter? Mad ’cause you couldn’t get yourself off? Or mad because you haven’t had a proper fuck in too long?”

You hated him.

You hated how well he knew you, how easy you were to read. You hated how he was right.

You hated how good he looked, sprawled out like that — broad shoulders, abs flexing, that slutty v-line, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, those big thighs spread wide like an invitation.

He smelled like bodywash and something sharp and masculine underneath, and it was doing terrible, terrible things to your self-control.

Your nails dug into your arms.

“I needed the fucking batteries,” you bit out. “Not some — some asshole with no respect for personal property.”

Toji chuckled — actually laughed at you — low and rumbly in his chest.

“You’re real cute when you’re mad, y’know that?”

He shifted slightly — not enough to stand, but enough that the mattress dipped under his weight.

He was closer now, lazy but predatory. Like a tiger deciding whether or not it wanted to play with its food.

“And real fuckin’ cute when you’re needy, too.”

Your heart was beating so loud you could barely hear yourself think.

You needed to leave.

You needed to keep your pride.

You needed to not imagine what it would feel like to march over there and straddle him and grind the attitude out of him.

But then Toji gave you a slow once-over — lingering, heavy, filthy — and your body betrayed you.

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, thighs pressing together instinctively.

He caught it immediately.

“Aw, baby,” he cooed mockingly. “Don’t go shy on me now.”

He patted his thigh, slow and deliberate.

Like he was inviting a fucking pet into his lap.

“C’mere. If you ask real pretty, might even let you put that mouth to good use first.”

You sucked in a shaky breath — the edges of your anger bleeding into raw, desperate want.

“You’re disgusting,” you said — but your voice wobbled. Trembled.

His smirk sharpened.

“You want disgusting, sweetheart?”

He leaned forward, voice dropping low, gravelly, dangerous. “I’ll show you disgusting. I’ll have you makin’ sounds you didn’t even know you could make. Have you crying on my cock, beggin’ me not to stop.”

Your knees almost buckled.

Your mind was screaming at you to turn around, to hold onto some shred of dignity — but your body had already decided.

You were burning. Frustrated.

So damn needy it hurt.

And Toji — he was right fucking there.

Arrogant and filthy and perfect.

You licked your dry lips, fists clenching at your sides.

“I’m not begging,” you muttered — trying and failing to sound strong.

Toji’s grin widened into something positively sinful.

“Not yet, you’re not.”

He patted his thigh again — slow, taunting. “Now. Be a good girl and get over here. Before I make you.”

You glared at him for a second longer — daring him to back down — but Toji just smirked, the arrogant bastard, and patted his thigh again.

Fine.

If he wanted to play?

You could play.

Jaw set, you crossed the room in a few stiff steps and planted yourself right on his thigh — hands braced on his shoulders, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of his sweats.

For a moment, you felt smug — victorious even — but then—

Toji’s hands landed on your waist, big and heavy, fingers flexing lightly against your sides.

And he didn’t grab you.

Didn’t drag you down and grind you where you wanted.

No — he just let them sit there.

Warm. Teasing.

Promising.

You tried to shift your hips, chasing friction — and that’s when he bounced his thigh once, slow and deliberate.

The jolt ran through you like a live wire.

You gasped — clutched at his shoulders — and he laughed.

“Ohhhh,” he cooed, voice dripping with mockery. “There she is, theres my needy girl.”

You scowled, but it melted into a breathless sound when he bounced his thigh again, just slightly, making you rub against him.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, voice dropping low and mean. “Use it.

You wanted this so bad, right?

Your cheeks burned.

You couldn’t believe this — couldn’t believe you were actually — actually—

But your clit throbbed insistently between your thighs, the frustration and humiliation and desperation all bleeding together until you were moving — slow little rocks of your hips, dragging yourself along the hard muscle of his thigh.

Toji leaned back against the headboard, arms folding behind his head again like he didn’t have a damn care in the world — like he wasn’t sitting there letting you humiliate yourself on him.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute,” he drawled lazily, watching you.

“Look at you. So desperate you’re ridin’ my fuckin’ thigh like some lil’ bitch in heat.”

You whimpered — hated yourself for it — hated the way it made him chuckle, deep and low in his chest.

His hands slid up — finally — trailing slow and lazy under the hem of your shirt, skimming your waist, teasing along the curve of your tits without really touching where you wanted him to.

You ground down harder, chasing the friction, dizzy with need.

“Toji~” the broken whine leaving your throat, a beg. A need for something more.

“Nuh-uh,” Toji tutted, voice smug. “Not gonna help you, sweetheart. You wanna cum? Gotta work for it.”

He bounced his thigh a little harder — just once — and you cried out, grabbing his shoulders tighter for balance.

“Yeahhh,” he rasped, voice dark and gleeful. “That’s it. Use me, baby. Grind that pretty lil’ pussy on my thigh like you fuckin’ mean it.” You were beyond embarrassed now — little gasps and whines spilling from your lips as you rode him harder, chasing the sharp little sparks of pleasure building in your gut.

“Feelin’ good, huh?” Toji teased, voice thick with amusement. “Bet you’re so fuckin’ wet. Bet I could slide my fingers right in without even tryin’.”The thought made you moan brokenly — hips stuttering — and Toji’s grin widened like he could feel you getting closer.

“Come on,” he coaxed — voice low and rough and cruel. “Cum for me, baby. Show me how pathetic you are. Show me how bad you needed it.” It was too much — the filthy words, the heat of him under you, the cruel bounce of his thigh grinding against your clit just right—

You cried out, breaking apart with a full-body shudder, clutching him desperately as you came — hips jerking against his thigh in messy, helpless little rolls.

Toji laughed — laughed — one hand finally smoothing down your back as you trembled and gasped against him. The feeling soothing you as rode out your high, grounding you to the presence of the man beneath you.

“There she is,” he murmured mockingly, patting your ass like he was proud. “Good girl.”

You were still catching your breath, slumped against him, when you felt it —

the heavy, deliberate grip of Toji’s hands sliding down to your hips. The sensation buzzing against your already prickled skin, waves of pleasure still flowing through you from that much needed orgasm. The tension inside of you now nothing but a distant memory, now replaced with something needier

“Aw, poor thing,” he murmured, voice dark with mock sympathy. “Thought that was enough for you?”

You barely had time to register the teasing before he hauled you up — manhandling you like you weighed nothing — turning you around and bending you over the edge of the bed.

Your hands scrabbled for purchase on the comforter, your mind slow and syrupy with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You felt drunk — high — boneless and pliant under his rough touch.

“Still so fuckin’ needy,” Toji rasped behind you, thumbs hooking into your shorts and yanking them down your thighs in one swift, ruthless motion.

The cool air hit your slick folds and you whimpered — humiliated at how wet you still were, how badly you wanted him. Being so vulnerable in front of him despite moments ago using his thigh to get off.

He leaned over you, big and overwhelming, and you felt the thick press of him, heavy and hot against your bare ass. You swallow thickly, he was bigger than your toys, and you were sure he knew it.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll take care of you, baby.”

You gasped when you felt his fingers between your thighs — thick and calloused, slipping through your slick with an obscene wet sound.

“So fuckin’ wet already,” Toji grunted approvingly.

“Messy little thing. Bet I could slide right in.”

You whined — hips arching back into him without thinking — and Toji just chuckled low in his throat. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, almost fondly.

“I know, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

Wasting not a second more to give you what you wanted, what he wanted. He slides his joggers just far enough down to free his throbbing cock. His tip a pretty shade of pink, adorned with small pearls of pre.

You felt the blunt, thick head of his cock nudge at your entrance, stretching you wider than any toy — and then he was pushing in, slow and devastating, splitting you open with a low, gravelly groan from his chest.

You gasped, frozen against the bed as you felt him sink into you so sinfully, it was so much better than your toys. His thick cock gliding into your welcoming walls. Mouth hanging open at the feeling of his pressing so deep inside you

“Better than your toys huh?” A chuckle sounds out from behind you and you curse your fucked out brain for speaking out loud. You werent lying however,

You gasped — tried to rock back against him — but Toji grabbed your hips in a bruising grip, holding you still.

“Uh-uh,” he hissed, sinking deeper. “Take it. Let me fuckin’ stretch you out.”

It was too much — the overwhelming stretch, the filthy, sticky heat between your thighs, the way your body just took him greedily, still trembling from your first orgasm.Toji bottomed out with a heavy, satisfied grunt — hips flush against your ass — and for a moment, he just stayed there, savoring the way you clung to him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice thick and ragged.“You feel so good. Better than I imagined. Fuckin’ made for me, huh?”

Your fucked out brain couldn’t even process what he was saying, imagined? Had he thought about this too?

You nodded helplessly, whining when he gave a shallow thrust — hips grinding into you slow and deep, dragging the thick length of him against your fluttering walls.He fucked you lazily at first — deep, heavy strokes that made you sob into the mattress — placing all of his weight behind his merciless strokes, rocking into you slow and sharp. Relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him.

He was so deep you were sure you could feel him in your throat, you could feel every ridge, every vein, Like you were moulded to him.

But his patience didn’t last for long

Soon he was pounding into you, rough and relentless, your hips slapping against his with every brutal thrust.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Toji growled, watching the way your body shook under him.“Take it. Take it all.”

You babbled something incoherent — something desperate — but Toji just laughed and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so he could murmur filth into your ear.

“What’s that, baby?” he teased, voice all syrupy condescension. “Can’t even talk, huh? Fucked you stupid already?”

You whined, blinking up at him, lips parted — brain mushy and overloaded.

“That’s alright,” Toji rasped, fucking you harder, crueler. “You don’t gotta think. Just gotta cum for me.”

And you did — with a wrecked cry, clenching around him so hard he cursed under his breath, hips stuttering as he chased his own release.

You felt it when he came — the hot pulse of it inside you, the low, guttural groan he let out against your shoulder — and then he collapsed over you, still buried deep, his body trembling from the force of it.

For a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing — the sticky, filthy aftermath of it hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, Toji nuzzled against your neck, pressing a lazy kiss there, voice rough and low:

“Y’still mad about the batteries, princess?”

[pukefactory]

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I loved the idea that @the-void-via submitted to me so much that I couldn’t help but write some headcanons about it. Shoutout to them for such a unique prompt. Happy reading!

- COMET

•☽────✧˖°˖ PHANTOM PSALMS ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA X War Medic Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ ENA meets you on a Tuesday. She says it’s a lucky day because Tuesdays are for strategic repositioning and shiny discounts. You tell her you’re not buying anything. She stares. Doesn’t say a word. Her cap tips forward slightly, and you can hear the subtle click-click-click of bullets sliding somewhere unseen, just beneath her hairline. You offer her a bandage instead of a handshake. She takes it. Her fingers twitch like they want to wrap around something tighter.

☆ “I’m not that anymore,” she says, as her shadow glows red with crosshairs. You hadn’t accused her of anything. All you did was say, you look tired. And maybe, just maybe, she is. Maybe ENA was programmed to obliterate entire populations and can no longer remember the difference between routine and remorse. You hand her a coffee instead of a confession. She gulps it like it’s blood.

☆ She doesn’t know what to do with your softness. You speak in triage terms: Here. Let me check. You’re not bleeding, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. ENA hears you and glitches. Her Salesperson side smiles, her Meanie side crumbles. “No one has ever offered me gauze before,” she says. “Usually, they offer…retaliation.” You offer her a blanket. She asks if it’s a trap.

☆ There’s an instance where ENA panics. Real panic, the kind where her claws shake and her mittened hand begins typing something in the air you can’t read. “I’M NOT DOING IT,” she screams, the bullets fall again. You step in front of her. Not to fight. But to triage. “It’s okay,” you say. “If this is what you did…you don’t have to do it anymore.” She looks at you like you just handed her a reason to live. Or maybe just a reason to not die.

☆ You become the only one she listens to. The only one who doesn’t speak in orders. “You have the face of a sergeant,” she tells you one day. “But the heart of mercy.” It’s supposed to be an insult, probably. Her voice glitches halfway through. She looks away. You touch her shoulder and say, “Good. I’ve seen enough of what happens when soldiers forget mercy.” She doesn’t respond. But the megaphones don’t spin that day.

☆ Sometimes you catch her staring at her own hands. Not in awe. Not in vanity. In disgust. Her left palm opens to reveal a cracked metal chamber. Her right fingers are sharp. “I was made to point and eliminate. You were made to stitch.” She says this and doesn’t finish the sentence. You finish it for her: “Then maybe we’re supposed to meet halfway.” She looks at you like you just gave her a new job title: Healer in Training.

☆ She dreams in crosshairs and you dream in tourniquets. One night, the two dreams overlap and she wakes up tangled in a fever. “You were there,” she says. “On the battlefield. But you didn’t shoot me. You…you pressed your hands to my chest and told me to breathe.” You didn’t have the heart to tell her you’ve never been to war. Maybe she just pulled that memory from herself.

☆ “I keep trying to do better,” she tells you once, quiet as a wind-up toy losing momentum. “I aim for the target. I follow protocol. But everyone still looks at me like I killed their world.” You sit beside her on the dusty casino floor and whisper, “That’s because you probably did.” She flinches. “But you’re here now. You didn’t run from the wreckage. That means something.” She doesn’t speak for five whole minutes. Her hat slips down her brow like a salute.

☆ You see it, one day. The flash of her other form. Green cracks. No arms. Jagged mouth leaking color that doesn’t exist in any medical manual. “They made me into a god of endings,” she says. “But you…” She leans in, wild-eyed, “You always begin things. Even now. Look at you—bandages and tea and dumb questions about feelings.” You laugh. She winces like it’s a bullet wound. But doesn’t move away.

☆ When she finally asks what your role was, you hesitate. “I kept people alive,” you say. Not proudly. Just honestly. ENA turns away. “And I kept people from continuing,” she replies. And for a moment, there’s nothing but static. Until you say: “Then maybe it’s time we learn from each other.” She doesn’t reply. But she stops dropping bullets for the rest of the week.

[the-internets-girlfriend]

Secrets in Doncaster: Part 3 - George Clarke

George Clarke x Y/N (1700+ words)

A soccer Saturday in Doncaster is spent laughing and drinking with friends... and the occasionally minion. However, can a secret go viral?

warnings: alcohol consumption, creating bets, swearing, a grumpy minion.

series | masterlist | previous part | next part

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A bright flash was directed toward us...

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The sudden flash slices through the dim pub lighting, stark and jarring. George instinctively shifts his body in front of mine, shielding me, even as we both blink rapidly to shake of the after image. I pull back away from George's body, squinting into the crowd.

A guy stands a few metres back, phone in hand, looking like a deer caught in headlights realising he has just been caught . I recognise him instantly - one of the friends of the guy we took a selfie with earlier. He's still frozen as his mouth moves into an 'O' shape; he begins to lower the phone and slowly steps towards us.

"Sorry," he calls out awkwardly. "I didn't mean - I was trying to get one before the kiss - but it looked really sweet. My bad." He apologies, his eyes adverting to the ground.

George steps forward a little, voice calm but firm. "Hey mate - could you delete that, yeah?"

The guy pauses, then nods quickly. "Yeah, yeah. Of course, I didn't mean to be a dick."

"Appreciate it," George says, giving a polite nod. There's no edge to his tone, but there's no room for argument ether. I watch as the guy fiddles to unlock his phone in his drunken state; showing us the screen as he deletes the image from both his gallery and recently deleted. George gives the guy a thumbs up, mentions one thing to him and turns back to me.

"You good?" He asks softly.

I give a nod as my only reply as I am so deep in thought - but I know he can see something behind my eyes. He always can.

"What are you thinking beautiful?"

"What if - if we just told our fans?" I suggest, worried for his answer.

George looks at me in amazement, "yes we can!." He exclaimed. "I've been waiting for you to be ready - I want to be able to kiss you in public, and even make all those couple videos."

I let out a small giggle at his last statement, "I think I am ready Georgie."

"Good but I want it to be us it reveal, not some drunk in a random pub." I nod in agreement before we hear the bartender behind us. We grab our drinks and I follow George through the crowd back to our table.

Once we had returned to the table, I notice the group has changed seats - and now there only sat two chairs next to each other. I took the seat next to Chris as George followed after me. He placed the tray of drinks at the centre of the table as everyone grabbed a shot. George leans back into his seat, a hand finding its way to my side as the group downs their shots.

"Is that the first bingo wing done? Bingo thing done sorry?" Arthur asks, but I just stare blanky at the man, still trying to register as to what had came out of his mouth.

"Sorry how do I order you to shut the fuck up?" Arthur Hill asks, as the group erupts in cheers.

The remainder of our time spent in wetherspoon is spent finishing our drinks, and Chris claiming himself to be a 'legend'.

We shuffle out of the pub - George running ahead saying nonsense to the camera.

The camera moves to focus on Arthur TV, Chris and I as we walked - arms all wrapped around each other to have the ability to walk straight... you could say we were the lightweights of the group.

Chris is mentioning how much he appreciates Arthur when I let out a drunk uproar, "NO! You're meant to be in love with the other Arthur!" Before anything else can be said, a warhammer store is pointed out to Arthur and he's running ahead of the group.

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Our next stop - Angel & Royal.

We all jet line to the bar, elbows flying, laughter rising. The energy shifts immediately. Music pounds through the speakers like it's synced to our pulse, and the sticky floor somehow feels sacred, like we've stepped onto a battlefield of bad decisions.

Without warning, the world's worst dance competition erupts. Becky and I stand centre of the group - because we were committed to out dance the boys. I throw in a moonwalk whilst Becky pretends to throw money at me - as if I was a stripper.

The rest of the group cheers us on as if we're on Britain's Got Absolutely No Talent. We clearly beat the boys. Pure chaos. Pure vibes.

"I just shit blood." George states abruptly upon his arrival, "Y/N please call our doctor." He gives a dramatic flare with leaning against me for support.

I snort. "No offence Georgie, but Dr Smith isn't going to pick up at this hour."

He gasps in mock betrayal, clutching me dramatically once again.

Chris, naturally, chooses this moment to appear with a tray full of danger - shots that smell like lighter fluid and regret. "LET'S GO!" He yells, practically glowing with mischief.

I take one sniff and instantly feel the bile rise. My face contorts in protest.

George catches the pulled face immediately. I nudge him gently and tilt my shot glass toward him, giving him my best wide-eyed please-don't-make-me-die look - full angel mode activated.

His response is smooth as ever. Without a single blink, he glances around the group to make sure no one's watching, then subtly tilts my shot into his glass, all in one fluid motion like a magician doing a trick for an audience who's too drunk to notice - and oh our group was definitely drunk.

"Sorted," he mutters under his breath, nudging my arm with a secret smile.

I mouth thank you and lean into my boyfriend; of who responds with an arm wrapping around me.

