#so many messages all tangled up in One

[kyle1]

🌟

Yes, I Am

THE Girlboss

Yes, I am a man

GOD said so

Now kwitcherbitchin'-

Makes it easy

Bend a knee & bow, beloved.

[evie-sturns]

downstairs - Chris Sturniolo

summary: bestfriend!chris absolutely blowing your back out while his brothers are just downstairs.

contains: dom!chris, bsf!chris, roughhhh sex, degrading, fluff, overstimulation.

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

9:12pm

it all happened so fast, one second you were sitting on the couch, with nick, matt and chris, all calmly watching a movie, the next he was texting you very suggestive messages.

'i need you'

'im so fucking hard under this blanket y/n.'

'you'd meet me upstairs wouldn't you?'

you didnt say no though, infact you were excited by this idea..

-

i clear my throat, "im just gonna start getting ready to go home, goodnight guys!" i lie straight through my teeth to matt and nick, grabbing my phone and rushing upstairs, giving chris the look over my shoulder.

my heart thumps wildly in my chest, the thought of having sex with chris just felt so wrong, but also insanely right,

i swing open chris's bedroom door, before the sound of chris's footsteps fill my ear.

he follows straight after me, entering his bedroom before shutting the door and twisting the lock.

he stares at me with a look in his eyes ive never seen before, he looks almost deseperate.

my eyes trail down to the very large tent in his sweatpants, i reach my hand out and drag my nails over it, causing chris to suck in a sharp gasp.

i hum, "who's this for?" i ask, but he instantly cuts me off. he presses his lips to mine, his hand finding its way to the back of my hair and tangling his fingers through the strands.

i jump up into his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist as i moan softly into his mouth.

after a second he pulls away

"we really doin' this?" he asks as his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

i nod with a small hum, "no strings attached." i whisper.

a smirk grows on his face, "yeah? jus' wanna fuck your best friend for the fun of it, dont you?"

i nod happily, a smile growing on my face.

"naughty girl," he tuts.

he reaches for the hem of my shirt, pulling it off and throwing it to the side.

he reaches round a hand and unclasps my bra, with no struggle it instantly drops onto the floor.

my lips part, a small scoff leaving them. "how many times have you done that christopher." i laugh

"don't worry 'bout it." he grins, staring obviously at my bare chest.

“take it off.” he mumbles as he stares at my shorts.

i nod nervously tugging them down along with my panties, leaving me fully revealed in-front of him.

it’s somewhat humiliating, he is fully dressed and i’m just naked in front of him.

he smiles, reconnecting our lips and pressing my back up against the wall.

i pant heavily into his mouth as his knee slowly nudges my legs apart.

chris quickly breaks away from the kiss to pull off his shirt.

“please chris.” i mutter, my legs aching from how needy i am for him.

“please what?” he taunts,

“please fuck me..” i whisper,

he nods, pulling down his sweatpants and boxers, his fully hard erection springing out.

his tip is raw and pink, precum smeared all over it from how long he’s been hard in his boxers.

i stare down at it, “big..” i mumble, trying not to flatter him too much.

he hums, “bet you can’t wait to feel it in you, fuck.” he mumbles.

he picks me up again before throwing me down onto the matress. i land on my back with a small huff, chris looks down at me with hunger in his eyes.

“turn over.” he whispers, practically inaudible.

“huh?” i cock my head,

“turn. around.” his voice his deeper now, more commanding.

i nod flipping over onto my stomach.

he grabs my ankles, pulling me to the edge of the bed. i let out a small yelp as my body drags over the sheets

“hands and knees, c’mon.” chris mumbles,

i blush furiously as i get up on my hands and knees, my ass right infront of him.

“look at that.” he whispers,

he suddenly brings his hand down onto my ass, a loud slap. i yelp, a gasp leaving my lips.

he rubs over the red skin he just hit, before delivering another firm spank to me.

i let out a mix between a moan and a whine, the stinging prominent on my sensitive skin.

he delivers one last hard slap, the noise ringing out through the room.

“so fuckin’ hot, jesus.” chris breathes,

“you’ve done this before yeah?” he asks, rubbing the plush skin of my ass.

i nod, “yes yeah-“ i whisper.

“good, not gonna hold back on you, you know that right?” he asks,

i nod again, my arousal leaking out of my sensitive hole.

“gonna be nice and quiet for me aswell, nick and matt are downstairs, don’t want them to know you’re getting ruined in here.” chris warns,

“promise..” i whisper, arching my back in his face.

i feel his tip gently press at my hole, lining himself up.

“deep breath.” chris whispers, i comply, sucking in a deep breath.

suddenly, he slams his whole length into me.

all the air is knocked from my lungs as i let out a loud yelp, my eyes squeezing shut.

every last inch of him, slammed inside of me at once.

“chris- chris too much-“ i squeal, burying my face in the sheets.

“hm? don’t like me so deep?” he whispers,

i stay silent, i do, i do like him so deep.

he doesn’t waste time to instantly start thrusting fast, i moan loudly into the matress, clutching the fabric with my hands as i scream his name.

his tip slams against my cervix repeatedly, god it hurts, but in the best way possible.

chris is big, he’s stretching me out so much, not to mention the fact he’s also going crazy fast.

his hands reach down and slap across my ass,

“such a fuckin’ slut aren’t you? getting fucked absolutely dumb while my brothers are downstairs?” chris taunts, his voice low and gruff.

i let out a needy noise in response,

“bet you want them to hear, don’t ‘cha. want them to hear how good i’m making you feel.” he speaks, delivering another firm smack to my ass

i can feel his dick in my actual stomach, i don’t think anything has ever been this deep inside of me.

chris’s long hands drag down my back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their path.

i can feel the chain on his wrist dragging against my flushed skin,

“chris- chris please- please slow down.” i wail, completely unfocused on trying to stay quiet.

“shut up, take it, you know you can.” he instantly snaps back, earning a loud groan from me

his hips repeatedly crash into mine, my cheek is pressed against the blankets on the bed as drool leaks out of my mouth.

he reaches his hand down into my hair, tugging on the strands and twisting it into a makeshift ponytail.

he tugs on this ‘ponytail’ he’s made, lifting my face from the blankets,

my moans are no longer muffled by the fabric,

he pulls slightly harder on my hair, gripping low down so it doesn’t actually hurt me, which is ironic considering the fact he won’t slow down. i’m not complaining though.

my back arches even harder, my eyes welling with tears at the unimaginable pleasure.

i hear him let out a low chuckle from behind me, “are you seriously fucking drooling?”

my cheeks flush red as i reach a shaking hand up to my mouth, wiping it quickly before instantly slamming it back down onto the matress, trying to keep myself up.

“chrisss���” i whine loudly,

“shh, sh.” he shushes me,

he suddenly lets go of my hair, letting my face fall foward into the sheets again.

i can finally let out more lewd noises with my face smushes into the blankets.

“i’m so close- please please..” i cry out,

he suddenly pulls out, my stomach instantly feeling empty and my hole fluttering around nothing.

“chris!!” i cry out again, making him laugh.

he is just so mean.

“turn over.” he speaks firmly, his voice very subtly shaking.

i roll over, my whole body aching, desperate for release.

“good girl, you’re so good at listening to me aren’t ‘ya?” he praises, he pulls me closer to the edge of the bed again,

i nod with a stupid grin, my mine completely blank.

he lines himself back up with me and i mentally prepare myself for what’s coming.

he slams back into me, the familiar feeling of him inside of me instantly soothing the ache in my pussy.

this time is different though, i can see him, and it hits me that this is the chris sturniolo who is fucking me right now, my own best friend.

i stare up at him, my eyes now narrow slits.

he reaches down and grips my breasts, his fingers twisting at my nipples,

he pinches them, causing me to clench around him as i let out a loud whine.

“didn’t i tell you to be quiet? what happened to you being good at listening?” he coos,

“i- sorry- ‘m sorry-“ i exclaim, tipping my head back.

i purse my lips together, trying to hold in my noises.

at this point there’s no hope of chris’s brothers not hearing me, it’s quite embarrassing actually, but it’s hot, so hot.

i exhale shakily, before another loud moan of chris’s name rips out of me.

chris suddenly clamps his hand down onto my mouth, “i told you to be quiet.”

i whine against his hand, my walls clenching down around him.

tears prickle in my eyes, dripping down my face into his hand as the pleasure gets too much.

i feel my orgasm crash down on me, my back arching off the bed as i squeeze my eyes shut.

“look at me, look at me.” he repeats himself, and midway through my orgasm i find the strength to open my eyes and stare into his.

a grin forms on his face, “so hot, so fucking good,”

his thrusts don’t stop though, if anything they pick up…

i feel my whole body on fire, my sensitive walls still being pounded into by chris.

tears roll down my cheeks, not tears of sadness, not at all. tears of pure ecstasy.

i groan against his hand, clamping my thighs together.

he instantly pushes my thighs back apart, “take it.” he mutters.

i see his head tip back as he gets close as well,

my mascara is now smudged against my face, chris’s hand still plastered onto my mouth to muffle my noises.

“fuuuck..” chris breathes,

after a few more thrusts he abruptly pulls out,

he strokes himself once more before finishing.

streaks of white paint my tummy, chris lets out a low whimper before falling down onto the matress beside me.

he pants heavily, i just lay still, my legs shaking as i try to catch my breath.

i have no thoughts in my brain, just pleasure.

“you okay?..” chris speaks up,

“i- i’m- i’m- woah.” i whisper, not even being able to form a coherent sentence.

“you’re woah?” chris grins,

i giggle in response, my whole body feeling like it’s on fire.

“really got fucked dumb on your best friends cock, that’s naughty.” he tuts,

i whine, “shut up..”

he chuckles, “i’m just messing with you sweetie.” he whispers, pulling me onto his chest.

i lay my full body weight on him, his arms wrap around me.

“you were so good you know that?” he whispers,

i nod, burying my face in his neck.

“let’s get you cleaned up alright? youre gonna sleep here instead of going home.” chris whispers, stroking my back.

he gently stands up, i’m still wrapped around him like a koala.

he takes me into his bathroom as he pulls on a pair of his sweatpants before sitting me down on the toilet as he prepares a wet rag.

“go pee yeah?” he speaks softly, it’s hard to believe he was degrading me 10 minutes ago.

i nod, following his instructions.

after i finish up chris picks me up, sitting me down on the counter.

i sit still, spreading my legs slightly as he gently cleans me up with the rag.

“wash your hands, you don’t wanna be dirty.” he grins,

“chris-! i haven’t even touched a single thing in here.” i laugh,

“i’m messsing with youuu.” he laughs back,

i roll my eyes as he finishes cleaning me up.

he picks me back up, walking me over to the bedroom as he sits me on the edge of the bed.

he dresses me up in his own clothes, his oversized shirt and sweatpants.

“you don’t want a shower or anything? i can run you one?” he asks,

“wait- can i go grab some water i’m so thirsty.” i complain, chris nods,

“yeah i’ll help ‘ya walk down there.” he says softly, helping me out of bed.

“i can walk!” i protest,

“can you now?” he giggles,

i nod stubbornly, walking very shakily down the stairs,

“you’re sort of like a baby giraffe.” he points out,

“aw thanks chris.” i roll my eyes, reaching the bottom of the stairs.

i look to my left and see matt and nick sitting on the couch.

they stare at me and chris with pure disgust,

“you two are ACTUALLY disgusting i hope you know that, never do that in my house AGAIN.” nick speaks up.

my cheeks flush a deep maroon as i turn around to look at chris.

he looks equally as embarrassed.

the silence is loud, before chris interrupts it with a small snort.

me and chris suddenly both burst into uncontrollable giggles, laughing stupidly at each other in the almost silent house.

-

@sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @ilovemymannnnnnn n @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow w @mattfangirl girl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle e @h3arts4harry @jamiesturniolo o @chrisstopherfilmed @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @certifiednatelover er @solarsturniolo larsturniolo lo @mattsenthusiast t @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette e @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise @sturni0l0tripletzz @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @mattsonlybitch @justalittle47 @sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101saroona a @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 1 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz 4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover r @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall john @raysmayhem-72

[mochiwrites]

Grian is a hypocrite. He knows. God, does he know it. He’d never acknowledge that fact, however, would never admit to it. He isn’t exactly the type that goes around readily confessing his flaws, after all.

He had told Jimmy he wouldn’t restart the session if he died, right after he’d been knocked down a few lives. Grian said it without hesitation, as amusement spilled from his voice like it had been paint in a can that tipped over. It wouldn’t be fair, nor right, to restart the session. And if he restarted it for Jimmy, what kind of message would that send the others? It might become expectation if someone permanently died so early on.

He needed to be firm about it—even if Jimmy’s misfortune came from bad luck, things out of his control.

Grian can’t go giving out special favors. He can’t be biased.

He’s a hypocrite for it.

It happens on the mountain, right by the long staircase made of soft pink cherry wood. He doesn’t even notice at first, attempting to avoid his personal harbinger, a snail. Honestly, Grian didn’t mean for things to go this badly. As with most things with him, Grian thought it to be a silly joke. A hat tip toward a well known hypothetical query.

But in typical fashion, Grian overestimated his friends’ survival capabilities. With their own personal snails tailing them constantly, he watched as death after death rolled in, giggling over each one (unless it was Mumbo or Skizz).

Maybe by now he should know better.

��Who would make my snail invisible?! Who would boobytrap my snail like that?!”

Grian looks over at Lizzie, both flabbergasted and impressed, “That’s—that’s devious.”

The second he turns, it happens.

(Sandy domes under their feet, a ravine cutting right through their path. Mischievous giggles shared between them before they’re torn apart, the sound coming to an abrupt end.

With a shout he pushes his hand out, but to no avail. Yellow turns to red and all that’s left are their foot prints in sand, a pile of items below.

He’s left at the top, lips curling around the syllables of a name as hysteric laughter follows it, distress wrapping around it like a ring.

He never did manage to catch him.)

Grian is a hypocrite, because the moment Scar dies right in front of him, he panics. That invisible snail wasn’t Lizzie’s. It was Scar’s. He stops, breath cutting itself short on its own blade, body freezing itself in ice. He gets a second of eye contact with the man, seeing the shock and fear lacing his expression before he’s gone.

“Oh, Scar!” The outcry is loud as it crackles with distress.

This is it, he’s on his final life now. If he dies it’s permanent. No do overs. No restarts. No special favors. Scar will die. Grian can’t stomach the thought, can’t let it happen. He’s failed every other time and this world has only just begun. It’s too early. It’s… it’s not fair.

END THE SESSION. END THE SESSION! END IT. SAVE HIM. END END END END END END END!

Grian is a hypocrite.

Whether it be out of some sort of twisted and tangled guilt, or the lingering feeling of a debt to Death that never truly went fully repaid, he isn’t sure. There is no hesitation, just a natural instinct, an ingrained habit. If it were anyone else he’d let it happen, let the game run its course.

But his choice is obvious when it comes to Scar, even when he doesn’t want it to be. He’s always going to be drawn to him, always going to feel this pull. He’ll sacrifice it all, twist himself up in however many different contradictions he needs.

For Scar.

“The session is over!” he shouts, rapidly typing in the world chat for the others. He spams the message a few times in his hurry before switching to turn the wild card off. And he does it just in time, with Scar’s snail just a few inches away from the man. It disappears, along with the others, and a collective sigh of relief is released from those among them.

He feels Them watching, unhappy with their meal being cut short. But Grian doesn’t care. He never has.

“Man, that was a close one! I thought I was a goner,” Scar laughs over to his side, drawing Grian’s attention. “Thanks for the quick save there, G-man.”

Grian smiles at him, some small thing. “Don’t get used to it,” he returns.

There’s a knowing look in Scar’s now ruby eyes, and the sun on Grian’s hair feels warmer; heated, nostalgic. “Of course.”

He’s not supposed to play favorites, not meant to be biased. He’s not supposed to interfere to keep a player alive (something he made very clear to Mumbo and Skizz prior). But existing in a world like this without Scar feels wrong and near painful so early on. He couldn’t stand around and do nothing. He couldn’t just watch.

Not when it’s Scar.

Grian pretends not to notice the glance Jimmy throws at them, a brow raised. He’s been seen right through.

[power-handmaiden]

Chuck Tingle interview

OK, here is the FINAL 2024 Tingles My Butt post, which I've been pretty hyped for. I still kind of can't believe this. While I was figuring out how I'd move on from 2024, @drchucktingle generously offered to answer some questions of mine to commemorate the end of my tingler project! Here they are!

-Considering that your process for tinglers is just to write it out and not stress about proofreading and editing, was it weird for you to see someone decide to go back, examine, and contemplate every single tingler published in the past decade?

the whole dang project was really wonderful for me, for exactly the reason you have just said. tinglers are very STREAM OF CONSCIOUS and only edited with one quick pass so while i think this adds to their honesty and rawness it also means that my time with them is limited. really watching someone go back through them at this depth was like reading a diary that i have not opened for many years, and it jumps around through time in a very beautiful way. it was very moving

-I love tingler character names. I personally admire how many great ones you come up with. (I never know what to name my ttrpg characters.) You just come up with all these great names that seemingly spring from nowhere, how do you do it?

DANG great question cant believe i have not been asked this before but yes there is a type of name that shows up in the tingleverse that is unusual and has a certain feeling and cadence that is very specific. if i am trotting along with sweet barbara and there is a name of a product or a place or something that has this tone we will say ‘oh thats a tingleverse name.’ the reason i wanted to do this in the books was as a very subtle way of saying these stories exist on a timeline that is RIGHT next to ours, so in some ways it is exactly the same as our world but there are these little cultural differences with things like chocolate milk and spaghetti and then with the names. you will have buckaroos like justin and sarah trotting along next to buckaroos named corb torbins-quill or borto lart.

-So, as a reader, reading from 2014 to now, old tinglers and new tinglers feel different to me. I believe you when you say tinglers have always been sincere, but they feel MORE sincere than they used to be. Like, I feel like there was some self-consciousness and irony in some of the early tinglers that you've since let go of and embraced the Chuck Tingle voice more. I don't know, am I imagining this, or does this square with your tingler writing journey? If it does, what has that process been like for you?

i think you are absolutely correct. the intention with tinglers was always to be a place for me to express myself with complete sincerity, but the practical way of HOW to trot like this took a bit of an evolution to arrive at. in other words i knew the basics, but actually refining the best way to express yourself and perform your art takes time. maybe in the same way goin back and watching season one of a tv show can feel very different from season three, even though they are part of the same expression. 

similar thing happened with in my chuck PRESENTATION as well, where my main focus was to stay anonymous so the metaphors i used to talk about my life were still true but laid on much thicker. even my attire was a large gi so that you would not even be able to see my shape, which has obviously changed now because i wear suits these days. all of this was a process of starting in a place i knew was important to me and then peeling off the parts that were not helping the message or expression over time

-Is there anything you could tell us about the significance of Borson Reems? I feel like he's more than just another Buck Trungle/Chuck Tangle/etc but I'm not sure what exactly...

yes borson reems is god. not that i believe in GOD in the way that most buckaroos talk about god (i am agnostic) but within the tingleverse, borson reems is an avatar for the creator of that world. technically i am borson reems, because i am writing the books. the question is: are we all the gods of our own little worlds that we create? i do not know, but when i look around at my buds and the joy and love they bring to various timelines they sure seem like gods to me

-A lot of no-sex tinglers (especially ones that aren't romance-focused) vary in terms of plot and structure a lot more than erotic tinglers. Is your writing process for these stories any different?

same process actually, but the sex scenes in tinglers are about 1500 to 2000 words long, and total tingler length is 4000 words which means if you are not including that portion you are going to have to come up with some creative way to fill that space in the story and a new axis for story to turn on. so the variety comes from me getting creative and trying out different axis points

-In "Not Pounded By My Book "Pounded In The Butt By My Non-Fungible Tingler That Is Literally This NFT" Because Of The Current Catastrophic Environmental And Ethical Impact" there are references to an earlier draft of the story that was never released because you ended up disagreeing with the message. Are there any other tinglers that never got finished and/or published, if you'd be willing to talk about any of them?

oh this is a VERY good question. the story of the NFT tingler is that when buckaroos were first talkin on nfts online and nobody really knew what they were, my first thoughts were just ‘oh this is interesting what the heck is this?’ this is my way with most CURRENT EVENTS. and i thought ‘this would be an interesting tingler, i suppose maybe i should make the tingler an ACTUAL nft’. this was in VERY early days so i did not really even understand what an nft was (neither did 99 percent of buckaroos yet honestly). so i looked into it just enough to actually MAKE a nft tingler that was a real nft and put it out. lasted for about thirty seconds before buckaroos were messaging saying ‘oh this is bad chuck you should look into what this is’ and i DID look into it and thought’ oh yeah this is terrible nevermind’. i took down the original and thought ‘well THIS is what art is all about. this is where i thrive in a world of moving living art that is in communication with itself’. so i dove into the research and actually started to understand NFTS and then i repurposed the story into a strongly anti-nft tingler and put that on out instead.

as far as OTHER tinglers that kind of move and breathe and live like this, in communication with the audience, GAY T-REX LAW FIRM is another very good example. that one i wrote early on and i think it was kind of in the model of something like fifty shade of grey, where issues of kink and consent and communication are not really handled well. i think at the time it came out the story was okay, but as time went on it always kind of bothered me and finally i thought ‘i love art that exists in the REAL WORLD and changes and evolves, so lets rewrite that story and fix some of these mistakes.’ honestly it is something i wish more artists would be open to. its okay to let something hold strong against a changing timeline, but it is also okay to explore what its like to take the notes that time gives us

-This one is about Chuck Tingle that exists in deeper layers of the Tingleverse that operate on tingler logic: what does the location inside his/your butt look like?

probably a nice mid-century modern home up in laurel canyon neighborhood of los angeles. kind of quiet and small like a cabin but also very cozy, like the kind of place where you would put on a crosby stills nash and young record on vinyl and gaze out into the woods for a while then walk down the hill for dinner at a little cafe where you spot some actor from a 60s tv show also having dinner in the corner booth. this basically sounds like the start of a tingler and in that tingler i will say the actor would be a bigfoot.

-OK this one is very self-indulgent but if you could help settle this frequent point of discussion I have with my wife- where do the following fit in the Tingleverse bigfoot/dinosaur/unicorn/living object(/human/does not apply?) taxonomy?

-a ghost of a regular human

-a regular human vampire

-a human/fish mermaid

-a sentient winged horse

-a sentient centipede large enough to wrap around a mountain several times (she is handsome)

alright lets trot through these. a GHOST is not one of the four tingle types so you can have a ghost racecar or a ghost unicorn or a ghost bigfoot. ghosts are outside of the four types and do not have a classification

a VAMPIRE is also outside of the four types. so you can have a vampire bigfoot or, of course, a vampire night bus. does not strictly fall into any of the four main categories

MERMAIDS are technically a long lost species of unicorn I DONT MAKE THE RULES I JUST EXPLAIN THEM. this makes the MERMOPED tingler a little confusing but i had to pick a category and that one went into living object. now that i mention it possibly the only tingler that is technically a double category of unicorn/living object.

WINGED HORSE is easy, thats a pegasus which is a species of unicorn just like a mermaid

a SENTIENT CENTIPEDE LARGE ENOUGH TO WRAP AROUND A MOUNTAIN is an ancient creature, therefore dinosaur tingler

-My other self-indulgent question: do you have a favorite bug? (Or second-favorite if you count Mothman as a bug)

i love finding spiders in the house and giving them a pet because they are doing a good job livin their lives doin their thing. close second would be a pretty ladybug

-Any thoughts on what tinglers will be like in 2025? Do you expect to be writing a lot of political tinglers again, like post-2016?

honestly i really do not like writing specifically political tinglers anymore, and the amount that i write has gradually dropped over time (i think ALL tinglers are political but in a different way). so honestly i think i will write a few political tinglers but not many. my hypothesis on this is that my HORROR NOVELS are very very political and so maybe i get a lot of these ideas out of my system that way now. when it comes to tinglers i just wanna explore my OWN mind and heart and butt more

THANK YOU for these wonderful questions and thank you for your tingler-a-day project it was so moving and powerful. what a treat it was an honor to be a part of something so beautiful. THIS PROVES LOVE IS REAL

[doomedmoth]

Better kind of best friend (part 3)

Pairing : Reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux x Charles Leclerc | Poly & bisexual fem!reader

Warnings : obsessive/possessive/manipulative behavior, suggestive content/smut, fluff then angst then dark fluff, inaccurate racing calendar and school programs, polyamory, use of y/n

Synopsis : When you left the UK for a year long art restoration program in Monaco, you mainly wanted to make some friends. What you didn't expect was to find your best friend on the first day. And then fall in love with her. And then get tangled in the web of Monaco high society as her boyfriend came back to town, unaware of your little affairs. What the fuck happened to you, you just wanted to make some friends...

Moth's prophecy 💡 : Your favorite omen of doom & cringe is baaaack ! I wanted to give a special thanks to all the precious cryptids who have asked for the part three for literal weeks, always staying patient, nice, and sending messages so sweet I rot my teeth on them and made a collection of screenshots in my notes to motivate me. I never thought anyone would like my writing, let alone wait for it, so thank you. Y’all are my lights. On the subject of Better kind of best friend, a fourth part was not planned at first, but will make the ending smoother, so I’m sorry, this is not the end yet ! For those just discovering the series, you can find part one here and part two here, or in in the masterlist ! Enjoy !

“Ah per favore… Tell me you’re not dressing up like that for her.”

“Ah please, tell me you’re not giving your opinion when no one asked for it.” Chiara popped her tongue at your cold answer, and stayed in the opening of your door, clearly judging you.

You had been going through your closet for about an hour now, and the floor seemed to only disappear more and more under the layers of clothes thrown onto it carelessly. Nothing seemed good enough, partly because you had no idea what to expect for the evening, and mostly because no matter how much you refused to admit it, Chiara was right. You wanted to look pretty for someone else than yourself. For two people exactly. The thought of how quick you had thrown away all of your big principles when faced with fluttering eyelashes and pink cheeks almost made you sick.

Yet when they both got up from the table, Alex running to your arms with a smile and Charles blushing, eyeing you up and down, you thought that Chiara should just shut up once in a while. This was too good to not enjoy.

And you had promised yourself this would not be the same this time. They were your friends, they were dating, and you would keep a healthy relationship with both of them. But then Alexandra softly kissed your cheeks, and took your hand in hers. You would limit any type of confusing physical touch, and make sure to not give in to sweet pet names. But then she led you to Charles, who put his hand, much bigger and more calloused than his girlfriend’s, on your waist, and brought you closer to greet you. You would not let your fantasies take over facts, and you would keep all communication clear and honest to ensure your best friend stayed exactly that. A best friend. But then he told you you were gorgeous, and she giggled while still holding your hand, and they had your favorite drink already on the table, and suddenly you forgot everything you had told yourself in the mirror while getting ready. Surely it would come back to you if it was that important. Right ?

Back to you it came, in the form of Alex’s gorgeous friend and one of your workshop colleague, Luca. Almost falling on you as you exited the bathroom, he seemed like he had had one too many drinks already, and didn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

“Oh mais regarde toi, quelle beauté !” He grabbed at your waist and kissed your cheeks, blabbering on and on in French about your makeup and outfit. “Who are you trying to impress by looking so gorgeous, babe ?”