We depart the pub shortly after, George taking my hand as the streets began to seem more busy. We walk alongside the group heading towards the Silver Street.

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Silver Street was loud - the kind of loud that rattles in your chest and makes your shoes stick to the pavement. But somehow it got louder when our group arrived - Becky leading the charge, belting out whatever song was blasting from a nearby bar. George and I trailed behind, giggling as she twirled into a dramatic solo, arms stretched like she was headlining Glastonbury.

For a fleeting moment, it was bliss - just our voices, our laughter, the night wrapping around us like a warm buzz.

Then came the fans - the many fans.

It started with a few, but quickly snowballed. A cluster of people suddenly surged toward us, phone camera raised, excited voices calling names.

George's hand slipped from mine as he got swept into the crowd, fans tugging at him for photos, pressing close, shouting over each other. The other boys were drawn into the chaos too - Chris already mid-pose, Arthur TV and Isaac talking about this podcast to a group.

Becky and I stood just off to the side, Arthur Hill now back beside us, his expression a mix of amusement and confusion. "Yeah, maybe the scenic route down main street wasn't our brightest move." Becky said, elbowing me gently.

I nodded, but my eyes didn't leave George.

He was smiling for photos, laughing along with the fans, doing that polite, public facing version of himself - charming, patient, easygoing. But I saw the way his shoulders tensed slightly, the way he subtly tried to step back from the people pressing too close, hands gripping his arms longer than necessary.

One girl practically clung to him as he tried to move away.

My stomach twisted.

He finally made his way back over to us, cheeks flushed from the attention. I reached for his arm instinctively, lowering my voice, "you okay?"

He gave a small nod, then turned to the group, exhaling sharply. "A guy just came over and asked for a photo - and as I was leaving he went, go get yourself some fanny."

The group exploded into laughter, Becky cackling like she'd just been told the greatest joke in history.

George grinned, then turned to me with his hand raised. "Little does he know I am getting some. Up high?"

"Oh, shut up," I said, biting back my grin, swatting his hand away instead of high-fiving him. His smirk grew.

With the crowd still lingering and whispers trailing behind us, we collectively decided to get off the main drag and head toward the next pub. Somewhere less fan-dense, hopefully.

I walked a few steps ahead of Becky and George, throwing glances over my shoulder every time Becky cracked a joke loud enough to earn a bark of laughter. George looked relaxed again, at least for now.

That's when I noticed them - a group of girls trailing just behind. Trying to stay subtle but clearly following. Clearly watching George.

"You're like Harry Styles," Becky declared, tossing an arm dramatically around his shoulder. George gave a sheepish grin, that awkward, bashful one he does when he doesn't quite know how to take a compliment - or when he's too polite to roll his eyes.

Becky, never one to miss a moment, turned on her hell toward the tailing girls, and loud enough to echo across the street, shouted, "sorry girls, he's got a girlfriend."

My stomach flipped. I froze for a half-second.

George didn't say anything, But I caught the glance he shot me - a proud look. And he mouthed a I love you of which I returned.

The girls fell back, murmuring between themselves, and Becky looked satisfied as hell - giving me a wink.

George quickened his pace to catch up beside me, brushing his hand against mine again.

This time, he didn't let go.

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hi everyone! I'm back from visiting my parents so here is the next part I've promised and hope you guys love!! I'm loving showing their soft and caring side for each other - is so cute to write!

I also have a little surprised planned for tomorrow!!

See you soon,

mwah x

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taglist x

@wherethezoes-at @tomsparkyr @dopeysunflowers @cuntessaiii @magicalfurykoala @kisses-for-you @rreaperes @lazywonderlandfestival @swiftlyjo @tyna-19 @swizzlemynizzle

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Love Knows No Bounds

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader 

Word Count: 2004

Summary: Your dad’s best friend, Steve Rogers, has been in a secret relationship with you. When Steve wants to take your relationship public, you freak out and leave for college. Once you’re back in town, you want to work things out with him. Will he forgive you?

Warnings: Age gap, Reader is in late 20s & Steve is in 40s, Angst, Arguing, Dry Humping, Make up sex, P in V. 

A/N: For @avengers-assemble-bingo AA-Kinky Bingo with squares Dad’s Best Friend + Dry Humping. Card (KB010)

A/N 2: Thank you to my beta readers @late-to-the-party-81 & @lfnr-blog-blog-blog. Thank you to Jen @late-to-the-party-81 for my header.

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

For years, you have been in love with your Dad’s best friend, and your family’s next-door neighbor, Steve Rogers. Having just graduated from college in May, you’d decided to come back home for the summer while you figured things out. However, as you travelled, sinking into the familiar comfort of your Dad’s truck, you couldn’t help but remember the last time you saw Steve, devastation plastered over his face.

That night, the pair of you had argued over what your plans were gonna be once you graduated. He wanted you to come home and move in with him, to finally come out and tell the world you were in love. The problem was that you weren’t sure if you were ready. Steve had been so upset by your indecision that he’d pushed for an answer. However, it had the effect of making you so mad that you’d threatened not to come back home. Then, before you’d let him get a word in, you stormed off. 

That had been a horrible way to leave things, and you wondered how were you supposed to fix things that seemed so broken? Especially considering that you’d been at college since January - a whole five months had passed with no contact between you.

It was nighttime by the time your dad arrived back at the house and pulled into the driveway. Grabbing your duffle bag and backpack, you got out and made your way to the front door.  A glance over to Steve’s house revealed him standing at a window, staring at you. Not knowing what to do, you waved, but he just walked away and disappeared into the house. Your fingers curled, and your arm lowered at your side. Great, so this is how it was going to be, you thought. 

Walking into the house, you headed upstairs to your room. It all looked the same as when you’d left. Placing your bags down, you considered unpacking, but instead decided that there was no time like the present to talk things out with Steve. You were both adults, and would be in close proximity for the next few months, so the sooner things were settled between you, the better. You looked in the mirror and decided you were just going to stay in your leggings and shirt.

Heading back down the stairs, you told your dad you were going for a walk, not even waiting to hear his reply. Walking next door, your stomach was in knots as you made your way to his front door; however, before you could even knock, the door swung open.

Steve filled the doorway and just stared at you, as if he didn't know what to say after you left him the way you did. It was clear that a part of him was still angry, but you hoped that a part of him had missed you too.

“What do you want, doll?”

Your hands started to fidget in front of your body, fingers twisting together, as you spoke. “Can we talk?”

“Now you want to talk? Fuck.” He ran his hand through his hair, sweeping it back off his forehead. “Fine. Get in here so no one gets nosy.” He stepped to the side to let you pass. You walked into his house, and he motioned you towards the living room as if you weren’t already intimately familiar with the place, its similarities to your own home’s open concept notwithstanding. You made your way to the couch and sat down, Steve taking the easy chair to your left.

 “What do you want to talk about? It’s been five months since you left me hanging without a single phone call or text.”

You took a deep breath to prepare for the fight that had been brewing for months.

“Steve, I want to apologize for how I left things between us at the beginning of the year. I was confused and scared.”

“No shit. But what exactly were you scared of? Me? Commitment? Both?.”

You shook your head. “No, I’ve never been scared of you. You’ve never frightened me in all the years we have known each other. And I’m not afraid of commitment either. I’m afraid of what my dad would say if he found out about us. He trusts you, Steve, like you’re family to him. This would break that trust and damage my relationship with him.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m not dumb, doll, and I’d been figuring out a plan for months, but you never gave me a chance to explain. Do you know how badly you hurt me? I thought I lost you. Hell, I might’ve already.”

You started to tear up as you listened to him speak. You’d never intended to hurt him as badly as you did, and now he thought he’d lost you for good.

“All I wanted to do was take our relationship to the next step,” he continued. “But instead, you broke my heart. I don’t know how to fix this!”

You’d really screwed up and also had no idea how to fix it, either. But you were going to try anyway.

“Steve, I want to fix this. Tell me how, and I’ll work towards it.”

Steve got up from his seat and started to pace the living room.

“I don’t know if you can doll. I love you dearly, never stopped, but you really did a number on me.”

“Steve, I love you too. Always have and always will. Please, I'm begging for another chance.”

Tears started to gather in Steve's eyes, and he looked completely lost. Did he still long for you inside his heart? You waited, breath caught in your throat as he contemplated what he was going to do. Would he tell you to go, or would he give you another chance?

“You know, a part of me wants to call this quits. Move on and find a wife. The other part of me knows I won’t ever be as happy as when I’m with you. You complete me in every way imaginable.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before opening them again and pinning you with his ocean blue gaze. “I’m giving you another chance, but this time you have to talk things through. No shutting me out like you did before. Does that sound fair?”

Tears spill down your face as you start crying. “Yes, that’s fair.”

Steve sits down in his chair and holds his arms open for you. “Come here, love.”

You pushed off the couch, crossing the space between you, and straddled his legs as you sobbed into his chest. Steve wrapped his arms around you and held you close to him. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, doll. Everything is going to be okay now. Just wait and see.” His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back.

Your crying slowed, and then stopped, as you nuzzled your face into Steve’s neck. Your lips start to press softly against his skin and you could feel his cock twitch beneath you. A moment later, Steve grabbed your hips and started to move them, making you grind against his muscular thigh. You let out a whimper as you began dry humping against his ever-growing bulge. The friction was increasing your arousal and a wet spot formed on your leggings. 

Steve kept making you grind against him, but when you were about to cum, so close your body was trembling, he suddenly stopped. You whine at the loss of the friction, and Steve chuckled.

“I don’t want you cumming in your leggings. Your pussy only cums around my cock.”

He lifted you with ease, and your legs wrapped around his waist. Steve carried you up the stairs and to his bedroom and when he placed you back on your feet, you both started to undress one another, clothes flying everywhere until you were both naked.

You crawled up the bed with Steve’s eyes following your every movement. You lay on your back and spread your legs for him and he finally moves to follow, climbing onto the foot of the bed and working his way up your body, kissing you all over. When he reached your face, he went back down again, kissing your breasts and the spot on your neck that always made you whimper. You knew he would love to take his time with you right now, he always did prefer it that way, but right now both your bodies are screaming with need. He grabbed his cock and slowly pumped it a few times and you couldn’t draw your eyes away as he rubbed his tip through your wet folds and finally sank home to where he was meant to be.

Steve leant on his arms as he drove his thick cock in and out of you. You groaned in pleasure as he pushed you higher and higher, back towards your orgasm. In and out, slow and steady, Steve made love to you. He dips his head, panting against your neck, now and again, kissing and sucking on that spot that drives you wild. Your legs are wrapped around his trim waist, anchoring you together even more, as he worked you over and over again.

Steve finally drove his cock into you for that one pivotal moment where you finally came around him, a long moan of his name on your lips. As your walls squeezed and spasm around Steve’s cock he slowed down for a moment before speeding back up and starting to fuck you into the mattress. Your fingers laced with his and he placed your hands by your head.

“Fuck, doll. You feel so good. I just want you in my bed. Every. Fucking. Night.” He punctuated each word with a hard thrust. In and out, harder and faster, he took you until finally, he came deep inside your pussy with a shout of your name. 

After a few heavy breaths, Steve pulled out of you and went to the bathroom to clean up. He returned with a towel and cleaned gently between your legs before throwing the towel in a hamper. In a moment, he crawled back into the bed and pulled the covers over both of you. You turned to cuddle into his side, your head resting on his chest.

“Steve? What was the plan you had figured out for months that I didn’t listen to?

Steve chuckled for a minute before he could compose himself.

“I talked to your dad about us already,” he admitted.

“Wait, what?” You sat up and looked down at him, taken completely by surprise

“After you left, I wasn’t in a good headspace. So one night, I show up depressed and drunk at your dad’s house. He asks what’s wrong, and I say I’m in love with your daughter. That I wanted you back and I was going to marry you.”

“You want to marry me?” You gasped in shock. 

“I do, doll. Well, after I spilled my drunken heart out, your dad punched me in the face a few times. Told me he had a feeling something wasn’t right cause you kept going for walks every night. He even said he could see you light up every time I was around.”

“So what did my dad say after that?  Is he mad at us?”

“Your dad threatened to shoot me if I ever broke your heart. We didn’t talk for a few months, but by April we were hanging out again.”

“I’m surprised he’s okay with this. Us. Although, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway because I’ve decided I wanted to move in with you. I’m going to find a job in town so we can be together.”

Steve rolled you onto your back and kissed you passionately. “Now that just made my day. I’m so happy you decided to choose me. I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together. Just the two of us.”

“Same Stevie. This is the start of a new chapter for us.”

Taglist:

@americasass81

@awesomerextyphoon

@awkwardgiraffe726

@b3autyfuld1sast3r

@caplanbuckybarnes

@denisemarieangelina

@fictional-affairs

@get0verit

@joannie95

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@jvanilly

@kmc1989

@labella420

@lfnr-blog-blog-blog

@madscape

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@missvelvetsstuff

@mrsmischief209

@mycrazyasslikestoread

@nekoannie-chan

@noellez-best-life23

@notyourtypicalrose

@obsessedwithcevans

@patzammit

@princessofdarkwinter

@rayofdawnworld

@sarahowritesostucky

@spectre-posts

@stellar-solar-flare

@steviebbboi

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@wolfsmom1

@yenzys-lucky-charm

[lieslab]

Put 'em up

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Changbin X gn reader

Summary: You patch up your injured boyfriend after he does something dumb.

Genre: Reverse comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.7k

_ _ _

The sound of the front door opening and a loud groan caused your head to jerk upright. Before you, scattered pieces of an incomplete puzzle. Edges wrapped around one side and corner pieces in another. Colors that blend together and random pieces that you’d yet to figure out where they went. 

Puzzling wasn’t your favorite pastime, but after a long day of work, it felt like a good way to forget societal pressure. It worked, too. At least, it worked until your boyfriend’s hisses and whines continued. You were snapped from your puzzle mystery and stood up from the dining room chair. 

“Baby?” You called out, cautiously. When a groan responded, you moved through the dining room and into the sunny living room. You tried once again. “Did you pull another muscle in dance practice? I thought Chan told you to stretch a certain way, so you-” 

At first, you didn’t understand what he was doing. A slumped body stood against the front door. His head tipped back, revealing a bobbing adam’s apple. He hissed again and pushed himself up. 

“Why are you acting like you’ve been beaten with a baseball bat?” 

“Only a little off, baby. Minho’s fists are almost like tiny bats.” He shifted and winced. “Except they move a lot faster and they pack a big punch.” 

Your eyes widened. “Um, excuse me? Did the two of you get into a fight?” 

“Yes and no.” He finally shifted, so he could look at you. Your heart dropped at the sight of bruises lining the side of his jaw. The end of his left eye socket puffed up with a rotten shade of brown. A bottom busted lip brought along dried blood. “Do I still look good?” 

“You look like an idiot. What the hell happened?” Your feet propelled you forward and you reached out with gentle hands. “What the fuck did you two do?” 

He cried out as your hand cupped the side of his jaw. You jerked it back. Fire radiated through his skin and ran up to his ear. “Sorry, sorry. It hurts.” 

“Well, no shit sherlock.” You reached forward with your hand again and pulled it back before you could touch him. Heat radiated off his entire body. “Seriously, what happened?” 

“We were boxing.” 

“Were you? Were you really? Because right now, it looks like Minho beat the shit out of you.” 

“He did.” 

You met his dark eyes without a word. Your lips pursed and a sigh slowly fell through your nose. “If something happened between you and Minho-” 

“Baby, it’s not like that. You know what they say, ‘boys will be boys,’ or whatever.” He weakly chuckled, but you didn’t find amusement in his words. He reached down and gently grabbed your hand. “Minho and I were screwing around. I challenged him to a real boxing match.” 

He placed your hand against the uninjured side of his cheek. Your face tightened in a panic. “You’re not trained in boxing! Changbin!” 

“I know that now. I thought with my muscles, I could give him a run for his money. It turns out, despite my big, strong muscles, I’m not equipped for the quickness in boxing. At least, not yet.” 

“You are such a goddamn idiot.” Your thumb lightly ran over the bruise forming below his eye. His face tensed, but he didn’t push you away. “Why didn’t Minho stop you?” 

“Because Minho likes teaching people lessons?” 

Another unamused look on your end caused him to chuckle. “You’re not funny. Babe, you could have seriously been so injured. What about your company? How are they going to-” 

“I have an incredible makeup artist.” 

“You should give them a tip for dealing with your stupidity.” Your eyes glanced over. When you saw his knuckles, your stomach twisted. You reached over your arm and grabbed his wrist. “Did you not use boxing gloves?” 

“Well…” 

Your head shook and you lowered his arm. “You can’t do this to yourself. This is reckless and dangerous. Playing for shits and giggles, or not, this isn’t okay.” You shifted your hand to turn his face. “Hits like these can cause concussions and concussions can cause serious head injuries.” 

“You sound like my mother.” 

“If I was your mother and you weren’t injured, I’d whack you upside the head. Come on, let’s go clean you up.” 

He tried to hide his grin as you led him to the bathroom by his wrist. Despite your panicked words, he knew they were entirely from worry and love. Your words were always out of love, even if they sounded harsh to the average eavesdropper. 

In the bathroom, you flicked on the overhead fluorescent white light. Your reflections appeared in the mirror, letting Changbin glance at himself for the first time since walking out of the gym. “Oh, fuck.” 

You rolled your eyes and led him to the toilet. “Sit down, so I can fix your mess.” 

“To be fair, it looks a lot worse than it feels.” 

“Yeah, right.” The words shot out in sarcasm. “How did Minho come out of this? Unscathed?” 

“Uh… no?” 

Your narrowed eyes caused him to glance over to the shower. “Okay, so maybe he’s unharmed. I mean, you should be proud of me though! I did get a chance to clip his shoulder. I went like-” He swung out his arm and then hissed. “Oof. Definitely a pulled muscle.” 

“Jackass.” 

“I love you, too.” 

You glanced at him, taking in all the bruises. “Is there anywhere else that hurts?” 

“My heart. You’re kinda being a little mean. I’m trying to be brave. I’m a short king!” He pushed himself up higher on the toilet. “I have to defend my baby somehow! What if these muscles don’t scare off bad guys?” 

“First of all, I’m completely okay on my own. I appreciate you trying, but I don’t like it when your actions get you hurt. You're fragile, Bin. You can’t try to fight people without proper equipment and knowledge, even if your heart is in the right place.” 

His shoulders slumped in defeat. You couldn’t stand the frown on his face. You turned to grab a washcloth, so you could wipe the blood from his bottom lip. After getting it wet, you turned back to him. 

“Are you really mad at me?” He glanced up through his lashes. “I didn’t mean to make you worried, I just-” 

“I’m mad because your actions have reminded me that you’re fragile. We only get this one life and I’d rather spend it cuddling and loving you than wiping your own blood from your body. Now please put your chin up, so I can wipe off the dried blood.” 