You chuckled and pretended he was wrong, but could not help and steal a glance. Of course you wanted to impress them, what a joke to pretend you did not care. Why for, even you had no idea, but you knew you would be satisfied as long as they kept their eyes on you. Which they had stopped doing for a while now, seeing as they were cuddled up on one of the couches, Alexandra sitting on Charles’ lap, hands in his hair, while he peppered her neck and shoulder with soft kisses. You could hear her giggles from afar, smell his shampoo, or maybe you just knew them too well for your own good.

You knew you were staring, knew Luca would be quick to catch on to what was happening if you did not get a hold of yourself, but it seemed that even the music and lights had faded in favor of the scene in front of you. It was hypnotizing, seeing her give in, seeing him take charge, knowing in your heart you should be there but never would be. Cheeks heating up, you turned back to Luca.

“I actually wouldn’t mind some company, if anyone here shares your opinion tonight.” Beaming, he hooked his arm with yours and took you straight to the bar to get a refill, which would inevitably end up spilled on the floor when he made you dance until you saw stars.

You don’t know how long you had danced for when he came to you. Hands sliding down your waist to your hips, his hot breath making the hairs on your neck dress up, you did not look up. You knew it wasn’t him. Because you knew how his hands felt from that one time he caught you from falling, because no man in their right mind would dance that way with their girlfriend’s friend in a crowded club, because it would never be your neck he buries his face in. But just for a few seconds, maybe minutes, you caught yourself hoping it was true, dreaming you would turn around and get a glimpse of green eyes before his lips crashed into yours. But the eyes were dark, the hair too blonde, the hands too soft. And yet you still let him kiss you, and when his slim fingers brought your dress higher on your buttcheeks, you even moaned in his mouth. Desperate was an understatement at this point.

“I’m going to put my fist so far up his ass he’ll be lucky if…” Alex’s sentence was cut short by Charles’ hand slamming against her face, flashing an apologetic smile to the friends they were chatting with and dragging her away. “Who even is that ? I’m going to get a bouncer to kick him out.” Charles had to tighten the grip on his arm to finally get her to look at him.

“Calm. Down.” This seemed to only piss her off more, but before she could start another rant, this time aimed at her boyfriend, he grabbed her by the neck and kissed her, giving him the advantage of surprise to then speak in her ear. “I know. But love, just look around you. At least half of this party knows us. I’m not sure punching a guy flirting with…” Unsure of how to call you to appease Alex, he opted for simplicity. “Y/N, and making a scene like a jealous wife is the best way to get her back.”

She sighed, head rubbing against the palm of his hand, before raising her doe eyes at him. “Then do it, Charles.” Getting closer to him, Alexandra brought her lips to his, her breath intoxicating like syrupy almonds. “Everyone knows you. Everyone loves you. Who would even dare to say something to Mr. Golden Boy.” Fluttering her eyelashes, she knew exactly how to get him. Sweet as honey, sharp as glass. “Why don’t you be a good boy and go fetch her for me, hm Charlie ?” He only managed to nod pathetically, his whole body aching to get on his knees and have her sit on his face.

The tension in his muscles was still present by the time he got to the bar stool where you were sitting, and he thought he might actually end up smashing the guy’s face against the counter. You were laughing like he had never heard before, the kind of sultry giggles that belonged to cab rides and hotel hallways, only an invitation for the hand already sat on your thigh to go up further. He barely had time to think of consequences, and you to realize he was standing behind you, before his hand fell to the guy’s shoulder, and he started speaking in his ear. The music was too loud, you were getting really drunk, so when the man’s eyes got wide, and he apologized before leaving in a hurry, you were unable to guess what Charles could have told him.

“I’m sorry, doll…” It wasn’t the first time he called you that, yet everytime it left your heart pulsing, and your core aching for more. You felt your legs wobble as he slid between them. “Seems he wasn’t interested in much more than a quick fling.” His fingers ran up your thigh and you almost fell the dig of a nail, before he took the hem of your dress and brought it back down to its usual length. The exhale that came out of your mouth felt like the first one in hours. “And you’re worth more than quick, aren’t you ?” At this moment, no, you weren’t worth more than that, you were yearning for someone to take your mind off the shitshow that was your heart, even if it meant bending over a bathroom sink for any nameless guy. But you smiled through the shivers and thanked him, even daring to put your hand on his. Everything was spinning, your ears were ringing, but he was smiling back at you, so maybe this evening wasn’t so bad. “Party’s over, let’s go home, doll.”

On the way back, Alex sat in the front of the car, but kept her hand on your knee the whole way, tracing small circles on your exposed skin. It almost seemed to you that with every sharp breath you took, you saw her smile in the car’s mirrors, but you fell asleep without being sure.

Even Charles was annoyed now. Maybe he could buy you a leash, make sure you were never straying too far. A tag too, so that you wouldn’t get lost. One with his name etched into the metal, just so there’d be no doubt. Just so that everyone knew who you belonged to. Would you be good ? Obedient ? He barely managed to get back to reality before his face got as red as his suit. Knee bouncing restlessly, his eyes were unable to leave you, bent over his car as a mechanic showed you his seat. If he could see you, it meant everyone could. And that was starting to get on his nerves.

“Sorry I found a pretty one” Alex whispered, sliding up behind him, her voice a low hum of amusement against his ear. “Sometimes I wish I could lock her up too…”

“I mean you could.” Charles knew he was fucking up. The words had tumbled out before he could stop himself, the implication behind heavy with something he would not dare to name. He knew his girlfriend had been teetering on the edge lately, and that any idea fueling her possessiveness would be considered, no matter how immoral. He knew he was supposed to be the voice of reason. Your soft way back to her, to them. Like the web to the spider. But this new mechanic he was definitely going to get fired was now making you try a headset, and he was playing with your hair, and the image of you getting yanked back to his feet was taking too much place in his brain. So when Alexandra stared at him, he simply shrugged, surrendering. “I don’t want her to stray too far when I’m on track. Who knows what could happen to her.”

When the free practice started, and Alexandra sent you to get her painkillers from the “infirmary”, you didn’t know what you were getting into. As the door locked behind you in the small storage room, you became painfully aware that you had no idea how this world worked. You had followed her instructions blindly, not really knowing anyone, and not wanting to cause trouble. And now you were banging on the door, feeling the air slowly get out of your lungs as the panic took over your body. There wasn’t any light in the room, and you could faintly hear the rumbles of the cars in the distance. Everyone was probably busy either watching or working on the track. No one would hear you scream, yet you begged for help with every bit of energy left in you.

Claustrophobia had been the fear you never got over. Taking stairs rather than elevators and walking over crowded buses, you had mostly managed on your own. But there you were, stuck in what seemed smaller than your bathroom at the residency, wondering if you were about to suffocate to death between tyre blankets and wires in Abu Dhabi. Charles had told you the practices lasted about an hour. But would you ? And even if your lungs hadn’t burnt from the thick air then, would someone find you right away ? Who could even come to look for you, in such a foreign place, with no friends other than two of the busiest people there could be this weekend ? Tears streaming down your face, you found yourself wishing you had never left their side. Maybe that would have been childish, but you would have been safe.

“Y/N ? Y/N are you in there ?” Anywhere in the world you would have recognized this voice. The only one that would understand your pain because she knew your fears. You screamed her name and heard rustling in the hallway. For a second when the door opened, she stood bathed in the clinical white lights, and you thought you had died. No angel would ever come close to such a vision. “Y/N ! Mon chou come here oh my god” She fell to her knees, opening her arms, and it felt like coming home. To hell with the physical distance, to hell with the principles. She had found you. She had saved you. Your head in her neck and her hands in your hair, you tightened your arms against her even when she gasped, but pulled you even closer. The tears falling down on your cheeks weren’t yours only, and you could barely make out what she was saying.

When the buzzing in your ears finally calmed down, she had cupped your face, whispering inches away from it. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you you’re safe. Please don’t leave me anymore. Please please please Y/N I beg you I got so scared, you weren’t coming back and I thought something had happened to you, it’s not safe here.” Rubbing your cheek with her thumb, she even kissed repeatedly your forehead as you could only nod, still crying. “Stay by my side, please never do that again. I thought I had lost you, I thought…”

You said yes, over and over again, apologizing as if it had been your fault, promising to be good like a prayer to a benevolent deity.

When Charles got out of the car and saw you holding Alex’s hand, your whole body twitching while she was beaming, he could not help but smirk. On a counter next to his phone, the keys to one of the storage rooms sat innocently, gleaming under the lights.

The weeks following the incident felt like a blur, as if your mind was slowly sinking into the mist of December mornings, and the last of your independence with it. Wherever you turned, Alexandra’s warmth and Charles’s steady hands were there, lingering at the edge of your vision, too close to be a coincidence.

But it was too comforting to not bathe in it. Your mind kept on replaying the moment your friend had found you in the storage room so many times it became a mantra, a balm to soothe the fear that still clawed at your thoughts at night. She found you. She saved you. She would never leave you. Charles too, after making a scene at the race and demanding the lack of safety in the infrastructure to be investigated, had made a point of shielding you from anything he deemed not safe. Which now that you were back in Monaco, seemed to be everything and everyone. You caught him glaring more than once at strangers, his body always carefully sliding between you and anyone who got too close.

Yet you had also been witness to the ugly side of fame since, the shadows it casted and the vultures it attracted, and trusted them to keep you away from it. All celebrities seemed to like their private life to stay, well… Private, and so when he brushed a stray hair from your face and told you he wouldn’t let any creep bother his dear friend, you believed him.

And truth be told, you loved the attention. That’s what you wished for, all you ever wanted, you told yourself as Alex braided your hair on the couch of the residency, Charles scrolling on his phone, his knee brushing absent-mindedly against yours. It was sweet, how they cared so much. Your roommates had given up on understanding, as long as the mood was not as icy as it had been the past month, they were fine with pretending nothing had ever happened. Life itself seemed to be so much easier with just them anyway. Why bother looking elsewhere, for what even ?

“I thought you were really cute, and I just wanted to give you my number, if you ever wanna go on a date.” The French accent snapped you out of your thoughts, and you nodded, blushing, as the barista winked at you. Your gaze immediately darted to the side, as if they’d be standing there, watching. But you had come alone, like stepping outside without a coat, not sure how you were now feeling about the decision. No matter what, it seemed their presence clung to you like a second skin.

They weren’t stopping you from dating, or making friends out of the internship. But it had been a while since you had thought about anyone else in that manner, and stepping out of the comfortable bubble you had built around the three of you now seemed like such an effort, on top of being scary. A voice in your head, your voice probably, even though it sounded too much like Alexandra’s, always ended up whispering : What else do you need that you don’t already have ?

The barista’s number scribbled on a napkin stayed untouched in your bag. Charles’ eyes had lingered too long on your phone screen one night, and when you mentioned in passing the way the uber driver had complimented your makeup, Alex had tilted her head just slightly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes, her tongue brushing faintly against her canine. But they laughed it off, and you laughed with them, sinking into a soft net that felt more silk than cloud.

Had you been more careful, maybe you would have seen the signs. The way stuff in your bedroom seemed to change places, or even disappear. The deleted messages sent from your own phone, asking to be left alone, confirming you weren’t interested. The delicate touch of a hand on your arm, the oh-so-French kiss on the cheeks you always seemed to receive whenever a flirtatious wink was sent your way. But you had missed her, and you liked him so much, and for nothing in the world you would go back to a world where those weren’t your best friends. No matter how hard it was to fall asleep picturing them running their hands further than morality authorized.

As you lingered by Marco’s door, his bed still a wreck even though he had left a week ago, you couldn’t help but sigh. The house was so quiet, barely troubled by the faint swirl of wind in the garden. You thought you would like it this way. Even though it had been fun, living with seven other art students had been… Messy. Now everyone had gone home, and there was no need for fighting over the thermostat or Sunday mornings rush to get groceries anymore. Only the handmade decorations were left behind, like ghosts of their absence.

You couldn’t explain to yourself why you had resisted going home. On the phone with your mother, you had brushed it off with excuses about the time-consuming art pieces, the flights, and how it would be easier to stay. But when the clock struck midnight on the 22, and the thought of waking up alone for the next few days clawed at your chest, you booked the next available flight. You’d surprise your family. Sitting at the table and laughing at their jokes and going for a walk after lunch. You’d come home.

The morning of the 24th greeted you with hope, and then a storm. Nice’s airport’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows on the crowd’s disappointed faces as flight after flight turned red on the departure boards. You tried to stay calm, fiddling with a trinket tied to your bag, but when the announcement came that no flights would leave until the storm cleared, something inside you cracked. You were stuck. Not home. Not Monaco.

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering over Alexandra’s contact. You hadn’t told them you were leaving, hadn’t wanted to explain why the urge to run away, and why you were now desperately crawling back. The empty airport felt like punishment, and your fingers moved before you could second-guess yourself. Faced with her warm voice, the words tumbled out on their own. The storm. The canceled flights. The panic of the crowd slowly but surely spreading to you.

“You stay there, we’re coming to get you”. You barely had time to protest before the call ended.

When their car pulled up outside the terminal, the storm still raged, rain lashing against the windshield as Charles parked. Alex hopped out, an umbrella barely covering her as she ran to you, her sparkly short dress illuminating the pavement. “Oh, mon chou, you must be freezing,” she cooed, wrapping her coat around your shoulders and guiding you to the car.

Charles was waiting, heater blasting, his smile soft as he looked back at you from the driver’s seat. “You should’ve told us you were leaving,” he said, a hint of reproach softened by his tone.

You shrugged, sinking into the warmth of the car. “It was a last-minute thing.”

Alexandra clicked her tongue, clearly disapproving, as she slid in beside you. “At least you have your bag ready.” You barely had time to register what was happening as you saw Charles type in an address that was definitely not the residency. Before you could ask, his eyes met yours in the mirror.

“You’re not spending Christmas alone, doll. I called my mom on the way, so I hope you like oysters.” He broke eye contact as you opened your mouth to protest, his voice much lower, daring you to defy him. “Don’t argue with me, it’s already settled.”

Their idea of Christmas was something out of a dream. Charles’ family home in Monaco was decked out in soft lights and greenery, the smell of mulled wine and myriads of meals filling every corner. His family welcomed you with open arms, and Alexandra’s parents, who had joined as well, treated you with the delicate attention of pretending like your presence had always been planned.

The day went on as if you were stuck in the flow of a warm river, feeling the deep call you but unable to move a muscle to swim against it. You hadn’t been allowed to lift a finger, Charles steering you away from the kitchen when you offered to help, pressing a glass of wine in your hand instead. “Absolutely not. You’re a guest, Y/N. Relax.”

Everytime someone asked how you were enjoying the day, one of them was always quick to describe how “special” it was to have you here, and how glad they were to finally be able to introduce you. Their attention was always on you, always ready for any request you might have. What had become a natural habit, developing over the last few weeks, was now exacerbated under the glimmering lights, and the Christmas tree seemed to wink at you, knowingly, as if it was in on whatever elaborate spectacle Charles and Alexandra had orchestrated. Their care was overbearing but left no room for complaint. By the time dessert was served, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. An intricate figurine in a glass case, too precious to touch but constantly on display. Anytime Charles called for his doll, you got dizzier.

When everyone gathered around the fireplace to open their gifts, the cook gave you a knowing look and gestured at another glass of wine left on the kitchen counter, before swiftly exiting the room. You gladly took it and observed from afar the parade of extravagance. Designer clothes, limited-edition art pieces, concerts tickets in another country. If you thought your own Christmases back home were lavish, it was no comparison to the Leclerc’s.

“Here, mon chou.” Alexandra purred, pressing a carefully wrapped small box in your hand. “We planned on giving it to you next week but now’s even better.”

You hesitated, feeling your cheeks heat up as everyone turned to you. This was not planned. You did not have time to get either of them anything, even less their families. It all felt like a show you had never agreed on being a part of. “You really didn’t have to-”

“Open it.” Charles interrupted, his grin infuriating, dimples bigger than ever. He lounged back on the sofa, one ankle resting casually on his knee, his gaze fixed on you. With a brush of his hands, he pretended to swish away your worries. “We’ll go and change it if you don’t like it”.

The box revealed a delicate bracelet, platinum with tiny diamonds winking along its length. Sucking in a breath, you felt their eyes on you, expectant, hungry for your reaction. “It’s pretty, no ?” Alexandra’s voice was eager, her fingers brushing yours as she took the bracelet to clasp it around your wrist. It was too much. The alcohol made your head pound and you felt like throwing up. Raising your eyes, the guilt hit you like a wave. They had done so much for you, gone out of their way to include you, and you couldn’t even summon the gratitude they deserved ? The metal was biting into your skin as if in reprimand, your whole body feeling like fire since you had finished your glass. Taking a deep breath, you excused yourself to “freshen up”.

The low hum of voices faded as you found a quiet room in the labyrinth that was the house. This is what you’d always wanted, wasn’t it ? To be cared for, adored, treated like the most important person in the room ? Then why did it feel too much ? Why did it feel like drowning ? You thought back to October, and quickly recognized the signs of your love barging through the door, demanding the best place at the table. You couldn’t let either of them know you were back on your stupid feelings, or they would leave you again. And then ? You had seen the pain, for everyone involved. Good friends. Best friends. Nothing more. Nothing less. You exhaled, praying for your thoughts to shut up, concentrating on the wind outside.

It was Charles that came for you, sitting carefully next to you on the bed, as though you might shatter if he moved an inch wrong. Turning away from the frosted window, you murmured. “Just needed a breather.”

“I’m sorry.” Before you even had time to ask what for, he sighed, gesturing vaguely towards the door. “For all of this. We just wanted to make you feel welcome but… It’s obviously not working.” Running a hand through his hair, betraying his frustration, his other one went tentatively to yours, and your fingers laced together. “I can see you’re not enjoying this, and I know it will never be the same as being with your family.”

“Charles, I don’t-”

“I can arrange a plane.” He was rambling on, a habit they seemed to share, and in the soft light of the moon, you could swear his eyes were red. “First thing in the morning, have you be home before lunch. We love having you here, doll, but… I think it might have been selfish of us.” There. You had made him sad. He had made you feel like family and you had fled like a spoiled child. If anyone was selfish here, it was you.

“No !” You blurted, the word too loud, startling even yourself. Moving towards him on instinct, you threw yourself in his arms, hands gripping to his back, fingers curling against the smooth fabric of his sweater. He tilted his head, questioning, but you only buried your face against his chest. “I… I don’t want to leave. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed ungrateful. I didn’t mean to. It’s not too much, you’re not too much. You could never be. I’ll try harder, I’ll appreciate it more, I’m sorry I-” It seemed the habit had also infected you, and your monologue was stopped by Charles’ thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

“Shhh” The hand that was in your back went up to your head, softly rubbing your hair, as you lost yourself in his eyes. Were those freckles or just beauty spots ? Had those always been here ? You felt tempted to touch them but froze up when your lips opened up on instinct. Seriously, how many drinks did you have ? “You don’t have to apologize. I just want you to feel welcomed and… Appreciated.” The moment stretched, world narrowing to the warmth of his arms and the pulse of your heart as he opened your mouth even more and slid his thumb past your lips, your teeth, and to rest against your tongue. “And loved.” His gaze was fixated on your lips, and for a brief moment, until footsteps were heard in the hallway, you thought he was going to kiss you, or maybe slap you. You wouldn’t have protested either.

His lips went to brush softly against your forehead, and it took every last ounce of self-control in you to not bite down on his thumb as he took it out of your mouth. His fingers traced down your cheek, your jaw, down to your neck, where he softly closed his fingers around your throat as the moan that had been stuck in there was finally let free. You wanted this moment to last forever, almost wished he would choke you out so you would never have to go back to reality. But something snapped suddenly in his eyes, and he ruffled at your hair before standing up with a confidence that made you question if the moment had truly happened, or if the cook had spiked your drink. In the white light of the night, his finger shined briefly with saliva, and you followed him back to the living room like a dog who had gotten the sweetest treat.

The floor length mirror stared back at you, unkind in its honesty. You leaned in as Alexandra gently titled your chin up with her fingertips, her voice humming as she added the finishing touches to your makeup. The sharpness of your features seemed amplified under their bedroom golden light, and your reflection felt foreign. Maybe it was the week, and its endless swirl of champagne, parties, and faces you couldn’t remember. Or maybe it was the memory of Christmas Eve, and its almost-kiss which kept replaying in your mind like a broken record you didn’t have the strength to discard.

Charles hadn’t mentioned it. Not a word. The morning after, his smile came on as easy as ever, his voice smooth and jokes easy, as if nothing had happened. Alex had thrown herself onto him, bathing him in affection, as though your world hadn’t turned upside down in that hidden room. Even now, as his hands brushed against your shoulders, slipping the straps of your too-short dress into place, you were wondering if you hadn’t dreamed it all.

“Stop squirming” He teased, smoothing out the fabric and pulling up the zipper.

Alexandra laughed and stepped back to inspect her work, two fingers still holding your chin. “She’s not squirming, she’s just nervous.”

“Il y a pas de quoi être stressé, c’est le Nouvel An, pas une gardav’ non plus…” Not understanding the slang, you copied your friend’s reaction, and as she clicked her tongue, you rolled your eyes.

You felt like an imposter. How could you have let it get this far ? You were supposed to go back to being friends, that was the deal. Not over complicating things, not pushing boundaries of what they were giving you. But then every time one of their friends got curious about you, Alexandra would say you were “Just someone special”, her casual voice contrasting with her nails scratching on your thigh. Her eyes would flicker, the kind that warned you not to correct her, and you let yourself get locked up in this almost-relationship that you had so desperately tried to escape a few weeks before.

Reaching for the curling iron, she murmured, more observation than question. “You’ve been quiet today.”

“Just tired, I guess… We’ve gone out a lot this week.” You forced a laugh, aiming for nonchalance, but Charles simply raised a brow, not impressed.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. We can just stay there, order some food, …”

You cut him off by twirling on yourself, the dress flaring so high it couldn’t have been conceived to cover anything. Alexandra groaned and caught you by the shoulders to steady you, apparently not satisfied with your curls. “When I look like that ? It would be such a waste !” The green-eyed boy chuckled and nodded in agreement. Dressed to perfection, your hair soft and shining, you looked exactly like what they wanted you to be : a doll. And truth be told, you enjoyed it. When he kissed his girlfriend on the cheek and they both looked at you with something that could be pride, you knew you owed it to them to have fun, at least tonight, at least the following months. At least until England called you back and you answered, leaving your summer love to rest on the green hills. You owed it to them to pretend you weren’t haunted by the ghost of “almost”, and maybe you could even pretend long enough to end up believing it yourself.

“Close it, you’re going to swallow a fly.” Charles pushed softly on your chin to close your mouth you had left wide in awe, before rubbing the nape of his neck. “Much funnier in French…” He mumbled before leaving his keys to a valet, and opening the way for you and Alexandra. The mansion was huge, its garden spilling to the edge of the woods behind it, and the music pulsing through the air carried promises of a night you might not remember in the morning.

It seemed everyone who knew a Formula 1 driver, directly or indirectly, had been invited. Some faces you recognized, but most not, and the shower of compliments you found yourself in as soon as you stepped foot in the main living room quickly felt suffocating. The polite flirting made you feel uneasy, their admiration like scrutiny, and before you even had time to cling to your anchors, they drifted away. “I’ll be right back, chou.” Charles’ hand brushed briefly against yours before he followed his girlfriend to go greet some friends, and you stayed right where they left you.

No matter how much you repeated your internal calming mantra, the vulnerability was creeping in. There were too many people you didn't know, and so you made it a mission to not lose again the only two that mattered. When they asked if you were having fun, you nodded, the lie automatic. For the following hours, it turned to truth, as you stuck close to them like a guard dog unwilling to stray too far from its leash. If Charles moved to refill a drink, you downed yours too quickly to follow. If Alexandra drifted to another conversation, your hand clung to her elbow, begging to tag along. You weren’t proud of it, but the dread clawed at your chest every time you stood alone for more than a heartbeat. You were enjoying yourself as long as you weren’t left to your own devices. Long gone was the resolution of making new friends, it seemed.

The air in the house had been filled with tension as midnight approached, and you felt like you had suddenly woken up. A glass of something golden in your hand, its fizz long forgotten, you were nodding along to Pierre’s story about an incident on a recent trip, while his girlfriend Kika hung onto his arm, punctuating his tale with playful jabs. You tried to listen, you really did, but something was missing, and you couldn’t help but give in to the voices bothering your every thought as he wrapped up his story.

“Have you seen Charles ? Or Alex…?”

Kika’s lips curled, mischief in her eyes, and she exchanged a look with Pierre who chuckled. “They’ve probably gone to enjoy the view, as usual.”

“Top floor,” Kika added, still giggling as she sipped her cocktail. “There’s a balcony up there that’s quite… Private.”

Mumbling a quick excuse, you set your glass down and slipped away, through the maze of guests and corridors of the sprawling mansion. The thud in your ears was soon more heartbeat than music, the knot in your stomach tightening between unease and anticipation. When you reached the top floor, the door to the bedroom was ajar, dim light coming from within and spilling onto the hallway. You closed it behind you, breath stuck in your throat.

There they were. Alexandra’s back was pressed against the railing, her sequined dress shimmering in the moonlight as Charles leaned into her. His hands rested on either side of her waist, fingers curling possessively over the iron, as he brought one knee up between her legs, silencing her laugh. He was working down her throat when she opened her mouth, eyes fixed on you, but did not stop kissing and biting, seemingly not caring.

“Oh darling, caught us” She purred, her voice thick with amusement. Her manicured finger pointed at you before curling, inviting you to come closer. You should not. You should flee. This was not your moment, it would never be. Also, you should keep a closer eye on your drinks because someone was definitely having fun drugging you lately, no way any of this was true. But your feet moved before your brain was done having a panic attack, and you found yourself gently pushed in the woman’s arms by Charles.

She probably saw your eyes jumping from one to the other, thoughts racing behind them at light speed, and with each hand on your cheeks, centered you back to her face. This felt like deja-vu, your lips so close, your perfume swirling together, like the wish you had screamed to the moon that night was finally becoming true, only a few months too late.

“I’m sorry.” Oh no. Oh not again. You were about to jump out of her embrace when you felt his body behind yours, closing back on both of you as his hands caught on the guardrail once more. “Stay. Please.” Not like you had much of a choice anyway. Charles was looking down at the garden over her shoulder, badly pretending as if he wasn’t inches away from the most private conversation happening tonight. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize what was going on between us. And I’m sorry I hurt you in the process. You deserve the world, not any of the mess I put you through. I hope one day you’ll forgive me.” She was already forgiven, how could she not when her apologies were whispered between your lips. “But I know where I stand now. And if you allow me, I’ll never give you less than the world. Because that’s what you deserve. Because you love me and I love you.”

“Ten !” Charles took a step to the side as the screams from downstairs echoed through the whole house. He leaned on the balcony, and you almost fell to the floor from the shaking in your legs. “Nine !” She caught you by the waist and pulled you back to her with a laugh, one so hesitant it could only be filled with honesty.

“Eight !” You were dreaming. You wanted to punch yourself to wake up, but without even knowing how, your hands had gone up to her arms, shoulders, neck, cheek. “Seven !” You had promised yourself, you had promised her, and Chiara, and the world itself, that you would be fine being just friends. “Six !” Why was she the one ruining all of your efforts ? Why was she still the one you would wait for, when everyone else was long gone ?

“Five !” Was Charles just going to stand there, and pretend like his girlfriend didn’t confess to someone else ? “Four !” Maybe they had talked ? Maybe they had been open this whole time and you hadn’t seen the signs ? Would he kiss you too ? “Three !”

You cupped her cheeks and it felt like the world exploded when your lips met. Or maybe it was just the fireworks. Maybe it was the culmination of months of pining, love and pain, that was giving her kiss a taste of blood, a taste of more. She switched your places, pinning you against the barrier and deepened the kiss as your hands tugged at her hair, undoing the curls she had so carefully crafted. Everyone was screaming for the New Year, but you felt like they were doing it for you. Is that how it felt, to love and be loved ? Like you would rather run out of oxygen than end the moment. Like teeths and tongues, being fourteen and messy all over again. Like a movie-worthy compilation of every smile she had flashed you for the last four months was playing behind your closed eyes.

When you opened them, her mouth now running wild on your jaw, it’s a green spark of amusement that was looking back at you, a slow whistle coming out of his dry lips. Shit. You had kissed his girlfriend. Or his girlfriend had kissed you. And he wasn’t moving to join in. Were you about to be thrown from the highest balcony in some sick kind of real-life Cluedo ? But he simply brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, and the small caress he gave to Alexandra’s back made her moan against your collarbones. “Les clés sont sur la porte mon amour.” She mumbled what you understood to be thank you, not sure why for, as he moved towards the door.

“Wait Charlie I’m…” It was difficult to talk with Alex, determined to kiss every inch of visible skin on your body, and there was a lot. “I’m sorry I… What’s happening ?” You could only hope they had not broken up, not because of you, yet you saw no world in which this situation would be acceptable for him. With his usual playful grin you had grown so fond of, he winked at you before exiting the room swiftly.

“There’s a time for actions, and a time for explanations. Happy New Year, doll.”

With every step that she took you followed, painfully aware of how much she knew you, much better than you would have thought. Kissing in all the right places, her grin was getting wider every time you winced under the dig of her sharp nails, and she hushed you as if the drunken screams downstairs weren’t covering your moans. But you were determined to be good, as you had been from day one, and so you bit the pillow and pulled at her hair, let her know it hurts and let her keep going, because you loved her and she loved you. And she would never leave you.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Taglist : @sam-is-lost // @mangotaitai // @ilovechickenwings // @eroselless // @zreads111 // @crimson-spine // @inejismywife // @champomiel // @eternoange1 // @charizznorizz // @exactlycoralfox // @waitwhendidwegethere // @cluelessred3 // @spookystitchery // @erikasurfer // @catswag22 // @appl3-0rchard // @janeh22 // @boohoneyy // @sheslikeacurse // @customsbyjcg-blog // @urmotheris // @lewisvinga // @formulaal // @novocainenoon // @taytaylala12 // @esterdnebe // @jack0357 // @mortallyblueninja // @jexxy04 // @itsprashimusic // @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp // @annabellelee // @natsmywife // @daisyfreecs // @scorpiomindfuck // @themessietbihalive // @ananyasr1bughead

[1800titz]

HI. This is the pornstar!AU (Tiger Harry). Enjoy :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: face-fucking, anal play-ish, Sir kink, general manhandling, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 8.6K

“Are you open to raw anal?” is probably not a statement Y/N had …entirely expected to hear when she’d agreed to discourse over pastries and dirty chai lattes. 

It’s a pretty good one, all things considered, and asked with complete professionalism, according to their careers and the open, apathetically businesslike expression shaping the features of her counterpart. Y/N takes a sip of her latte. It is quite a good latte. He wasn’t wrong there. 

Harry blinks. 

It’s very on brand, despite the way she’s sure one of the baristas has definitely twisted around from the dishpit, side eye discreet …but there. And in the barista’s defense, she couldn’t even blame her for eavesdropping on the sordid contents of their public discourse. Y/N isn’t going to turn around and look. 

In Harry’s, he didn’t exactly shout. 

The man across from her takes a slow sip from his latte. Good latte, very good latte. 

She can’t help but admire his varying assortment of rings as he cradles the cup, irises winding from the blocky, golden S to its chunky counterpart, the H. So many times she’d admired those hands, those ring-clad fingers traipsing over bare skin, just the tips meddling over abdomens and winding circles around navels. Those digits sunk into the hair of his partner, tangled into the roots as he manually bobs her head over his cock. Those fingers twisting over the pink tip of his shaft, lining it up before his hips pump. Those long fingers splaying over cunts, swiping a thumb to ogle in front of the camera. 

There've been so many instances where Y/N had wondered the significance of that H and that S. And it’s been really quite simple all along.

Should I call you Tiger in person, then? she’d tapped out over the LED keyboard, days prior when they’d only been discussing the prospect of a meet up. Days prior, before she’d flown out for an on-camera collaboration, to bask in the sunlight of California, to enjoy overpriced dirty chai lattes and oddly promiscuous dialogue in the corner of a cafe. 

I think I’ll just take Harry when the cameras aren’t rolling x, RideTheTiger had messaged back. 

Anyways, it’d probably be a sleazy, poorly-executed one liner (and consequently, a horrifically red flag) in possibly every other circumstance, but this isn’t a first date and RideTheTiger has, thus far, been the furthest thing from sleazy. Even paid for her dirty chai latte, practically shouldering her out of the slot at the register. Pulled her chair out for her, asked about her traveling fares prior to delving into said anal topic. It’s all been fairly gentlemanly. Very business-partner-coffee-meeting. 

“No condom,” Harry tacks on, like it’s clarification for the raw segment of raw anal, as if it actually needed some sort of clarification. 

Y/N takes another sip. Damn good latte. 

“I like it,” the young woman tells him, clearing her throat on this edge that implies she’s mindful of her volume. Somehow, even as a freelance pornstar, she still hasn’t quite managed to get over the awkward degree of shame that a public setting incites. “I like the...” 

That barista is definitely fucking peering over.

“…The mess,” she settles on, because anal creampie doesn’t feel like a term to be said with her whole chest over a guava pastelito. 

For a short moment, Harry just watches her, jade roaming and the corners of his mouth slowing seeping into a simper, like he knows brazenly discussing anal creampies in the middle of a cafe — not quite packed, but still a cafe — has her kind of squirming in her seat. He takes another drink. 

“She’s got airpods in,” the man tells her eventually, forest-y irises jolting to something behind her head — the barista that’s clattering about behind the counter. And if she’s listening in, she’s probably going to go home and find one of them online, or ultimately both, and probably subscribe. 

The tension in her shoulders melts away the longer he grins at her over the lip of his lid, dimples indented in the flesh beside the upturned edges of his mouth. It’s just what they do for a living. It’s just sex. It’s just talking about the sex they’re going to have on camera. 

There’s bells and whistles to it, too, but it beats sitting at home and answering phone calls where angry customers screech all tinny through the headset and don’t comprehend the words, “Sir, if you can’t use your inside voice and talk to me like a civilized human being, I’m not going to be able to resolve your issue.” For Y/N it is. At least she gets a couple of orgasms out of this. 

“Sorry,” she tells him, shoulders slumping, “I think I’m still not— I get …weird talking about it in public settings.”

Tiger gives her this careful look over, eyes amused. 

“S’okay, I understand. If you’d rather get into the details back at mine, I’m okay with that.” 

“No, no,” Y/N protests, motioning out with her free hand, almost like her frigidly humiliated disposition will turn him off from collaboration, “No. It’s just, like. Sex work— it’s— it’s 2024. Nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Harry blinks. He gives her another one of those slow, knowing grins with his strawberry mouth. 

“No, seriously. We can get into the …rough drafting in a more private setting.” And then he takes another casual, horribly nonchalant sip, “I get it.” 

The man splays back against the chair, the hand not clutching at his beverage laid against smooth bamboo varnish, the nails there neatly manicured and painted with a soft shade of green lacquer. Y/N wonders what that particular color would look like with a glimmering top coat after he’s sunk the digits in between her thighs. She casts her gaze back up to his face. 

“I just figured I’d ask because we exchanged tests last week.” 

Clean as a whistle, RideTheTiger, (appropriately renamed in her contacts as Harry Tiger OF collab), had messaged on a Tuesday afternoon. That text was tailed with an HDR attachment of paperwork detailing his clean-as-a-whistle results, for proof. And the polish on his nails, fingertips gripped over the edge of the sheet, had been a pretty sky blue in the picture. 

She’d wondered the same thing, then; what OPI’s Rich Girls & Po-boys would look like glazed with a sheen of her slick arousal. 

He’s just a fuckable man, Y/N thinks, sat back in his chair like discussing sex work scene scripting is a normal mid-day affair, soft dusting of stubble coating his jaw, curls swept up off his forehead. His white tee shrouds the swallows and the inky butterfly she’s seen flexing over his tummy, the laurels that seep into the deep cut of his v-line, but it does very, very little to hide the artistry that litters his arm. 

That same arm she’d seen in videos, wrapped in pumped muscle as his fingers had worked his partner to the brink of bliss at a merciless pace, plush mouth shaping over some sort of filthy croon, dimples indented. Those same hands cradling over his counterpart’s throat with a gentle squeeze, that same thumb swiping messily over his partner’s bottom lip. Those same eyebrows with a crease carved between their furrow, those same curls in sweaty, disheveled disarray from the incessant rake through of his hands as his cock got swallowed up by a pretty, swarthy-skinned brunette, or maybe a blonde. A curl that’d flopped over his forehead in those videos, hardly hiding a rivulet of sweat that’d dripped from his hairline, is neatly tucked back under designer shades, now. 

Designer shades he’s bought with his dirty porn money, because despite his spiffy, clean boy, seemingly innocuous demeanor, RideTheTiger is dirty, dirty, dirty. 

Because under his warm smiles and his twinkling jade, there’s an alter ego that lives on the internet. One she’s all too familiar with. 

It makes her chest sort of flush under her sweater. This is happening. This is going to happen. 

The chair creaks a little when he sits up, clearing his throat, “I didn’t want to assume, but. I mean— I’m sure you’ve seen, like, my tips. Is it …odd to say I’m a fan of your content?” his gaze slowly settles from his drink to her face, smooth baritone almost …bashful as plush pink splits into a beam and his words catch on a laugh, “Is that …weird?”

Y/N knows exactly what he’s referring to. They’d been two mutuals subscribed to one another, chunks of profit migrating from inbox to inbox. It’d been like a volley, electric currency bouncing through the expanse of the internet, racket to racket, account back to account, pinging notifications striking on uploads behind paywalls. Only then, Tiger was just a man behind a screen. Tiger wasn’t sitting at a table in front of her, and they weren’t discussing the crude elements of the video they were going to shoot together. 

“Not at all,” Y/N clears her throat and pairs it with a side-to-side shake of her head. 

She’ll never admit that she’d touched herself to the solo session that’d popped up in her DM’s behind a paywall only last week, an automated promotion sent out to all subscribers. The one where he’d been sat in one of those lush, swivel-y chairs in front of his computer, firm thighs splayed and ringed hand tugging over his leaky cock. The camera angle was broad enough to capture his eye contact with the lens, the way his front teeth would nip at his bottom lip, the way the column of his straining throat would go on show as he’d tipped his head back with a groan. 

She blinks, staring ahead as she remembers the way cum had painted all the way up over the panting butterfly. Harry grins from across the table. She half-expects him to brazenly admit he’s done the same to her content. So far, she’s concluded that he’s quite unashamed. 

“Makes it easier to fuck, right?” Y/N says, beating him to the punchline. 

He makes this face then, tipping his head, eyes widening and blinking playfully, mouth curling like he’s appalled by her brazen admission in said public setting. Before the young woman can get flustered by his teasing, he sits back and lets his features relax into something soft.

“Yeah. It does.” 

Harry doesn’t tell Y/N she should wear a plug on the day that they calendar in for shooting. Not while they’re in the cafe. In fact, he waits three whole hours until the very precise moment where she’s using her apple pay at a drive through for the notification banner to swipe down. 

When Y/N steps into his entryway, there’s a wilting cactus stemming from a ceramic basin next to a bowl of keys and varying knick knacks. There’s a pair of dice in there, too. 

“This is Tim,” Harry introduces, unprompted, motioning to the withering plant in passing. 

Y/N nudges with her chin like a sort of acknowledgement, tailing him through the hallway, where a neat array of three framed, abstractly artistic renditions of Kama Sutra positions line the segue. She’s half convinced that the doggy one follows her movement like one of those oddly unsettling renaissance portraits. 

“Very nice.”

It’s a Thursday, and they’ve determined today to be the day that they collaborate. She’s wearing the plug, and she tries to ignore the anticipation curdling in the pits of her tummy as she tails him to the lounge. 

“I think I overwatered him, honestly,” Harry tells her, aimed over his shoulder, “but I can’t bear to part with him.” 

He’s wearing gray sweats, and he’s definitely opted to go commando, if the imprint of his dick when he pivots to face her is anything to go off of (though, whether he’s ditched underwear for the sake of the shoot or solely for comfort, Y/N isn’t sure). All she’s really, actually sure of is that she urgently needs to unglue her eyes from the outline of his cock. 

“D’you want a drink or anything? I mean, I don’t like to do any alcohol before shoots, but if you want, I have seltzers in my fridge.” 

He’s all soft attire — the sweats and bare feet padding over tile, curls a little mussed and swept back. A white tee coats his torso with a cartoonish bee in the center. The words ENJOY HEALTH, EAT YOUR HONEY circle the little piece of outlined artwork in blue. His nails are still green. 

Y/N clears her throat. “Do you have water?” 

“F’course.” 

The kitchen is beside the lounge, and he tells her, as he makes his way over and opens a cabinet to cull a glass, “You can have a seat if you’d like. Figured we’d get the details down before we start filming.” 

His couch is an onyx leather, its form like one of those fancy ones from a 1970s inspired catalog. Y/N sinks into the cushion. She crosses her legs. Uncrosses them. Behind her, the fridge whirs in the kitchen as the water pours into the glass. She’s admiring his fireplace when he stretches the beverage out to her.

“What are we feeling today?” the man winds around to the bend of the sectional, flopping back against the cushions with a sigh as his cotton-clad thighs splay, “…Slow and romantic? Something a little more rough?” 

“Used and abused,” Y/N responds, surprised she manages to keep her cadence as even and nonchalant as she does. The second the statement escapes her, though, she takes a long sip from her glass and hides her simper behind it. 

“Used and abused,” Harry parrots, sitting up a tad as his hands seek new territory from their priorly relaxed splay over the back of the couch. His palms smooth down the fronts of his thighs, instead, and he gives her this little grin; something mischievous that lets his dimples wink alive. “I think I can work with that.”

Yes. She’s certain he can, based on his track record of deviously, deliciously rough content. Three weeks ago she watched a video where his partner was laid out on a table, duck-taped limb to limb, and Y/N had watched his hand — rings removed — roam her body with such delicacy as he drove forward into her. It was all up until the point where the same hand had snaked up around her throat, and then he’d brought it back and smacked her right across the side of her unsuspecting face. It’d sent his partner’s head snapping to the side, and a wave of heat riding through Y/N, coursing through her blood as she’d flipped the vibrator between her thighs to a higher setting. 

Yeah. He can work with that. 

“Since we’re going with that route,” Y/N blinks out from the fog of memoirs circling back to Tiger’s hands exploring and pinching and delivering blows. 

Tiger is much more subdued in this setting. 

“Let’s talk things you’re into, things you’re not so into.” 

The young woman gnaws into her cheek to bridle her grin. “Um. Anal’s a go. Obviously.”

Harry nods, mouth friendly, “Okay.” 

Y/N deliberates. She takes another sip. Harry waits patiently. His green bores into her, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, pupils climbing up to the ceiling as she contemplates. She cocks her head.  

“…Face-fucking. That’s nice. I like dirty talk. I like getting my hair pulled. I like a little bit of pain. You know, like. Spanking. Face slapping, but not, like,” the edges of her mouth cave up, “MMA level—“

The joke culls a huff of soft laughter from him. He nods. 

“Just. General manhandling is good with me,” Y/N tells him. 

Harry nods, his fingers interlocked over his spread knees, and then he sits up a tad. 

“Alright. If we’re going with face fucking, I’m a fan of the trusty tap-tap-tap,” he tells her, motioning with his left palm and patting over his thigh in a series of three as he speaks, “If it ever gets to be too much and you can’t say it, just tap three times, yeah? Just like this.”

Y/N nods. She takes another sip. For a moment, Tiger still has his forearms braced over his lap, but then he sits up a little more. 

“And then when you can say, if anything’s uncomfortable, if you want me to do anything different, just let me know. Doesn’t matter if the camera’s on.” 

Y/N crosses her ankles. She uncrosses them.

“S’all about authenticity. Y’know,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over the plush of his bottom lip, “I don’t wanna be throwing you against the wall or choking you if it doesn’t feel good, even if it looks good on camera. If you’re a clit girl, we’ll play with your clit—“

Her thighs press together.

“If you’re a g-spot girl, we’ll focus on the g-spot.”

She swallows. 

“The throwing against the wall and the choking,” Y/N doesn’t bother hiding her simper as it grows, “Those are good with me, too. And— clit stuff. Yeah.” 

Tiger is hot. Fire hot, like lava coursing and bubbling over rigid stone, even in his soft attire with his soft curls and his soft smiles. He’s got these eyes that feel like they bore through her clothes, but it’s not in an uncomfortably hungry way. 

“What do you… what should I call you during the shoot?” 

His strawberry mouth curls a little. 

“I hear Tiger a lot. M’fine with whatever besides Harry on camera. …If you wanna get a little more into roles we can do Sir. But s’all up to you.” 

It feels like he’s just got this effect — this intense gaze that makes her tummy swirl. It’s not innately an odd shift, going from this entirely professional discourse to soft touches roaming up her sides once they’re in the bedroom. 

It’s the setting for their shoot, and she finds that he’s already got a camera set up on his dresser. One of those that opens up and has a little screen piece that swivels to show what’s currently recording. Harry trails over to it, toggles with the little screen, and, she assumes, begins recording. 

There’s a shag rug by the bed in cream. Y/N eyes it as Harry tugs his shirt over his head, as he makes his way over. Tiger is fire hot, but his touch skims her arm like testing the waters at first. His palms cups her face, the pads of his fingers grazing the sides of her neck, close to her nape, and then his cushiony mouth finds her own. That’s testing at first, too. It’s not a chaste, innocent first kiss by any means, but his mouth is gentle, at first. His hands aren’t hard, and his mouth slots against her own with a kind of tenderness. When her fingers tease up at his waistband, fingering at a warm line of skin between his sweats and his t-shirt, his mouth morphs hungrier. 

“Just—“ Y/N manages between searing kisses as his fingers work the seams of her shirt apart through button-work, “—-jumping right into it, huh?” It’s probably not the sexiest thing to say from the get go of the camera rolling, but she’s honestly still got bits of nerves coiling up in her. This is RideTheTiger. This is happening. She’s going to fuck RideTheTiger. 

Another short kiss, this one she can feel the cushiony pink of his mouth curving up into. 

“Sorry,” Harry amends against her mouth, lips ghosting wetly against her cupid's bow, and the word sounds sort of amused.

And then he’s manually spinning her and marching her over to the dresser, where the camera is set up, her stumbling, rushed gait steadied by the firm press of his thighs from behind as he walks her, colossal hands cupped over her arms. 

“This—” he starts, an introduction blatantly made for the lens, and her pulse stutters when his palm slides up and across and cups over her throat warmly — not quite squeezing, but just there. His other hand explores the expanse of her silhouette from the waist down, pads of his fingers roaming over her tummy, “—is the infamously naughty Birdie.” 

Her veins thrum with something, something hot when the ringed digits traipse to the button of her jeans, just looming over. 

“Can I take these off?” Harry murmurs against the shell of her ear. The tips of his curls tickle at her temple, and she knows he asks it low enough that it’s meant for her. She knows the camera will pick up on it anyways, too. 

“Yeah,” the agreement falls out meshed with an exhale, and her head tips back against his shoulder as his fingers do deft, impressively one-handed work at quick discarding. 

The other hand fondles at one of her tits, only covered with fabric for so long before he takes advantage of the opening he’d made along the line of buttons, pulling at one side for the pink polka-dotted cup of her bra to come out on display. This is all very pro-level disrobing. Y/N decides that when Harry multi-tasks, popping the button of her denim through, pinching at the zipper and tugging down, all still with his other hand caressing over padded flesh at her chest. Ultimately, though, both hands make their way to her hips, and his digits wriggle under either side of her waist band to strip her jeans off, until they rest at about an immobilizing mid-thigh, with an unceremonious yank. 

“I’m Tiger,” Harry talks again, finally, after what’d been a silent moment of apparent concentration, his chin ducked into the nook where her shoulder and her neck meet. 

The man’s fingers toy up under the hem of Y/N’s shirt, wandering over a bare sliver of skin between the top and the line of her panties before they climb the buttoned suture and make work there. 

A chill rolls down her spinal cord, stemming all the way from the nape of her neck, the back and underside of her skull, when Harry declares, almost like she’s not even there, his voice a low and heady baritone, “But, she’s going to call me Sir, and we’re gonna play a little rough with her today, because that’s what she asked for.” 

He’s mid her panting ribcage when the tone in his dialogue switches. It melts from sultry and low to something mirthy when the man sighs and huffs against her neck, like the rounded latches are a long-time nemesis, “Buttons, buttons, so many buttons.” 

Y/N can’t curb the surprised laugh that bubbles from her in response. Her hands rise from her sides (where they’d prior been pretty glued, mostly out of awe and the raw sort of submission manhandling incites), and her forearms brush against his own warm skin as the pads of her fingers shakily work over the stitch he’s on. Harry makes an amused sound into her skin as the corners of her mouth curl up. 

This is real. These are the real moments, the ones that she’s ogled so many times from the other side of the screen, caught on camera mid an otherwise entrancing, perfectly choreographed session of picture-perfect fucking. Like the one where he’d spit and it hadn’t landed where he’d wanted it to, or the one where his partner had spent so long in an angle with her hair over her face and his palm cupped over her mouth, that by the time he’d let up she was spitting out stray hair that’d sunk in past her lips, like a cat with a hairball. Soft laughter had bloomed from the both of them when recognition had dawned, and he’d fingered over her tongue to help her as they’d switched positions. It makes sense why Harry never seems to edit those moments out. 

Authenticity. 

Y/N hopes he doesn’t cut this fragment of the video out. 

“Sorry,” the young woman tells him, her voice garbled with giggles. 

His hands snake up from under her own and they’re the one to pop the final button through. A chilly ring brushes the inside of her wrist. The top separates. 

“There we go,” Harry says, tone colored with enthusiasm, and the way his fingers grip up under the cups of her bra, four for each, and tug abruptly, letting them rest under her freshly-bared tits, kind of, sort of gives her whiplash. 

“Teamwork,” his thumbs slip under either side of her underwear and slink those down until just enough is showing for the eye of the lens. 

Her gaze flits to the viewfinder, and the little icon of her denuded silhouette, pressed up against his chest, one swarthy, inked arm tucked over her ribcage and the sight of his other, ringed digits skimming lower, down her tummy, has her squirming in his grasp. Harry sponges kisses to the side of her neck, and then those ring-clad fingers slide between her legs. Every melty muscle in his arms grows wide awake and tensed like fucking stone. It’s only for a second, before he draws his index and his middle digit, splayed into a blissful V, across either side of her clit. That’s when she liquefies like putty in his hands again, humming softly. 

“…And we’re gonna play with her arse,” Harry tacks on for the camera, almost like it’s an offhand afterthought and not the entire basis of the scene they’ve etched out. 

Y/N laughs, but it melts off into something soft and whimpery when the V lingers and drags. 

“Would you like that?” Harry murmurs, nose tucked into her hair — another comment where the volume implies that it’s obviously meant to be shared between just the two of them — his mouth ghosting over her earlobe and his hand climbing up the ridges of her ribcage like a ladder, “Hm? You want me to play with you there?” 

When his palm expands to rest over the gap between the caging of bone, the space extends out on a breath and she rocks in his touch, hips rolling back subtly. “Mhm.” 

It’s not something he fails to pick up on. The pads of his fingertips expertly toggle at the clasp of her bra — honestly, she’s ludicrously impressed, not only by his keen recognition of the frontal clasp, but this seemingly innate, deft ability to discard clothing pieces with one hand. The straps relax and slip down her shoulders the second the cups fall free and apart. 

“Mhm?” Harry mimics; a low, teasing hum. Y/N thinks then, that this little, patronizing repetition thing he’s got going on could be categorized as a kink in and of itself. 

The palm that’d settled over her diaphragm slinks up to grope at one of her tits. 

It’s kind of game over from there. 

There’s something hard and solid digging into the small of her back, and the longer he spends fondling between her thighs, the longer he spends swiping his thumb over her nipple, the more heat teems to her core, like a glowing warmth that seeps and pulses. The more sure Y/N becomes that his fingertips are definitely culling that top coat she’d pictured all along, enhancing the color there with glinting excitement. 

“There’s a good girl,” Harry purrs when her legs spread a smidge more in response, despite the way they’re nearly glued together with the immobilizing squeeze of her waistband resting mid-thigh. 

The tip of his nose burrows into her hair and grazes at the skin on the side of her neck when his head ducks, fingers sneaking further until the pads press to explore where she’s gushing. His index and his thumb work in tandem to pinch at a nipple and tug. 

And then his tongue licks a practically searing stripe right beside her jugular, and his words send air over wet skin to soothe the flame, “…Getting my fingers all wet, aren’t you?” 

Gameovergameovergameovergameover.

Shelosesshelosesshelosessheloses.

Another burst of air over the wet skin, the soft creak of a chuckle — that’s what reminds her that she’s definitely not breathing. 

Fuck. Y/N sucks in air with a chest tensed like metal armor. His teeth nip over her earlobe. 

And then RideTheTiger slides his slick fingers out from between her legs, coaxing (when she sags in his grip like a marionette that’s had its strings snipped), “Why don’t you give them a little spin and show them the pretty plug you’ve been wearing for me, pet.”

Touch, touch, touch. When Y/N pivots for him, turning her backside to the camera, his mouth brushes the crest of her cheekbone. His warm pecs go flush with her own chest, his palms settle on her love handles and the insides of his rings stipple chills to combat the heat of flesh on flesh. He sponges a kiss to her throat when the young woman throws a glance back to the little screen and shakily presses her palms to the globes of her backside, pulling the flesh there apart to show off the pretty end, silicone petals cradling the shape of a rose. 

That’s when he kneels, cheek pressed to the side of her thigh, when he casts his gaze to the plug with that telltale furrow to his brow bone that she’s seen caught on camera so many times. That’s when his teeth burrow into the pillow of his bottom lip, when he brushes a nearly tentative touch over the plug with the tips of his fingers. That’s when Harry nudges at it and jade bounces from the pallid pink plastic to the shape of her jawline tensing above in response, mouth growing mirthy. 