He sighed and let you work. You tried to avoid the bruises along the side of his jaw, but it was nearly impossible. His nose wrinkled in pain, but he didn’t try to stop you. With warm water, you gently dabbed at the blood. 

“How did you end up with bruised knuckles if you weren’t hitting Minho?” 

“We were practicing on punching bags.” 

“Of course, you were.” 

“You should have seen me, baby. I throw a pretty good punch. One punch from me in the face and I’m knocking lights out. Wa-ah!” He threw his non-injured hand, nearly taking you out in the process. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. Are you okay?” 

His hands went to your hips, gently steadying you. “I didn’t knock your nose, did I?” 

“Not yet. You’re a bull in a china shop. Please refrain from trying to kill me. Minho might be able to survive your punches, but I don’t think I will.” 

“Are you implying that I’d hurt you?” He jerked up onto his feet. “Baby, I wouldn’t! I’m not like that! Who would do such a thing? See! This is why Minho is going to teach me boxing! I’ve gotta protect you.” 

“You’ve got a big heart, Bin.” 

“Hell yeah, I do! Nobody and I mean nobody touches my baby! Leave ‘em alone! We’ll tussle in the streets!” 

“Tussle in the sheets,” you mumble beneath your breath. 

“Huh?” He glanced down, unsure of what you said. 

“Nothing. Nothing.” You smiled and cautiously patted his non-injured shoulder. “Sit and let me wrap up your knuckles. I think we have gauze from a while ago.” 

He perched himself back on the porcelain throne. His eyes went down to his knuckles. A plump purple bloomed and brown stained. He grimaced and looked at the other one. “You’re right, it does look bad.” 

You hummed and retrieved the elastic bandages you needed. You worked in silence, letting all your attention stay on his knuckles. “How does it feel?” 

“Better. You always make my injuries feel better. You know exactly what to do and-” He stopped speaking when he realized you were staring at him. When he glanced up, you were grinning. “What are you doing?” 

You shrugged and went back to wrapping the bandage between his spread fingers. “Admiring the view.” 

His face fell and then morphed. A strawberry red brushed his cheeks. “Stop!” He giggled, reaching out and gently hitting your shoulder. “You’re not supposed to flatter me! That’s my job!” 

“Well, you know, I didn’t expect to find a knockout today, but here I am. I can nurse your pride back to health too, if you need me to.” You shot him a quick wink and secured the bandage.  

His cheeks darkened and he squirmed. “Yah, stop! Enough! Enough!” He squealed and covered his face. “I can’t take it! You’re being so cute! My heart is-” 

You cocked your head. “Skipping beats? Racing? Giving up completely? Should I add CPR to your treatment plan? I thought you were tough, but you’re folding faster than your footwork.” 

“Hey!” 

You laughed, spinning around to wash your hands. He opened his mouth and then closed it. He opened it again, took a breath, but no words came out. “You are-” 

“Ah, ah, ah. You’re not supposed to be so wound up. You’re lucky that I took time to patch you up. One more compliment and I think you’ll combust.” 

He groaned, throwing up his hands in defeat. “I can’t believe I’ve been beat twice today. Minho beat me up. You’re stealing my swag.” 

“Consider being beaten a third time.” 

“Huh?” 

You dried your hands, shrugged, and headed off towards your bedroom. He paused for a minute, but when it clicked, his eyes widened. “Hey! Enough! You little-” 

Your laughter haunted him from your shared room. 

“You little shit! Get back here, right now! I’m not done with you!” 

What started with your worry ended with a smirk as he rushed after you and slammed the bedroom door shut.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg

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[gold-onthe-inside]

we'll always have paris

who? emily prentiss (s7) x photographer!reader summary: in the aftermath of doyle, you try and scrape together the remnants of your life with emily, weeding out old flowers for something new. content warnings: reader is a photographer word count: 2.1k author's note: requested by @mggslover, written for spring-fest, and you can find more emily x reader here. please enjoy. everything in italics is a flashback.

You thought it had just been a nice gesture, JJ and Hotch helping you pack up Emily’s apartment. Sergio was under shared custody between you and Penelope, a small sacrifice to give the despondent analyst something positive to channel her love and grief over losing Emily into. Packing her life into boxes was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, taking down photo frames. You hadn’t thought twice when you never saw Emily’s clothes again, JJ packing them into a suitcase. You’d assumed it was headed to a thrift store, satisfied with the sweaters you’d kept for yourself. You would have stayed at the brownstone, if you could afford it, sleeping in her bed, in soft sheets that reminded you of her, staring at the bedroom ceiling.

Instead, you were back in your studio apartment, going over photos of her instead of digitally correcting the wedding film you’d shot a week ago.

“It’s beautiful,” Emily murmured, sitting up in bed with your belated birthday present to her, in a soft grey tanktop and plaid shorts. You watched her, biting your lip in anticipation as she pulled out the dainty gold necklace, an engraved pendant dangling from her hands.

“It’s St Christopher,” you replied, shifting closer, resting your chin on her shoulder. “To keep you safe when you’re travelling.” Her dark curls tickled your cheek as you pressed your lips to her pale shoulder, running your hand over her arm.

“I’m not sure I believe in saints,” Emily said softly, looking at you as you tilted your head to meet her dark gaze, unable to help yourself to pressing a few more kisses to her arm, soft under your touch, but toned when she wanted it to be.

“That’s okay,” you replied, smiling at her. “That’s not why I gave it to you.”

“No?” Emily’s temple furrowed as you straightened, fingers tucking her curls away and sweeping it over her shoulder.

“The legend goes,” you explained, taking the necklace and unhooking it, “that St Christopher dedicated his life to carrying travellers across a river.” You were on your knees, hooking the chain around her neck, and pulling her hair back as you continued. “And one day, he carried a young boy across the river, and then the river became swollen, and the child was heavier, but Christopher pushed on anyway, to get the child across the river. And then the child revealed that he was Jesus Christ, but, I mean, the religious stuff aside…” Your hands rubbed her arms. “I was thinking about all the things you do, how much of yourself you give to help others… and I guess, the point of all this is… you’re a saint to me, Em.”

Emily looked at you with an expression that was completely unreadable, and then she was cupping your face and kissing you, pulling you closer by the hip.

You’re broken out of the reverie by message from your boss at the agency.

Julia: A private client’s requesting your services in Paris. I wouldn’t tell you if the money wasn’t good. Let me know if you’re up for it.

It turned out your boss was as confused as you were — not that you weren’t a brilliant photographer; you’d done your fair share of everything in the catalogue, starting out as a forensic photographer, to working for the Washington Post, to tabloid magazines (that was the worse than the crime scenes you had to photograph), to wedding and family shoots, to headshots and modelling shoots. But the money was insanely good. Good enough to get Emily’s apartment back. So you take it, not particularly worried about the danger of it.

Penelope’s ecstatic for you, more than happy to take Sergio in full-time, yapping on about all the things she wants when you come back, and all the places you have to try, and photos you have to take, and before you know it, you’re clutching your passport and ticket in one hand, your suitcase in the other.

“So, how many languages do you actually know?” you asked, walking with Emily through the city, coffees in hand.

“Well, there’s French, Spanish… My Italian’s not great, my Russian is terrible,” Emily replied, enjoying the dumbstruck look on your face. “And I grew up in several Middle Eastern countries, so I’m pretty familiar with Arabic—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “Jesus, now I feel like an idiot.”

“No, come on,” Emily countered. “You’re an artist—”

“I take crime scene photos—”

“To make money, I’ve seen the real stuff,” Emily assured her, a hand going to your waist, pulling you to the side of the pavement, connecting you closer with her. “The way you capture people and places is… It’s like poetry.”

You looked at her serious face, black eyes shining at you under dark lashes. “Really? It impresses you that much.”

“I think you could have your own gallery,” Emily professed, and that makes you laugh, starting to walk again, but she pulled at your wrist. “Seriously. At the very least an exhibit in some gallery, but still.”

When you closed your eyes, you were still in that apartment with Emily, tangled in sheets, soft morning light streaking the room golden, Sergio curled up at the foot of the bed, talking and kissing, limbs wrapped around the other, Plato’s soulmates trying to become one being. When you close your eyes, you can kiss her tattoos again, smell her shampoo, hear her laugh, and then say your name so reverently that it wouldn’t sound right from anyone else. When you close your eyes, you never want to open them again.

The agency had you set up in a studio apartment, fitted with everything you needed — a dark room, backdrops, lights — your living space behind a sliding door. You’d just finished setting up when you heard the knock on your door, opening it to receive your mail. Your French is clumsy as you thanked him, moving inside to open the small brown paper package. The paper fell apart to reveal a white jewellery box, opening to a gold necklace with a St Christopher pendant, and the shock of it almost makes you drop it.

You're quick to open the letter, praying that would calm your nerves, shaky hands unfolding the paper to find short sentences that give you nothing.

Come see me at Cafe de Fleur. I can explain everything. Yours, EP.

That wasn’t… It couldn’t be. You buried her. You wept at her grave. Screamed at Sergio to shut up because she wasn’t coming back. But it was her handwriting. The same loops that wrote every birthday card and note on your bedside table. It’s not even a question; your keys are already in your hand, grabbing a saddlebag and sliding into sneakers before running down three floors, and heading for the cafe across the street.

And there she is, at a table outside the cafe, sitting with coffee and a newspaper, a coat around her shoulders, wearing a white dress that went down to her knees. Chic and elegant to your messy, barely put together style. The wind is knocked out of your chest, watching her chew on a thumbnail. Her hair is shorter, the bangs grown out enough to be swept to the sides of her face.

“Don’t do that!” you chastised with a laugh, taking her hand in yours as you nestled against her on the couch, her dark gaze snapping to you. She’s been more anxious of late, distant; something about work she couldn’t tell you. “I swear, I’m gonna have to put lemon juice on your fingers to get you to stop at this point.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, wrapping her arms properly around you, kissing your hair.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I should just join the FBI so I can get you to relax better,” you murmured, snuggling against her chest.

“Don’t do that,” she replied, a serious edge to her voice. Almost like a plea. “I don’t want you to see the things I do.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen crime scenes before,” you replied, looking up at her. “I just can’t help but feel like… this job is… It’s putting this distance between us, and I don’t like it.” Her hand rubbed along your waist and stomach, trying to comfort you. Always comfort you.

“I’m gonna sort it out,” she promised, her gaze distant again. “I swear. I won’t let it taint this.”

Your brazen impatience died as you tentatively walked towards the seat across from her, and Emily looked up at you, watching you dropped the jewellery box in front of her, your face masked with anger and hurt. “This is how you tell me you’re alive?” you managed to ask, your voice lowering with bitterness.

“To… To be fair, there aren’t a lot of great ways,” Emily replied, her voice quiet, absent of her usual confidence, and you huffed as you plopped down in the seat.

“So, what, the job offer was a ruse to get me to Paris?” you asked dryly.

“Yes and no,” Emily replied softly. “I submitted your photos to a gallery here, and they seemed to like it… so… you do have a job here if you want it. But the private offer was from me. If you’d come here on your own, you could’ve been followed.”

You swallowed, closing your eyes and rubbing your face. “I don’t understand, why—”

“I have something Doyle wants,” Emily said slowly, watching you closely. “Something he’s willing to torture me all over again for, but right now, he thinks I’m dead. And it needs to stay that way until they find him.” You looked up at her, willing the tears away.

“I’m not made for this, Emily,” you told her. “All of this… cloak and daggers bullshit, I… Christ, Em…”

“I know,” she said instantly, covering your hand with hers. “I just… I couldn’t live with you thinking I was…” Dead. You stared at her nail-bitten hands, her touch feeling like a dream you couldn’t trust. “But I understand if you want out, I don’t expect you to upend your entire life around me—”

“You did that already,” you said, without thinking, knowing how cruel it sounded from your lips. “What’s the use of an out now?”

“Honey,” she murmured, almost pleading, squeezing your hand. “I love you,” she whispered. “In another universe, I would’ve… I would’ve spent the rest of my life with you.”

You finally looked at her, properly, make-up trying to hide the dark bags under her eyes, the fatigue in her shoulders. Maybe from the rest of the world, but not from you. “I still want that,” you murmured. “But this isn’t a life, Em. Living in hiding, running away at a moment’s notice…”

“So, we won’t hide,” Emily promised adamantly, squeezing again. “We can… Honey, we can build a life here. You and me. I mean, isn’t this what we talked about all the time? Running away to Europe? I’d leave the FBI, you’d actually pursue your art.”

“I… Emily, it was a dream,” you replied weakly. “And-And, they’re gonna find Doyle eventually, I mean, you should have seen Derek. He’s not gonna stop until he finds him.” You watched Emily’s face pale, her eyes downcast with guilt.

“I know,” she murmured, her hands still running over your knuckles. “But even if they find him… I don’t know if I want to go back,” she added quietly, and you frowned, watching her carefully.

“You love the job,” you insisted.

“I love you,” Emily replied, eyes finding yours. “Doyle threatened you, honey, threatened to take you away from me, and I can’t live with that. And I also can’t live without you, so… If that’s what it takes to keep this safe, I’ll leave.”

“And do what?” you asked, the words coming out in a disbelieving huff.

“Everything I put off,” she answered, shrugging. “Everything we missed out on.” You want to believe her. Everything inside of you is begging to believe her.

“And if I say no?” you asked tentatively, watching her face fall in resignation.

“It’s all up to you,” she said softly. “You have a job at a gallery if you want it. Or you can go back home, if that’s what you want. I won’t bother you again.” And your hand instinctively squeezed hers, not wanting to let go.

“I don’t want that,” you said automatically, her sharp eyes watching you. “I want this. A life with you.”

“You’re sure?” Emily asked, her heart hammering in her chest, and you nodded.

“I’m sure.”

comments and reblogs appreciated <3

[rositaslabyrinth]

Mirror games - Tish

Tish x female!reader

Tish catches you staring at her for the hundredth time. Instead of teasing, she decides it’s time you really see what you do to her—and what she can do to you.

Content warnings : mirror sex, light dom!tish, reader worship, oral (reader receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, slight degradation, heavy eye contact, lipstick smudges, thigh grabbing, hair pulling, Tish being a hot menace

Word count ; 855

Minors please do not interact !!!

You don’t mean to stare. Really, you don’t.

But with Tish? It’s almost impossible not to. She’s leaning over the counter at work again, cherry red lipstick freshly reapplied, her skirt riding up just enough to give you a peek of her thigh. Her smirk says she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“You got a staring problem, baby?” she murmurs, not even looking up from the sandwich she’s slicing.

You swallow hard. “I—wasn’t staring.”

“Oh, so now you’re a liar too.” She glances up at you through her lashes, licking a bit of mayo off her finger. “Cute.”

You flush, looking away, but she steps closer. Close enough that you catch her perfume—vanilla and something sharper, like spice. Her hand brushes your arm lightly, just enough to make your skin tingle.

“Come over tonight,” she whispers, lips brushing your ear. “And bring that mouth of yours. I’ve got a mirror that’s dying for your attention.”

You barely make it through your shift. Tish keeps brushing by you, her smirk wicked and knowing, as if she’s playing with her prey. By the time you’re at her apartment, you’re already shaking with need.

She doesn’t waste time.

“Bedroom. Now.” Her voice is low, sultry, almost a growl. You obey.

The lights are low in her room, the bed perfectly unmade, sheets in sexy chaos. But what catches your eye is the massive mirror against the wall, perfectly positioned to reflect the bed. You don’t even get to comment.

“Strip.” She crosses her arms, leaning back against the door. “I wanna see you.”

Your fingers tremble as you undress, the air cool against your skin. Tish watches you like a wolf, her tongue running over her lip. When you’re bare, she walks over—slowly, predator-smooth—and tilts your chin up.

“So pretty,” she murmurs. “Now sit. Right there.” She guides you to the edge of the bed, right in front of the mirror. You look uncertain, but she’s already undressing herself—peeling her shirt off slowly, revealing her skin and a black lace bra that makes your mouth go dry.

She straddles your lap, thighs framing your hips, and pulls your face up to hers.

“Eyes on the mirror, sweetheart. I want you to see what a mess you make me.”

Your breath catches as she kisses you—hot, deep, tasting like cherry cola and wickedness. Her lipstick smudges across your lips, your cheek, and then her hands are pushing you back onto the bed.

She doesn’t take her bra off. Not yet. Just trails her nails down your stomach before settling between your legs.

You whimper, hips jerking.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” she says, brushing her mouth over your inner thigh. “Keep watching, baby. I want you to see your face when I make you fall apart.”

Then her tongue is on you—slow, teasing circles at first, before she starts sucking, licking, like she’s starving. You can barely keep your eyes open, but when you glance at the mirror—you moan.

She looks sinful down there. Her hair’s a mess, lipstick smeared across your thighs, her grip bruising where she holds you open.

“Tish,” you gasp, hands clutching the sheets.

“Eyes up, doll,” she murmurs. “You don’t wanna miss the show.”

She doesn’t let up until your legs are shaking, your moans echoing off the walls. And when you finally come, she keeps licking—soft and slow, working you through every tremor. In the mirror, your back arches, your mouth slack, thighs trembling around her shoulders.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and climbs back up, kissing you hard—making you taste yourself on her tongue.

“Think you’re done?” she laughs softly. “Not even close.”

She turns you around, straddles you in her lap again, and finally—finally—slips her panties off. She guides your hand between her legs, lets you feel how soaked she is.

“All for you, baby.”

Then she sinks down onto you, slow and intense. You cry out, the heat of her core surrounding yours, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance.

In the mirror, it’s obscene. Her head tilted back, mouth parted, hair a mess. She’s grinding down on you, riding you hard, her voice a string of moans and filth.

“You love watching me fuck myself on you, don’t you?” she gasps. “Such a good little toy.”

Your hands grip her hips, trying to keep up. She leans in, teeth grazing your jaw.

“Tell me how pretty I look when I fuck you.”

You whimper, barely able to form words. She rocks harder, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room.

“Say it.”

“You—you’re so fucking pretty—”

She smiles, wicked and glowing. “That’s my girl.”

When she comes, it’s wild—her nails digging into your shoulders, her thighs shaking around you. She pulls you down with her a moment later, mouths colliding again in a kiss that’s messy and breathless.

The mirror shows it all—sweaty, tangled bodies, lipstick-smeared kisses, the aftermath of ruin.

She finally pulls back, resting her forehead against yours.

“Still staring?” she asks, smug.

You nod weakly. “Forever.”

She smirks, pulling the covers over both of you. “Good. You’re mine now.”

Liz talks : first tish fic!!!!!! And will def not be the last!!! This is also in honor of me officially meeting Danneel!!!!!

Tag list : @sunsbaby , @starzify , @bluemerakis , @aambearr , @blossomingorchids , @littlesoulshine , @daylighted , @wchswift , @emeraldcrs , @bossyblondie , @lunaleah , @pieandflannel , @sunnyteume , @deanswifeyy , @tinas111 , @kimxwinchester @unfortunate-brat @deansbbyx @lonelylonelybaby @insensiblelimerence @ohperiodtpoohhh (also tagged Danneel lovers if u don’t want to be tagged for this please lmk!!!)

To be tagged in any future works of mine please check out this post !!! (I added tish!)

Any engagement is highly appreciated <3

[anon-188]

E.T.A. (alt. version) ❤️‍🔥 (aj x f!reader)

summary: your week-long business trip was supposed to be a quick pause—not a trigger. but distance has a way of making desire burn hotter. and, for the record, AJ has always been a patient man—just not when it comes to you.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), slow burn, smut with plot, sexting, mentions of phone sex, unprotected sex, public sex (car), heavy grinding, explicit language, possessive behavior, hair pulling, praise, dirty talk, light roughness, soft dominance, emotional tension, mild exhibitionism (tinted windows), brief aftercare (barely. seriously, don’t blink or else you’ll miss it).

word count: just about 4k

note: this one is a little lengthy (just like AJ). (kidding!! kind of…) anyway! i hope you guys enjoy it ♡

fluff version 🤍

⋆˚✿˖°⌒♡˚˖✿˚⋆┊❤︎┊⋆˚✿˖°⌒♡˚˖✿˚⋆┊❤︎┊⋆˚✿˖°⌒♡˚˖✿˚

You were away on a business trip—a full week in New York. The kind of trip that made your schedule implode the second the call came in. Last minute. Barely a heads-up. One second you were making dinner for yourself on a quiet evening, the next you were tearing through your apartment like a storm, tossing heels into a carry-on and cursing yourself for not knowing where the hell your laptop charger had gone.

Between folding blouses and hunting down your toiletries, you grabbed your phone and called AJ. The moment he picked up, you launched into your explanation—half-breathless, half-apologetic. You told him about the meeting, the last-minute flight, how you wouldn’t even have time to see him before you left. “I’m sorry,” you said, genuinely. You meant it.

And he took it in stride. Of course he did.

“It’s fine,” he replied smoothly. “Work’s work. I get it.”

And that was that.

No fight. No frustration. Just acceptance. And sure, that was nice. It was mature. It made things easier. But still, something in you sank a little. You had hoped for a little pushback—just enough to prove he cared that you were going. Enough to say, I’ll miss you, without actually saying it.

But maybe you weren’t there yet. Maybe a few months wasn’t long enough for the “don’t go” stuff.  Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself.

Or at least… that’s what you thought.

Because by the end of your trip, it was like you were talking to a different man. Gone was the space, the careful distance. In its place were back-to-back texts, calls that started early and never seemed to stop, breathless voice notes, pictures that weren’t exactly safe for work. No matter where you were—client meeting, lunch, your hotel bed—his presence followed you, constant, like he couldn’t help himself. And maybe he couldn’t.

Even now, in the chaotic hum of the airport, he had you ducking into the nearest bathroom. Inside, the sound of suitcase wheels rolling over tile outside mixed with the buzz of your phone vibrating in your palm. The message had been his version of simple: “Just one more. Help me get through the next few hours.”

And so—you did.

You leaned against the stall door, the lock barely holding, your heart pounding like you were doing something criminal. Your fingers tugged your dress down—your office dress, sleek and still warm from a full day of work—just enough to reveal the lace edge of your bra, black and delicate against flushed skin. The lighting wasn't great, but you knew your angles. You tilted the camera just right, a hint of collarbone, a glimpse of cleavage, just enough of your expression to make his blood run hot. Your lips were parted slightly, eyes heavy. You snapped the photo. Sent it.

This will have to hold you over, you typed.

Then you yanked your dress back up, adjusted your bag, and hauled ass to your gate. By the time you boarded, your face was still flushed from more than just the rush of barely making your flight.

When you finally landed back in L.A., the familiar hum of the airport wrapped around you. As you passed the terminal doors, you turned your phone back on, ready to order an Uber like you did when you arrived a week ago. 

But before your thumb could even tap the app, your screen lit up with a flood of notifications—all from AJ.

“I’m already here.”

“No need for an Uber.”

“Terminal 4. Lower level. I’m by the black Benz. You’ll see me.”

You stared at the messages for a second, blinking against the brightness of the screen, trying to process the words like they were in another language.

Your heart thudded in your chest—not just from surprise but something deeper, sharper, hungrier. He was here. At the airport. Waiting for you. And suddenly, all those plans to keep your cool dissolved with every step you took in the direction he told you.

Sure, you were excited to see him. Obviously. But that didn’t undo the tension—the sharp, coiled heat that had wrapped around both of you over the past week like a fuse lit from both ends. You’d sent each other pictures—filthy ones, brazen, shameless, the kind you couldn’t believe came from you when you scrolled back in the quiet moments.

And AJ—God, he was worse. His photos had a weight to them. Like the one where you could see just the edge of a tattoo-covered forearm braced against a shower wall, water running down his chest, captioned with nothing but: “Thinking about your mouth.” Or the several other ones he sent: shots of his inked abdomen, the waistband of his sweats riding low, his hand wrapped around himself, veins and tensed muscles on full display.

Then there was the phone calls. Late at night, low and raspy and downright dirty, filled with everything he planned to do to you when you got back into the city. What he’d make you beg for. What he’d ruin for you. And even through all that, you knew—you felt it—there was still more he wasn’t saying yet. Still more waiting under the surface, ready to boil over the second you saw each other again.

So yeah, you were excited to see him.

But you also thought you’d have a breather—a buffer, at least a few hours—to decompress, to step off the plane and slip into your routine again. To pull yourself together. Recalibrate. Figure out what you wanted to say when you finally laid eyes on him.

Instead, you were walking straight into the fire.

You found him exactly where he said he would be—leaning against his car, arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd with a kind of casual impatience that didn't fool you for a second. His black shirt clung to him just right, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tattoos peeking out beneath the fabric. He stood up straight as you approached, already moving, already reaching. No words at first—just a smooth, easy step forward, the weight of your carry-on plucked from your shoulder.

“I told you you didn’t have to come pick me up,” you said, already a little breathless, half-laughing, trying not to let your body give away too much. “I would’ve taken an Uber home.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice low and casual. “But I wanted to.”

He said it like it was no big deal, like he hadn’t completely overridden your plan, like he wasn’t currently radiating the kind of heat that had your skin prickling. Then he leaned in and kissed you—soft, gentle, lips just brushing against yours in a kiss that didn’t match anything he’d been saying to you over the phone this past week. Not when he’d described in slow, explicit detail how he planned to bend you over every surface in his apartment, fucking you until your voice broke, your legs shook, and you forgot every word that wasn’t his name.

And that thought cycled—burned—through your brain as he started the drive. The city blurred past as he pulled into traffic, the radio humming low, a beat too calm for what was crackling in the air between you. You tried to breathe through it, tried to act like being back in this car, next to him, wasn’t already dragging you straight back under.

He joked about making a pit stop at his place—since it was closer than yours—but there was nothing casual in the way he said it.

You could hear it in the grit of his tone, the way it dipped just slightly, dragging heat up your spine. And you could feel it in the way his hand slid across the center console, fingers curling around your thigh like he needed something to ground him. 

Conversation came in short bursts. You asked about his day. He asked about your flight. You both triedto sound normal. But every time you locked eyes, it was there again. That thing. That edge, that breathless, parted-mouth ache for what had been building between you both for days.

And you thanked god right then and there that he didn’t live far.

Because your body was already leaning into the tension, already burning. His touch. His voice. His scent filling the car.

You weren’t going to make it much longer.

But then—a brake light flashed. A full-body jolt forward.

The car slowed, then stopped.

Another brake light.

Another.

Then all at once, the freeway turned into a parking lot—cars lined up in an endless stretch of red glow, still and unmoving. A traffic jam. A bad one.

You stared out the windshield like it had betrayed you.

No.

Not now. Not this close.

AJ glanced over at you, jaw tight, voice low. “Check the GPS. What’s the ETA to my place?” 

You pulled up the app, barely needing to look before answering.

“Forty-six minutes,” you said, voice tight, careful.

“Fuck.”

The word came low, gritted out under his breath like it was for the traffic—gridlocked cars stacked in all directions, brake lights flickering—but you knew better. Because you were sitting there, hands twitching in your lap, thighs pressed together in quiet agony, thinking the exact same thing.

AJ had assured you the jam would pass. Told you the highway always looked worse before it cleared up. 

That had been twenty minutes ago.

Since then, you hadn’t moved so much as a car length.

You shifted in your seat first—just a slight adjustment, trying to relieve the mounting pressure between your legs. But it made his hand twitch where it rested high on your thigh, and then he shifted too. He spread his legs wider, leaned back like he was stretching, trying to shake the heat building in his own skin. 

The air changed with the movements. Conversation faltered. Then died completely. The only sound in the car was the low hum of music, the occasional idle roar of someone’s engine around you, and the tense, silent rhythm of restraint.

You cleared your throat, soft, barely more than a breath. And AJ… he reached up and unfastened the top button of his shirt.

You crossed your legs.

He reached overhead and opened the sunroof, muttering something about how the sun was making it hot.

The sun was already setting. So, that wasn’t true, and you both knew it.

It was fucking insufferable.

Everything. The traffic. The heat in your veins. The confinement of the car. The way his thumb traced soft circles near the crease of your thigh but never moved higher. Every breath was tighter than the last.

You gave up.

You turned to him, body twisted in your seat, pulse hammering in your throat, and for the first time in the last forty minutes, you locked eyes.

And the moment you did, everything snapped silent.

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t need to.

“Come here,” AJ said, voice thick, rough around the edges, his seatbelt clicking undone as he leaned back slightly, giving you space—no, permission.

Your own buckle came off fast. Too fast. You moved without hesitation, climbing over the center console, dress hiking up your thighs as your knees pressed into the soft leather on either side of his lap. Your mouths crashed together—hard, fast, messy. There was no finesse, just pure, hungry need. His hands slid up the back of your dress, while yours tugged at his collar, his shirt, whatever you could grab. His fingers found your thighs again, squeezing, guiding your hips to move, grinding you down against him. The friction already made your breath catch.

You were grateful for the tinted windows, sure—but deep down, you both knew it wouldn’t have mattered. If the whole interstate had a front-row seat, it still wouldn’t have stopped either of you.

AJ’s mouth broke from yours only to lick, kiss, suck along the curve of your neck, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, biting just enough to make your hips twitch against him. You reached behind yourself, fingers fumbling at the zipper of your dress, pulling it down slowly, but your coordination was shot—and he noticed.

His hands replaced yours without a word, dragging the zipper down in one smooth motion. The fabric peeled away, and he wasted no time—pulling the dress down just far enough to expose your bra, then tugging at the straps until they slipped off your shoulders. His kisses followed, mouth trailing lower, tongue dipping against your collarbone as your chest heaved.

Your hips began moving again, instinctive and aching, grinding down against him with a slow pressure that pulled a growl from deep in his throat. His moans vibrated against your chest, rough and needy. His hands slid down, fingers splaying wide over your ass, gripping tight, pulling you closer until there was nothing but heat and tension and the solid press of him underneath you.

But even that wasn’t enough.

Your hands flew to his belt, clumsy with urgency. Metal clinked, leather slipped free, and the zipper followed with a sound that somehow made your skin heat even more. He didn’t stop you—in fact, he pushed your dress higher with his rough, greedy hands, bunching it around your waist. The moment you freed him with your hand wrapped around him, his breath caught. Hot and shallow against your collarbone.

You shifted, tugging your underwear to the side, completely bare and ready to take him in. You braced one hand on his shoulder, the other guiding him, your body already pulsing with anticipation. But just as you moved to sink down, his hands locked on your waist—tight, halting you in place.

You blinked, breathless, eyes snapping to his. He wasn’t frowning. He wasn’t serious.

No, it was that shit-eating smirk he loved to wear, the one that told you he was enjoying this too much, that he was about to make you work for it.

“What?” you asked, breath hitching, your hands braced on his chest.

“You seem awfully needy today,” he teased, his thumbs stroking lazy circles over your bare hips, like he wasn’t seconds away from being inside you.

You narrowed your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips. “Yeah? And what does that make you?”

Then you shifted just enough to grind against the length of him, slow and shameless, dragging your soaked heat over his cock without giving him what you both wanted. His jaw clenched, a low sound punching out of him before he caught himself, and there it was again—that smirk, a little sloppier now, a little more strained.

“I just missed my girl,” he said.

It was quiet. Honest. Too honest.

You hummed, not trusting your voice, not trusting the way those words spread through your chest like warmth and fire all at once. You rolled your hips again, letting yourself slide over him, gasping softly as he twitched beneath you, but your mind wasn’t on the friction anymore. Not fully.

Because this was the first time he’d called you that. His girl. A label, spoken without hesitation, like it had always been true and just hadn’t made its way out until now. And you knew AJ—knew him well enough to know that he only ever let the truth slip out when he thought you were too far gone to notice. Too fucked out. Too horny. Too drunk on the feel of him to catch what he was really saying.

But you heard him. And it echoed louder than his moans ever could.

“Your girl, huh?” you teased, voice soft but sharp, your lips brushing over his without closing the space completely. His hands still gripped your hips, holding you steady, and you could feel the tension in him.

“Yeah. Mine.” he said without missing a beat, the words landing low, full of confidence, eyes locked onto yours like they didn’t have anywhere else in the world to look.

You felt your mouth curve in response, a slow smirk ghosting across your lips. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good.” he growled, and then his mouth was on yours—hard, demanding. He pushed your hips, guiding you, the grip on your waist tightening just enough to tell you he was done waiting. 

And so were you.

He positioned you just right, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance, and finally he let your body give in. You sank down, slow, deliberate, the stretch hitting you instantly. The way he filled you, inch by inch, was dizzying—your breath catching, mouth parting against his as you gasped through it. Your nails dug into his shoulders, steadying yourself as your body adjusted, molded to him, tight and slick and aching.

AJ cursed under his breath, head falling back slightly, jaw clenched as he watched you take every inch of him. A low, barely contained groan rumbled from his chest, and his grip on your waist tightened like he could barely take it. Like he couldn’t stand the distance even with you wrapped around him.

The car rocked in a slow, relentless rhythm, the tension of traffic long forgotten, lost in the sheer filth of what you and AJ had turned his front seat into. The driver side window fogged over lightly, the sharp scent of sex mingling with sweat and cologne, thick in the air. Moans spilled freely—obscene and unfiltered, loud enough to bleed out through the open sunroof.

AJ sat low in the seat, one hand gripped tight to your hip, the other pressed to the small of your back, guiding your movements, urging you down harder, deeper. Your thighs burned, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not with the way he filled you so deep, so perfectly. Each roll of your hips made his breath hitch, made him swear under it, made his hands get rougher, his control thinner.

For a brief moment—through the chaos—you opened your eyes, and so did he. They met. Locked.

And everything paused without actually stopping.

You stared at each other, both gasping, lips parted, mouths open but silent, too caught in the rhythm to speak, too full of heat and something else. Something that felt heavier than lust.

It was a challenge, or maybe a plea. You say it first. Tell me you missed me.

But neither of you said a word.

Instead, you just kept moving, kept rolling your hips with a drag that made his jaw clench and his head tip back. The air between your lips was damp, charged, thick with half-choked cries. The words sat on your tongue, swollen and urgent—you were so fucking close to saying it. I missed you. You needed to say it. Needed him to know it wasn’t just the sex driving you mad. But just as your lips parted—

His hand shot up, fist curling into your hair, tugging you down until your foreheads touched, sweat-slick skin pressed together. His other hand gripped your hip tight as his hips snapped up, thrusting deeper, harder, hitting that spot inside you that tore a moan from your throat so loud it echoed against the roof.

“Fuck, I missed you so much.”

His voice broke with it—rough, raw, tangled with a deep groan that nearly vibrated inside the car.

You tightened around him instantly, like your body was answering before your mouth could. Hands scrambled for something, anything—his shoulders, his neck, the headrest behind him. You gripped like your life depended on it, nails digging into skin and leather alike.

But you still managed it. Still forced the words out, even as your pulse roared in your ears and every nerve ending threatened to short-circuit.

“I missed you too—shit, AJ.” The words fell out broken, stuttering through a gasp that came from too deep to hide, and your eyes almost rolled back from the intensity building in your core.

His hands gripped you harder, grounding you to his lap, voice dark and urgent. “Show me how much you missed me. Let me see it.”

It wasn’t a suggestion—it was a command, and your body obeyed without hesitation.

You came—hard. Your whole body tensed, thighs shaking, core clenching around him as the pleasure ripped through you, loud and involuntary. His name tore from your throat, “AJ—fuck—AJ!” It echoed into the car, out the sunroof, spilling into the quiet air above the traffic, letting the entire stretch of the freeway know exactly who made you sound like that. 

You gave him exactly what he asked for—proof, plain and loud.

“That’s my girl.”

Your body was still twitching, still hypersensitive, but you didn’t stop. You rode the highs anyway—kept moving, even as your legs shook, your chest heaved, even as your head dropped forward against his. The ache was deep now, thick and delicious, but it wasn’t enough to pull you away. Not with his hands guiding your hips, pushing and pulling you in a rhythm he controlled, one you were far too ruined for to keep on your own. All you could do was moan, clench around him, let him use your body as his own breaking point approached.

And then it happened. One deep, sharp thrust—so deep you could feel it in your throat. His body jerked, once, twice—coming hard, thick and deep inside you. His moans were muffled by your skin, but you could feel the sound rumble against your neck, hot and raw and completely undone.

You both tried to catch your breath, gasping softly between sweaty movements and sloppy, lingering kisses that neither of you were quite ready to let go of. AJ's hands were still on you, his lips brushing over your jaw, your mouth, everywhere—like even now, post-release, he still couldn't get enough.

Then—a sharp honk.

The sudden blare jolted you both, and your head whipped around in slow, hazy realization. The traffic had started moving. Red brake lights flickered ahead in motion, a line of cars crawling forward now, the standstill officially over.

AJ burst into a low laugh, forehead resting against yours for a second before pulling back just enough to press a light, playful kiss to your mouth. It was a far cry from the hunger that had just filled the car, but it still made your stomach flip. He smiled, all smug and breathless, and you rolled your eyes through a grin as you climbed off his lap, legs shaky, core still pulsing.

You dropped into the passenger seat with a soft thud, adjusting your dress and smoothing your hair as AJ did the same beside you, shifting himself back into place, fixing his pants and shirt with one hand while the other casually slid to the wheel. Your body sank into the seat, ruined but satisfied. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and he caught it, smirking again like he knew what you were thinking.