Nothing prepares her for the way he praises, almost like he’s in awe (and nearly too low for the camera to catch), “So pretty.”

A crease works in between her own eyebrows when his index and his thumb pinch over the plug and twist. And then he lays his thumb over the base and pushes, lightly, as if it can go any further. He draws the pad of his index over the hilt of the plug almost thoughtfully, and then tap-taps in a pair of two that makes her roll her lips into her mouth

“Don’t move,” Harry instructs, after a moment, sneaky, devious fingertips withdrawing altogether. She’s holding her breath again. Y/N readjusts her grip. 

“Just like that,” comes his croon from below, undeniably heady and entirely responsible for the warmth churning between her thighs, “…Just like that, little bird. Show it off, baby.” 

Little bird hits her like a fucking freight train. 

It’s just a play on words, a moniker he’s melded from her stage name, her online personality. It’s been all of, maybe, six minutes — a generous consideration for the timeframe — and he’s already managed to morph her porno pseudonym into a pet name with his soft murmur. 

She’s so focused on the ironic way that such a delicate thing off his tongue makes something so violently carnal stir within her that the young woman doesn’t even notice that he’s been sat near her thighs for a solid second, unspeaking and untouching, besides the paste of his warm cheek beside the press of her hands. 

It’s a suspiciously mischievous sort of silence, but Tiger is no secret-keeper, not when he pats over the back of her leg, a one-tap gesture, and rises to announce, one third amused and two-thirds smug, “Thumbnail.”

The admission is so crude and unexpected that it draws a peal of sputtering laughter from her, feigned indignation meshing with mirth as he rises from the floor, all cocky with an unfairly alluring curl that’s strayed from the rest and flopped to lay over his forehead. 

“You want to use my ass as your thumbnail?” 

Muted raspberry breaks its relaxed line to curve up, obviously self-satisfied and obviously unashamed. Y/N doesn’t think she’ll ever quite keep up with the casual nature of Harry’s mannerisms, not when he hums and his grin splits further, twisting around her to daub her jaw with a kiss.

“…And not my pretty face?” Y/N blinks.

“Last I checked—'' Harry tells her, fingers raking through her roots and palm cradling at her scalp in a way that coaxes chills to bud and roam down the nape of her neck. The digits twist her hair into a bun until his palm is squeezing at her hair all bunched like a flower blooming in reverse, “—You were here to be used and abused, per your request. Not to ask questions.” 

Despite the way he cranes her neck back with the motion, the way it has her jaw unlatching and a surprised exhale full of want escaping, despite the way he drags his teeth down her neck in a line, nipping, Y/N manages to keep her voice impressively even. 

“You don’t want my pretty face painted with your cum as the thumbnail?” she baits, throat bobbing on a swallow. 

He bites. 

At first, his lashline narrows a smidge in obvious inkling that the brazen words have affected him, but then he tips his head and his smug beam morphs more sluggish, more pleased than amused. 

“You want my cum painting your pretty face?” 

“Mm,” Y/N hums in agreement when he turns her head to paste a kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

“Yeah? That’s what you want?” 

His tone is suggestive as he manhandles her over onto the fuzzy rug she’d admired before things got all murky with arousal and …cinematic. Y/N twists in his grasp until he’s nudging her onto her knees with his hands. 

And his voice is low, easy like a sigh, each note interlaced with nonchalance and seemingly effortless power, “Let’s see how good you suck cock.”

Before Harry shoves his waistband down, though, he stuffs a hand into his pocket and culls his phone. He gives her this look down from behind it, thumb tucked behind gray elastic.  It’s this wordless, expressionless sort of seeking; all good? Y/N nudges with her chin, lashes fluttering. Tiger toggles over the screen one-handed, and her eyes flit to the uneven pull at his sweats — if only for a second — that showcases bare skin and the cut of a V-line on one side. As he nudges the sweats off to rest under his balls, the phone pings. It’s the sound of a notification — he’s recording. 

His dick is pretty. Pretty in pink with a prominent vein on the underside and a soft dusting of neatly trimmed, dark pubic hair over his pelvic bone that his happy trail had foreshadowed, and his tip is a ruddy shade that matches the tint of his mouth. She’s seen his cock before, obviously, but ogling it in person rather than as a conglomeration of pixels is a different sort of experience. He’s always looked big on screen, the sheer size of him with a fist over his shaft always implying it. But he’s big. Big enough for two of her hands to cradle over his cock comfortably with the head peeking out from her grip, digits never quite meeting in the middle. Y/N spits into a palm before wrapping it over his shaft, eyes flickering up front under her lashes to meet the lens of the camera. 

“You’re so big,” the young woman admits after a moment, irises bouncing from her grip to the phone looming over, and she drags her tongue over her other palm to cup over him with two like it’s proof. 

And Harry strokes over the side of her scalp, almost like he’s wordlessly scratching a dog’s ears in praise, a soft, pleased huff escaping through his nostrils and his lips shaping over a smug sort of beam that never really unseals. 

Almost tentatively, with her eyes still bouncing from the lens to his cock and back, Y/N leans forward and drags his tip over her tongue. Harry sighs in response, fingertips still hovering at her roots. She purses her lips and lets saliva dribble from her mouth onto his head messily, swiping over the wetness with her thumb, and then she strokes down his shaft with two hands as she wraps her lips over him and draws a circle with her tongue. The subtle, although sharp, inhale she earns in response to the motion has her batting her lashes up at the camera.  

“You’re not shy at all, are you? Not in front of the camera,” Harry says after a moment. 

He’s so obviously bridling a hiss when she drags her tongue up under his leaky tip, his front teeth lodging into the pillow of his bottom lip and brows furrowing. Despite the phone cradled over her face, the young woman still has enough room to observe his. Y/N bats her lashes coyly, pupils flitting back to the camera as her mouth opens to showcase the view of her hands working in gentle twists while she drags his cockhead over her tastebuds. 

“…No, you’re not that shy, little girl that you were in the cafe at all.”

She seals her lips over his tip, hollows her cheeks, and hums. 

“…All prim and proper,” the fingertips that’d scraped over the side of her scalp trail to the back of her head, “…Didn’t even wanna say you liked cum dripping out of you. Didn’t wanna let everyone know that you’re a little anal whore.” 

The words coax her to clench over the plug. 

“…S’okay, baby,” Harry tells her after a moment, “I like that you’re a whore on camera for me,”and then the hand that’d cradled over the back of her skull encourages her own palm to slowly unwrap and fall away as he curls it over his shaft to guide it’s aim. 

Y/N pulls off, and Tiger smears the tip over her spit-slicked, swollen mouth. It parts, and Harry traces over the open seam of her lips like he’s applying lip gloss. 

“Please,” the young woman says, mouthing over his tip, almost inaudible. 

“Hm?” 

“Please,” Y/N repeats, and the drag of his tip slides over her bottom lip on the s. 

Harry inhales from above. He doesn’t immediately give her what she wants, instead opting to draw over her cupid’s bow as he tips his head, voice quiet and still somehow full of a dominant edge. “So polite. You wanna taste more of my cock?” 

The young woman nods, eyes tipped up, and he smears his cockhead over her mouth again. Harry’s teeth nudge into the plush of his bottom lip before he directs, “Stick your tongue out for me. I’ll give you a little taste.” 

And he does. He grazes her tongue with it the moment it’s on show, basking in her soft breaths puffing out against him and the sweet sight of her gaze, unwavering. 

“S’that good?” Harry asks, mouth curling at the (currently) brazenly lewd young woman at his feet, “What you wanted?” 

And she just nods up at him. Despite the way she wants more, the way she wants to close her lips around him and keep twisting her grasp to watch his seams split in ecstacy, Y/N motions lightly with her head. A little sound escapes the back of her throat when he drags the tip of his cock back over her top lip and sighs. 

“You really are such a little whore, aren’t you?” Harry says, tracing along the open seam of her lips with the tip and dragging it over her tongue again, “Give me a pretty smile. Show me just how much you like it.“ 

His words melt off into a rumbly hum when, as he draws over the border of her bottom lip and takes his cock off her tongue, her pretty teeth slowly seep shut and the corners of her mouth form something absolutely overjoyed. Her head cocks, and she grins up at him. All innocuous too, if it weren’t for the head of a cock smearing over the edges of her smile. His thumb slinks out from the hold he’s got over his dick to graze with the pad at the shiny white of her top teeth. 

“Good girl.”

Somewhere around there is when her teeth part and his thumb mingles onto her tongue. Then, the young woman wraps her lips over the digit and sucks. The tension of her cheeks hollowing over his finger in the silence is cut short with a ping — Harry turns the camera off and flings the phone somewhere in the direction of the bed. There’s no definitive thump behind her, so Y/N assumes the man makes it. She hums and pulls off of the digit with a pop and a giggle. 

Dimples pluck alive beside his smile. “Something funny?” 

“No,” the young woman clears her throat, the apples of her cheeks still emphasized and round with her apparent amusement, “Nothing. It’s just.” She blinks up at him, “…Surreal, sort of. Your dick’s just as pretty in person as it is on camera.”

Tiger cocks his head and swipes over her bottom lip with the tip of said dick. She’s quite good at stroking his ego. 

“Thanks. That’s sweet, darling.”  

A furrow works between his brows as her tongue peeks out to daub at the lingering head. “You watch a lot of my videos?” 

And the admission comes almost hungry, with no remorse, “Mm. Touch myself to them.” 

That’s when his brows crease more, when heat swells down through the trench of his tummy and teems up the underside of his balls, where they drive taut at the words. 

“Christ.”

Blown jade bouncing from her lips to the contact of her own eyes and back. Eventually, he swallows and directs, “Tongue out.” 

When she displays it for him, jaw wide, those shambles splinters of composure seemingly fuse. The Harry that emerges nearly gives her whiplash. 

“You touch yourself to my videos?” Harry coos, and the words are coated with so much condescension that Y/N is sure she’d be humiliated in any other circumstance. 

Her tongue twitches under his cockhead. The man looming over swipes that same, leaky tip over her taste buds, and his grin broadens into something like a borderline sadistic Cheshire cat. And then he’s leaning over a smidge, cock still angled over her outstretched tongue, opposite hand fondling under that, at her jaw, and squeezing at her cheeks. 

“That is so—“ emphasizing the words with the slap of his tip against her tongue, Harry grits out, “—fucking—“ another tap that has her uselessly lolled tongue jolting and a garbled little sound wresting from the back of her throat, “—cute.”

Y/N blinks up at him, one hand uncurling slowly and falling away as he nudges the back of her head to swallow more of him in past her lips. 

“Why don’t you use that hand and play with your little clit for me? The way you do when you’re watching me.” 

She makes a muffled noise around him as he sinks in further, and her hand traipses between her poorly, poorly splayed thighs. 

“That’s it,” Harry murmurs, though whether the praise is directed at the way the tips of her fingers pry between her legs or the way she blinks wetly over his cock as she takes more of him into her mouth, Y/N is unsure. “There’s a good girl. Look at me— yeah. Fuck.” 

He holds onto either side of her head, long fingers splaying over her skull, and the young woman splutters when his tip prods at the back of her throat and teases at her gag reflex. The tip of her nose grazes his happy trail, so all in all, it’s a solid effort in one go. Harry holds her there for a moment, relishing in the squeeze of her throat over him as she fights sputtering more, and a throaty groan rips from his vocal chords before his fingers tangle into her hair. That’s when he yanks her off. 

Her chest is already rolling in pants, and the way his palm collides with the fleshy area of her cheek nearly launches her lightheaded headspace into overload. The blow isn’t loud, and it doesn’t really hurt, but he does it a second time, palm grazing over the same fragment of skin. It’s the hand that doesn’t have any rings, and Y/N’s mouth curls up in borderline delirious bliss, teeth unsealed and lips swollen and saliva-daubed. Tiger coaxes a moan when he goes for it a third time. But this time, his hand snakes to palm over the column of her throat and squeeze.

“Fuck, you’re filthy,” Harry tells her, thumb cruising over an inch of skin, “Such a slut for it.”

Her pulse thunders under his grasp. It’s almost like his touch pries the nearly animalistic giggle off her lips. She’s still beaming open-mouthed, and her voice is raw when she beckons, “Yeah—“

And then there’s a ragged gasp and subdued sort of gag, coated with surprise, when Tiger nudges her face forward and unceremoniously shoves his dick back down her throat, his brows pinched.  

“Get that mouth back on my cock.” 

Her hands find his thighs, just wavering over them, curling and unflexing as her eyes squeeze shut. 

“Don’t close your eyes. Look up at me. Look up at me— there you go,” Harry cooes when, despite every instinct that coaxes every muscle in her face to clench and tense, Y/N follows his directions and blinks up at him through a watery sheen. “Shit.”

And then he’s hauling her off and she’s gasping for breath, only for a short moment before he slides back past her jaw until her chin is flush with his sac and he’s pulsing in the warm confines of her mouth. Her lashes flutter. A devious kind of laugh bubbles from him, breathy, and low, and short when the heels of her palms press into the sturdy muscle beneath his laurels. Except this time he doesn’t yank her all the way off for a third time. He holds her there for a second, swearing softly at the view, and then tugs her off until his tip’s on her tongue and pumps back in. It’s a subtle motion — testing, like he’s observing her reaction, really assessing her comfort levels with this. He does it a few more times, as gentle of a motion as it really can be until she squints her eyes shut and muzzles a cough, blinking up at him rapidly through the blur. 

Harry swipes a thumb under her eye, where a rivulet leaks, praising almost in a whisper as she practically vibrates at his feet, “That’s it.” 

Another second to gasp in air, and then he’s fucking her mouth, brushing her gag reflex with every drive forward and every pump out. Y/N sort of loses herself in it — in the fingertips burrowing into her roots, in the huffs and groans that escape him, in the warm muscle beneath her touch, in the way his dick slides down her throat. It’s quite nice. RideTheTiger is fucking her mouth, and it’s nice.

“Look at you,” Harry hums after a while, the hold on the back of her head firm, and she blinks at him all teary-eyed, gagging around him as her chin presses flush with his balls. “So sloppy. Made my nice joggers all wet.” 

Drool pools down her chin, and strings of it dangle from his balls and sully the fabric further. She bats her lashes up at him, and tears slink off from her waterline. Her fingers flex and relax over his thigh, never quite loosening the tension there fully. The man swipes the thumb on his free hand under her eye, where inky black has smudged off from her lashes, and the lewd, left corner of his mouth tips up lopsidedly. 

“You’re such a pretty girl when you’re making a mess,” and then, to nail the demeaning compliment home with the most heady, joyfully smug tone, “Yes you are, little bird.”

His sluggish grin morphs into a borderline pornographic lip-bite then, and he cranes his neck back with a throaty hum, fingers tensing and relaxing, before his digits ultimately tighten in her hair and coax the young woman off. She coughs like she hasn’t breathed in ages, 

Y/N doesn’t know how she gets up to her feet. It’s a lightheaded clamber, coaxed by Harry’s fingers tugging at her hair, his hand on her arm, his definitive, “Get up.” Somehow, though, she manages, despite the fact that her jeans are still half-on, and Harry steadies her and makes her dizzy all at once when his mouth presses hungrily to hers. One hand cradles the side of her neck and the other braces her at the hip. It’s a heated kiss, like Tiger doesn’t mind that her chin is coated with spit, or that the same spit smears over his own jaw as their mouths connect. Y/N nearly trips over her own feet as he walks her, backwards, into the general direction of the bed. The mattress meets the backs of her knees and his hand (which has, since settling on her hip, mingled up her side and cupped over one of her tits) sends her toppling back against the sheets. Harry nearly snickers at her look of indignation. Instead though, he tucks his fingers up under her half-down denim and tugs until her pants are off and she finally, finally has the ability to spread her legs. He tosses those onto the rug, and Y/N watches Harry finish disrobing, kicking the gray sweats into a rumpled pile beside her jeans. 

The camera is still rolling on the dresser, and it’ll keep rolling. It’ll keep rolling when he sinks his face between her thighs, it’ll keep rolling when he pulls the plug out and nudges his fingers in, when he slips his cock into her cunt and then, eventually, switches to her other hole. Or maybe it’ll go in an all different order. Tiger cradles her by the hips and repositions her roughly. The lens doesn’t catch the way she’s all shimmery between her legs with want from its angle, but Harry does, eyes glued there as his fingertips trail featherlight up her thigh and back down. 

A crease works in between his brows like he’s contemplating something, and then he pats the same fragment of flesh he’d been caressing and instructs, “Flip over.” 

Y/N tips over to her side and then rolls onto her tummy, but when she clambers onto her hands and knees Harry beckons, “Where are you going, little bird?” He sighs, warm palm grasping over her ankle and yanking her back towards the edge of the bed, just until Y/N is splayed and forced to shimmy her way back into a pretty arch. “Hm?” 

His hand is still gripped over the joint when the other climbs up the back of her naked thigh, skin on skin petting softly there. “Where are you going, little girl?”  

She’s going to implode. She nearly does when his colossal palms cup either cheek of her backside and spread. He hums like he’s pleased. 

“Which hole should I fuck first…” Harry ponders aloud from behind, but it all feels sort of rhetorical when he nudges over her tightest, little hole, pressing like he’s teasing a breach with the tip of his digit. 

She thinks he must be using his other hand, too, because the pad of his thumb drives a circle over her puffy, spit-slicked clit. The ring of muscle flutters. 

“…Hm?”

[enwoso]

CASUAL — leah williamson

wow, it’s a long one. this has admittedly taken me so long to write. i had the idea of this fic at the start of october but for some reason its just took so long to actually finish lol, but anyways as always hope you enjoy🤍

warning: implied smut, mdni 18+

masterlist

"girl where did you end up last night?" your best friend and also flatmate, amelie asked as you sat in your local cafe debriefing from last nights' night out events over a 'morning' coffee — it was more late afternoon — the two of you having very different endings to the night.

you sat swirling the dregs of your coffee around as you tried to find the way to explain, not so much how you didn't end up back at the flat cause you know she's knows that after catching you walking through the front door at nine am this morning in last nights clothes your head hanging from both the severe amount of alcohol you'd consumed last night but also in slight shame.

it was more whose apartment you stayed at you were trying to find the words to tell her about.

"oh y/n. you didn't did you-" amelie began as you nodded as a defeated sigh left your lips. that being all the clarification your best friend needed. ok, it may not be your proudest moment but who are you to deny a sexy, goddess of a women. but you knew this was heading in the direction of your getting another ear full.

"y/n.. what have i told you, you need to cut all ties with leah. you deserve someone who's going to treat you so much better-" amelie reached out grabbing your hands as you were still looking down at your coffee cup, you looked up a little.

you knew she was right, but you couldn't admit that to yourself. there was something about leah she was addicting and no matter how many times you ended up in between her sheets telling yourself it was the last time, it always happened again.

"yeah but-" you began but amelie gave you a stern look as her eyebrows raised as you rolled your eyes, "ok i get the message, i'll put it on my to-do list — cut leah williamson off." you dryly said, knowing it would be easier said than actually done.

"seriously you need too, your acting like a loser-" amelie continued as you opened your mouth to say something about the small insult she'd thrown your way but you were unable to. "you are though, your better than the rumours that people are spitting-"

"how do you-"

"people talk y/n!"

you'd heard the rumours going around the locals plus there'd been some article posted on an instagram post noticing you in leah's car after a match — you being labelled as 'mysterious girl'.

you weren't known to the media, thank god, you were lucky if you had over two hundred followers as if you had anymore than that fans would have an absolute field day with the news.

instead you were just a normal, twenty six year old girl who'd grown up in north london and had the usual nine to five corporate job as well as having a casual relationship with the leah williamson but you kept that under wraps as after all it was just something which was casual.

you'd met through a mutual friend of yours who also happened to be one of leah's teammates. lotte, who you went to school together and you'd stayed somewhat in contact. it always being a pleasant surprise to see her whenever your paths crossed.

you had bumped into her in a coffee shop near hours before you were being pressed up against a club wall by a blonde defender, having had one too many. the two of you had spent the night being overly touchy and flirting, her lips being felt all around your body leaving your skin feeling hot and your head all fuzzy.

"mine or yours?" leah whispered against your ear, as her teeth grazed your earlobe, you having to refrain yourself from whimpering. leah's hands gripping your hips as your were tangled in the ends of her hair.

"yours" you managed to get out, although it was quiet leah hear every letter. her hands reaching up to grab your hand as she dragged you through the club and towards the exit without as much of a bat of an eyelid towards her friends who she was leaving behind.

to both your luck there was a black cab waiting on the side of the road, both of you taking the chance to get in as leah immediately told the driver her address.

leah's hand stayed on your thigh the entire time as her thumb drew little circles absentmindedly, the busy streets of london making it feel like it's taken hours just to get a few minutes up the road.

as you watched out the window there was a cloud of regret you knew you'd feel in the morning but right now that wasn't what you mind wanted. you right now wanted leah.

so as soon as you cross the threshold of her apartment, you were pinned against the wall. the coldness sending a sharp shiver down your spine. "your so gorgeous" leah whispered as her eyes darkened, the sweet innocence of her blue eyes long gone.

inching closer so that your faces were impossibly close, taking one of her hands as it lands on the back of your neck and kisses you. slow but deep.

letting yourself get lost in her lips as it becomes more passionate and searching but then leah leans back a little, realising that you were in the middle of her hallway.

"come with me, baby" she whispers, her accent thick as the pet name rolls off her tongue but laced with love making your head spin even more as she extends her hand for you to grab as she leads you towards her bedroom, pushing the door open with her foot as her other hand laces itself back around you waist pulling you back to being impossibly close to her.

giving her a teasing look as she kisses you again this one more needy and fervent. feeling her hands all around your body nipping and pulling at your skin as you feel the back of you legs on the edge of her bed. a slight push and you back met with softness of her white sheets.

a small moan leaving leah's lips into the kiss as she felt your hands gently squeeze her ass, feeling her smile against your lips knowing that you were having the same affect on her as she was on you. you were both driving each other crazy.

as the kiss grow more sloppy as whines were being strung from both of your lips, your hips mindlessly starting to slowly grind against her. leah moving to kiss your neck leaving small kisses and sucking on your neck that elicited small moans from your lips as your breathing hitches.

leah's kisses to your neck becoming more intense you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter by the second as you hips carried on to move against her. your hands lingering on her back as your nails dug that little deeper, more than likely leaving scratch marks.

"please le-" you moan out softly, needing more.

-

that wasn't the last time you saw the blonde defender, nor the last time you ended up with your limbs tangled between each other.

whenever the other had, had a drink or just when you needed company leah seemed to always be there. you felt like you craved her at all hours of the day. you found your mind sometimes wondering what she may be doing when you weren't by her side.

but you weren't together, it was just a casual thing. is what you found you were telling yourself.

but with each weekend that passed you found yourself spending them with leah more and more often. which is exactly what had happened this weekend.

leah had called you, she never calls you only ever texts. strange is what you thought when you saw her caller id on the screen a small smile slipping onto your lips as you pressed accept.

"hello?" you said as leah was yet to speak, you thought maybe she had called the wrong number. maybe she hadn't meant to call you .

"hi y/n-" she finally spoke but she lacked her usual confident tone, this time it had been replaced with a nervous shake of her accent. like she had something in her head that she needed to get out.

"did you need something le?" you ask as there is a deafening silence on the other end, a few rustling sounds before leah clears her throat.

"um are you doing anything this afternoon-" leah paused as you think to your plans for the afternoon, "more specifically are you doing anything at two?" leah continued as she waited your response as you hummed.

"no i should be free, why?" you asked wondering what this was going to lead to, what did she have planned.

"fabulous!" a breath of relief was let out from leah as she had a big grin on her face on the other line which if you could have saw would have made you smile, "since you aren't doing anything, do you wanna come to my match?"

you felt as though her words had just fell on deaf ears, you couldn't believe what you were actually hearing. ever since you and leah had- well whatever your relationship was it had always been in the darkness of everyone else, behind peoples back and away from prying eyes.

this felt like a step, you didn't know what direction but it felt like it meant something good.

as you tried to contain your happiness you nodded forgetting she wasn't actually in the room with you, "i- um i would love to le"

"great! i'll erm get your tickets sorted and send them over" leah explained as you hummed along before she quickly had to say her goodbyes claiming that she needed to get her pre match routine started.

since having to re-organise your afternoon, you were now going around rushing trying to find an outfit. not knowing if it was too cliche you going in an arsenal jersey of leah's or whether a subtle hint of red in your outfit would be a better idea.

deciding on just the subtle hint of red, finding a red cap which just so happen to also be leah’s which she’d left at yours after one night.

once you got the match you were amazed at the amount of people who had turned up, yourself not being as clued in of how big a scale women’s football was as admittedly you didn’t exactly have a big interest in football or in sport in general.

but for leah, you’d sit and watch football match after match if you knew it would make her happy.

once you found your seat in the stand you quickly sent the blonde a message not expecting her to even reply but she did.

Y/N:) - i’m here! good luck, i’ll be cheering you on☺️

LE<3 - i seen you! i’ve been looking for that hat. but i think it’s found a better home now;)

LE<3 - meet me near the dugout at the end!

finding yourself smiling at her messages as she sent another telling you what to say to the security so they would let you in to where leah wanted you to be, before slipping your phone back into your pocket ready to watch a game of football.

the ninety minutes felt as if they flew by, and at first you must admit you didn’t exactly understand what you were watching so you just cheered when everyone else around you did, but at the first half and definitely into the second half you managed to get a few rules down — with the help of a google search..

watching as leah walked around clapping and waving to fans looking so effortlessly good in her kit and with the fact she’d just run around for a good ninety minutes it never managed to fail to surprise you how easy she made it look.

despite the team only coming out with a draw which you knew leah would be slightly huffed about especially since they were by far the better team, you still were incredibly proud of her.

walking down and reciting the exact words that leah had messaged you to the security you made it to where she had told you to meet her, but that’s when a certain someone recognised you. a wide smile and arms wide open for you.

"oh y/n it's lovely to see you" amanda engulfed you in a hug, a warm fuzzy but also bittersweet feeling filling your chest. you'd met her mum totally by accident one of the first times that you and leah slept together. she'd been dropping of groceries for her daughter. leah trying to rush you out the door before things got to awkward.

but instead amanda being the polite women she is asked her daughter to introduce you to her. it ending up you stayed an extra two hours longer than you'd planned much to leah's discomfort, but in a way that made it all the more that enjoyable.

"what you doing after here?" amanda asked as she pulled you out the hug, leah lingering just behind you chewing the inside of her lip. "just if your not busy you can always join us for a few drinks" amanda smiled so sincerely as you thought over the invitiation briefly, would it be awkward - maybe? but friends can go out for drinks too!

“yeah, i’d love too” you grinned as a small cheer left amanda’s lips, you seeing the slight falter of a look on leah’s face before it turned back to her signature tight lipped frown.

or maybe you did it just to spite the blonde defender who stood so nervous next to you.