If this was what a week apart earned you, maybe it was worth it—maybe the waiting, the teasing, the unbearable build-up… maybe that made the payoff all the sweeter.

But then his hand slid back to your thigh, just like it had when the car ride started, fingers gripping, rubbing, possessive in a way that made your skin tighten all over again.

And in that moment, you knew—he probably wouldn’t let you, his girl, out of his sight for that long ever again.

⋆˚✿˖°⌒♡˚˖✿˚⋆┊❤︎┊⋆˚✿˖°⌒♡˚˖✿˚⋆┊❤︎┊⋆˚✿˖°⌒♡˚˖✿˚

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

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[forevervibezzzz1]

Hey girly could you write one of y/n being gdragons little sister and one of there dancers gor sick last minute so he called his little sister who is a dancer to take over and T.O.P has never met her and starts to fall for her but GD warns all of them not to touch off her or else pleaseeee

Off Limits, But Irresistible

Featuring: Y/N (You) x Choi Seunghyun (T.O.P), with Jiyong (G-Dragon)

The YG practice studio buzzed with tension. The group’s comeback stage was just days away, and now a lead dancer had come down with the flu. Jiyong paced near the mirrors, already pulling out his phone.

There was only one person he trusted to step in last-minute and not ruin the flow.

He called his little sister.

---

You’d danced since you were old enough to walk. With a famous big brother like Kwon Jiyong, it was inevitable you’d pick up a few things. Though you avoided the spotlight, you’d quietly worked as a choreographer and backup dancer for indie artists. Nothing too big—until now.

You barely had time to say yes before you were rushing into the YG building with a duffel bag slung over your shoulder, your hoodie half-zipped, and your hair in a loose ponytail.

When you stepped into the studio, five pairs of eyes turned your way—but only one made your skin warm beneath the hoodie.

Choi Seunghyun.

You recognized him, of course. Everyone did. But nothing on screen or in interviews could've prepared you for the real thing—how tall he was, how intense his eyes looked when they landed on you, how his usually sculpted expression faltered the tiniest bit into… curiosity? Interest?

Jiyong met you halfway, handing you a water bottle. “Thanks for coming, I owe you.”

“You owe me three coffees and a foot massage,” you teased, bumping him with your shoulder.

He chuckled but turned serious when he noticed where Seunghyun’s gaze had lingered a little too long.

Turning to the room, he clapped his hands together. “Alright—this is my sister, Y/N. She’s stepping in for Jiwoo. She already knows most of the routine, and she’s a better dancer anyway.”

Then, with that signature G-Dragon glare, he added, “And don’t even *think* about trying anything. She’s *off limits*. Got it?”

Everyone laughed nervously. Everyone except Seunghyun, who just raised an eyebrow and smirked.

---

The Chemistry

Over the next few days, practice became a blur of music, sweat, and tension—both artistic and otherwise.

You were focused, professional. But every time Seunghyun guided you into a lift, or caught your hand a second too long during a partner sequence, it was like something electric passed between you.

And he felt it too.

One evening, practice went late. Everyone else had left, but you stayed to run one part again. He lingered behind with you, sitting against the mirror wall, watching you move.

“You make it look so easy,” he said finally, his voice low and rough from the hours.

You laughed breathlessly, stopping in front of him. “It’s not.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You know,” he said, eyes locking onto yours, “I’ve met a lot of dancers. But none of them have ever distracted me the way you do.”

You blinked, your heart skipping. “Jiyong would kill you.”

He smiled, slow and a little dangerous. “I’ve survived worse.”

---

The Secret

It started small. Glances during rehearsals. Late-night texts about choreography that turned into inside jokes and flirty banter. One night, after a final run-through before the show, he walked you to your car, the city quiet around you.

“You’re amazing, Y/N. Not just as a dancer.”

You looked up at him, feeling your breath catch.

“I know your brother said I shouldn’t,” he whispered, stepping closer, “but I can’t help it.”

And then—gentle, asking—you felt his hand brush your cheek before he kissed you, soft and slow, like he had all the time in the world.

The Reveal

The day of the performance came. Everything went flawlessly. The stage felt like electricity under your feet, and you knew the audience could feel the chemistry between you and Seunghyun from the first move.

Backstage, the whole crew was buzzing with adrenaline. Jiyong pulled you aside, tossing you a water bottle.

“You killed it,” he said proudly.

Then his eyes narrowed slightly. “But if I find out he kissed you backstage or some sh—”

You laughed, raising your hands. “Oppa…”

Before you could finish, Seunghyun strolled by, paused, and winked at you.

Jiyong blinked.

You patted his arm, grinning. “You said not to touch me. You never said anything about falling for me.”

[aceandurmom]

Obsession Wear a Crown (Three)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Doflamingo, slavery, implied SA (not from Doffy), yandere tendencies, obsessive and unhealthy relationships , suggestive content

POSTED ONLY ON TUMBLR UNDER ACEANDURMOM <3

Scrambling from the ground, you cried out as the entire island shook. Running from the bar, you managed to spot the person you had been searching for for a few weeks now. The straw hat was an eyesore, but you desperately followed its wearer as best you could. He was being chased down by what looked like an entire fleet of Marines, but he dodged every single one of them until another man stepped in to assist. He was older than the boy, wearing an orange cowboy hat. He quickly revealed his identity as he shot up a wall of flames. 

Portgas D. Ace, Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates. 

Great.

The strawhat ran off, and you ignored the Navy and the pirate behind you. Dashing into the alleyway, you tailed the boy. As much as you wanted to get the show on the road, you wanted to see if the boy had any semblance of Haki or sense of observation skills in general, intrigued by the amount of chaos he had already brought upon Alabasta. The longer you followed the less pleased you were, you had hoped he had at least Observation, but the theory was quickly thrown out. Sighing, disappointed, you dashed to another alley that you knew connected to this one up ahead. You had called in a favor from Kuma and got him to transport you to Alabasta before the strawhats did to scout the area. Crocodile had so very generously allowed you to stay with him in secret until they managed to reach the kingdom, already knowing the plan having called with Doffy the night before. Purposefully tripping, you yelped as you fell to the stone. Putting on the waterworks, you started to sob hopelessly in front of the pirate captain. 

He paused, looking at you before his eyes widened. You looked up at him, making yourself flinch back and hiccup over your tears. 

“P-Please, I don’t have anything!”

He stepped forward, crouching to look over you properly. You were sure you made quite a sight. You had made Doffy rough you up after branding your flesh. Despite the few weeks you had been waiting for these Rookie pirates, the wounds continued to mark your flesh. They weren’t as severe as they were before, giving the illusion that you had been on the run for a while now. The only injury still tender was the carved skin. 

Your hair was tangled and frazzled, having been pulled by the man himself in ecstasy. Bruises coated your wrists and ankles, cuff marks clearly identifiable. Your clothes were old ones from before you had met your husband, genuine slave garb that presented you as one of the ones others coveted. Still, you made him cut them up so you looked appropriate. Bandages were crudely wrapped around your exposed shoulder, hiding the back of your shoulder blades. Breathing heavily, you pushed your nails into your palms and waited.

“Who did that to you?”

You shook your head frantically, sobbing. 

“Y-You can’t! I-I…Please you look like a pirate, like one of those I’ve seen on those Wanted posters. Let me board your ship, just until the next island! I’ll get out of your hair then, I swear it, but I can’t stay here!”

Fingers curled around strands of your hair and tugged, an anxious habit you had done away with in the past. Now you pulled it out to sell your act, genuinely using it to ground yourself in the moment. You hoped to Nika that this would work, not thrilled by the blank stare the captain was currently giving you. 

He stood, head cocked to the side as he hummed. Shrugging, he let out a laugh before reaching down. Surprisingly, he locked eyes with you before making contact, pausing in his actions. He wasn’t what you expected. You nodded, pleading with him under your breath. He gave in, scooping you into his arms and running off in the direction of the harbor. He was much more gentle than you thought he would be, hands in the right places without touching anything he wasn’t supposed to. His hat shaded your eyes and he glances at you every now and then. He smiled the entire time, surveying the area and ensuring it was clear before moving. He moved differently with you in his arms than before when you watched him, when he was by himself he was instinctive and took no breaks. With you he watched the surrounding area closely and took moments to look out for anything he might have missed. Eyes watched constantly without pause and it was odd to see such a dramatic change in him. 

You muttered something under your breath, prompting him to perk up and look at you. 

“Hm, what’d you say?”

“What’s y-your name?”

He beamed, smile brighter than anything you had ever witnessed in your entire life. Your stomach flipped in response, shocked into silence.

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and I’m going to be King of the Pirates!”

Normally when you heard such a claim you would scoff and roll your eyes. You didn’t believe in the One Piece or that anyone could become King after finding it. Becoming King of the Seas took work and effort, not just finding some random piece of shit on an unknown island somewhere. But Luffy’s answer had resonated with you in a way it never had before. 

And you fucking believed him. 

It terrified you. 

–

The ship you arrived near was small, more of a caravel than a pirate ship. But even better was the fact that it was already set out and quite a ways into the ocean. You looked to see how Luffy was going to get to it, the man not stopping or braking once. Whatever was about to happen was going to be fate, and you only hoped that Doflaminog remembered you in your passing. 

One of his arms stretched back onto the dock rail, anchoring himself before continuing to sprint forward. Somehow you managed to hold onto him tighter, refusing to slip for even a second as the both of you launched into the air. Had you not been with Doffy soaring through the air by his threads, you would have screamed in legitimate terror. But being who you are, you only held onto him tighter, not knowing him well enough to completely trust your life in his hands. Even less so considering you also had a Devil Fruit. 

As much as you want to say you're surprised, you really weren’t whenever you two managed to crash land onto the deck. It was the first time you had seen plant life thriving on a pirate ship and you were getting ideas for Doffy’s entire fleet. Either way, you panted as Luffy stood and placed your feet onto the wood below. His arm stayed around your waist, holding you close as you looked around the ship. 

There was only one woman on the crew, Cat Burglar Nami. She was a gorgeous lady, cropped orange hair and a distrusting glare thrown at her captain. The only other two with bounties on the crew so far were Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro and Blackleg Sanj. The blonde was currently smoking a cigarette and looking at you in confusion and intrigue. The swordsman groaned before popping his back, head coming back down and looking straight through you. 

There were two others you had yet to recognize, not ever seeing them before in the list of Luffy’s nakama. Choosing to ignore them for a moment, no matter how hard it was to do so considering the reindeer, you made yourself tremble. Legs shaking, you collapsed onto the deck. Luffy followed you down, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Hey, it’s all okay now, ya know! You’re gonna be safe on the Merry, promise!”

You shook your head, tears resurfacing. The reindeer from before was shouting something before focusing in on you. The animal rushed over and pushed Luffy out of the way. 

“Move, Luffy, they need a doctor!”

Turning to face you, the little thing nodded before becoming serious. 

“My name is Chopper and I’m a doctor, please allow me to look at your wounds!”

You withdrew from the little animal, making sure you appeared distrusting. Luffy, seeing your perceived hesitance, nudged your shoulder and grinned wide.

“Yeah! He’s a really good doctor, the best I’ve ever seen even! He can cure anything, so let him patch you up!”

The boy wiggled, an awkward dance and flush on his face. (Somehow)

“Ah! That doesn't make me happy at all, you bastard!”

The others rolled their eyes fondly, laughing low so as to not embarrass him. You nodded, allowing him to move closer and not freaking out about him doing so. 

“O-okay, just…just don’t…”

You trailed off, not knowing what to say for a moment. The doctor only nodded, reassuring you despite the hard time he thought you were having. 

“It’s all right, I’ll be as fast as possible. Since I just joined the crew at the last island we still don’t have an office for me to work. So I’m going to ask if it’s okay if we move into the galley?”

“Y-yeah, whatever is easiest for you, sir.”

You rose with Luffy’s assistance, leaning on him more than you probably needed to. The rest of the crew followed the three of you into the dining room, not letting someone alone with the captain no matter how much they may have trusted him. They were nosy for one, and the other reason was that they were awfully paranoid. It had been too many times Luffy had trusted the wrong person, who knows what might happen. 

‘Alright so-”

A startled scream escaped the little doctor as he turned to find you already stripping yourself of your shirt. Confused, genuinely so, you tilted your head in question. 

“What’s wrong? You need to be able to see my wounds, correct?”

“W-W-Well yeah, but-”

You waved the reindeer off, shaking your head as he worriedly glanced around the room to his crew. They were all in varying states of disbelief, not really comprehending that this really didn’t bother you the way it should. Your husband was one for blatant exhibitionism, and you could never say no to him. You couldn’t count on both of your hands the amount of times one of the crew had caught you and the man, sometimes even on purpose. So to strip off only your shirt in front of them for medical reasons seemed to be of no issue, especially since you could play up your story in the process. 

Turning your back to Chopper, you exposed the bloodied bandages that were already fraying. They wound around your shoulder before going to the other, protecting the skin of your shoulder blades and obscuring them from view. 

“If you all are going to kill me, then do it now. I would have killed myself anyways had your friend not brought me here. It makes no difference to me what you do.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as the newly formed crew watched as their resident doctor removed the bandages. Whoever had done it clearly had zero medical experience, the fabric itself poor quality and torn. Looking closer the things that had once covered your body were actually torn clothes, the pattern and texture indicating as such. The moment they fell to the floor Nami was the first to react. Her shoulders shook as she shakily inhaled, shuddering in the process. Her eyes grew wet as she immediately recognized that a Jolly Roger had been torn into your skin. Her hand grasped at her shoulder, nails tearing into her own skin. The other unnamed pirate pulled her hand away, choosing to instead hold hers as they both watched with bated breath. The blonde sucked in harshly on his cigarette, eyes glazing over and looking away as you glanced over at him. Roronoa coughed into his fist, making sure you weren’t looking his way as he looked closer at the emblem. He had seen it before but couldn’t remember the name, somehow knowing it was a bigger crew despite not paying much attention to certain things. 

Grabbing a bottle of whiskey, the reindeer warned you in a whisper before pouring it over the wound. Without meaning to, you moaned, the feeling taking you off guard. The others took it as a sign of your unease and pain, but you knew what it really was. 

The second Doflamingo agreed to the idea he had been on you. Flipping you over and pressing your body down into the mattress, he straddled your hips. Fingers twitching, the man unthreaded your shirt seams and flung the remains onto the floor. His breath caught as he leaned forward, subtly grinding into the small of your back. He reached over to his nightstand and fumbled for the second drawer, quickly pulling a switchblade out. It sure as hell wasn’t the first time you two had experimented with your masochism nor his sadism, sometimes even flipping the roles and doing the opposite. Still the sight of the item caused you to shiver, excitement thrumming in your veins as he flicked open the blade. The blonde was panting, sweat starting to bead on his temples as he imagined the desired picture finally complete on your skin. To claim you completely with his Jolly Roger was more than he deserved, but your angelic ass was willingly letting the devil himself do whatever he pleased. He would say it time and time again: he did not deserve you. 

You waited the best you could, but the anticipation started to burn. Pushing your head up, you went to look behind you before the man’s hand pushed you back down. 

“D-Don’t look at me yet, mi amor.”

You huffed, pushing your hips back into him. He gave into your desires, never able to tell you no, and dragged the blade against your skin teasingly. Doffy didn’t yet let it pierce your skin, instead letting the metal to lightly press and drag. His other hand let go of your head, nail planning out the design against your shoulder blade. 

“How long have you wanted me to do this?”He sounded out of breath as he questioned, blade starting to press down enough to start building pressure. 

“Hm?”

He hummed, desperately needing the answer. He wanted you to scream it, to devote yourself to him even more than you already were. Of course he knew you desired him, you were married after all. But to commit yourself to his side for the rest of your entire lives and even in death? There was nothing he  would trade in this entire world for you, not even the chance to restart his life and fix the things that were wrong. Stars above he wanted to sink his teeth into you. 

And so he did. 

And at the same time the knife bit into your skin and into the layers beneath, lighting the area on fire. The sensation was intense, but his presence was all you needed to soothe yourself enough to enjoy it. He was the only person you would ever let your guard down enough to ever do something like this. He was the only person you ever wanted to hear, to see, and feel. There was nothing that could tear you from his side, not even the gods as your mortal body was permanently altered to accommodate him. 

You relished every second of it. 

Coming back to the present, you tried to avoid the fluster that was starting to build. Even thinking about him was dangerous, not wanting to start blushing or to publicly swoon. You took a breath and paid attention as the room came back into focus. 

Luffy was hovering in front of you, concerned as your eyes re-focused. You had worried him, zoning out as soon as the alcohol burned into your skin. Chopper had promptly freaked out before steadying himself. He carefully rebandaged the brand, making sure it wasn’t too tight as he tied it off. The other wounds he was starting to notice being so close, they were concerning him. He opened his mouth before shutting it, not wanting today anything sensitive in a room full of people. You noticed it, hearing the intake of breath before he cut it off. 

“There’s no point in trying to be gentle about it, and it’s not like not everyone else is going to know anyways. S-Say what you need to, sir.”

Chopper’s ears perked up, hearing the muttering and deciding it was okay. 

“R-right. Well, you see. “

He stammered before closing his eyes, reopening them after gathering his thoughts. 

“It’s just that…some of your injuries appear to be…more…intimate?”

He asked, voice coming out as a whimper the longer he went on. 

Nami promptly left the room, looking sick. The pirate with her left by her side, not faring well either. The only others that remained were the Monster Trio and the doctor, all looking uncomfortable or appalled. 

Luffy, on the other hand, looked thoughtful. 

“What does it matter what the circumstances were, they’re wounds all the same.”

“It matters a lot!”

Chopper exclaimed, bewildered at such nonchalance. 

“I-”

“It’s fine.”

“No-

“It’s fine. I’ve already gotten over it-”

But you really hadn’t. Before you had met Doflamingo, you were someone else completely. You were someone else’s. And the wounds they had inflicted still lingered, sometimes burning brighter some days than others. You struggled to overcome the intrusive thinking, shaking your head. 

“It’s okay.”

Your voice was softer then, stopping Chopper from continuing. 

“Am I all done, doc?”

“Yeah.”

You were forced to stay on Merry as they fought for Alabasta, deemed too mentally unstable and traumatized to join them on their excursion. You were perfectly fine with that, not wanting to give yourself away so early by having Crocodile speak to you in front of them. But the second you felt another Haki on the ship other than the ones you familiarized yourself with you paid attention. It was someone you didn’t know personally, but you had seen her in passing. She was someone you weren’t expecting to be on the ship, and the ease of Luffy had you tensing up yourself. She had somehow managed to leave Crocodile in favor of this rookie.

Oh Nika above, what happened to the man then!?