"brilliant! leah we'll wait out at the cars for you" amanda directed towards her daughter as she nodded a small sigh leaving her lips as she plastered on a fake smile, you knew there was a part of her that didnt want you there but that just added fuel to your fire.

amanda looping her arm with yours as the two of you walked towards where the cars would be at the back of the emirates stadium to take you and the williamson family for a few drinks to celebrate the win.

"so how have you been?" amanda asks as she walks beside you, a genuine interest in her tone, as you hum catching her up with your life which hadn't been all that exciting, most days merging into one.

"leah tells me you've been helping her with some business project? how's it going?" amanda asks and you swear your throat started to close up, your words getting stuck in between your lips as your eyes goes wide.

"oh- um yeah it's coming together-" quite literally. you stutter out a response hoping it doesn't raise to much suspicion and praying that the topic is over with just as quick as it came.

"leah won't give me a clue what it's about" amanda complains as she continues to tell you about the countless times she tried to get it out of her daughter as you hummed along more in your head as to why leah would say you were just business partners? why not just say your friends, cause after all you were?

"mhm well i won't be one to spoil the surprise then" you nervously chuckled as you saw the cars in the distance knowing you were close to the end of the conversation. amanda letting out a groan as she hoped she'd be able to get the big surprise out of you but that would be pretty hard considering there was no big surprise.

you were going to have to talk with leah, which would be a little odd as when the two of you were alone, not much talking would be done well not the converse action.

amanda letting go of your arm as she got into the other side of the cab, leah coming out the exit of the back of the stadium as she jogged quickly getting into the people carrier. sitting herself in the seat next to you as she shot you a soft smile.

-

the night was actually going smoothly, leah seemed to get out of whatever strop she was in when you were stood with her family in the emirates and was actually talking to you now. well more flirting with you. her hand getting dangerously high up on your thigh as she spoke.

"have i told you how pretty you look-" she blurted out as you took a small sip of your drink, a small smile appearing on your face as you lifted the glass from your lips and back to the table.

"you may have mentioned a few times" you whispered as this time it was leah's time to smile as her hand drifted a little further up your thigh as you shot her look as she squeezed your thigh making you jump in your seat a little.

"le-" you harhsly said inbetween your teeth as she looked at you so innocently as if she had not clue what she was doing to you but you know she knew. leah knew what her touch was doing to you and how it was affecting you.

leah had you right where she wanted you and honestly, you were going to let her - you'd face the consequences later on. right now, you wanted her, in more ways than one.

standing up with a loud scrape of your chair, all eyes turning to land on you, "m'sorry just- i'll be back-" you stutter out, your cheeks all flushed as you made a beeline straight for the toilets.

amanda looking worryingly over her shoulder at you before turning to leah, who just simply shrugged that making her mum's eyebrows furrow even more.

"i better go and check on her" leah stood up excusing herself as she followed suit pushing the door on the pub toilet door seeing you touching up your lip gloss as you regained your composure from the feeling on her hands on your body.

leah locking the door behind her, a rye smile on her lips as she stepped just that little bit closer to you, feeling your heart beat just that little bit faster.

was it nerves, probably but maybe it was more the uncertainty as you never knew what you were going to get with the blonde.

"are you sure?" leah whispered as she placed a quick kiss to your cheek before resting her hands to your hips as a smug smile came from you before you nodded.

"do you think you can keep up?" leah teased as your shot her a shocked look as she pulled you into deeper into the bathroom, your back now pushed flush against the sink.

"i'm sure i can.. business partner-" you whisper as you inch closer to her, making your eyes switch between her eyes and lips a flash of shock appearing on her face.

but just as leah opened her mouth to say another teasing comment, you wrap your hand behind her neck and slam your lips against hers. the kiss quickly turning heated when leah's tongue enters your mouth as a familiar warmth floods your body in seconds,

her hands gripping at your waist as she tugs you closer to her without breaking the kiss. the sound of your lips together was enough to leave an uncomfortable throbbing inbetween your legs.

leah pulls back for a moment searching for anything in your eyes that may say that you don't want this but there was nothing but lust, a small whine leaving your lips at the loss of contact in your lips before leah's diving right back in.

the sound that had been blasting through the pub had now quieten to a mere hum as your focus was solely now on the girl in front of you.

her hands placed on the small on your back slightly pushing in to make your back arch as your chest pushed into her. as leah's hands soon made their way slowly to slide down you your ass as your tongues graze against each other.

"so pretty for me, my love" your heart jumps at her loving tone as you feel the blood rush to your cheeks, leah's words always having some sort of effect on you and always leaving you feeling flustered.

leah's eyes roam your figure as her hand traces absentmindedly, as if she planning her next attack on your body. the blonde noticing the way your breath hitched when her fingers sit on your pulse point on your neck.

leah rotating her hand so her fingers lie gently against it awaiting your reaction as she smirks watching as you squeeze your eyes shut, as your hands grip against the rim of the sink.

a small chuckle leaves leah's lips as she leans down to press her lips to your neck sucking harshly on your sweet spot. a string of little whimpers leave your pretty little lips as you tilt your head more to the side allowing leah to have more access.

"le, please do something" you beg, feeling her hand roam underneath your hoodie, grazing across your breasts.

"don't be impatient baby girl" she rasps against your ear, tugging down on it with her teeth as you feel your self squeeze your thighs together. hoping it will help you relieve some tension between her legs.

leah finally lifting your hoodie over your head as she throws to the ground of the pub bathroom. usually you would have felt embarrassed as you would feel your whole body want to cower aways but with leah, it felt different. it felt good, it felt right.

-

it was a typical saturday night, leah had her home match at the emirates on the sunday so she was taking advantage of her the small out of rest time she had. a small hum of the tv playing in the background as you watched it, but really all your mind could focus on was the fact leah’s fingers were combing through the ends of your hair.

you were lying wrapped in leah's arms on her couch as the tv played, leah focused on some insta reel on her phone. you head tucked on her chest as it heaved up and down, the wholesome of the interaction. it felt like it was meant to be — it felt real.

"le?" you whispered your head turning to look up at the blonde as a small hum left her lips, her phone lowering a little.

"where do you see yourself in a year?" you asked, it was something that played on your mind a lot, cause would you still be in some casual relationship with leah or would you have your own apartment and she’d show you off to her friends as something more.

you were more hoping for the second option, since the months had passed since you both promised out of breathe that there wouldn’t be any strings attached.

and boy oh boy had that changed, especially since your favourite bra lived in her dresser. it was pretty hard to be casual.

“cause maybe we’d be more and going on cute little dates in a cafe before you’d go off to training” you began as you sat up, you rambling on as your hands flew around with some enthusiasm making you miss the way leah’s face changed.

“and then when you come home i’d be there waiting, your dinner on the table-“ you paused as you looked down to see leah’s face, puzzled but also her eyes they told you a different emotion, not the same energy you had but it was sadness — more a sense of guilt.

“i- sorry i got ahead of myself” you mumbled as your back sunk into the back of her couch, the further side from her.

leah shook her head, and you were half expecting her to wrap you in a hug and kiss your cheek and tell you it was okay and that maybe she felt the same way.

but she didn’t.

"y/n, remember, we're not together-" leah cut straight to the point, her tone blunt as you felt your heart drop and your brows furrowing and a quickly developing pout spreading across your lips.

you let out a shaky breath as you nodded slowly, you understood. she had kept her side of the promise of no strings attached. “i- just thought maybe?” you said so quietly it only came out as a whisper as you fidgeted with your fingers.

looking up to see leah’s face it told you everything you needed to know. you’d only known the blonde for a several amount of months but you knew her well enough to know what her face was telling you without actually having to say the actual words.

“oh i get it” you scoffed slightly, choking back on the tears which pricked at your eyes. all it ever was going to be was casual.

leah’s opened her mouth but nothing came out as she sat herself up on the couch but before she could even attempt to reach out to you, you were up from the couch. slipping your shoes on your feet. you didn’t want to be in the same room as her.

“y/n- don’t” leah finally managed to get out as she followed your actions following you into her hallway which was littered with her football memorabilia from her glittering career. but you shook your head, her voice to painful to hear as you stopped with your back to her just before the front door.

"do you know what's actually quite funny-" you paused to let out a little chuckle as you stood mere metres from the door, as you looked up from your shoes spinning slightly so you faced her. leah stood her shoulders sunken as she tried to plead with you not to leave.

"i actually thought i meant something to you- but i guess that's just how little i actually meant to you" you sighed as tried to steady your breath, tears prickling at your eyes ready to fall at any moment.

"i- i was ready-" you paused as your words got stuck in your throat, leah reaching out for you as you took a step back. "i was ready to give you my everything" you admitted it coming out just a little louder than a whisper.

"y/n-"

“no leah, you’d made it clear how you feel” you spat out as you spun on your heal, leaving leah calling out your name but your ignored her, reaching for the door and hearing how it clicked shut behind you.

part of you was hoping she was going to rip her front door open and call after you and not stop until you were back in the warmth of her arms but the corridor in her apartment block was silent.

the other part of you hated yourself how long you had let it drag out for, but now you were free. she can go to hell.

stumbling through the street as your tears fell down your cheeks, tapping away at your phone until you found the contact you wanted, the dial drilling through your ear a few times before it got to voicemail.

you sighed as you heard the beep, "i cut her off, amelie."

[joeyfranchise]

all tangled up in the moon

justin herbert x fem!reader

summary: you finally began feeling open to dating in your new home of sunny la, especially since your best friend didn’t love you back the way you loved him… unless he did? a telling double date begins unraveling feelings that you didn’t know were shared…

warnings: pining/mutual pining. expressions of feelings. a LOT of fluff. explicit sexual content, MDNI. 18+ only.

word count: 6.3k.

note: my first ever justin fic!! based on so many ideas from my bestie @joeyburrrow, also happy belated birthday btw 🫂 i’m sorry i didn’t get it posted yesterday! but, she and i have talked about so much of this and this fic truly is for her. ALSO— FOR THE PURPOSE OF THIS FIC ONLY— i made justin allergic to walnuts. idk if he is or not, but it’ll make sense when you get there. i hope you like this. love you all. 💗

the dating pool in los angeles was nothing short of horrible.

sure, there were tons of people, which meant tons of options… but that also lead to some problems. there was so much diversity around, which again, is great… but it often led to mismatched partners and having trouble finding someone with all of the same interests or morals or values as you.

that being said, while messing around on dating apps, you found yourself a date that ticked more of your boxes than anyone else had since you moved to the sunny city.

his name was damon, and he worked at a law firm that wasn’t too far from your own nine-to-five job. his profile said he was 6’2, in his pictures he displayed a beautiful smile, and his interests were similar enough to yours that you figured why not give it a chance?

when you swiped right he’d messaged you nearly immediately, which could’ve been a red flag, but he kept it sweet and professional. his personality shined through his messages and you found yourself genuinely laughing at some of his jokes, and that was always a good sign.

you ran into one little problem though. you didn’t really know anyone else in l.a. except for your best friend, therefore you didn’t have many people to trust. sure, you had coworkers and acquaintances in the office, but none of them were around you enough to be able to vet through suitors from your dating life to let you know who would work and who wouldn’t.

you were also afraid to go out with someone new alone, and you blamed that on being an introvert. you ultimately made the decision that either damon would have to be okay with your first date being a double date, or you just wouldn’t go. when damon agreed it was fine, you called justin worriedly - this was going to be the hard part.

he picked up after two rings.

“is this the krusty krab?” you asked teasingly, smiling as you heard him huff out a brief laugh. he lowered his voice before answering.

“no, this is patrick.”

“yeah, justin patrick,” you teased, “unless i called the wrong brother.” you chewed on your bottom lip as you heard him chuckle again.

“that’s my name! don’t wear it out.” he joked. you could practically see the dumb grin already etched across his face. you remained silent for a moment, the weight of the question weighing on you. when you didn’t respond, justin took the lead of the conversation again.

“hey, y/n? you okay? not that i mind you calling me, of course i don’t mind… but did you need something? is everything alright?” you appreciated his ability to talk you down in moments like this, it was like he could sense your nerves even from miles away, and over a phone call.

“i’m okay. but i have a tiny favor to ask. you know you’re my most favorite best friend in the wholeee world, right?” you laughed, trying to push past the anxiety of the question you needed to ask him. “i do. what’s the favor?”

“i have a date friday night and i’ve never met him before. i didn’t know anyone else to ask and.. i was hoping maybe you and chloe could come along? like a double date?”

justin and chloe had started seeing each other recently, and you liked her enough not to really worry about their relationship. sure, she was living your dream being with justin, but you practically knew he didn’t feel the same about you. while you were completely and utterly in love with him, he still saw you as his best friend, and you had learned to accept it.

when you first met chloe you knew she wasn’t his type, she was completely different from justin… but he seemed happy, and that’s all you ever wanted for him. she was excited to meet you too, and in the few times you’d seen her since she was always genuine and kind.

“i think we can make that work, i should be out of practice in time. i’ll let chloe know and then we can figure out where to go. there’s a new restaurant downtown she and i went to a few weeks ago, you’d love it. they have really good raspberry cheesecake!” he said.

“oooh my favorite!” you cheered, already daydreaming of the delicious confection.

“i know.” he agreed. you smiled on the other end of the line, the way he knew you from cover to cover made your heart ache. you only hoped damon - and if not him, then whoever was destined for you - could be such a wonderful lover to you. someone who truly cared to learn everything there was to know about you, just like you and justin did with each other, even if only as friends.

you and justin talked for a bit longer over menial things before you ended the call, bidding him a goodnight. you made sure to text damon about your plans, letting him know you’d get back to him about a time as soon as you could.

he was excited for your date, and also excited to meet justin. you learned damon was a big fan of sports, and even though he wasn’t a chargers fan, he still really liked justin and thought he was a great player. he didn’t believe you when you first told him justin was your best friend, you had to provide him with photo evidence. the whole ordeal made you laugh. after chatting briefly with damon you put your phone on your bedside table before rolling over and getting cozy under your blankets.

you went to bed with a smile on your face that night, excited for your date with damon and also excited for him to meet your best friend.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

you sailed through the week on a high, and when friday night came you were still feeling ecstatic. you were still a little anxious about going out and meeting damon in person for the first time, but getting to know him through the week had helped you warm up a little and let your guard down.

you decided on wearing a simple black dress, classy yet not too-fancy. you curled your hair and applied a light layer of makeup before slipping on a pair of strappy black heels.

you planned on meeting justin and chloe at the restaurant at seven, giving everyone enough time to get ready and allowing justin to shower and freshen up after practice.

damon picked you up at six-thirty. he met you at your door with flowers which you graciously accepted, and you excused yourself to bring them inside and put them in water before locking up and going with damon to his car.

he opened your door for you and you slid in, buckling your seatbelt as you waited for him to get in and start the engine. it was a bit chilly out and you were grateful when damon turned up the heat before backing out of your driveway and heading to the restaurant.

you chatted with him on the drive and it was pretty pleasant, you were thankful that the conversation between you both flowed easily. you learned that his favorite football team was the los angeles rams, and you joked with him that he’d need to let you out of the car immediately because you wouldn’t stand for that nonsense.

he laughed heartily at your joke. he talked to you more about his job, you learned he was a paralegal and that he’d been in the profession for nearly four years. you told him about your experience working in human resources and you related over shared experiences.

when you arrived to the restaurant damon parked and came around to open your door, and you were quickly met by justin and chloe. damon and justin shook hands and introduced themselves to each other as you greeted chloe.

“i love your dress!” she smiled, you thanked her. “you look incredible too, chloe!”

she wore a light blue dress that came down mid-thigh and had long sleeves. she wore black heels as well, and you loved the glittery eyeshadow she had put on.

the four of you walked into the restaurant and justin spoke to the host about reservations he had so graciously called in - which you thanked him immensely for. the host led your party to a table toward the back of the restaurant and you all sat. damon made sure to pull out your chair, and justin did the same for chloe.

the waitress came by shortly after for your drink orders, you and justin both got water. chloe ordered a riesling and damon ordered a cabernet, which you found amusing. you didn’t say anything about it, though.

the waitress brought your drinks quickly and she also brought a basket of bread for the table, with little cups of cinnamon butter. you indulged in one as you listened to justin and damon begin chatting about football.

you and chloe began to chime in at times, and the atmosphere was nice. you and damon also engaged in your own quiet conversation every now and then, and you were starting to like it every time he’d flash you his award winning smile… until justin would smile at you from across the table. in those moments, you knew who your heart truly belonged to.

a few times during dinner the conversations would ebb off, or the input from chloe and damon would stop, leaving only you and justin talking to each other.

the waitress brought your food and you all began dining, while still chatting here and there about work and sports and things of that nature. the waitress came back around a bit later to take plates and your dessert orders. the men continued to talk while you and chloe ordered, with you asking for cheesecake and chloe ordering a fudgy brownie.

something damon said reminded justin of something he needed to tell you, and he turned his attention toward you quickly.

“y/n, i was meaning to tell you that my uncle had some students interested in trying to make a car run on vegetable oil.” you laughed at his statement before giving your input.

“so what, they want to install a second fuel tank i’m assuming? so the vehicle can run on diesel til it’s hot enough and then they’ll switch to the oil?” you ask. “yeah exactly. i thought it sounded pretty cool.” justin smiles. “sounds like a waste of time to me.” you say amusedly. justin tilts his head and gives you a questioning glance.

“it’s totally not a waste of time. if they can figure out how to do it, it’ll be pretty sick.” he disagrees. damon glances between you before chiming in. “i think it’d be pretty cool too!” he agrees with justin.

“do you know how many times they’d have to filter the oil before they could even use it? and they’d have to make sure to install a solenoid valve to switch between two fuel tanks. too much work.” you say, crossing your arms and looking back and forth between both men. chloe says nothing, you assume she has no idea what any of you are talking about.

you noticed damon checking the time on his phone before sliding it back into his pocket and rejoining your conversation, but mostly listening to you and justin bicker.

“it totally reminded me of that 70s show though, you know? when hyde says ‘there’s this car…. and it runs on water, man!’” justin laughs, doing a pretty decent impression of the character.

“i just feel like making modifications to your car so it could run off vegetable oil is a waste of time.” you say, leaning back slightly in your chair. justin’s girlfriend looks between the two of you with an odd look on her face, only breaking focus when she sees the waitress approaching again.

“here’s the double chocolate brownie with vanilla ice cream,” she says, placing the plate in front of chloe, “and here are the slices of raspberry cheesecake.”

she places the plate in front of you and damon is quick to grab it, sliding his piece of cheesecake onto one of the extra serving plates. chloe picks her fork up excitedly, slicing into the brownie and taking a small bite. her eyes roll as she tastes it, the richness of the chocolate has to be delectable. you watch as she cuts another small bite, this time more toward the center of the brownie where you can see it has small pieces of walnut in it.

she reaches over to cup justin’s jaw, squeezing a bit to get him to open his mouth so she can feed it to him. you ignore the slightly jealous feeling bubbling in your stomach as she brings it closer to his mouth, but you can’t get your words out. justin looks at her with a puzzled expression. he hadn’t been paying attention to her or what she ordered, so he has no idea what she’s about to feed him.

as if on instinct, your hand shot across the table and closed around her wrist, stopping her from feeding him. “s-sorry.. uh, justin is allergic to walnuts.” you say, lowering your gaze so you don’t make eye contact with her. she lets go of his jaw and he shrugs sheepishly.

“sorry baby.” she tells him, eating the bite for herself. “it’s okay.” justin replies. his eyes find yours for a fleeting moment, nervous energy is shared between you. damon watches the entire ordeal silently, passing glances between the three of you as he eats his dessert.

you pick up your fork and take a bite too, and the tartness of the raspberry dances across your tongue in a pleasant way. justin was right with his recommendation, this restaurant truly is amazing. damon and justin begin conversing again, and you stay quiet as you eat, listening attentively.

chloe chimes in a few times, earning laughs from both men with her unintentional humor. you slide the last bite of cheesecake on your fork and bring it to your lips, ready to enjoy it, when suddenly your fork is plucked from your hand. you look up to find justin eating the last bite straight off of your fork. yours.

while you’re on a double date. with other people.

your gaze quickly flips from justin to chloe and then to damon as you try to gauge their expressions. damon doesn’t seem to notice or care as he continues talking about football, and justin nods along with what damon is saying as if this ordeal was the most normal thing that has ever happened.

sure, you and justin are close enough to eat off each others forks and sometimes even drink from the same cup or can, but the fact that he did it on a double date baffled you. neither of the men at the table seemed to be giving it a second thought, but when your gaze shifts to chloe you can tell she’s perturbed in some way. her eyes are slightly squinted as she looks you up and and down, and then her gaze shifts to justin as she does the same to him.

you continue to sit quietly at the table, listening to the men talk. chloe stays quiet, too. the tension between the two of you feels almost palpable.

you would never want to come between her and justin, even if you did have feelings for him throughout all these years.

the rest of the time spent in the restaurant went by in a blur. eventually damon and justin stopped talking, realizing that you and chloe hadn’t shared a word, and they mutually decided that dinner should be over.

damon and justin split the checks and pay before each of you stand from the table to leave. when you make it outside you suck in a deep breath of the fresh air, you’ve felt like you were suffocating for the last fifteen minutes. all of you say goodbye to each other before you get into damon’s car, and chloe into justin’s.

the drive back to your house is quiet. you’re anxious, your throat feels tight and you know your cheeks must be incredibly pink. damon hasn’t even glanced at you and you’re afraid to say a word because if you do you’ll start crying.

he finally pulls into your drive and parks the car before looking at you for the first time since you left the restaurant. you wring your hands together before looking back at him, expecting the worst.

“that was fun, justin is a really nice guy.” his voice is genuine as he speaks to you, but you’re prepared for where this is going. “he loves you, y/n.”

you look at him with bewilderment as he continues speaking. you want to say something, but he holds up a finger to tell you to wait. “before you start with the whole ‘he doesn’t feel that way about me’ spiel, he does. i saw how you looked at each other all night. he doesn’t look at her like that.”

tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes as he speaks, and you turn your gaze from his so he won’t see. “you love each other, y/n. it’s okay. i had fun, i’m glad i met you.” he says, reaching over the console to grab your hand. he gives it a gentle squeeze and you look back up at him as he smiles at you. “i would like to be your friend, if that’s okay.”

“yeah, we can stay friends, of course.” you tell him. he lets go of your hand and gets out of the car, circling around to get your door and walk you up the front steps. before you can walk up damon pulls you in for a hug, which you reluctantly accept.

“it was nice meeting and going out with you, y/n. don’t be a stranger!” he says, and then he lets you go and gets back into his car, driving off down the street.

you let yourself in the house and lock the door behind you before collapsing on the couch. you don’t have the energy to move, to take off your shoes, or to even be worried about your makeup.

you just sit there, and you cry. you cry for all the lost time, if it is true and he does love you. and if damon’s wrong, and you do take the time to tell justin how you feel and he rejects you… well, you should go ahead and cry for that too. you cry for the only boy you’ve ever loved.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

justin buckles his seatbelt and holds his foot down on the brake before backing out of his parking spot at the restaurant, ready to get home and into more comfortable clothing. chloe sits beside him silent, like she did for most of the dinner.

he spares a glance her way and notices her posture is rigid, her lips are pressed into a tight, thin line. justin reaches over to grasp her hand but she flinches away from his touch.

“are you okay?” he asks her, his tone concerned. “i’m okay. can you take me to my house, please?” she asks. her voice sounds small, she sounds upset.

“of course.” justin agrees. they hadn’t been dating long enough to make the steps to move in together, but chloe frequented his house often as long as he was home. he thought it was a bit strange that she wanted to go home, but he waited to question it.

when he pulled in her driveway and parked she was quick to jump out of the car and make her way inside. justin turned the car off and pocketed the keys before following chloe inside.

“um, is everything okay?” he asked, stepping into the living room. “no. we need to talk.” chloe said, sitting down on the couch. justin sat next to her and place a reassuring hand on her knee as he waited for her to speak.

“i think we should break up.”

justin is taken aback by her confession, but he doesn’t speak. he waits to hear her out. “i really like you, justin. and i think you like me. but you don’t love me. and you never will, because you love someone else.”

“what?” he asks, his tone incredulous. “you love y/n, justin. you know it, i know it, everyone on the planet knows it… except for her. i think you’re both idiots.” chloe smiles softly.

justin looks around the room nervously, waiting for chloe to speak again. “you’re both idiots because what you’ve been looking for has been in front of you the whole time. it was obvious you two should have been on a date. you both carried the conversation, you were doing silly impressions to make her laugh… you look at her like she’s your most prized possession, justin.”

he takes a deep breath before looking at chloe and finally speaking. “i’m sorry.” is all he’s able to mutter out.

“you don’t need to apologize. i’ll admit, i was upset at first. but on the drive i thought about it, and i just want you to be happy. and i figured someone needed to tell you that girl loves you, because if the two of you have been friends this long and you haven’t figured it out, i’m afraid you never will.” she laughs. “and god, i didn’t even know you were allergic to walnuts.”

justin laughs too before reaching over and pulling chloe into him for a hug. “thank you for telling me all that… and i am sorry. i really am.”

“it’s okay, justin. just get the girl, okay?” she says, shooing him out the door. he waves goodbye before walking off to his car and heading home.

when he arrives home he sits in the driveway pondering… did you really love him back? and if you have, how long? and what was he going to do?

he thinks of all the time he’s lost out on if it’s true, and you do love him back. he’d supressed the feelings for as long as he could remember because he never knew he had a chance - he never thought he’d be the one for you. and if he wasn’t he knew it’d break him, but all he wanted was your happiness.

all he knew right now was that he loved you, that you were the only girl he’d ever loved.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

you don’t talk to justin for a week.

you’re afraid to. usually, he’s the first person you run to about anything, but since the subject matter is him, you feel like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. you spend the entire week sad, crying into your coffee or whatever dinner you’ve chosen to eat after work (usually cereal), and watching lifetime movies that are guaranteed to make you feel worse - they make the longing in your chest burn.

justin finally texts you on friday night, and you’re afraid to open it. you let it sit unread for half an hour before your phone starts ringing on the end table. it’s justin, you know it is, but you’re afraid to answer. you pick up your phone slowly and slide your thumb across the screen to answer the call.

“hello?” you sniffle, picking up a tissue to wipe your nose. “hey y/n, you okay?” justin asks.

“yeah, lifetime movie, sorry. what’s up?”

“just wanted to see if you wanna come over and hangout? i haven’t heard from you all week, i miss you.” he says. you miss him too. but are you ready to see him after what happened?

against your better judgment, you agree to go over. after all, he is your best friend. if anyone can get you feeling better, it’s justin. you hang up the call and slide on your slippers before grabbing your keys and phone and heading over to his house.

you didn’t bother changing, you didn’t care what you looked like in front of him. he’d seen you sick as a dog before, he even held your hair when you puked a few times, so he could handle seeing you in an old ratty tshirt and sweatpants that were a few sizes too big.

there’s also no way he could ever judge you for having greasy hair.

you make the quick drive to his place and you almost panic and leave before calming yourself down and walking to the front door. it’s just justin. this is no big deal.

you knock twice but you know he already knows you’re there, and he swings the door open quickly before pulling you into a tight hug. physical affection is something you both enjoy, and you’ve missed him. you wrap your arms tightly around him and squeeze back.

justin laughs as he looks down at you. “sometimes i forget how small you are.”

“or maybe you’re sasquatch.” you say, giving him a shove. he lets go and steps aside so you can get in the door, and you waste no time in sliding your slippers off plopping down on his couch. you notice his house seems a little… different, but you can’t put your finger on it.

justin closes the door and makes his way over to you, acting like he’s going to sit on your lap. “don’t even think about it.” you tell him, bringing your legs up to your chest. he sits next to you and leans into your side.

“how was your week?” he asks you innocently. “it was horrible.” you reply. you share the most miniscule details with him when he tries pressing you further, because you’re too afraid to tell him what’s really wrong. justin listens intently either way, hoping to find something he can do to make you feel better.

“well how’s it been with damon?” he finally asks, and you freeze. justin moves so he can lay his head on your lap, and he straightens out your legs before doing so. your hand naturally finds its way into his hair, your nails raking along his scalp soothingly. he shudders.

“damon um… well. he didn’t wanna go on another date. it wasn’t because he didn’t like me, though. he just said… he could tell u didn’t like him.”

justin hums softly. “interesting.” he says.

“what’s interesting?” you ask him. “chloe broke up with me.”

“WHAT?” you shout, startling him a bit. “sorry… i mean, what? why? i thought you guys really liked each other?”

“well, she liked me a lot. and i liked her but… i don’t love her. she really helped me realize a lot of feelings i had that i’d been holding back.” he turns his head to look up at you and smiles and - oh. oh.

the look he’s giving you seems to be full of pure adoration, pure love. and you realize that he always looks at you like this.

tears start to form in your eyes again and justin sits up, this time pulling you into his lap. “you okay?” he asks, soothingly rubbing his hand over your back.

that’s why it seemed different - all her stuff was gone.

“i don’t know. what’s happening here?” you ask him, burying your face in his neck. “chloe helped me realize that i love you, y/n. i always knew it, deep down. but… i don’t know. i never really thought you felt the same.”

“damon said the same to me. that he could, um, tell we loved each other. are we just stupid?” you ask him, pulling away from his neck to look in his eyes.

“apparently two idiots in love.” he says. his hand finds the back of your hair and smooths over it softly before he pulls you into his neck again, crushing you in another hug.

“so where do we go from here?” you ask, enjoying his embrace. “i guess forward.” he jokes, poking at your sides. “together, of course, if you want that. as a couple.”

you can’t help the giddy feeling bubbling up inside you as he speaks. of course you want that, it’s all you’ve ever wanted. “i love you, justin.” you finally say, and being able to tell him to his face is like a dream come true. “i love you back.” he says softly. you meet his gaze once again and he looks nervous, but you aren’t sure why.

“what’s wrong?” you ask him sweetly. you softly touch his cheek, smoothing over it with your thumb. he doesn’t say another word, but he leans in and kisses you.

you feel dizzy, your heart is pounding incredibly hard against your chest. justin is over the moon too. your lips begin moving in sync, neither of you able to catch a decent breath as you devour each other hungrily. justin's hands find your waist and he pulls you into him further, and your arms circle around his neck.

he pulls away for a second before jumping right back in, awkwardly bumping his nose against yours. you both laugh before kissing again. this is truly what euphoria feels like. you don’t know how long you both sit there taking each other apart, whether it’s minutes, hours or days.

what matters is it’s happening. finally.

your hands trail down his biceps as he continues kissing you, leaving a trail from the corner of your mouth down to the exposed column of your throat. your breath hitches when his lips meet one of your most sensitive spots, right where your neck meets your shoulder. “you okay?” he says, sounding concerned.

“i’m nervous.” you whisper. his gaze is soft as he looks at you, half smile spreading across his face. “it’s okay,” he whispers back, “we don’t have to take this any further until you’re ready.”

you hug him again and kiss his cheek softly. “i want to. i’m just nervous.”

“there’s no reason to be afraid.” he assures you. “do you wanna…” he starts, cocking his head to the side and motioning toward the direction of his bedroom. you nod a simple yes.

he stands with you and leads you down the hall to his room, although you know very well where it is. you’ve spent countless nights here cuddled up with him.

he twists the knob slowly and pushes the door open before guiding you inside, and meeting your lips with his again. the kiss is soft and gentle, and he walks you back toward his bed without breaking contact. once you’ve reached the side of the bed he pulls away and reaches behind himself with one arm, grabbing his shirt and yanking it over his head in one swift motion.

uou hop up onto his bed and get cozy against the pillows as he crawls onto the bed too, leaning over you. you rake your nails over the planes of his chest as he presses a kiss to your forehead. his fingertips find the hem of your sweater and his gaze meets yours, waiting for your approval. you nod, and he slides both hands under it before lifting it over your head.

you’re wearing a simple white bra, but justin is looking at you like you’ve just descended down from heaven. you know he won’t ask you to take it off so you let what little bit of confidence you have flowing through your veins take over, and you quickly reach behind you to unclasp it.

justin sucks in a deep breath at the sight of you. you’re easily the most breathtaking woman he’s ever seen in his life, you have been since he first laid eyes on you… but seeing you like this… he feels like he’s died and made it to the afterlife.

you don’t hide your gawking either, his toned body has always been something you’ve enjoyed staring at whether he noticed it or not. “you’re so beautiful,” justin tells you, leaning in to capture your lips again. as he crawls over your body you can feel his length through his sweatpants, it lays hard and heavy over your leg. you shudder at the thought of it.

justin’s hands slide up your torso and he caresses your breasts softly before tweaking both of your nipples with his thumbs and forefingers. you arch upward into him and your body is covered in gooseflesh as you await his touch again.

you’ve never felt such pleasure and satisfaction in your life, and he’s only barely started. you’re sure that you’ve soaked through your panties and sweatpants at this point. he continues to grab at your chest as he kisses you and you moan out his name softly, causing him to rut against your leg. he needs you just as much as you need him, you can tell.

“justin, i’m ready. i want you.” you tell him, breaking away from his kiss to look into his eyes. he smiles down at you and raises his eyebrow, making sure one more time. “i’m ready.” you promise him. his hands grab the waistband of your sweatpants before pulling them down your legs quickly, along with your panties.

he pulls his off next and your mouth falls open, gawking at the sight in front of you. sure… justin was 6’6, everything about him was big… but holy shit. he is huge.

he smiles at you nervously before reassuring you, “it’ll be okay, i won’t hurt you. i swear.” you almost think you could faint at how cute and sexy he his. you tell him you don’t need any prep but he won’t allow it, and he uses the pad of his thumb to circle your clit quickly as he enters two fingers into you to work you open.

after a few minutes you’re ready, you can’t take anymore and you’re practically begging him to fuck you. he blushes at the sound of your moans, but his chest fills with pride knowing he’s making you feel so good. he pulls his fingers from your soaking heat slowly before wrapping his hand around his cock and giving it a few strokes. you let him situate your body how he needs to and he ends up with your ankles right at his shoulders as he prepares to push into you.

he’s lucky you’re flexible. his lips find yours again as he pushes in and your thankful because his kisses swallow your gasps. he moves slowly, inch by inch until he’s fully seated, and he waits a few minutes before moving so he doesn’t hurt you. when he finally pulls out and pushes back in, he moans loudly at how amazing you feel around him. you moan too, you’ve never felt so full in your life - and you’ve never felt so fulfilled either.

he moves to kiss you again and bumps his nose against yours again sweetly as his hands find yours and he tangles your fingers together. his movements are calculated, slow and methodical as he takes you apart, and unravels you in the very best way.

the room is filled with soft moans and labored breaths and the sounds of you kissing each other anywhere your lips can find. it doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak and tears prick at your eyes when you do. this is all you’ve ever wanted, and it’s beautiful, it’s magical. justin feels the same.

you warn him that you’re close and he tells you it’s okay, you can let go for him. “cum for me, it’s okay. i love you, y/n.” and that’s all it takes. his admission of love knocks you straight over the edge and into the thrashing waters, your orgasm taking over your whole body. he cums soon after, his body enjoying the feeling of you squeezing him as he rides out his high.

when he pulls out of you he stand quickly, running off to his bathroom to grab a warm wet towel to clean you both up. he didn’t bother asking if you were on the pill, he already knows every aspect of your life anyway.

justin cleans all your sensitive areas with the warm rag before wiping himself off and sliding back into bed with you, pulling the covers over your bodies.

“that was amazing.” you admit.

“yeah it was. you know how long we could’ve been doing that?” he laughs, and you giggle too. “i love you.” you tell him. “i love you too, so much. can i tell you something stupidly embarrassing, though?” he asks, and you roll over to face him. “oh god, what justin?”

“remember after we graduated, right after you turned eighteen and we had that pool party?”

“yeah, i remember.” you say. it was one of your fondest memories, actually. “that little yellow bikini you wore… i just thought i should admit to you now that i thought about you in that so much when i was jerking it that i thought my dick would fall off.”

both of you erupt in laughter, the admission funny and embarrassing, although endearing too. “that’s okay, remember right before we went to college and you were teaching me how to drive but you kept getting frustrated and yelling at me? i thought that was the hottest i’d ever seen you.” you say. he pulls you into his chest and kisses you softly.

“you’re getting me all worked up again, baby,” he laughs, kissing at your cheek toward your ear. “looks like we’re gonna have to go for round two.”

- - -

taglist: @slimshiesty @joeyburrrow @starsinthesky5 @joeyb1989

photos and dividers used are not mine, all cred to owners.

[veethefreeelf]

How many times does it take to get smarter? Y.JH

Summary: 

Jeonghan and you start a fwb relationship after years of being best friends. He only has two rules: no feelings and no kissing. Who’s going to break the rules first?

Wordcount: around 6.3k

Warnings: unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, bossy Jeonghan

Requested: Yes, here

P.S - Italic is for thoughts mainly from Y/N’s perspective and quotes. Bold is for text messages and/or calls between characters

As you sit on your couch on your day off and stare at the message in your phone, you ask yourself: How did this all start anyway? How are you sitting here, sexting your best friend in the middle of the afternoon and absolutely loving it? Well, for most of your shared friends, ‘this was bound to happen sooner or later’ as they so lovingly put it but, for both you and Jeonghan (the one on the receiving end of the sexting) this was never supposed to happen and it can end just as abruptly as it started.

You don’t remember exactly who leaned in and started all of this but you do remember the conversation after your boundaries as best friends had been completely crossed. While still naked and tangled, Jeonghan immediately stated he would like to continue doing this with you on a friends with benefits basis only, and if you agreed, he had only two main rules for this whole thing. 

First rule was a pretty cliché one: no feelings. You remember laughing at this when it first said it and teasing him for such a cliché move.

“It’s cliché for a reason, love. It happens more than it should” you remember how serious he sounded.

Second rule was an unbelievable one and it made you laugh even harder than the previous: no kissing. Now it makes sense why he did not kiss you at all during that first time you were together even though you were very (VERY) interested in doing so.

“Hannie, are you being serious? Who am I? The mistress you can’t kiss because if you do, it’s considered cheating on the non-existing housewife waiting for you at home?” you really couldn’t stop laughing.

“Kissing is reserved for people I want a serious relationship with and see myself being with in the long run” he said, even more serious this time around.

You stopped laughing immediately and… It hurt. That comment stung. Looking back on it, you realize this may have been a sign that you should not say yes to his proposition. That there was only one way this ‘agreement’ was going to end: badly. WIth you in tears. 

But you ignored that initial sting and pain. You ignored that initial sign from your brain and heart and said yes.

Jeonghan let you know there were essentially no other rules. You could call and/or text whenever you needed him and wanted to have him and he would do the same. Your friendship would remain the same, still having your weekly dinner and movie/show and, whenever either of you wanted to end this, for whatever reason, it would immediately end. One thing he kept saying was “No matter what, no matter how this ends, I still want you in my life, love. You are one of the most important people in my life, and that will never change”.

You nodded silently. But of course he would not let you get away with just nodding. He takes out his most powerful weapon against you. His pinkie. He wanted you to pinkie promise that your friendship would remain the same after you were done fucking each other casually. You remember how much a pinkie promise means to Jeonghan. The words ‘It can never be broken’ pop up in your mind and you hesitate. 

This was sign two. You got two signs from yourself during that same initial conversation with him to stop this before you both ruined what you have built together over the years.

Yet… You did it. You lifted your pinkie and you made that promise to each other. Why did it suddenly feel like you wouldn’t be able to hold up the end of your promise when the time came? ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it’ you had told yourself.

After that first time, you didn’t speak to each other for two weeks. The only messages exchanged between the two of you were the ones he sent to cancel your weekly meetings. You thought this was very strange. In all the years you have known each other and started this weekly tradition, he missed one, maybe two in all that time. This was unlike the Jeonghan you knew and you started to wonder if the gravity of the situation had finally caught up with him. 

You have always had the tendency to overthink things. And a tendency to: ‘hurt yourself with your own imagination’ as Jeonghan lovingly put it. So you told yourself that maybe he was just busy with work or… Well… Maybe another fuck-buddy or one-night stand. That’s the thing about him, he rarely dates anyone seriously. However, fuck-buddies and one-night stands are something he revels in more than most. 

You never thought about it much. Always just figured he has high standards for who he dates and just wants to keep the loneliness at bay by having these agreements with different women. 

Now that you were one of these women, you wanted to know if this would be an exclusive fuck-buddy relationship. For health purposes, obviously. Not because you are a very jealous person who does not like sharing, of course. God, you hoped he was just busy with work and not with someone else. If he had been with someone else, did this mean you hadn’t been good enough? That whatever happened between the two of you didn’t satisfy him? That would be a depressing revelation since you were left extremely satisfied after your first time with Jeonghan.

As you sit on the edge of your bed, overthinking everything about the last time you and him were face-to-face, your phone starts to ring next to you and of course, it’s the man himself: Yoon Jeonghan.

“You home?” he states plainly.

“Well, hello to you too, Mr. Yoon. How have you been? Good! Me? Been good too, busy with work but you know-”

“Stop the games, Y/N. I’m not in the mood. You home or do I have to call someone else?” he said as he rudely interrupted your very passive aggressive answer.

“I’m home” you answered and swallowed thickly.

“Good. Be there in 30. Be ready” he said in a very low voice and proceeded to hang up on you.

Shit, that was new, you thought. You were not quite sure what to make of that but you remembered the time that you accidentally heard the boys talk about how Jeonghan was less than vanilla with most people he slept with and then you started feeling oh so excited for him to arrive.

Those 30 minutes went by so unbearably slow. You remember it as if it was yesterday. You spent those 30 minutes getting ready for him. You showered, used your strawberry lotion that he loved so much and put on the tiniest, filthiest lingerie piece you had on. You then started to overthink again. Just because he had called like that, it didn’t mean he would want you. Were you being presumptuous? ‘Better put a robe on, just in case I’m extremely wrong’ you thought and you went to your closet to find the baby blue silk robe you loved so much.

He rang your doorbell right on time which was very on brand for the Jeonghan you have known for so long. You were a bit shaky walking to the door but you kept telling yourself ‘It’s just your friend, Jeonghan. Just your friend. Nothing to be shaking for. Your heart has no business beating this hard and fast for him’.

You opened the door and he immediately walked past you into your living room. He started taking off his jacket and shoes. 

“What are you standing there for? Go to the bedroom, take your clothes off and wait for me on the bed” he stated while staring you up and down and realizing you had a much too short robe on you.

“Excuse me?” you defied him. Of course you did. You had always done that as his friend and that was not about to change just because you two had found yourselves in that position at that moment in time.

“Talk back to me again and I’ll leave right now and find myself someone with less of a fucking smart mouth” he said while he looked feral and very ready to be true to his previous words.

You had not answered him. Instead, you went to the bedroom, took off your robe and waited for him on the bed as he had told you. While there, you heard him moving around in the bathroom and started to realize you were probably in for a wild ride that evening.

He walked into the bedroom and when he first looked at you, he stopped and just stared. He was breathing heavily and licking his lips.

“For someone who likes to talk back to me so much, you sure were ready to be fucked tonight weren’t you, love?” he said and you gulped.

“Better safe than sorry. I like being prepared”

“Hmm… Good girl” he responded and you almost melted into your mattress right then and there. 

“Are you going to do something or just stare at me all night, Hannie?”

“Let me be clear since you don’t seem to know your place. I make the rules here, not you. I move when I want to. I do what I want to. And you will be a good girl and take everything I give you, when I give you. Do you understand?” he asked and you audibly scoffed at him.

He squinted his eyes at you and cracked his neck. You got scared he was going to walk out and in that moment you deeply hated your mouth for always being so fucking honest.

“One more scoff or mouthy comeback and I’m walking out of here. That’s a fucking promise. Now, are you going to be a good girl and know your place from now on or do I need to leave and end this fucking deal?” 

“Stay. I’ll be good…” you answered in a barely audible voice.

“You’ll have to speak louder, love. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s just me. Your Hannie, yeah? You trust me, right?”

“Of course I do. This is just… Very new. Maybe… Be a bit patient with me if I screw up, yeah?” you asked him in what you considered to be your most innocent look.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll be more patient. Just had a very shitty day” he said while he walked closer to you.

“Let me make it better, Hannie” you said while you started to unbuckle his belt and undo his zipper. He looked down at you and held your face with both hands.

“You look so fucking gorgeous in that tiny fucking thing, love. You know that, hmm?” he said while he held your face.

“Thank you, Hannie…” you answered shyly while you continued to take his pants and underwear off.

Once his bottom half was fully displayed to you, you started to stroke his cock while you both stared at each other. It started to leak with pre-cum and you took advantage of that to stroke harder and faster.

“You gonna put this cock in your mouth or just stroke it like we’re teenagers hiding from our parents, baby?” he said breathily. And, for a split second your mind started to think about that pet name. Baby. He had never called any of his flings by that pet name. Well, at least not in front of you but you rationalized that behind closed doors he probably had done it before. You were not different nor special.

You chose not to answer him. You just pushed him a bit away from you, you moved from the bed to the floor, on your knees and dove in.

You had never really enjoyed sucking dick. It had always been something you do for your partner but it never had any effect on you. Until this man, that is. At that moment, you were desperate. You wanted to suck the life out of him through his dick. You were going to make sure he would never forget the kind of head you gave him. 

You were sloppy and loud. Spit was running down your chin and you had started easing up into fitting his whole cock in your mouth (and throat). It had been a long while since you had had a cock this big and since you deep throated. When you had finally managed to fully swallow all of him, he pulled you back with a groan. He was panting hard when he pulled you up to your feet by one of your hands and by your hair.

“You’re so greedy. You need to be taught some manners” he said as he backed you up until you reached your bed.

He took off the last pieces of clothing he had on and pushed you down on the bed. You moved up on the bed with him as he started to settle between your legs.

“Look at you. So fucking sloppy…” he said while he spread the remaining spit on your chin all over your face.

“Hmm… Just the way I like it though…” he continued praising you.

He started touching you. Started by slowly running his hand from your neck down to your hip bone while he stared at you. This had been very different from the first time you two had been together. The first time had been rushed. No suspense, mostly no foreplay. Straight to the point. This time, it seemed he was wanting to take his time and was in no mood to rush anything.

Fuck, you wanted to kiss him. Bad. You had to keep reminding yourself ‘No kissing. Don’t kiss him. Don’t lean in. Don’t you dare ruin this’. You decided to start touching him, to try and prevent your urges from coming through and breaking one of his rules.

You started to run your fingers through his hair and use your nails on his scalp, just the way he had always loved it. You then moved your other hand down his chest and lightly scratched his chest in the process. He hissed and slapped your thigh.

“No scratching and no marks, baby” he said while he started to kiss down your neck.

“Are those new rules, Hannie?” you asked as you started to get more and more breathless. 

“In a sense, yes. They apply for me but not for you. No marking me but I can mark you however I see fit. Understood?” 

“Unfair…” you stated as you began to pout at him.

“No pouting. These are my rules. Not too late to back out, love” he said while then moving his hand to your back to undo your bra. 

All you could do was moan. Something flashed in your mind ‘Not too late to back out’. You quickly put that idea out of your mind. You didn’t want to back out. You had wanted this and you were going to continue with this deal.

That was the third real sign. Just a quick flash. A brief warning from your heart most likely. But again, you ignored it.

“I need an answer, love. Is this too much for you?” he asked and stopped moving to look into your eyes while he waited for your answer.

“No, it’s fine. Just… I might forget them in the heat of the moment, so I’ll need your help enforcing the rules” you answered and he laughed, almost mocking you.

“Don’t worry, love. I definitely won’t forget them. I’ll stop you if it gets to that” he said and then continued to take off your bra. 

With the bra out of the way, he started to kiss and leave hickies all over your chest. Wherever his mouth wasn’t, his hands were. You felt so surrounded, so engulfed. You were getting louder by the second and you knew he was enjoying it. He kept humming when you got particularly loud and continued to abuse that specific spot until a full mark had begun to form. 

Once he was satisfied with his work, he leaned back on his heels between your legs and stared at you while running his hands through your legs. 

“You look even better with my marks all over you, baby” he said and he noticed you started to get a bit red and shy and refused to look him in the eye. He tapped your thigh twice and you looked at him (finally). He then smiled at you, leaned over and completely cupped your pussy with his hand. You started to pant almost instantly.

“Shit, baby. You’re already so fucking wet. You were trying to give me shit on marking you but look at this fucking mess you’re making” he said as he started to run his fingers through the wet patch in your (now) soaked panties.

“Hannie…” you moaned as he kept stroking you ever so lightly.

“Hmm… You sound so pretty, baby” he whispered in your ear.

He then began to slide your panties off. He was being so slow, so meticulous. You didn’t know how much longer you could wait for him to touch you. You also knew that if you had started to protest, he would have probably given you an even more difficult time. 

He finally leaned in. Head between your legs, he began to blow air on your now swollen and begging to be touched clit while he held your pussy lips open with one hand. You hummed and instinctively moved your hips close to his mouth. You immediately thought you had fucked up.

The look you had in your eyes must have shown that fear because next thing you know Jeonghan is laughing at you. 

“I’ll let that one slide since I feel generous at the moment” he said and before you could have thanked him, he dove in and latched his mouth to your pussy. He grabbed your thighs with both hands and started to eat you out desperately. If you thought you had been sloppy when sucking his dick, he was even sloppier while eating you out. He was making out with your pussy like his life depended on it. Your moans had started to get louder, especially anytime he sucked and rolled your clit on his tongue. 

He kept humming and moaning along with you until he finally decided to insert one finger into your pussy. He had not kept that finger alone for too long and decided to join a second finger into your wet pussy. With two fingers and with how wet you were, the noises echoing through your bedroom were indecent, filthy. And you began to get closer and closer to the edge and it was when he moved his other hand to your tit and began to grab and massage it that you were pushed over the edge with a cry and moan of his name.

He moved back up your body and started to kiss your cheeks and neck softly while you were coming down from your high. 

“You were so fucking good for me, baby. So good… Let me know when you’re ready” he said while you tried to calm your breathing down.

“Fuck… I’m ready… Please, Hannie… Don’t make me wait anymore…” you moaned in desperation.

He started to move his cock up and down your folds and as he was about to get inside of you, you stopped him.

“Condom? Tell me you brought one, please” you said while you looked in his eyes.

“I thought since we started this deal, we wouldn’t need it anymore. I know you’re on birth control”

“I mean… As long as you’re not fucking anyone else while you’re fucking me… I guess we can. But if you plan to have more fuck-buddies or one-night stands or whatever you want to call them, then no. We will need a condom” you said very seriously. You wanted him to understand that it was your turn to set up at least this one rule for yourself.

He looked at you with a strange expression. Almost disappointed that you even thought about him fucking other people when just two weeks before, he had proposed this deal to you.

“Of course I’m not fucking anyone else. You know I don’t have multiple fuck-buddies at the same time. Definitely not now, when I have this deal with you, love” he said and he inched closer to your face. You held your breath. ‘Is he gonna kiss me?’ you asked yourself. He rubbed his nose in yours and asked:

“So… Condom? No condom? Your call, love” and he continued rubbing his cock in your folds.

“No condom. Just get inside me. Now”

“Bossy” he smirked and finally (finally) got inside you. You both sighed and cursed under your breath when he bottomed out which made you both giggle.

He licked his lips, leaned back and placed both your legs on his shoulders. Then, he started with long strokes which quickly transformed into him pounding into you. He was fucking you hard. And with this position, he was kept at a distance from your lips which made you think about how fucking brilliant the man between your legs truly was. 

The sound of skin slapping, of how wet your pussy was, was driving you both insane. You could tell he was quickly losing his composure and so were you. You were still sensitive and you were already beginning to feel that familiar burning inside of you. Fuck, you were close. Very close.

He leaned in, bent you like a pretzel and whispered so so close to your lips:

“I got you. Cum, baby. Let go. I’m right here”

With his hand around your thigh and thumb on your clit rubbing furiously, you came with a loud scream of his name.

“Hannie… Hannie… Sensitive…” you said still panting.

“I know, baby. I’m right there… Fuck… Where? Tell me where”

You knew exactly what he was asking and your answer may not have been the smartest in that moment, but honestly, you didn’t give a fuck about being smart, not while he was between your legs looking at you like that.

“Inside, please. Please, Hannie. I need it”

And then, it was his turn to spill ropes of cum into you. ‘Begging. Of course. Predictable but expected’ you had thought about what triggered him to finally let go. 

Jeonghan laid on you, trying to keep most of his weight off of you while still recovering from his high. 

It was like everything hit you at once. You went there again. You two really crossed that line again and from the looks of it, it would continue happening after that moment. You… Didn’t know exactly what you were feeling. Looking back now… Maybe you knew exactly what you were feeling and that’s why you were so scared in that moment after everything that had transpired between you that night.

He got up, went to the bathroom and came back to clean you. He didn’t say a word and neither did you. He laid back down and pulled you close. You remembered thinking ‘This is not how fuck-buddies are supposed to act’. And you asked him:

“Do you cuddle all your fuck-buddies or should I consider myself lucky?”

“You should consider yourself special, love” he said right before falling asleep and you had felt it then. The fourth sign. You made a terrible mistake that night. You believed him.

The next morning he had left and said he would call you or text you or ‘whatever the fuck’. Ever the poet. And this is how this journey that you are now contemplating while sitting on your couch waiting for his text started.

After that second time, you two had met up regularly, sometimes multiple times a week. You always stayed at each other's place overnight and had always continued moving forward in your life. 

Your friendship was still the same, nothing major had changed and it was going great. But you kept waiting for that other shoe to drop. You knew sooner or later that it would because after the last time you were together, you remembered thinking that you didn’t want him to leave that morning. That maybe, instead of meeting up in your bed next time, you could meet up at the restaurant you’ve always wanted to go down the street from his house that he never took you to because ‘That is way too romantic for us, love’. 

That last time you were together, the one that made you think all of this… It was strange. You had felt at the time, something had shifted for him too because while he was fucking you on his kitchen counter, he leaned in so close… You could almost taste him… And then he moved away and flipped you over so that you were now bent over the counter and as far away from his lips as possible. Jeonghan had wanted to kiss you then, you were sure of it. You didn’t know what to feel. Happy because he had wanted to? Or devastated at the fact he still didn’t kiss you?