Peeking from behind the Galley door, you watched as Nico Robin settled into a lawn chair without remorse. She leaned back and immediately opened a book, head propped up by a hand as she started to read. The crew were weary, even after the minimal effort Robin had put in to sway their decision. You cracked the door open further, cursing as the hinge squeaked in response. Heads flew in your direction, gazes steeled until you wobbled forward. 

“S-Sorry, um…I..I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Robin hummed, eyeing you up and down. You had managed to avoid everyone on Crocodile’s crew during your stay, still there was an anxious burn in your chest that refused to leave under her gaze. 

“I didn’t see you in Alabasta. Who are you, little thing?”

You forced your shoulders to curl inwards to look weak, but there was still the flush on your cheeks that gave you away. Nami pointed and whispered to the man still unknown to you. He made eye contact and snickered, shoulder silently shaking. Scowling, you forced yourself to push down the flush and look at her again before ‘nervously’ averting your eyes.

“A passenger is all. I’ll be out of your way at the next island.”

Her eyes partially closed as she smiled. Luffy watched the interaction, letting it play out. Before long the blonde chef was twirling his way past Robin before hesitantly stopping in front of you. Blinking you stuttered an apology before moving from the door to the Galley.

“S-S-Sorry! I didn’t even think about-”

He waved his hands, making sure they stayed in your field of vision. 

“No, no! It’s fine, I was just going to make some refreshments for everyone. Would you like to watch? I know how overwhelmed things can get on the Merry.”

You deflated, grateful for any kind of reprieve from social interaction. Doffy had kept you a secret from everyone for a long long time before he ever introduced you to the Family. Then even now you were still unknown to the rest of the world. To interact with people for so long was exhausting and you weren’t exactly a people person before that either. 

“Please.”

You breathed, silently pleading with him to take you away from here. He nodded, a gentle smile upon his lips as he whisked the both of you away from the deck. 

As the two of you entered Sanji’s domain, nami started to shout orders from her post. It seems as if the Log Pose has reset, determining the upcoming voyage. 

You hoped these pirates knew what they were doing.

[xoxo-stellea]

„𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣’𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚-“

ᴄʜʀɪꜱꜱᴛᴜʀɴɪᴏʟᴏ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ☘︎

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

You don’t even know what was between you and him…, it wasn’t just a childhood friendship but it also wasn’t a relationship.

All you knew right then and there as you were standing just two train tracks away from him was that you couldn’t just leave, and he knew that too.

He stands there looking at you, waiting for you to board the next train coming in, beginning your new life states away from him and his brothers.

The guys you grew up with, the guys you lived with for years, the guys who were your everything. But between you and Chris was even more.

Not specifically romantic but just a connection you never had with anyone else, not even Matt or Nick.

You can’t just leave them behind-

The thought pops up in your head, so big that it pushes everything else aside.

You look to your left seeing the train coming into the station.

No- not yet-

The gate to stop people from crossing train tracks starts to come down, blocking people from going anywhere but into the train.

Run.

You didn’t even think twice and neither did he before you both started to towards the border trying to reach it before completely cutting your paths.

You push through the people waiting for their train but you don’t even take them in. You just run towards the slowly lowering border having just one thought on your mind. Chris.

And the only thing he could think about was you.

He needed to hold you one more time. Just one more time before letting you go into a new life.

As you reach the border it’s almost completely down and as you look to your left again you see the train coming towards you but that didn’t stop you from slipping under it and running over the tracks while some guy yelled at you what the fuck you were doing.

And Chris also didn’t let anyone stop him from running towards you, having to slip under the barrier to get to you.

Your suitcase in one hand and your phone in the other one you finally reached him in the middle of the tracks.

Everyone was looking as you two fell in each others arms hugging so tightly that you thought you were exploding.

But as he loosened his grip on your waist you noticed all the people yelling at you two to get off the tracks due to the arriving train.

He quickly took the suitcase out of your hands and grabbed your wrist before pulling you off the tracks and under the gate.

Ad both of you were safe again he looked down at you and opened his mouth.

„I can’t let you leave yet-“

„And I can’t just leave you behind“

You answered, a little out of breath.

As all the people got on the train you and him just stood there looking at each other.

After staying at each other for a few more minutes and getting a few more annoyed looks from the people passing by to get on their train he takes your hand again and leads you out of the building.

He leads you out to the parking lot to his car where he takes your suitcase and puts it into his car.

„One last night. Let me prove it to you that it’s worth staying“

„Chris….“

You sigh.

„Please just one night and tomorrow I’ll bring you back right here and you can leave“

„One last night“

You give in.

„Then let’s make something out of it.“

He leads you away from the parking lot and to some seven elven where he got a few bottles with drinks.

You sat outside waiting for him, looking up at the starts contemplating if it was worth trying again.

He came back and tapped on your shoulder.

„C‘mon, I’ll show ya something“

You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything as you and him make your way through the city.

You arrive at some building.

He pushes the door open and holds it for you.

You go in and wait for him to lead the way inside.

But instead of going inside you two take the stairs up. The staircase seems endless and you’re a little out of breath as you and him arrive at a door the top.

He opens it and reveals a rooftop decorated with lights and a blanket to sit on.

„You knew I wouldn’t go through with this?“

„Maybe- or at least I hoped so“

You can’t stop yourself from grinning like an lovesick idiots as he sits down and pats on the stop beside him.

You sit down and look at him with that „why the fuck are we here I’m supposed to sit in a train right now“ look in your eyes.

He looks back at you and just grins before taking out two beers from the little seven eleven bag he just bought and opens one of them for you before passing it to it you.

You just sigh and take nod before taking a sip and look up at the sky.

You and him just sit there for a while, enjoying each others presence as you take a sip from your beer from time to time.

You lean your head against his shoulder and he put his head on top of yours.

„I think I love you“

He just blurted out.

It didn’t took you by surprise, you knew he liked you a little more then both of his brothers.

„I know“

You answer.

„You do?“

He asked a little surprised.

„I do“

You said calm and without any hesitation.

He lifts his head and looks down at you before gently lifting your chin up. His lips meeting yours…-

A/n// did she stay? Idk bro I’m too tired to write more rn so that’s it for now maybe I’ll do a part two some day but yeah ☘︎

[touchtheinvisiblestars]

Close To Home

Knew what was coming, still was not prepared for that episode... Needed to write something that distracted me from it!

***

It had been one of those long weeks—relentless and exhausting, the kind where everything seemed to pile up all at once. Papers to grade, parent emails to respond to, lesson plans to tweak. By the time Friday night rolled around, your brain felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry. So when a few friends invited you out for a drink, you didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t going to be anything wild—just a low-key night at a local bar, the kind of place where you didn’t have to shout to be heard or worry about getting dressed up. And after the week you’d had, that sounded like heaven.

The bar was alive with a familiar hum, cozy and dimly lit, its wooden booths and low-hanging lights gave it a warmth that cut through the evening chill. The place smelled faintly of beer and old leather, the kind of scent that wrapped around your shoulders like a worn-in jacket. You spotted your friends near the back—already half a drink in—and slid into the booth with a tired smile.

Laughter came easily. The comfort of old friends, shared stories, and a couple of appetizers helped ease the tension that had been coiled in your spine all week. You sipped your drink slowly, letting the low buzz of music and conversation soften the edges of your stress. It wasn’t a remarkable night by any means, but that was the beauty of it—simple, effortless, grounding.

Then you saw him.

He was at the bar, leaning one forearm casually against the worn wood, his broad shoulders relaxed but purposeful, like someone who carried himself with quiet control. His flannel shirt was open over a faded black tee, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms dusted with a few old paint or drywall marks he probably hadn’t noticed. His hair was dark and just a little messy, like he’d run his hand through it on the way in, and his profile caught the low lighting in a way that made your heart stutter unexpectedly.

There was something about him—familiar, but not in a way you could name. You were sure you’d seen him before, maybe around town or in passing somewhere. He wasn’t flashy. If anything, he blended into the room more than he stood out. But something about his stillness, his grounded presence, pulled your attention and held it.

Then he turned, just slightly, and his eyes met yours.

There was a pause. Just a breath. His gaze lingered, and there was a flicker there—curiosity, recognition, something unreadable that sparked beneath the surface. He gave a small nod. Nothing more.

Your stomach fluttered, uninvited but impossible to ignore. You quickly looked away, unsure if you'd imagined the whole moment. But even as your friend nudged you, asking if you wanted another round, your mind was already halfway to the bar.

“Sure,” you said, standing up and smoothing down your shirt, brushing off the hesitation.

You made your way toward the counter, weaving between tables. He hadn’t moved. Still leaning casually, eyes on the bottles lined up behind the bartender, but now and then glancing around the room like he wasn’t fully absorbed in anything—just... present.

You stepped up beside him and caught the bartender’s eye, ordering your usual.

“Evening,” you said, your tone light but deliberate, letting your body angle just slightly in his direction.

He turned to face you then, slow and unhurried, as if taking the time to read the moment. His lips curved into a small smile, eyes soft but searching. “Evening,” he replied. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You blinked, thrown for a second. “Oh? You recognise me?”

“Yeah,” he said, a gentle rasp in his voice. “Seen you around. Thought you looked familiar.”

You laughed quietly, a little flustered but oddly pleased. “Guess that makes two of us. I thought the same about you.”

“Small town,” he said with a shrug. “We’re bound to cross paths sooner or later.”

You nodded, watching as the bartender set about making the drinks you ordered. “Needed to unwind after a long week.”

He gave a knowing look. “I hear that. It’s been a rough one on my end, too.”

“What do you do?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Construction. Contracting work mostly. My brother and I run jobs around town—renovations, repairs, new builds when they come through.”

“Working with family,” you said, amused. “That sounds... chaotic.”

He chuckled lowly. “It can be. Tommy’s got a lot of energy. But we make it work.”

There was something easy in his presence, something grounded and honest. The kind of person who spoke with purpose and didn’t waste words. You liked that. You didn’t even realize how long the two of you had been talking until your friend sent a teasing glance your way from across the room.

You ignored it, your focus on the man beside you and the comfort of the slow conversation. It didn’t feel like a typical bar interaction. No performance, no pressure. Just two people talking like they’d known each other a little longer than they actually had.

“I’m Joel,” he said eventually, offering his hand in a quiet, steady gesture.

You gave him your name, shaking his hand, his grip firm and warm.

“I should probably get these drinks back before they send out a search party,” you said, gesturing toward the small tray the bartender had just handed you with your friends’ orders.

Joel nodded, that small, quiet smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Guess I shouldn’t be the one to get you in trouble then.”

You chuckled. “No, probably not. Though I’m pretty sure you’d be forgiven.”

He didn’t respond to that with words—just a look, one that lingered a beat longer than necessary. There was something unreadable in his eyes. Not forward, not demanding—just observant. Curious.

You turned and started to make your way back toward the booth, weaving through the crowd carefully with the tray in hand.

You rejoined your friends, placing the drinks on the table to a few cheers and playful jabs about how long it had taken you. You laughed, brushing them off with a shrug, settling into the rhythm of conversation again—but it didn’t hold you.

Every so often, your gaze drifted toward the bar. Joel was still there, leaning one elbow on the counter, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his glass. He looked completely at ease, like he wasn’t waiting for anything or anyone. Just... there. Present. Steady.

After a while, your own glass was nearly empty. You turned it idly in your hand before setting it down with a quiet clink and slipping out of the booth.

“I’m getting another,” you said casually. “Anyone else want one?”

Your friends shook their heads, mid-conversation about someone’s new apartment or bad date—you weren’t really listening anymore. With your now-empty glass in hand, you headed back toward the bar, but this time your path curved just enough that you brushed by Joel.

He looked up as you neared, the edge of a smile already on his face.

“Back so soon?” he asked, voice warm with amusement.

You lifted your glass slightly. “Figured I’d earned another.”

Joel tilted his head, eyes flicking to the stool beside him. “Didn’t take you for the kind who drinks alone.”

You smiled. “I’m not. But the company at the bar’s better.”

He let out a quiet laugh and gestured to the seat. “Then by all means.”

You slid onto the stool next to him, resting your glass on the bar and signaling the bartender for a refill.

“So, Joel,” you said, lips curving slightly, “you come here often?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You really gonna hit me with that line?”

“Absolutely,” you grinned. “Gotta start somewhere.”

Joel leaned back in his seat, watching you like he was trying to figure out where you'd come from—and maybe why it felt so easy to be sitting beside you.

***

You stayed at the bar longer than you’d planned. The conversation with Joel had unfolded slowly, like the kind that slips easily into the kind of quiet rhythm you didn’t even realize you were craving. He was easy to talk to—direct without being pushy, funny in a dry, unbothered sort of way. Every now and then, his eyes would flick to your lips when you laughed, and you’d feel your stomach tighten just a little.

Eventually, you glanced back toward your table and winced a little. Your friends were still there, but one of them caught your eye and immediately smirked. You sighed through a smile.

“I should probably check in before they think I've dropped off the face of the earth,” you said, slipping off the stool.

You made your way back to the booth, and as soon as you were close enough, the teasing began.

“Well, well, well,” your friend said, lifting her eyebrows. “Look who remembered we exist.”

“You were gone forever,” another added with mock betrayal. “Should we be mad or impressed?”

You held up your hands. “I was just having a conversation.”

“Uh-huh,” one of them said, stealing a look over your shoulder. “Conversation with the guy in the flannel who’s now definitely watching you walk away.”

You tried not to smile—tried. “It wasn’t like that.”

The table groaned collectively, unconvinced.

“So, what’s the plan?” your friend asked, nudging your leg under the table. “You heading out, or are we pretending we don’t see that look on your face?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll stick around a bit longer.”

They gave you a knowing look but let it go, the conversation moving on. Still, you felt it—the way your thoughts kept pulling back to him.

After another five minutes or so, you said your goodbyes, hugging your friends, accepting the raised brows and whispered 'text me later' comments with a shake of your head and a smile that probably said more than you intended.

When you circled back to the bar, Joel had stood and was leaning slightly against the counter, drink now empty, jacket in hand.

“Thought you might’ve disappeared,” he said.

You shrugged. “Just tying up loose ends.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then offered a quiet, “You wanna get outta here?”

Your heart gave a quiet little lurch, your answer already forming before you even paused to consider it. You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I do.”

***

Read part two here!

[is-not-a-bell]

Sleepy King

The Justice League Dark caught wind of a cult trying to summon the Ghost King. A being with power so terrible and great, that all of the chaotic Infinite Realms feared him. A true tyrant. Long ago it took the effort of ghosts equal to gods to seal him away into a permeant slumber.

And now this cult wishes to wake him and bring him to the living realm. It was a race against the clock to find the ritual site and all members were called on board, magic or not. Even Constantine looked stressed.

They did find the site.

But it was too late, the ritual was completed. The entire inner circle of runes glowed before being swallowed in a column of green light. The air filled with static and a ringing that made Supergirl crumble to the ground.

The light dissipated, but there was no great figure or being of pure evil. Instead there was a boy, a teenager. He laid on the ground curled up in his sleep. He was a ghost no doubt, dressed in regal clothing.

Despite this when he stirred, everyone froze. It seemed the cold hard ground woke him up. He got up slowly and yawned, revealing his sharp fangs. Once sat up he opened his bleary eyes to look around. He looked confused and tired, really tired.

"Where am I?" He mumbled. "I was trying to get some sleep." Constantine internally screaming, latches onto that last sentence. He glances over to Batman. He caught that last part too. Batman approaches calmly and crouches down in front of the boy king. Hardening his resolve, Batman takes on a gentle tone.

"Hey kiddo, sorry we woke you. Lets get you back to bed yeah?" The boy nodded in agreement. He pulled himself to his feet before looking around in a circle. "Where did my blanket go?" He asked rather sadly. Batman is quick to shed his own cape and drape it over him. "You can borrow my cape until we get you a new one." He nodded again, pulling the black fabric around himself.

John quickly summoned a portal door, while Batman led the King through it. John threw looks around at everyone. Everyone could tell he was mouthing the words. 'Find me a fucking blanket now'

Running on the logic of getting the king away from Earth, away from graves and the undead, that could give him power. The portal led to the Watch Tower.

Batman took advantage of the King's bleary state to send a base wide alert for all noncritical members to evacuate immediately. With a priority that death adjacent members leave first. "The stars are pretty." Bruce looked at the boy staring out the window in wonder. He almost looked like a normal kid, almost.

"Yeah they are, it's pretty late so we should get you back to bed." He nodded, going along with Batman's gentle coaxing.

He takes the boy to an unused bedroom. Making sure the room isn't dusty and that lights are dimmed. He glances back to see about a dozen different leaguers all holding blankets, one thought to bring extra pillows. The bed was pretty barren with only a single pillow and a thin bedsheet. So Bruce took a thick duvet, one of the fluffier blankets and a second pillow from his team before shooing them away.

The boy ended up keeping his cape, mumbling how it was warm. He tucked the boy in, before quietly exiting the room and turning off the light. He was pretty sure the King fell back to sleep before he even reached the light switch.

After the door shut, he made direct eye contact with John. "Constantine." They needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

[lymtw]

Know You're Enough

Toji can't ignore the sounds of your moans and whimpers through the wall. He's sitting on the couch, in the living room, unable to do anything about it, because you're still mad at him, and he's frustrated as hell, because he's so painfully hard, that he can see his dick twitching against the front of his sweats. He refuses to take care of it himself when he knows you're only a room away. To his convenience, you're already in the mood—clearly—but to his inconvenience, you're punishing him. You're scattering his name into your moans to throw salt in the wound, to really make it unbearable, and truthfully, it's getting to him.

Toji reached his limit when he heard you let out a sharp gasp, followed by the sound of those cries you let out when you cum hard. He strides over to your shared bedroom, opening the door to reveal your naked lower body, and your tank top scrunched up over your chest. His breath hitches, the throbbing in his pants intensifying as he rakes his eyes over your frame and absorbs the entire sight of you.

"You're really gonna get yourself off to the thought of me, when i'm right outside?" His incredulous tone doesn't do a good job of hiding the desperation that led him to barge into the room where you're splayed out so indecently.

"Mhm..." you hum, blissfully. You release a heavy, satisfied sigh. "That's exactly what I just did, 'cause you're on a time out," you say, tugging your shirt back down and pulling up your underwear, before sitting up to search for your shorts. "Don't worry. I finished. I'm done torturing you."

He can't let it be over. This normally wouldn't be enough to satisfy you. From what he heard, it seems like you only came once.

"Baby, no," he almost whines. He's outwardly desperate for you, having gone way too long without being allowed to touch you intimately. "Let me. Please," he says, climbing onto the bed. His hands make contact with the skin of your bare legs and glide over the length of your shins, continuing their way up to part your thighs to make room for him to wedge himself between them.

"I did what you asked of me. Said I was sorry and repeated after you to call myself dumb." It was such a silly moment that made the storm in your mind subside for a minute or two.

Toji resists the urge to smile when he sees you suppressing the curl of your own lips. His hands go to your waist, not stopping there. The warmth of his palms travels up your edges, meeting the sides of your breasts and briefly palming the tops of them, in order to get to your shoulders. He grips your shoulders, using them as leverage to guide you back down to the bed. Focus is embedded into his features as he takes the thin material of your shirt between his rough fingertips and peels it off your skin until he reveals the gorgeous view of one of his favorite parts of your body.

Like a domestic cat, he lays his body on you, and plants his face between your breasts. It doesn't take long for him to begin appreciating your chest, pressing multiple slow kisses to your skin. He's basking in the softness you withheld from him.

"What else do you want from me, doll?"

You let out a small, quiet sigh, through your nose. You feel a little irritated with yourself for not even putting up a fight against his affection. You always say you're not going to let him touch you for a certain amount of time, as punishment for the dumb things he does, and yet somehow it always ends up this way—him nuzzling into your chest.

"I want you to stop being a jealous maniac," you say, the words coming out softer than you intended them to, as you welcome defeat and run your fingers through his soft, dark locks.

"Mm-mm, anything but that," he responds, muffled by your warm skin. His hands caress your body, rubbing your waist and massaging your hips in a manner that would induce relaxation under different circumstances. You can't let yourself fall into that comfort until you've talked things out.

"Toji, you flashed your gun at someone who mistook me for somebody else." You attempt to keep yourself composed in order to communicate the issue efficiently. There's no need to raise your voice when you have him right there, lying comfortably on your chest.

"Mhm, I did that," Toji confirms, before planting a soft kiss on the inner side of your right breast. "The dickwad must have been real blind if he had to get so close." He feels your chest rise with a deep inhale, then hears you let out the breath. With that, he knows you're still upset and he has to further elaborate on his actions. "He had his filthy paws on you and everything. I did what I thought was best to get him to fuck off."

You hum in mere acknowledgment. "Uh-huh, that's definitely the way to go about it. God forbid you verbalize your discomfort before threatening to use a bullet."

You feel a warm puff of air on your chest, similar to the sigh you let out, but less audible, and then a kiss directly between your breasts.

"I was right next to you, ma. He was looking at you in a way that he shouldn't have been. He looked at you the same way that I look at you. You don't need that from anyone else. And that stupid ass thing he said about supposedly feeling like he's seen you somewhere? He clearly said it to get a good look at you from up close."

"You really are insane, aren't you?" You ask, rhetorically, stilling the hand that's on the back of his head.

"Doll, I hate the idea of pulling the gun out in front of you. I don't ever wanna have to use it and scare you in the process, but he was actively trying to steal you from me. If he were just ogling you from afar, I might've acted differently, but he touched you. He fucking touched you. Who does shit like that?"

Toji can feel his blood boiling again, so he refocuses on your chest. He doesn't want to think about what happened anymore, when he's in his happy place, where he knows he belongs.

"Alright, Toji. Take a deep breath." You softened your voice to simmer down his emotions. You resumed the movement of your fingers carding through his hair, aiding him in calming down more.

He does as you say and releases a heavy breath. It's riddled with his discontented feelings. "You're supposed to be mine," he mumbles, before finally latching his lips around your nipple.

Toji needs reassurance, too. Him being an attractive, enormous, hulking man, has nothing to do with how secure he feels around you, his lover. It's easy to think that because he manages to turn heads wherever he goes, that he'll be fine when you get those same reactions, but the way you have him now, is proof that insecurity can reach even him. He needs to know that he's not going to lose you so easily, especially to someone as ridiculous as the man who managed to unsettle him.

You look down at him as he takes all the comfort he needs from your chest. "I'm all yours, Toji. You're the only one who will ever get a pass for that kind of psychotic behavior."

He hums, releasing your breast, before resting the side of his face down on your chest. "You make it sound like i'm toxic towards you."

Your chest jumps as you laugh, a gesture that makes Toji lift his gaze to look at you. Your expression managed to make him lighten up a little more.

"You're crazy, but I love you, regardless."

He groans, the sound cushioned by your soft skin. You're the one thing that holds up his sanity, yet somehow you're also the one who tests it by saying things like that to him.

"Let me have you," he says, his kisses beginning to trail up, towards your neck. "Please, let me have you, mama."

"Are you gonna keep threatening people when you get jealous?" You ask, your lips curling as be continues to kiss your delicate skin.

"Mhm," he confirms. "Like I said and you said," he speaks, into your neck, "you're mine. If people don't know it, i'll make sure they get it on the first go. There's no need to make mistakes."

You laugh. "Your possessiveness is intense."

"You're not a joke, to me," he says, looking at you. His expression is as serious as what he just said.

You grab the rolled up fabric of your shirt, with the intention of covering yourself. The ambience has gone more serious and it feels wrong to be so exposed in the moment.

"Don't cover yourself, yet. I want you, baby. Please." His knuckles graze your cheek, affectionately. Despite your chest being out on full display, his attention is centered on your face. He's reading your expression. You were laughing a few seconds ago and now you're as still as him.

"Be nice to me. I don't want you to be rough, this time." It's back to back gentleness with the way your voice reaches him and your smile manages to soothe the remaining sting he's feeling. It's like you're showing him the way you want him to handle you. "I'm yours, Toji. No amount of speed or aggression from your body against mine, will have an impact on the fact. Okay?"

He keeps his eyes on you for a couple more seconds, like he's letting your words sink in and fully envelop him. He repositions his hand, so that he's cupping your cheek, and a couple slow strokes of his thumb against your skin gave him the courage to lean down and kiss you. The second his lips meet yours, he wants more. Infinitely more. He's chasing kiss after kiss from you, utterly drunk on the feeling of your hands pulling him closer by his shirt. He'll consume you, at this point.

"Hm?" You hum, still awaiting his response.

"Got it, baby," he says, before connecting his lips to yours once more. He peppers the rest of your face with kisses, luring giggles from you at the barrage of affection.

This isn't the first time Toji has been revoked of his 'you privileges', and gotten them back, instantly. This has occurred many times in the years that you've been together. Going into a relationship with him, you never thought he'd be the jealous type, much less the type who would threaten someone's life over getting overly cozy with you. The first time he pulled something similar to this, it was a little frightening. You knew he kept a gun on him sometimes, but you figured it was strictly for life or death situations.

You were wrong.

Some weirdo was getting too comfortable with you, hand wrapped around your wrist and all. You clearly remember Toji being visibly bothered, because someone thought they could just swoop in and steal your focus from him. He watched for a minute or two as the man took in your beauty and complimented you on every aspect of your appearance. He really did his best to get you to follow him to his table, and though Toji thought the whole thing was a pathetic attempt, he couldn't help the feelings that began to bubble up as the man squeezed your arm. Toji did a dog whistle to grab the man's attention, and when he looked, he lifted his shirt, just enough to show the grip of his gun. Your stomach twisted and you felt like your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. The stranger just stood there for a second, looking at Toji, condescendingly, as if to insinuate that he knew he was bluffing, and when Toji reached for and grabbed ahold of the gun's handle, that same cocky man paled. He didn't even have to pull out the whole gun—the man had walked away by the time he had the grip in his hand— but you remained worried that he would notify someone about what happened, so you and Toji left.

To this day, Toji still scares people that way when he notices them invading your space in a manner that doesn't sit right with him. You're not scared anymore, when he does it, but the frustration of having to ditch wherever you are, in fear of being ratted out by whoever Toji threatened? It's still there, and you feel it every time. You know he does it out of love for you, but sometimes you wish he would take a second to talk to you, before he even thinks of hurting someone.

Toji has kissed your entire torso, by now. Your chest wasn't exempt from his attention, despite the amount of time he already spent on it. If anything, he refined the love he gave it with purposeful movement and significance towards every spot his lips brushed.

He nears your lower abdomen, wet kisses placed beneath your navel, going lower and lower until you can feel his breath being filtered through the front of your underwear. His hands go beneath the elastic band, cupping your hips without restriction as he kisses your clothed pelvis.

Your breathing picks up the slightest bit when his lips meet your slit through the thin layer. His tongue comes out and he does an experimental swipe of it against the fabric. You feel the space immediately heat up, from your arousal and from the warm wetness of his tongue, itself.

"Stay still for me, mama," he murmurs, kissing your inner thighs after spotting the quiver in them. "You nervous?" He asks, with a small curl of his lips.

"Of course, I am." You look into his eyes as you confirm it. You love him so dearly, that even after the years you've spent together, you still feel lightning coursing through you when he has you this way. This electric feeling doesn't prevent you from letting yourself enjoy what he gives you, nor does it hinder you from touching him and making him feel good. You don't become more hesitant towards him, because by now, you're well aware that your love for him coexists with butterflies. They reside in you, and are able to be lured out by him at any instant, despite your knowledge of the fact that he would gladly be someone's cause of death if they don't keep themselves in check around you.

"Love you," he says, kneading your hips as he leans in to press a few more warm kisses to your thinly veiled cunt. His eyes dart up to your face when you don't respond—he's a little lost on why you didn't say it back— until he sees how despite the way you just admitted to your nerves, he has you entirely at ease. You have a hand flat on the sheets, occasionally moving against the material beneath it, while your other hand rests on your stomach. Your chest is steady and your attention is on the ceiling, your expression serene—ethereally so.

His hands run down your hips, warm palms squeeze and feel up your thighs, gaining your eyes on him again. "You're not gonna say it back?" He asks, his voice deep enough to make the ache between your legs just that much more intense.

"You already know I do," you say, contrasting his demeanor with a giggle. He looks like a needy puppy with that glint that presents itself in his eyes.

"Mhm, doesn't mean I don't wanna hear it, again, or do you not love me, right now?"

You're caught by surprise with that one, a small, almost inaudible gasp, leaving you at the words. "I love you all the time, Toji. I love you now and I loved you earlier when I was pissed. It's not going away."

He's a little more impatient for you, now. His movement doesn't speed up, but his heartbeat is in his ears, and there's a tremble in his hands as he reaches for the elastic of your underwear. He pulls the garment down, wanting to smell and taste you more clearly. His cock jumps at the sight revealed. You're still so wet. He lets out a shuddered breath, now that your lower half is completely bared for him. His mouth comes closer and closer and his tongue comes out, making contact with your throbbing cunt for the first time.

"Toji." The sound is soft—unexaggerated—as his tongue laps at your warmth, tasting the sweet wetness that coats it. He could stay like this for hours, worshipping your entire body, while you touch him and gift him the prettiest sounds ever. He can't get enough of you, which is why when it looks like you're going to close your legs, he pins them down, entirely. His hands splay over your thighs and he keeps them there, because he isn't going to fight to give you the pleasure you deserve. He'll love on you until your body is begging him to stop, because he knows that your mouth can be misleading, at times.

He's taking it slow, just like you wanted him to. The most stimulation comes from him lightly sucking on your clit for brief moments at a time, just to hear your moans get the slightest bit louder. Every time he releases your sensitive pearl, he goes back to running his tongue through your drooling slit, the tip of the muscle nudging your clit, causing it to throb with need. Each graze of the wet warmth, makes you wonder if you should ask him to go faster, though you were the one who asked for this gentleness. You don't want to seem indecisive or come off as doubtful that he can make you cum this way. You know he can, but god, you want so much more. You feel like you're the one who's going insane with every flick of his tongue.

"That good, mama? Or do you want it slower?" He gives you a teasing smirk. Toji knows how you are. You say you want him to be soft and gentle with you, but when the time comes, you want more than what's given to you. You delve into greediness as seconds turn to minutes. You both have nowhere to be. Time is yours, and Toji intends to take advantage of that. He's going to fulfill your needs the way you want him to, but that doesn't mean he loses awareness of your little ticks. He feels the small twitches of your legs beneath his hands every time you feel his nose bump into your clit just before it gets hit by his tongue. He sees the way your hips sink into the mattress and your body quivers when they rise, again.

"G-Good. Don't go any slower," you respond, holding your voice as steady as possible.

"Mm... Faster?" He asks, his tone so calm yet sultry, that you can't tell if he's patronizing you. He doesn't miss the way light flashes, briefly, through your features. In an instant, you regain your composure. A simple hum is offered in response—a wordless brush off of his suggestion. The sound makes Toji smirk. How stubborn of you.

"I won't hold it against you," he says, pressing a kiss to the crease that joins your pelvis and your thigh, leaving an echoing feeling of need in your core. "Just say the word, ma." He presses more kisses to your skin, as if he's trying to persuade you to let him devour you.

"Mm-mm, this is good."

It's not what he's trying to get out of you, but he can keep going until you're hanging on by a measly thread.

He continues on with that same pace—licking, suckling, prodding—so gently, luring the cutest little mewls from you. It took a little longer, but eventually, your body started trembling with impending release.

"I'm gonna- Toji," you cry, tightening your fists around the sheets as he slowly circles his tongue over your clit, focusing on it entirely. Your moans grow needier and needier as you near the edge through such delicateness. The anticipation is killing him. He wants you to be louder. You wouldn't hate him for bringing you more pleasure, would you? It's a risk he's willing to take.

Without another doubt, he's messily making out with your cunt, causing more of your sweet nectar to drool out at a more rapid pace. Your breath hitches, a sharper rendition of his name cried out. Your hand reaches downward and grabs a fistful of his hair, tugging on it as he continues to ravage you. Your moans sound absolutely filthy. He doesn't detach his mouth from you for a single second. His hands finally release their pin on your thighs, allowing you to fully suffocate him when they shut around his head. His arms hook around your thighs, a harsh grip on them to keep you from scooting away from his relentless mouth when you cum. It's another strong, orgasm, that has you arching your back off the mattress and squirming as he continues devouring you through the intense sensation. Your hips roll in an attempt to get more of his mouth on you. Only when you start whimpering and attempting to twist out of his hold, does he ease up. He goes back to the original pace, soft kitten licks through your slit to lap up every drop of your sweetness, earning small twitches from your body, due to the sensitivity you feel.

You release the hold you have on his hair and relax your legs, unbending them and letting them fall comfortably on the bed. He finishes you off with a few kisses, thin strings of his saliva and your cum sticking to his lips, before snapping every time he loses contact with your cunt. His warm palms caress your thighs—a comforting gesture, as your sounds come to a halt and all that is heard is your breathing.

"You're so impatient," you playfully chide, a breathy laugh following.

"You wanted more," he responds, one more kiss placed on you before he licks his lips clean. "I'm really good at reading you."

"Yeah? You think so?" You ask, a teasing grin on your face.

"I know so," he responds. "Wouldn't it just be the worst if we've been together this long, and I didn't know almost everything about you, by now?" He repositions himself, now sitting on his knees to start ridding himself of his own clothes.

You manage a hum and a nod as you watch Toji pull off his shirt.

"Good thing that's not the case, and I do know basically everything about you. Down to the way your body reacts to me— the signals you create that let me know you're gonna cum all over my tongue, when your pretty mouth can't form words."

"So vulgar," you say, through flustered giggles.

"You can take it, mama," he teases, a smirk growing on his lips as you watch him pull off his sweats. His eyes stay on yours, as he kicks them off, letting them slide off the bed and onto the floor, before crawling back between your legs. You can feel his clothed hard-on pressing against your core as he takes your lips in his again. He's addicted to the feeling of your warm body against his.

His hands come down to cup your waist, his fingers molding into the soft flesh with every squeeze they offer. He pauses the make out, small breaths leaving him.

"Baby," he says, his voice almost a whisper, his lustfully darkened eyes narrowed on your starry ones. "I'm gonna kill the next person who hits on you in front of me." He goes back in for a few more quick kisses. "I'm not joking. I can't keep sparing them."

"Shh... All yours, Toji," you murmur, softly, pulling him back in to continue the flow of kisses. Your hand goes to the nape of his neck, the other settles on his shoulder. You hear him groaning quietly into the kisses as he continues grinding his hips into yours.

"Fuck, doll," he groans, pausing his lips on yours once again. "I need you."

You laugh, a warm sound that just adds on to his desire to have you. "So, take me, baby. I'm ready for you."

He gives you one more peck, the slyest smirk playing on his lips as he watches you lean forward for another one, only to be met with nothing.

"Ass," you grumble, playfully shoving his chest.

He chuckles, a deep rumble of a sound as he sits back to remove his boxers. He's not even ashamed of the mess of precum that accumulated in them. If anything, he's surprised he was able to hold in his load this entire time. Pleasantly surprised, because every drop will go to you, as always.

One minute you're sitting up to fully remove your shirt, pulling it up over your head, the next, in what seems like a flash, you're pushed back onto the bed, hands pinned above your head.

You giggle, looking up at him with a lingering smile. "Gentle."

"Mhm," he hums, leaning down to kiss your neck. "So gentle." Two misleading words that don't prepare you for the sensation of his teeth sinking into the crook of your neck.

Your bubbly laughter homes into his ears when his tongue runs over the indentations, luring a huff of a laugh from him.

You feel his cock run through your slick folds, his hips moving back and forth, slowly. Quiet breaths fill the silence that takes over the intimate moment. Toji runs his length through your slit one more time, before finally pushing his tip in. You gasp, feeling his cock begin to drive into you.

"F-Fuck, baby, let me touch you."

"In a minute." He sounds so calm and collected, but you can feel the grip he has on your wrists tighten and the bluntness of his nails pressing into your skin.

"No. Please."

"In a minute," he repeats.

"Pretty please?"

"You're so conflicting, mama. Love that you're begging, but at the same time, you're not listening." His hips draw back and thrust right back into you, his cock filling you up entirely, again.

"Oh fuck. Okay. Please, Toji," you whine.

Toji hums dismissively and picks up a rhythm that manages to get you to stop thinking about your pinned wrists. He lures soft, little moans out of you, listening closely as he plants warm, wet kisses on the side of your face, from your temple to your jaw.

"Just let me be good to you, baby. Alright?"

You hum, nodding your head.

"Yes?"

"Please, yes."

His thrusts become even more precise as he focuses on bringing pleasure to both of you, deep groans and grunts blending together with your higher pitched moans. A few minutes pass and you feel the pressure on your arms ease up, your hands free to roam without restriction. The first thing you do is cup his jaw and bring him in for breathy kisses. You keep your hands on his face and he lets you turn his head in every which way to cover him with kisses. Your affection is intoxicating, and he can't get enough of it. He lets out a breathy laugh when you practically have a make out session with the scar on his lips, your melodic sounds of pleasure released against the strike as he continues to fuck into you. The last kiss you leave on the cicatrix is a big one. One that makes the obnoxious kissy sound and everything. He swipes his tongue over his scar, as if he's trying to catch remnants of the sugar you coated it with.