Fifth sign. You were devastated. You considered stopping everything. Just putting an end to your arrangement. You already knew you were fucked for him and you were also painfully aware that he did not feel the same way.

You didn’t text or call him. He, in turn, texted and called you multiple times. You had claimed you were on a business trip and out of the country. You were just hiding at home. Too much of a coward to break it off and too hurt to see him.

Of course this didn’t last long. Jeonghan knew you better than anyone and he knew when you were lying and avoiding something. Even though he knew, he had left you alone for that week. He probably had figured you needed time to deal with whatever was holding you back. But after that week, he showed up at your door. You didn’t make a sound, wondering if he would just leave if you did not answer any of the rings or knocks.

“I know you’re in there, Y/N. I gave you a week of lying and hiding. No more. Let me in, please, love”

Nothing. You didn’t want to see him. ‘Why is he like this?’ you had asked yourself. But you knew if the roles were reversed, you would be doing the exact same thing at his door and would not be leaving until he opened it so you knew the only way out of this was through it.

You opened the door, turned and started walking to your couch. You started playing whatever you were watching before he showed up and pretended to be paying attention to it. ‘Shit’ you thought. You knew he saw right through you.

“Are you really going to do this? You think I don’t know you enough to know what you’re pulling?” he asked, sitting on the couch with you and staring at you.

“I’m fine, Hannie. Just wanted to be alone for a while. Simple” you told him. You hated playing this card on him but he knew that once in a while you got a bit down about your family and the struggles with those relationships and you always used to tell him ‘Sometimes all I need is some alone time and I figure it out’. 

“You could’ve told me instead of lying though. You know I hate lies. You promised a long time ago, no lies between us, remember?”

You stared at him.

“I’m sorry, Hannie. Didn’t want to burden you, that’s all”

He had looked at you almost as if trying to figure out what you were thinking. Trying to understand why you had lied and kept lying. He must have decided then, it wasn’t worth asking anymore and he just put his arm around you, looked at the TV and asked:

“What are we watching, then?”

You had indeed started to watch the show with him but that quickly turned into something else. And again, this time was even stranger than the last. 

He had been so gentle with you, always whispering sweet nothings. Things you thought should only be whispered to a significant other, not a friend, not a fuck-buddy. No. This felt very different. 

That night, it felt like he made love to you. He laid you back on the couch after stripping both of you naked. He took his time eating you out like you were his last meal and only after you came 3 times from his mouth alone did he start fucking you. Or at the time, you thought he was going to fuck you but he surprised you. He held both your hands and kept them intertwined while he slowly thrusted into you. You lost track of time. It felt surreal, it felt like you were dreaming.

In the middle of all the moaning and panting and whispering, he did something that you never expected. He… Kissed you. It wasn’t soft or gentle. It was a passionate kiss, tongues intertwined, moaning like he needed this like he needed air to breathe. Such a contrast from how he was thrusting into you. And you let him. You kissed him back and you remember thinking ‘A kiss between friends shouldn’t feel this way’. 

Your heart was pounding and you wanted to feel his but he had kept your hands above your head intertwined with his and would not let go.

That night, after you both came and he cleaned you up. He didn’t say a word, just like during your second time. Except this time, he did not stay the night.

He got dressed and walked out. Without even a spare glance at you. You knew then. The sixth and final sign before you had decided, it was time to come clean and end this.

And that’s precisely what you were trying to do when you started texting him. However, as usual he had other plans and that’s why texting turned into sexting which turned into you reliving everything that has happened in the last couple of months between you.

This realization snaps you back into reality and you abruptly delete the very graphic text you were about to send and send another one instead.

“Come over whenever you can. I need to talk to you about something” you sent.

“What a way to kill a boner, Y/N. Let’s keep having fun now, I’ll come over when this meeting ends” and you wondered why you even thought his response was going to be any different.

“I’m serious, Jeonghan. No more games for today. Come over when you can and we’ll talk then” you sent and put your phone on silent. You didn’t want a back and forth, you needed him to know you were serious.

You were sure he knew though. Very rarely did you call him Jeonghan. It was always ‘angel’ or ‘Hannie’. Never Jeonghan.

You knew what was going to happen once he was there. Your heart was about to be broken by your favorite person in the world. You wanted to have hope, but you knew better than that. You knew him better than that. You were never special. The only difference between you and the usual girls he found, was that you had been best friends before. That was it. Nothing else to it.

After thinking about how you were going to tell him the truth. You decided to be as blunt as possible. He always loved that about you. When you were completely honest with him about everything. Even if the shit you said sometimes hurt to hear.

He got to your apartment almost an hour after that text. That was fairly quickly during his work day so he must have known you meant what you texted.

“So… Should I sit down for this, love? You’re not dying are you?” he joked. 

However, when he saw the look in your eyes he knew. This was not a joking matter and this moment wasn’t about him. It was about you.

“I love you, Jeonghan”

He stared at you.

“And no, I don’t mean in a ‘best friends’ type of way. I’m in love with you. If I’m being honest with both of us, I always have been. From the day I met you. But I knew.. I was never your type. Not then… Definitely not now. So I settled. I became your best friend. I realized I wanted to stay by your side even if you never saw me the way I wanted you too. It was… well… Stupid of me. Of course I only realized this once you started dating someone. It was painful but I pushed it down. If I’ve learned anything about my shitty childhood and most of my shitty life is to compartmentalize things. So, I put the box with all my feelings for you deep inside of my soul and pushed it down anytime I thought that dam would break. Until now. You were right. Clichés are clichés for a reason. Except in this case, I was already in love with you. I just hoped you would fall too.”

You knew it was a lot to process but now that you opened this dam, you couldn’t close it anymore. You were sobbing now looking at him and you couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all. No emotion was showing in his face. He too knew all too well to compartmentalize and he had a much better poker face than yours.

“Don’t worry though. I have no illusions that you feel the same way. I know you don’t. You made that perfectly clear after we fucked the first time. ‘Kissing is reserved for people I want a serious relationship with and see myself being with in the long run’. That really fucking hurt. The person I loved most in the world telling me I’m simply not good enough for them. I’m good enough to fuck though, apparently” you chuckled darkly.

“I know you kept saying that no matter what, you still wanted me in your life. What you forgot to wonder was if at the end of this deal, I would still want you in my life. I do. But not as a friend. Not as a fuck-buddy. I want all of it. And…I know you can’t give that to me. Even if you kissed me last time. I know you didn’t mean it like that. That’s why you left, right? Because you thought I was going to get sentimental about it. Well… I did. Cried myself to sleep in fact. You may have broken that rule first but I broke the most important rule long before we started this.” you kept going and now… Now he was also holding back tears, realizing this is not just the end of the deal. It’s the end of you two.

“I don’t blame you for any of it. In fact, you gave me plenty of options to back out. But I was greedy. I wanted to know what it was like. To be with you. Even if it was pretend, even if none of it was ever real. I wanted to feel it. What the ones good enough for you felt before me and what others will in the future. I needed to know. Even if now I am hurting and will keep hurting for a long time… Maybe for the rest of my life.” 

You were done. Now, the worst part came. You were about to give him an out and you knew he was going to take it but you had to know. You had to be sure.

“I know this is a lot to take in and I know you probably feel blindsided and overwhelmed. But I also know your answer. I just needed you to hear my side. Now that you have, it’s time to make your choice. Stay here and talk to me about this, which means giving us a chance. Or leave, without saying a word. Without looking back, like you did the last time we saw each other. And I’ll know for sure.”

He started to move.

“Before you make your decision though, know that whatever decision you make is final. There will be no regrets. No reconnecting in a few years when you think enough time has passed. If you walk out. We are done. Our paths will never converge or cross again. I love you Jeonghan. But I have to love myself more.”

He nodded. Audibly gulped. And then did what you were already expecting from him.

He left.

He left you.

Just as abruptly as it started, it had now ended. 

Not just the deal, no.

Everything.

You knew. You knew this would be his choice but why did it still fucking hurt this much.

There will never be another Jeonghan in your life. He was everything to you, even now. While you are crying and tearing pictures apart. You know.

Life as you know it was done. You will have to carry on with a broken heart that will never be healed.

But you are proud of yourself. You spent so much of your life choosing others over yourself and today, you chose yourself.

Eventually, the broken heart won’t be as loud. Time will help. You will still hurt, always for him but you will be better. You will be yourself again just with a few more scars.

As for Jeonghan… He also knew.

He knew there will never be another you.

He knew that night when he left. He doesn’t kiss anyone accidentally. No, he learned that the hard way a long time ago. He had wanted to kiss you. And not just that night. All the other times before then too.

He told himself it was the sex. It was just too good. It was clouding his judgment.

He didn’t have feelings for you, not at all. It just wasn’t possible. Not after all these years. Right? Or did he.. Always feel this way? Was that why he acted the way he did and jumped at the first opportunity to have you in his bed? 

He knew. Finally.

He also knows now you will never forgive him. The pinky promise had finally been broken.

He will have to settle. All his worries about the future. About dating only the right people. People worthy of him. Everything makes sense now.

Most people were not worthy of him only after he met you. You showed him what love was from the start and no one could measure up.

It’s too late now.

And besides, he’s the one that was never worthy of you. Never once. And he never will be.

Please let me know if you’d like a part 2 of this. I am a happy endings fan so I might be down to write it if you guys want it too so please reach out and let me know! And let me know if you liked it please CHEERS 🥂

PS: You can find part 2 here

[nadvs]

watch and learn (part four)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug and alcohol use

summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.

» masterlist

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Rafe is relieved that you don’t linger in the morning. He’s not one for pillow talk.

All you did was sleep next to each other, but waking up next to a girl to talk and cuddle is just too much for him. It borders on boyfriend shit, and he doesn’t do boyfriend shit.

He woke up with you pressed tightly against him, legs tangled, his nose buried in your hair. And maybe he did like it for a second, but that was just from the daze of part-consciousness.

Rafe lends you a pair of sweatpants on top of the boxers and t-shirt you’ve already wearing so you can deal with your door’s lock issue.

You leave his room without many words exchanged, thankfully able to sort the problem out soon after putting an emergency request in with maintenance.

Rafe spends most of his Sunday at the frat house, playing video games with his buddies. When Blake settles onto the couch, he pats Rafe’s shoulder. Rafe is focusing on the screen, but he glances at his friend for a second.

“I dm’d her,” he says with a grin. Rafe immediately clues in that he’s talking about you.

“I put in a good word for you,” Rafe replies, glad he has the game to pay attention to. He feels awkward talking about this. About you.

“Appreciate it, man,” he laughs.

“You thinking of, uh, dating her or…?” Rafe asks, tense but desperate to know if he might lose the best fuck buddy he’s ever had.

“Maybe. We’ll see,” Blake says. Rafe sees him typing from his peripheral vision, surely working on a message to you.

Rafe gave you the heads up, so when you’re sitting in your room reading an article for school, you’re not surprised when Blake follows and messages you on Instagram. You follow back and respond, open to getting to know him.

After dinner that night, Rafe texts you: cowgirl time?

You laugh. It’s a stark difference from the g-rated messages you’ve been getting from Blake all day.

You reply: i’ll be over soon

You’re holding Rafe’s folded clothes when you knock. He opens his door and takes them from you as you walk into his room.

“They fixed my lock,” you say. “One question for you, though.”

Rafe shuts the door and drops the clothes onto his desk, then picks up the wrapped condom he has ready and tosses it on the bed.

“What?” he asks as you sit on his mattress.

“How come you were cuddling me this morning if you hate it so much?” you say.

Rafe feels the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment.

“I wasn’t,” he says. It’s funny seeing him shy for once. It’s even a little cute.

He was embracing you pretty sweetly this morning. You woke up with his warm, heavy arm wrapped around your shoulders, his head nuzzled into the nape of your neck, his snores sporadic and low.

You know it was just a sleep-induced reflex in his tiny bed, but you can’t pass up a chance to mess with him.

“It’s okay to like it,” you joke. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Rafe can’t have this conversation. He leans over, his hands on your cheeks as he kisses you. He’s not wasting any more time.

You let him push you onto your back, lying in the middle of his bed, your head resting on his pillow. Rafe hovers over you and grinds against you, his hard bulge pushing against your middle.

You’re already throbbing for him as his lips roam over your neck. You angle yourself so that he can have full access to you, and he accepts the invitation immediately, his hot mouth on your throat.

He’s slow and tender. This is a far cry from the man who immediately went to groping you just a few nights ago.

Your hands find his hair, raking through his soft locks as he kisses and sucks at your neck. He lets out a soft, nearly silent moan as gently graze his scalp. The sensation gives him goosebumps.

“That feel nice?” you whisper with a smile. Rafe can only nod. He didn’t even have to tell you to do it. He didn’t even know he liked it until you did it.

You continue to play with his hair while he kisses your neck. Rafe feels you writhing beneath him, as if your body is begging for his.

You take turns taking off each other’s clothes with earnest movements, your pulse growing even faster once his boxers are off, his cock raised and swollen. He lingers over you, eyes sweeping over your face, before he puts his mouth on your neck again.

He kisses and sucks, making you gently buck your hips against him.

“You gonna ride me, baby?” Rafe asks against your skin. Your yes comes out with a raw exhale.

His hand cups your waist, pushing to encourage you to roll to your side and switch positions. He settles on his back as you straddle him, feeling the underside of his firm length pressing against your stomach.

“Don’t be shy,” Rafe says. You look down at him with a hungry look in your eyes and nod. It’s exhilarating to see you hanging on his words; outside of sex, you gibe and pester each other, but here, right now, you’re in perfect harmony.

You pick up the shiny condom wrapper he left on the bed and he smirks in satisfaction.

“Put it on me,” he instructs. “It shows how bad you want it.”

You open the wrapper and settle on your knees to set the condom on his tip, rolling the lubed latex down his thick cock.

The sight of you holding him with one hand and rolling the condom down with the other makes Rafe’s brain foggy.

You thought you’d feel graceless turning to mount him in reverse cowgirl, but it feels natural and familiar now that you’re getting more comfortable with him, remembering this is all to help each other improve. You sink down onto him, body tensing at the feeling of him stretching you out.

You shudder, eyes squeezing shut, remembering how he encouraged you talk through it last night in the car.

“You’re so big,” you praise, voice breathy.

“Yeah?” he groans behind you. “You take my dick so fucking good.”

Your silky walls hug him perfectly, your body starting to rock. He watches your pussy swallow his girth, wishing you would go faster, but letting you take your time and adjust.

Rafe always went fast before, right to what he wanted most, but you’re teaching him that there’s pleasure in the lead-up, too. Coming up with the proposal to do this with you was the best idea he’s ever had.

You arch your back, trembling as you start to quicken your pace, sliding up and down his slick cock and gasping at the pleasure of him hitting so deep inside of you.

Rafe’s breaths are ragged as he watches your ass bounce with every slam. His hands are on your hips, but his touch is feather-light, letting you do it all.

Between your thrusts, you pause when he’s bottomed out to writhe and roll on him, enjoying every angle as he massages inside of you.

“Yeah, just like that,” he groans as you squeeze around him.

“Should I…” you begin. You look over your shoulder to see the dazzling sight of his quirked up lips, lids heavy, bare chest glistening with sweat. You remind yourself to stop being so nervous. “I’m gonna touch myself.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Good girl.” He desperately wants to watch, but he’s here to get better in bed, and putting your pleasure first sometimes is clearly something he needs to work on.

Rafe hears you moan, knowing you’re rubbing yourself. He looks up at the ceiling to keep himself from cumming from hearing your groans mixed with the sound of your wetness.

“Shit, I…” you say, your thighs starting to weaken. “Okay, you can help a little.”

He immediately bucks his hips against you, positioning himself so he can fuck you while underneath you. The pressure from him jolting up against you is like a drug.

“How am I doing?” he rasps. Your moans are telling him everything he needs to know.

“You’re… fuck…” you breathe, your body shaking with every thrust. “Perfect.”

The pleasure from your words quells him. He feels you clenching around him and he knows with certainty now when you’re about to reach your peak.

His hands are on the small of your back, fingers splayed over your skin, as you ride him into a mind-blowing orgasm. Every inch of your skin tingles as you cum, looking down at your hands on his sheets.

You eventually lift off of him, breathless, turning to look at him. Rafe loves that expression on your face, pure elation and fatigue.

“However you want me,” you tell him tiredly, eager to give him the same feeling you gave him.

“On your knees,” Rafe says. He doesn’t even have to think about it. You twist into position for him, cheek pressed against his bed, unable to hold yourself up any longer.

Rafe’s hand is on his cock as he guides himself into you, revelling over how pretty your cunt looks, so swollen and wet.

His hands are tight against your hips as he slams into you, making your body rock. He looks down to your face, taking in your profile as you accept all of him, your lips parted.

“However I want?” he mutters, panting as he pushes in and out of you. “That’s how much you love this dick, yeah?”

“However you want,” you echo, your voice raspy from tiredness. “Whatever will make you cum inside me.”

He slaps your ass, the lust taking over him, and immediately worries it was too much.

The low moan you let out tells him it was a good move. He smirks to himself, thrashing harder, balls slapping against you, bed squeaking beneath you.

You feel him harden and with a few more sloppy thrusts, he cums, letting out a tangled string of fuck’s.

He pulls out and you drop to your side, laughing out of bliss. You knew sex was good, but never that it was this good.

As Rafe cleans up, you sit up to find your clothes, utterly fucked out. While you’re sliding your top on, he sits on the edge of his bed close to you, boxers back on and blue eyes travelling over your face.

“So, how… was your day?” he stiffly asks.

You laugh. Hard. He’s so awkward about it, but he’s trying. It’s endearing.

“Aftercare,” you say. “Look at you go.”

Your laugh is contagious, making him chuckle, too.

“It was good. My readings are kind of killing me, but good. How was your day?”

You stand to put your pants on as Rafe watches you, his dirty blond hair tousled.

“Just played video games with the guys,” he replies.

“You know we’re here for school, right, frat boy?” you tease.

“What’s that?” Rafe plays along. You chuckle and nudge his shoulder.

“I need a shower,” you say. “Promise I won’t show up in a towel this time. Well done.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. You smile and roll your eyes at him before leaving his room.

Between gruellingly long classes and hanging out with friends in his free time, the week seems to get away from Rafe. Before he knows it, it’s Thursday night and he’s hanging out with his brothers at the frat house.

Someone mentions ordering food, and as a show of camaraderie, Rafe picks up the tab. As he sits at the dining table amongst large group of guys, Sam gets to talking.

“Rafe, you think we could go with your car tomorrow, too?” Sam asks. “You could fit four of us, right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Rafe figures that all the new pledges are going to get stuck with the jobs nobody else wants, like driving to certain outings. It’s only an hour drive, though, so he won’t complain.

The frat has plans to go south to Sam’s family’s lakehouse for the weekend. He’s only been part of the frat for almost half a month now, but Rafe is thoroughly enjoying having such a full social calendar.

“It was supposed to be just us brothers…” He shoots a look at Blake.

“What? You said it was cool,” Blake laughs.

“Who else is coming?” Rafe asks.

“Blake invited your hot neighbor,” Sam says. Rafe almost wants to say that you have a name, the reflex to defend you surprising him.

“She said yes?” Rafe asks, his tone hastily snide.

“She’s bringing friends, too,” Blake says, not catching onto Rafe’s irritation. “It’ll be more fun having girls around. Trust me.”

“Can I invite some girls, too?” another frat brother asks.

Rafe glances down at his paper plate, his jaw tight. If you start something real with Blake, this is over. He regrets not seeing you since Sunday. He should have taken advantage of the potentially limited time with you.

When he heads back to his dorm room later that night, Rafe texts you: soo ur coming this weekend?

You respond: what kind of coming?

You’re at Liv’s, talking about what to pack for the upcoming getaway. You’re only staying for a night and half a day, but you don’t want to risk forgetting anything.

“This one? Or this one?” Liv asks, holding up two bikinis.

“The red one,” you answer. Blake only mentioned that there’s a hot tub at the lakehouse about ten times.

You didn’t think you’d say yes when he first asked about this weekend, but when Liv and three other friends said they’d be up for it, you figured a getaway would be fun. Even if it involved a group of rowdy frat boys.

Blake mentioned it was supposed to be a bonding trip, whatever that means, but said that he wants you to come. You’re still not sure how you feel about him, but you’re willing to pursue it.

Your phone buzzes.

Rafe: lol shut up

You smile at the message.

“What’d he say?” Liv asks, a smile on her face. She knows you’ve been casually texting Blake back and forth.

“It’s Rafe this time,” you tell her. “Probably a booty call.”

You reply to him: yeah I’m coming. does that make me a frat bro too

Rafe: u wish

You: i do :( i really do wish

You see the bubbles on your screen telling you that he’s typing.

Rafe: come over?

You just got to Liv’s and don’t want to bail on her for a guy. So you reply to Rafe: can’t tonight.

Rafe’s stomach drops at the notification. Maybe you’re done. Maybe all he got was three nights with you, before another guy swept in to take away the best no-strings-attached sex he could ask for.

He feels better when you reply: but i’ll see you tomorrow :). Good. At least you’re not tied down to anybody yet.

When you pull into the driveway of the lakehouse the next evening, you realize the word house doesn’t cut it. Maybe manor would be a better fit. Or palace. The place is gigantic.

You and your friends pile out of the car and enter the storm of loud men enjoying uncurbed fun and excessive beer. Sigma Chi brothers are scattered around the first story of the house, but the majority of them are surrounding the kitchen island, bottles and solo cups littering the granite counter-top.

Rafe has to look away when Blake greets you with a hug. He hasn’t mentioned to anybody that you’re technically still hooking up, but now, being in the same room with both of you, he feels a competitive urge catch fire in his gut.

He thought he liked Blake. He doesn’t right now.

Thankfully, your friend groups seem to naturally merge together. The endless amount of liquor probably helps.

During a rambunctious game of flip cup that you decide to sit out, in the haze of your tipsiness, you’re not sure if Rafe finds you or you find him or you find each other at the same time, but you’re soon standing by the fridge together, tension thick between you as you watch the drinking game unfold.

Rafe can’t help himself. He has to ask.

“What were you so busy with last night?”

“I was with my friend,” you say. “What were you so eager to practice?”

Rafe cracks a smile, ducking his head so you and only you can hear his low, smooth voice.

“I wanna see how fast I can make you cum.” Arousal coils in your stomach instantly. “I bet I could do it in a minute now.”

He pulls back, his smile coy.

“We’ve had sex like two times-”

“Three.”

“Three,” you laugh. “And you’re that sure of your skills?”

Rafe simply nods, taking a slow drag of his drink.

“I don’t know where you get that confidence from,” you say, looking at him with feigned disapproval.

“You called me perfect,” he says.

“Doesn’t sound like me.”

The group playing flip cup erupts in a loud applause. You can tell which group lost the game immediately by looking at Blake, who’s laughing and excitedly shaking his friend by the shoulders.

You watch him, realizing okay, you definitely have a crush. He’s cute and charismatic and if the messages you’ve exchanged this week are any indication of his character, he’s kind, too.

Rafe is looking at you the entire time, at the smile on your face.

“And you like this?” you tease, looking back at Rafe and gesturing to the group of boisterous frat boys.

“You mean fun?” Rafe replies. You laugh. You can admit you’re having fun, too. But this is what you and Rafe do. You mess with each other.

“I couldn’t be around this 24/7,” you say.

“I’m gonna be when I move in to the house next semester.” Rafe realizes he’s waiting on your reaction with bated breath, to see how you feel about not sharing a wall anymore.

But he’s interrupted by Blake, who approaches you with a drunken smile.

“Why didn’t you play?” he asks softly, tapping your shoulder.

“For my own safety,” you reply. “You guys are insane.”

“She’s so rude,” Blake says to Rafe, who can only nod and take another sip of his drink to swallow down the confusing lump of anger he feels growing in his chest.

“You mentioned a hot tub?” you say to Blake, the promise of a warm soak sounding amazing. Rafe wonders what else Blake mentioned to you.

Blake’s smile widens and when he offers his hand, you take it and let him lead you out of the kitchen. Rafe’s fist tightens around his cup.

Liv and two other frat boys join you and Blake in the hot tub. You have fun talking and joking with them as your beer wears off. You notice Blake moving closer to you as the night goes on.

Things slow down close to 2 a.m. People start to retire to the guest rooms. Some don’t even make it and pass out on the couch.

Rafe is still awake when you come through the back porch doors in your bikini, your hardly covered body wet. The sight makes his groin tighten.

He’s standing in the dining room snacking on pretzels and you meet his gaze. He has something about him that strikes you every time you see him. He’s just so handsome.

He seems entirely aware and alert.

“You’re sober, too?” you say with a surprised laugh, pacing to the other side of the dining table.

“I am,” he replies. You lean over to take a pretzel, giving him a good glance at your cleavage.

Truthfully, Rafe cut himself off when he started feeling buzzed. He stayed awake and sober for you.

The moment he watched Blake lead you away, he knew he had to have you at least one more time before you’re spoken for. Nobody’s going to take you away from him any longer, at least not tonight.

So before Sam went to bed, he convinced him to give him the keys to his family’s boat that’s sitting in the water down by the lakeside dock.

“You ever fucked on a boat?” Rafe asks, his eyes glinting, his dimples deep. He holds up a key.

You put a hand on your hip, excitement flooding your every sense.

“First a car, now a boat?” you say, a smirk growing on your face. Is he seriously about to take you out this late at night? He’s insatiable. And adventurous. It’s thrilling.

“Come on,” Rafe rasps with a bit of a whine to his voice, stepping closer to you, towering over you as his hand drags over your arm.

You couldn’t say no if you tried.

(part five)

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[todomochi-uwu]

“Hey, you up?”  B.C

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Genre: Angst, Smut

Warnings: This content is for a mature audience

Synopsis: Don't wanna end this game Hope it goes for eternity Let's not go official, we can keep the "You & Me" Don't ask, "What are we?"

Author's notes: This is sad and steamy. It's been quite some time, sorry. Hope you like it.

Masterlist 

If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee ☕

“Hey, you up?”  

Nights like this always start the same. Same message, same reply, same outcome. Every. Single. Time. And every time you end up the same way. Tangled in your cold bed sheets, staring at ceiling, while he’s quick to look for his clothes and get out as quick as possible. A long time ago you had tried to get him to stay, but now you know it is a lost cause. Chan would never stay over, because staying over is for people in relationships, and he doesn’t do relationships.  

“I’ve never liked labels, if we are having fun, why spoilt it with technicalities?”, he said.  

Things started with you being naive enough to believe that sex would be enough for your fragile heart. Maybe you could get closer to him little by little, you thought, maybe he would grow feelings (well, at least you did) maybe, maybe, maybe...   

Sex with Chan is great, mind-blowing, you’d never had someone who was so focused on your body, on what you like and what sends you over the edge. It was like he had memorized every single nerve of your body, knowing where to touch, where to suck, like or bite. It was everything he did that made you almost addicted to him; the way his fingers would reach places yours could never even imagine; how his tongue and lips seemed to be able to go on forever, never once complaining; the way his hips and his cock would move and thrust sending you into heaven every single time. Chan was a giver in bed, always making sure to put you first while in bed, many orgasms, and blissful hours at a time, but as soon as you were done, he went back to being the same detached man you know.   