"Love you," you say, eyes darting over his handsome features and the lovestruck expression they create. You feel the way his hips stutter against you, his abs tensing with restraint before he recomposes himself. You glide your hands up and down his arms and repeat yourself for him. "Love you so much, Toji. I'm yours."

"Fuck— I fucking love you. You're all mine. My baby." He mutters more inaudible curses under his breath, his grip on your waist getting harsher and his thrusts growing quicker, with every sweet confirmation you offer. You whimper, nails digging into his biceps as you withstand the feeling of his cock relentlessly brushing that spot within you that makes you melt beneath him.

"Oh fuck, i'm close." He groans, feeling the way your walls spasm around him at the words. "Yeahhh, you want it, huh, baby? Want my cum?"

A shaky breath leaves you, your face observed up close and personal by Toji, through lust-brimmed, enamored, obsessed eyes. You squirm under all of him— his zoned in attention on you, his touch, his hot, tacky skin, his cock buried inside you—dragging in and out of your soft walls, in a manner that has your toes curling to the brink of actual pain. His fingers find your clit and rub it in rapid circular motions, causing your body to jolt at the sudden intensity of the enhanced pleasure.

You look up at him with your sparkling eyes. "Please... P-Please, Toji? I want it. Want you," you utter, as he brings you closer to your own orgasm.

"Fuck, okay. Okay, baby, gonna give it all to you." His hips pick up their pace a little more and he buries his face into your neck. You can hear the string of grunts and shuddered breaths that pair with his unraveling, right beneath your ear. Deep moans and pants flow past his lips, and his nails begin to leave crescent shapes on your sides. You feel his hot breath on your neck, the open mouthed puffs of air accompanied by the lewd sounds of him filling you with his warm, creamy cum. As he continues rutting into you, riding out every second of his orgasm and then some to get every last drop of his cum into you, he bites your delicate skin, the placement only a few centimeters above where he bit you the first time. He stays there for a few seconds, breathing heavily through his mouth and nose, before he loosens his bite, the gesture transitioning to sloppy kisses over the wet, saliva-coated indentations.

"Cum, doll," Toji mutters, feeling the way your cunt flutters around him when his fingers relocate your throbbing bundle of nerves. Your head sinks back into the pillow, allowing him to drag his kisses up the column of your neck, to feel the vibration of your sounds beneath his lips. Your nails go to his shoulders, dragging across the toned area of muscles, surely leaving behind some scratches. You cry out in utter bliss, your force of an orgasm echoing through your entire being. "There you go, mama," Toji purrs, in response to your body releasing the tension that came with the intensity of your pleasure. You tremble, your small, rapid whimpers and breaths evolving into full blown, unholy moans. "So, so pretty," he drawls out, engraving yet another one of your euphoric expressions into his memory. His fingers leave your clit, and his hips slow down to the point of merely grinding into you, to lure those final little whines out, before stilling entirely.

You shut your eyes to focus on calming your heaving chest for a few seconds, and when you open them again, you have the prettiest pair of green eyes staring down at you. You give Toji a lazy smile and a laugh, a sight that makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. His heart races as he absorbs the visuals of your post-orgasm haze. Your luminous eyes devour him, that little satisfied smirk on your face is everything— god, he loves that you laugh even more at the way he can't stop staring at you.

Just like that, Toji is reminded of what got this sight revoked from him in the first place. He still doesn't feel like he's in the wrong for wanting to murder anyone who has far from just friendly intentions with you, but as you caress his face and hold his gaze with that tender look in your eyes, his desire to kill those who openly lust after you, becomes entirely justified in his mind. He's lost all reason to hold back. There's no longer any part of him that would feel remorse or guilt, even if you can't look him in the eyes for days after the matter. He'll grovel as much as he has to, to get you to give him your eyes, again. You'll just have to agree to disagree on this, because yes, you come home to him, you sleep in the same bed as him, you kiss and hold him, the body concealed by your clothes is a secret between you and him, you get tangled up in sheets with him and the lot of it— but he can't risk losing you to someone who's possibly better than him and searching for all the exact things you have to offer. You're for him, as he is for you.

Toji doesn't care how clingy he appears when you finish getting cleaned up and ready for bed. You carelessly toss yourself onto the mattress and pull the blanket over your body while you wait for Toji, who took the steps and walked around the bed to make it to his side. He finds your body beneath the covers and immediately rolls on top of you, adhering himself to you, again. His head rests on your chest, his arms wrapped tight around your body.

You're already prepared to give him the intimate aftercare that comes with days like this. You don't mind that he's heavy and that he's crushing you or that he's taking up all your space, again, after having been so close to you a little while ago. You'll do this as many times as you need to for him to understand that he's wanted and loved by you.

You press a kiss to the top of his head, and murmur a quiet 'love you'. Your fingers run through his damp hair, your nails gently scratching the back of his head, while your other hand rubs his back. You feel the extra warm skin of his shoulders, where you paid no mind to the pressure your nails applied on it, earlier.

"Does that hurt?" You ask, lightly tracing a couple of the mildly inflamed lines. He hums in denial, but you let up, anyway, and continue to just rub his back.

He groans quietly at your soothing touch, nuzzling further into you. "I'm yours, too, ma. All yours," he mumbles. "I don't want anyone else and I don't wanna see you with anyone else."

You smile softly at his admission. "You're more than enough for me, Toji. There's no one I want more than you— no, there's no one I want other than you," you correct. "You know how much I love you?"

"Mm... How much?" He asks, waiting for you to give him a number or even just an elongated 'so much', but instead, you surprise him with:

"I wouldn't be able to tell you."

He chuckles. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. If you want something accurate, I'll never shut up."

"Good thing I like when you talk my ear off. You wanna give me an inaccurate idea of how much?"

You hum like you're in thought, a giggle following when he pinches your waist, encouraging you to tell him. "I love you a lot, Toji. So much more than I will ever be able to say or show. We would have to conjoin our minds for you to understand exactly how much I love you, but even then, once our minds separate, your estimate will be entirely off again."

He lifts his head off your chest, and waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. The moonlight seeping through the spaces between the curtains is the only source of light that allows him to get a mediocre view of you. "That's inaccurate?" He asks, looking at you with clear disbelief when his eyes finally adjust. You nod, smiling through the warmth that spread on your cheeks. "Now, I wanna know how much you love me, with complete accuracy. I have all the time in the world to listen to you, baby. Just keep talking to me." He presses a kiss to your cheek before lying back down on your chest and wrapping his arms around you, again.

You hugged him as tight as you could for a few seconds. The sound of you straining yourself made him laugh, because not only did he not let out a single groan, but you tired yourself out even more. You rested your arms on his back and just shut your eyes. It was the warmth and weight of his body on you, the feeling of his arms keeping you firmly against him, the security, that managed to lull you to sleep. Toji dozing off was simpler than that, because all he needs to be able to sleep soundly, is for you to be around.

[loveanddeepdick]

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ hi angel!

obsesssed!perv!geto x f!reader || suguru keeps jacking off to you! stop it sugu!

here is a link to my obsessed!geto masterlist this fic is crazy btw pls click off if u get uncomfy

cw and notes: LOWK WRITTEN NASTYILY AND HORNYBRAINED, im gonna be honest its a mess of all the shit i like, kinda gross geto lol, groping, sir kink, dom/sub coded, obsession, unhealthy behavior, dubcon touchin, nudes, indecent exposure but in the comfort of your own home, piv sex, nipple play, creampie, teasing, masturbation, multiple rounds, posessiveness, this is a little insane of me but per the request of deepdick citizens i as your mayor will deliver, not proofead lol

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

geto suguru has no shame.

from the moment you met him until now, he always says everything and anything on his mind. when he first asked you out, he pulled you aside, gripping your shoulder as he bluntly confessed to you.

"we'll have dinner tomorrow. 8pm at nobu," he smiled before patting your shoulder and walking away. you damn near got whiplash as you swiveled your head around, speechless as he just nonchalantly walked off.

but if you thought he spoke his mind without any repercussions, you should've seen what he did to the coworker who was harassing you. he's heard about her during one of your stories about work, crazy customers, unhinged coworkers, careless higher-ups.

she was long gone the day you returned to work.

in a way, he loved that you didn't mind his straightforward behavior , that you appreciated how transparent he was. but with that also came with your nympho boyfriend jacking off anywhere and everywhere in your shared apartment. he walks around with his dick out for fucks sake, and today, you swore he was on some aphrodisiac.

9:14am. friday morning.

you were cooking up breakfast in your shared kitchen, humming as you sipped from your mug. you heard the heavy creaking of suguru's feet on the wooden floor approaching as he yawned. he was inhumanly tall, lanky and skinny yet toned whenever he stretched.

he groaned scratched his stomach underneath his black tank, lifting it up to reveal his dark happy trail.

"morning, baby," he grunted, wrapping his arms around your neck as he leaned down, pressing his chest to your back as he inhaled your scent.

"brush your teeth, su-" you paused as he pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, behind you ears, and the top of your head. you silently cursed, feeling something hard growing against your back. "again, suguru?".

you lightly pushed his head back before he whined and buried his nose in your hair again, inhaling deeplty.

"you smell so good, angel," he was nearly whimpering, his cock growing harder, "please, baby, just let me have my morning fill,"

you bit your cheek to keep a poker face, grabbing bowls for you and suguru before bending over the counter

"help yourself," you playfully sighed before grabbing the pans and plating the food. he grinned, giving you kisses in your hair before pulling your pajamas and panties down, taking his cock out to jack off to your ass. "make it quick, suguru,"

"fuucck, youre so hot, just keep.. keep doing what you were doing," he spat into fist before fucking his dick into it.

"you're such a pervert, suguru," you mumbled, bending over a little more to give him a better view.

"keep calling me that, turns me on," there was hearts in his eyes, watching your cute pajama pants scrunched around your knees as your pussy and little asshole was twitching and puckering just for him.

like clockwork, he squirted white ropes, coating your pussy as it dripped down onto your panties. he kneeled down, pulling your panties up to your cum soaked pussy before he brought a finger up to run it against the crotch area, poking around at his sealed cum against your hole.

"so gross," you rolled your eyes.

"yeah? but you stand there, you take it, and you love it, don't you?" he chuckled, pressing his nose in to inhale as you yelp, making you bend over just a little better as he sniffed in the nasty mix.

with a kiss to your clothed pussy, he pulled your pajamas back up, getting back to his feet with a gentle smack to your ass.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

11:52pm, friday afternoon

you get a text during your lunch break from suguru. what could he need this time? well, you had an idea.

>'hi, angel im otw with some lunch for you'

>'doing what i asked you to, aren't you?'

you hid your blush even though you were alone in your office. there, under your tight skirt and white cotton panties, was suguru's load was pressed wetunder your panties, your thighs squeezing together and keeping the cum warm.

<mhm im in my office

>[video attatchment]

you opened the video with low volume. he was in his car, holding a polaroid of you. he's in the parking garage of the apartment complex with his zipper down, his cock pink and standing tall. the video is only a minute long as he jacks off to your picture, his cock tip nearly touching your face on the polaroid before he cums, covering the entire thing.

what a nasty man.

you hear a knock on your door before he comes in, your thighs instinctively trying to hide your arousal from his teasing words. you place your phone on your desk as he approaches, chuckling at the sight of your not-so-well hidden flustered face.

"what's wrong, angel?" he mocked, grinning before he stood before you, his pointer finger lightly stroking your jaw as you peered up at his form.

his tall, dark form is almost eerie as he leaned down a little to look at you. he had hurricanes in his eyes as they bore into yours before trailing down a bit to your cleavage poking out from your white button-up. what a pervert. even then, it was like peering into heaven after centuries damned in hell.

your arms drift up and around his waist before you embrace his toned figure, your cheek pushed into his sweater.

"my eyes aren't as low as where you're looking, you creep,"

"just means i can focus on two things at once, huh?"

you playfully slap him before he grabs your wrist, pulling you up from your chair and pinning your against your desk, your chest against his ribcage as he peers down upon you.

"missed you so much," he breathed out before his eyes trailed down, his hands coming up to trace your figure, his hands stopping to cup your tits through your clothes as you squirmed and closed your legs, "keep them open,"

his knee came in between your legs, parting them and leaving you. vulnerable to him.

"you been a good girl today, hm?" he chuckled, giving your tits a squeeze before one of his hands travelled down to your skirt, lifting it up to reveal your nearly see-through panties squished up on his leg.

"yes, sir.." you the inside of your cheek to bite back a moan as he began slighly moving his leg up and down.

he guided you to sit on the desk as he knelt, lifting your skirt as he looked at your panties with hearts in his eyes. you leaned back a bit so he could take them off. his fingers hooked both sides of your panties as he slowly peeled.

"ffuuckkk, angel," he hissed as the mixture of his cum and your arousal strung to your pussy as he pulled down your panties, the crotch area gooey and smearing the sticky substance all over your pussy.

you whined as he licked a hard stripe from your perineum to your clit, giving it a loud suck before leaning back, showing you the nasty mix on his tongue before swallowing it with a shit eating grin.

"gross perv- ah, fuck!" you couldn't even finish your sentence before his head dove in between your legs again, lapping at your pussy as he flicked it with his tongue and shoved his face deep between your thighs, using his hands to push them together and trap his face.

"suuguuu..." you whined as you grinded on his face

"use my face, baby, y'taste so fucking good, nobody knows this sloppy pussy like i fuckin' do," he pulled off your clit with a slurp before spitting on it, "say it. say i know this pussy the best,"

"y-you know this pussy the best, sir!" you gripped his long silky hair before your heart dropped into your pussy, "w-wait sir, something c-coming!"

"just let it happen, angel, let go for me, it's gonna feel good i promise," he groaned into your pussy before you twitched, convulsing as you squirted into his mouth. he latched onto your pussy, sucking your clit and messily lapping his touch as he drank your juices.

"so.. gross, sugu,"

"lunch break's over, sweetheart," he chuckled with a kiss after he helped you clean up, "tell your coworkers i said hi,"

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

6:07 pm, friday evening

suguru loves watching you eat. he rarely ever works in person, preferring to have his spirit consultations online (where he loves to scam rich people who exploit others). before you come home from work, he makes sure to make you a nice home-cooked meal or get takeout from somewhere you love.

he watches you eat, savoring each spoonful and gushing on and on about how good it tastes. the small smile on his face looks like little cracks on a china plate. to any other person, it would seem as though his reaction was neutral, but you knew this meant he was ecstatic.

later, you flopped on your bed, landing atop the blankets on your back as you sigh happily from the food. he comes up to you, climbing into bed to sit against the headboard before he reached down and rubbed your stomach lightly with his thumb,

"tummy must be all fun huh, angel?" he chuckled, "should i put on a movie?"

you nod, rolling over onto your stomach as you rest your cheek on your crossed arms, shuffling pressing your side against geto's as he watches you swing your feet in the air a bit.

suguru puts on a horror movie and you groan, realizing it was his turn to choose. you haven't seen this one yet, an old classic thriller probably. some stupid killer on the loose with more stupid people getting killed probably.

he watches you, the way you seem so intrigued with the plot, the way your back moves up and down as you breath, your little laughs when the characters make a joke. he just can't help the blood rushing down to his crotch. the movie plays as you begin to drift off before you hear the shuffling of fabric.

before you turn around, you hear him cough and spit into his hand. the sounds of his spit-soaked hand going up and down his cock, sloppy and desperate for relief as he gets so turned on by you doing anything.

"suguu.. are you jacking off right now?" you gasp, your head whipping around to see him pumping his cock with a expressionless face.

"just focus, baby," he grunted, "you look so cute right now,"

you shifted, sitting against the headboard with him, snuggled up to his side as you watched him masturbate. it wasn't weirdest thing, in fact, this was probably the most normal thing going on in your home. he draped his arm around you, resting it on the headboard as you shyly watched him.

"you're so pretty, suguu," you breathed as he sped up his strokes

with a groan, he finishes on his hand, bringing it up to your lips so you could clean it.

"goood girl, always so obedient, aren't you?" he smiles as you release his finger with a pop, licking his hand clean and drifting your focus back to the movie. you try to swallow it covertly but the way his eyes dart to you face shows that he noticed. he nestled closer to you, his arm resting on your thigh.

the movie continued, suguru not even bothering to put his dick back and going bare in your room (ew) before his arm shifted again, the arm around you dropping lower until his fingers were grazing your shoulder. with a blush you squirm as his hand begins to travel down to your clothed chest, resting on it.

you glare at him before focusing on the movie again until you feel him squeeze it lightly, his finger coming up to draw circles around you covered nipple. biting back a moan, you drift your hand closer to his cock until the killer from the movie pops up with a loud bang, scaring you as you yelp.

your clothed clit grazes against geto's fingers as you jump. he holds back a laugh for your sake, watching you scared expression from the film as he keep his fingers against your clit. after a couple minutes, he begins rubbing it gently through your panties.

you moan, pawing at his wrist gently as you babble about watching the movie. he knew you didn't give two shits about the shitty cgi two-star film.

"you don't want it? tell me if you don't want it, baby, i'll stop," he mumbles against your hear as his groping and rubbing stops for a moment, waiting for your response only to be met with silence. he smiles against your ear before he lifts you up, laying you down on the previous position on your stomach again as he sits behind you.

"you wanna focus? then focus."

he watches you squirm, your fluffy pajama shorts hugging your figure as he can almost swear he can see your pussy. he stalks like a predator hunting prey behind you, trapping you under him as he pulls your panties aside.

"don't get scared, baby," he chuckles, "you jumping is only gonna make me feel good,"

he thrusts his dick deep into you as you moan, gripping the sheets as your feet kicked against the bed from the sudden intrusion. he pressed his body against you, leaning into your neck as he inhales your scent, his hand coming up to your face to shove his fingers into your mouth.

"y'look just like the person on screen, sweetheart," he grunts as you dart your eyes to the film, seeing the victims of the killer trapped in a basement with their arms restrained and their mouths duct taped.

what a strange movie.

he presses his body weight on your back as he drills mean thrusts deep into your pussy, his fat cock head pushing against your cervix as you drool on his fingers. you closed your eyes in fear of getting scared by the fictional killer again, but seeing your cute face all scrunched up and choking on his lanky fingers only made him thrust harder.

"shhuuuguu," you choke as he holds you down under him, his mean hips fucking you over and over again.

"gonna cum, angel? yeahh? good girl, take this dick-fuck, i was made for this fuckin sloppy pussy,"

he groans as you nod and drool, enjoying your slurry of words as he pushes his fingers deeper. you convulse and squeze around his cock, milking him until he came with a loud groan. he continues thrusting slowly even after that, letting you ride out your orgasm until he stills in your cum-fill pussy.

he takes his fingers out your mouth, popping them in his mouth to suck them before turning your face to meet his eyes. giving you a soft kiss on your lips, he carries you out your room to properly clean you up.

what a messy girl