And while at first, you could somewhat stand this kind of relationship, it was slowly destroying you on the inside. So, now you lay there, staring at your phone screen, debating yourself. Would it be worth it? At least for a few hours, to be in his arms until your little bubble pops once he’s had his fill. Saving your soul and your mental peace would be a wise decision, but you are weak, weak and in love.  

“Fuck, Chris!” You pulled his hair, his head between your legs, while his lips are wrapped around your clit and his fingers piston in and out of your hole. His other hand keeps your legs open while you thrash them around, unable to keep them still.  

His fingers change into their angle, making you throw your head back, now his tongue kitten licks your small bundle of nerves, “Common, pretty girl. Cum one more time and I’ll fuck you the way you like.” His lips sucked harshly.  

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, please, please, please.” You didn't even know what you were begging for, “Don’t stop, Chan.” Tears threatened to come out, it was too much.   

“You are doing so good, such a good girl, my perfect little slut. Come on, baby cum.” His tongue thrusting itself into you, sending you over the edge. Your back arched and you let out such a sound you were sure the neighbours would complain in the morning, but you couldn't care less right now.  

Eyes closed and desperate for air, your legs numb and a tingly feeling between them, Chan kept lapping at your centre, slurping all your juices, overstimulating you. Your mind was in complete bliss, making you unaware of the producer’s next plans. He was quick to turn you around, grabbing your hips and putting you in four.  

“Fucking hell, you have no idea how much I love your ass.” He said as he spanked your cheeks a couple of times, leaving a dark imprint on both. You moaned and shoved your face into your pillows, you could feel your juices start to spill down your leg.  

“Please, please, fuck me, Chanie.” You wiggled your hips, trying to entice him.  

He grabbed his cock and rubbed your clit with it, “Yeah? You want my cock, baby?” He pressed it against your cunt, pushing a bit in, but it wasn’t enough, “Beg for it, love.”  

You whined, your skin was on fire, and your legs trembled with need, “please, daddy, I’ve been a good girl, please, please, I need your cock, plea...” You screamed.   

Chan shoved himself with a single thrust. Throwing his head back and grabbing your hips tightly, he didn’t give you any time to get used to. “Shit, you are so fucking tight.” His pelvis banged the tender skin of your ass, his balls slapping your clit, and his cock hitting against your cervix. His rhythm was too much, but you wouldn’t dare escape it.  

He leaned himself into you, put his hand right beside your head. He could see how red your face was, the way your mouth let out at sins and how tears ran down your face. And he was loving every single second of it. “Who is making you feel this good, baby?”  

You couldn't even answer, gibberish and moans came out of you, but that wasn’t enough for you. He changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting a sensitive spot inside you, making you scream, his hand went right to your clit, rubbing it in circles, “Answer me. Who?” You tried once again, but nothing clear came out.  

Tired of this, Chan straightens himself, taking you with him. Your back against his chest, his hand choking your neck while his thrust got even quicker, his mouth right next to your ear. “I know you are nothing but a dumb slut, but I’m talking to you, and I expect an answer. Now.” Thrust. “Tell me.” Thrust. “Who’s fucking you this good?”.  He bit you, marking you.  

“You, Chan!” Your thighs burned and you were so close, your juices now ran down his balls, and you felt like passing out. He pushed you to the bed, pressing himself against your back.  

“This pussy is mine, you hear me? No one else can have it.” His thrusts were becoming quicker, shorter and desperate, he was also close. “Only I get to fuck it, you are my whore, no one else’s.” Thrust. “Don’t you dare forget that.”  

Nonsense and his name kept coming out of you like a prayer, everything building up, until the tight knot in your stomach finally snapped, juices squirting everywhere. He wasn’t there yet, so he kept going, overstimulating you, sending your nerves into overdrive.  

“Just a bit more, Babygirl, hold on, yes, you are such a good girl, goddamn how much I love fucking you. Oh god!” And like that, you felt his warmth filling you up, making you cum once again. Slowly, he pulls his cock out, his seed spilling out of you and into your sheets. Your legs finally give in, and you fall flat out into the mattress.   

Your brain is somewhere else, trying to come back down, and Chan is right next to you. His left arm is in his face, he licks his lips in dehydration, his chest falls up and down quickly and his right hand holds tightly onto your thigh, trying to ground himself.   

And just as fast as Chan comes, he goes. He straightens himself, sitting down at the edge of the bed, he’s quiet and distant, looking for his clothes. Not once does the turn to look at you. “Hey, are you okay?”   

“Yeah.” You whisper, laying on your side, facing away from him.  

“Good.” He pulls his pants up, and his shirt next.   

As he’s about to make his great escape, all reason flies out of your head.   

“Hey, Chris?”  

“Yes?”  

“What are we?”  

You wait a few seconds, but nothing comes of his mouth, you have an answer.   

“Yeah, I knew it. Goodbye, Chris.”  

He doesn’t dare anything else, so he leaves.  

Everything had changed in that second, and you both know it.  

_________________  

It had been weeks since that night. All messages had gone unanswered. You were no longer lying in bed wondering if you should do it, you didn't. It was now Chan who tried to reach out.  

“Hey, you up?”  

“Hey, you up?”  

“Hey, you up?”  

“Hey, umm I don’t know if you are busy, but call me when you can. Or text me.”  

“Hey, baby haven’t seen you in a while. Text me. Please.”  

“Hey, did you change your number, and I forgot to save it or...”   

“Hey, I went to that café you like so much, you are right, it’s really good, we should go once you are not so busy. Text me.”  

“Hey, did I do something? Are you mad at me? Cause if I did, please let’s talk it out.”  

“Hey, listen, I don’t want to lose you over something so stupid. Call me. Please.”  

You can’t lose something you never had; you think. Work and friends kept you busy enough so you didn’t think about him in the day, nights were much more complicated, and there were days you were tempted to go back, longing for him, for his touch and his warmth, but you knew it would only make you feel worse.   

Han was the best friend in the world, taking you out and making you break out of your shell little by little, some days it was a party, others it was just the two of you. Some days you felt like you were at the top of the world, whereas others you could only weep in his arms until you passed out from the pain.  

_________________ 

You looked at yourself in the mirror. Makeup and hair done, high heels and heavy earrings, and even though you were trying to erase that fact from your head, his favourite dress on. Han had chosen it for you, and you couldn’t tell him why you had avoided that specific piece of clothing.   

“You ready, sweetie?” He peeked into the room. You nodded, not sure of it.   

_________________ 

Music was blasting out and bright coloured lights covered the entire place. The drink in your hand had served its purpose, you were drunk. In the middle of the dance floor, Han has his hands on your waist, keeping you close while you dance. He whispers sweet things in your ear, while you giggle. It wasn’t something new, this scene had occurred on past occasions, even escalating, but Han and you never dug too deep into it, kisses and casual affairs had once been part of your friendship, and you both were comfortable with that.  

He turned you around, looking into your eyes, he placed a small kiss on your forehead, next on the tip of your nose, and your lips. A simple peck. You put your hands around his neck, swaying your hips, throwing your head back, enjoying the moment.  

“What you thinking about, pretty?” He whispered against your lips.  

“Nothing in particular.” You whisper back.  

He pulls you closer, your head against his neck, and his lips leave small kisses on yours. You feel at ease.  

Until you open your eyes.   

And there he is.  

A drink in his hand, he’s looking at you. His eyes burned holes into Jisung’s back. All air escapes your lungs.  

“Ji, he’s, he’s here.” You whisper-yelled, your pulse going up.  

“What? Chan? Are you sure?”  

“Jisung, he’s here.” Your tongue twists and your fists tighten around his clothes, “He’s here, I don’t know what to do, I, I, I’m not ready.”   

“Okay, calm down, I’m getting you out of here.” He grabs your hand, quick to push his way through the crowd. You make it out of the place, and the cold air hits you, helping regain your breath. “Okay, give me a second, I’m getting the car, wait here.” You try to protest, but he’s gone before you can.   

You stand there, shivering, praying he doesn’t find you, but you smell his cologne before you can even see him.  

 “I thought you and Jisung were only friends.” His tone is harsh, making you flinch, “Is he the reason you’ve been ignoring me?”  

“We are just friends.”  

“Friends don’t kiss like that.”  

“Yeah? Then what the hell were we doing, Chan? Because we sure as hell were not dating.” Your turned to him.   

“Why haven't you answered my texts?”  

“I’ve been busy.”  

“With him?” Venom spits out of his mouth, he’s way past furious. You know he’s jealous, but that throws you off.  

“No, Chan. I have a life out of our little flings, and you know it.”  

“So, you are too busy to answer me, but aren’t too busy to come here and throw yourself into Jisung?”  

Okay. You are done.  

“What do you want me to say, Chan? You have no right to come here and demand an answer. You are not my boyfriend. You and me, we are nothing.”  

“That’s a damn lie and you know it.”  

“Do I? What are we? Because you made it quite clear, you like me Chan, but you don’t love me.”  

“The fact that I don’t like labels, doesn’t...”  

“Oh, cry me a fucking river, Christopher. You don’t want me, but you also don’t want anyone else to have me. You are so fucking cruel.” You cried, tired of everything, of him, “I need to move on, I need it. Please, let me go.”  

Han's car horn ranged loudly, arriving just in time to save you. “I’ve gotta go. Goodbye, Chris.” Same words as that night, the night he lost you. They ran on Chan’s ears.   

He grabbed your hand, tightly, not wanting you to leave, “please, please let’s talk, I don’t want this to end.” Small droplets came out of his eyes, startling you, but you stood your ground.  

“Chan, let me go please.” You tugged.  

“I don’t want to.” He pulled.  

“Don’t make it even harder, please, my heart can’t take it anymore.” You whispered.  

“Give me a chance, please. I’m begging you.  

“No, Chan. I already know how this will end, and I can’t take it.”  

He shook his head, “please.”  

...  

“Can you promise you will be my boyfriend?” Plain and simple.  

“What?” His eyes widened.  

“Can you promise to give us a title? No more casual sex? Will you make it official?”   

You wait a few seconds, but nothing comes of his mouth, you have an answer.   

“Yeah, I knew it. Goodbye, Chris.”  

Everything had ended in that second, and you both know it. 

[jonivngel]

𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧. (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞.)

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨

part 1: sharing is caring; part 2: dinner; part 3: devotion.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

His other lover left a message for you, carved into the flesh of your beloved, love-bites on his neck and scratches on his chest and back...

"I want to meet him."

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,876

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 18+ ONLY, NSFW! CONTENT, MDNI, infidelity, unprotected sex, cucking (just a lil), polyamory, threesomes, weird pillow talk

a/n: part two is out! decided to write a part three soon upon the request of an anon.

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠.

He smells of cherry liquor when he returns home. He'd give the excuse he's meeting with his allies for staying out so late, plotting the downfall of Jujutsu Society and those damned higher-ups who cast him out as a child. But you know he only drinks whiskey and red wine, yet the bitter-sweet taste on his lips gets you drunk and you have no choice but to ignore the infidelity happening behind your back.

He'd call out his name when he's asleep. He dreamt of him so many times you'd lost count but stayed awake every night to see if something had changed- if he'd call out your name instead. Sometimes you'd wake him up, tell him he was yelling in his sleep and that it scared you. Then he'd kiss your forehead and apologize, pull you closer and hug you like you were the one he wanted to be with.

You'd find notes in his coat pockets, saying where and when to meet, it was as if he wasn't even trying to hide it. You knew, though, that this man your lover was seeing was a secret that could never come to light. You were the one by his side, you were the one everyone knew about. You held onto that belief like it was your lifeline, like it mattered at all when you knew your position was only temporary. A distraction from the cruel reality that Suguru couldn't be with him.

It turned you bitter. How sweet it must've been to meet each other against all odds, to still want to be close to one another after everything they've been through. To meet under the veil of secrecy, so intimate and heart-wrenching. You didn't want to share, yet it felt horrible to think about stepping in between them, knowing full well he wouldn't choose you in the end.

So you stay silent and taste the bitter taste of cherry liquor on his lips, smell the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla in his hair. Your heart aches with the thought of sharing your beloved, the man you so deeply adored. Then again, it fuels a fire within you, something you've never felt before, and every night turns into a chance to prove your love for him. 

You surrender your body and your soul and he takes you for all you're worth, kissing you and loving you more and more passionately each time your bodies find themselves tangled in the cold darkness of your shared bedroom. You get addicted to the thought of him with his other lover, fully aware that, truthfully, you are the other. It gets you going and you become someone you don't recognize, you coax him into bed whenever you feel him straying. You make him feel so good he calls out your name in desperation, satiated and still craving more, you give, you give and you take from him.

You become malicious in the way you love him, taking control and denying him satisfaction, making him beg for it.

Until one night he comes home late, drunk and disheveled. You see the bites on his neck, the scratches on his back when he takes his shirt off and you feel rage boil in your blood. His other lover left a message for you, carved into the flesh of your beloved and your eyes tear up. How could he disrespect you so blatantly? You feel helpless and betrayed by a person you've never seen before, the one who took a part of your beloved already and was trying to take more.

“I want to meet him.”

You can tell you've just turned his world upside down with only one sentence because he freezes and then let's his hair down to cover the marks on his neck.

“Who?”

You're already naked in bed, waiting for him, but you stand up and walk over to stop him from putting on his T-shirt. You yank it from him and throw it on the ground, “He can't do this. I don't want to see it, Suguru.” You say with a wobbly voice, dragging your finger across the scratches on his chest.

He takes your wrist to stop you from touching him. “I don't know what you're talking about.” His eyes have turned cold and the emptiness in his voice makes your stomach turn with unease. 

“Suguru, I didn't say anything. I've let you be with him because I know there is no other way. But I don't want to have to see how he touched you and-” You feel sick to your stomach. “I want to meet him.”

His gaze softens and he hums, contemplating how to proceed. “How long have you known?”

You huff in frustration, not believing he thought you were that stupid when the signs were so obvious. He wasn't even trying to hide it and he had the gall to ask you how long you've known. “Since forever. That's why I believe I deserve to meet the man my lover is trying to hide from me.”

He chuckles, placing his hand on your bare back and tracing his fingers down your spine. “How do you think you two should meet?” He says and pulls you into him, fueling that fire in the pit of your stomach with every graze of his cold fingers against your burning skin.

You feel yourself mellowing out, “Dinner?” You whisper as he leads you to your bed, making you crash onto it as he sneaks between your legs and starts kissing your thighs. “I don't know what would be appropriate.”

He drags his tongue along your inner thigh and you squirm, feeling frustrated about the conversation at hand but not wanting to make him stop what he's doing at the same time. If you're being honest, it excites you to know it's your turn, that he wouldn't simply leave you hanging after having his fill of this elusive man you were talking about.

“Would you want me to bring him here?”

Your heart skips a beat because you know exactly what he's insinuating. “I-” Your words get stuck in your throat when he starts licking and sucking on your most sensitive place, but you manage to keep talking. “I d-don't know. I- Ah, fuck.” You grab his hair and grind against his tongue, hearing him chuckle at your desperation. 

He's greedy in the way he consumes you and his greed appears as generosity. He's doing this for his own satisfaction, because it fuels his pride to know you need him so bad you'd consider letting his other lover in just to keep him for yourself too. You love the way he loves you, though, you love that you can call him yours as well and that he wouldn't leave you, no matter how perverse the reasoning behind all of that is.

“Would you want to meet him at dinner, and then you can decide if we come back here?” He hovers over you, on his knees and completely naked now, rubbing himself between your folds before plunging in with a low groan of satisfaction.

You watch his head fall back and inspect the red marks on his chest and the love bites on his neck; you feel yourself tighten around him. When you think about it, there's something sexually devious about knowing someone else is just as depraved as you, who would surrender to sharing this man just to get a piece of him. And you understand that person, because this is Suguru and you could never give him up.

“Yes.” You whisper, “I want to know more about him, though. What is he like?”

He looks down at you as he spreads your legs and buries himself deep inside, “Right now?” His cheeks are tinted red, as if he feels embarrassed to tell you about the man he believed he was cheating on you with.

“You don't think I'd like him?”

He hums, “He's very high maintenence.” He says as he rocks his hips slowly into you and you whimper at the intoxicating friction. “He's very pretty and he knows it.” He twitches inside of you when you groan in response, satisfied with the way this is turning out. “He likes women, too, so that won't be a problem. You can have your fun with him, too.”

You feel yourself blush and cover your face, “You wouldn't mind?”

He chuckles, bending down to kiss your breasts and neck, “Why would I mind? I would love to see that. Two of my favorite people together… I don't know what I'd do…”

You whimper and drop your hands from your eyes to see he's smiling at you, mischief dancing around in his eyes. “Tell me more.”

He nods and picks up his pace, whispering in your ear as you feel yourself slowly unraveling under him. “He's needy. He likes begging me for more, just like you.” Suguru kisses your neck, goosebumps all over your body as you listen to him whisper perverse things about his other lover into your ear. “He always tastes sweet because he loves sugar more than anything.” He fucks you even faster and harder and holds your legs down so you can't close them as you scream his name. “He's the strongest sorcerer of today, but such a little pretty princess when he needs me.” He chuckles, “Is that enough for you?”

You shake your head, “More. Tell me about-” You scream out when he hits a spot inside of you that hurts and feels incredible at the same time. You're falling apart, feeling so dirty and so depraved while you listen to your sweet Suguru tell you about how nasty he'd been behind your back. It makes you feel new types of pleasure, something so deviant and sinful that it makes your legs quiver as Suguru fucks you feverishly into the mattress. You're jealous, but your curiosity overcomes it and you need to know every detail about this man and what he's been up to with your Suguru.

“You want to know about how I fuck him, hm, baby?” He whispers and you feel him twitch inside of you as he thinks about it, “He likes it rough, wherever and whenever. He's not like you in that regard, I know you love being at home. He likes when I fuck him in my car. That's when he gets loud, I think it turns him on to be put into uncomfortable positions.”

You whine as you imagine it, a pretty boy being fucked mercilessly by your lover in the back of a black Mercedes, uncomfortable and yet drowning in pleasure. It turns you on to envision it because you're a voyeur at heart, you'd love to see all of Suguru when he's so riled up and adamant at making someone scream his name.

“Oh, f-u-uck-” you cry out, “Keep talking, I'm almost there, Sugu-”

He kisses your neck, breathing heavily, “Me too, baby.” He mutters, “I can show you how he likes it, if you want, it's easier than talking.”

You nod rapidly and he flips you over instantly, pushing your face into the pillow as he pulls your ass up and bends your spine into an uncomfortable position, penetrating you even deeper than before once he enters again.

You feel your eyes tear up from the pain, but pleasure prevails and he continues his deranged pace, the slapping of skin echoing in the silence of the dark room. “Yeah, just like this, oh my-” he groans and pulls you by your hair to your knees, “Or like this,” he says and bites your neck as his hand wraps around it and cuts off your airway until you're lightheaded. Your spine is still bent at an angle that makes your insides stretch and you feel how tight you are around him, even though his pace never let's up.

You're a whimpering, bumbling mess as you completely lose yourself to him, unable to talk or even think at all. 

“Oh, both of you feel so divine, I couldn't let go of one or the other.” He groans next to your ear, pushing you forward until you're pressed up to the wall, the cold contrasting the scalding hot skin of his torso against your back. “I'm close baby-”

You whine as you feel his thrusts subside in speed but not intensity, your legs shake and you cry out one final time before coming undone on his cock as he fills you up with himself and his cum, feeling fuller than you've ever felt before.

He doesn't stop after he's done, though, he likes to feel your insides flutter around him and loves overestimulating himself with your sweet pussy until it simply hurts to have you anymore. His movement is slow, it gives you butterflies at how tender he becomes. His hands are exploring your body, grabbing your breasts and thighs, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he takes in the sweet scent in your hair. He's reveling in the sensation of your tender body against his and shaking from the captivating pleasure.

“I want to meet him,” You whisper again and make him laugh.

“You can meet him, honey.” He kisses the back of your neck and sneaks his fingers between your legs to touch you, making you whimper in protest, tired and fucked out. But he loves torturing you, so he doesn't stop. “You'll see, you'll get along just fine…” He keeps kissing you and touching you and your legs are shaking again.

“Sugu-ru-” you choke out, clawing at the wall, “Too much-”

“I know, honey, just a bit more…” He whispers into your ear, “You know I love to see you like this, so pretty.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers move skillfully to make you come once again, keeping himself nestled deep within your guts. You feel full, and he tells you you're so good for letting him torture you to his hearts content. “So sweet,” his lips graze your neck and you shudder, “So warm, hmm… I could stay inside of you forever.”

You moan at the thought, and he starts moving again, slowly, making sure you feel every little detail of him sliding against your insides. It's sensual and his hands are like hot lava dripping down your body, melting you entirely. He shows you there's no need to be jealous, no need to feel bad about sharing when he's got so much to give and when he needs both of you equally. 

“Do you feel better now, sweetheart?” He kisses your cheek, hugging you tightly.

You nod in response and turn around to face him. “I feel better, my love.” You say and kiss him, tasting the sugar on his tongue from the one who'd had him before you. “You're right, he does taste sweet.” You mutter, gazing at his lips and wondering how much sweeter he'd taste if you kissed him directly. It's a passing thought and you feel the jealousy prod at your heart once again, but you blame Suguru for these kinds of thoughts. He's the one who could manipulate you into being just as perverse as him. The question was whether you minded or not.

“Oh, really?” He chuckles as you push him down on the bed and climb on top of him, pulling the sheets over your naked bodies and snuggling into his warm embrace.

You sigh, “Sugu… Did you tell him about me?”

He sighs as well, “I didn't think of the possibility that you might be okay with that.”

You frown and sit up on top of him, “So he doesn't know about me at all? You didn't bother hiding the fact that you're seeing him from me.”

He looks guilty for a second, “I think he knows. He would've let me know if it was an issue. Just like you didn't up until now. You know him and I can't be together for real, so…”

You roll your eyes, “But you are. You screw him wherever and whenever, right?” You cross your hands over your chest and he looks down at your breasts, suddenly distracted from the serious matter at hand. “My eyes are up here.” You say in a deadpan voice.

“Yeah,” he pulls your arm for you to lay down again, “But we aren't public. Nobody knows except you. And I'll say I'd like it to stay that way, even though I know you won't tell.”

You give him a peck on the lips and smile softly, “I'd never.” 

He smiles back, “So, dinner?”

You nod, “Dinner."

a/n: thank you for reading! part 2 is out! part 3 is out!

[yuujispinkhair]

We never go out of style

The thing with Sukuna and you is that it's fun. It's fun to kiss him at parties and to take him home and sleep with him. It's fun to just have this casual little on-and-off romance with him because, after all, you both know that you will always come back to each other.

Aka, I listened to Style by Taylor Swift and got the biggest butterflies when I pictured a modern College boy version of Sukuna to this song.

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut, College AU Word Count: 2k Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of sex at semi-public/public places. Reader and Sukuna have an on-and-off fling, but both develop feelings over time. During one of their breaks, they both kiss other people and get jealous about it. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

You aren't even sure how you got into that on-and-off fling with Sukuna. It was supposed to be just a little fun at a frat party. A few heated kisses in the kitchen while you were sitting on the counter, and he was standing between your legs, one large hand cupping your chin and tilting your face up to kiss you in a way that made your head spin.

Just a little fun. Just a few sexy kisses with a sexy boy who had too many tattoos, too much confidence, and a reputation that should have sent you running.

You never planned to go home with him. But somehow you did, and somehow you ended up in his bed with him on top of you, in all his naked glory, tall and sexy with all those toned muscles and tattoos. And somehow, your hand was caressing his undercut and tangled in his slicked-back pink hair, ruffling it in a way that made him look almost cute. And somehow, the way he was grinding against you and fucking you into his mattress was the best sex you ever had.

Maybe that's why you walked over to him when you saw him on campus on Monday morning, leaning casually against a fence with sunglasses pushed up into his slicked-back hair, smirking that boyish smirk at you and lifting a large hand to wave you over with one long tattooed finger.

Maybe it was a combination of his skills in the bedroom and his confidence and boyish charm that made you agree to meet him again. Maybe it was the way he flashed you such an attractive smile when you said yes that made your knees feel strangely weak when you walked to your next class.

No matter what the reason was, ever since that day months ago, you have been in this little on-and-off fling with Sukuna.

Never quite the real thing, but also never not a thing.

Sometimes it's a few drunk kisses at a party, where you suck on his tongue and moan when he lifts you up to set you on the kitchen counter. Sometimes, it's loud, excited laughter and a fluttering pulse when he takes tequila shots where he licks the salt off your neck, letting his tongue-piercing glide over your skin. Sometimes, it's a wink and a flirty greeting while passing him in the hallway. Sometimes, it's a passionate hour spent in his bed, forgetting all the College stress when he dicks you down so good you almost cry.

Sometimes, you go weeks without talking to each other, both doing your own thing. But then you'll receive a text message at 3 a.m. asking you how you're doing.

"What's up, princess? Wanna meet up? I kind of miss your laugh."

You meet him every time. And it's always the same after a few weeks of not seeing each other:

A racing heart and a loud laugh when he stands in front of your door with a bottle of cheap wine and a single red rose. Needy, hungry kisses when you pull him into your apartment. Impatient hands tearing at each other's clothes as you stumble to your bedroom.

Your friends start to notice and ask you if you are dating Sukuna. You deny it, laughing and shaking your head. Who would be stupid enough to date him? You know this is something that only leads to a broken heart. No, Sukuna isn't someone for a relationship or anything serious.

But he is fun. So much fun. The bad boy with the charming grin. The arrogant asshole with the sweetest sweet talk you've ever heard. You know he is dangerous. A heartbreaker, a big flirt. Everybody wants him in their bed. He could have a pretty girl or boy on each finger.

You make sure not to get too invested. You keep it casual. A little fling when you feel like it. When you feel like getting fucked so good, you forget your own name. You make sure to push him away a little bit when things seem to become too intense.

You tell him you won't have time for him during the following weeks because you have to study. He doesn't have to know that, in reality, it's because you can't get his stupid charming smile out of your mind or because you catch yourself rolling over in your bed one night and sighing "Kuna" when you think you can still smell his cologne on your pillow where he slept a few nights ago.

This is dangerous territory. It's best to keep your distance for a while. You go out with your friends. You go to bars and clubs Sukuna doesn't frequent, meeting new people, flirting with someone new, maybe kissing one or two others just for the fun of it because you are young and free and you can do whatever you want. Or maybe it is to convince yourself you aren't falling for a pink-haired bad boy with the world's most charming smirk.

Your dormmate asks you if you and Sukuna broke up because lately, she hasn't seen him leave your room in the mornings with his hair ruffled and hickeys adorning his neck.

Another friend of yours approaches you with a sympathetic look and gently informs you that they saw Sukuna with some other girl last night, kissing her against the wall at a party.

You smile through all the comments, shaking your head and brushing it off.

"Oh, that's fine. We aren't dating or anything like that. He is just a little fling. It's not that serious!"

You try to ignore the uneasiness those comments cause. You smile and buy a new sexy outfit, and go to more bars to kiss more strangers, and Sukuna does the same.

Until you bump into him at another party. You turn the corner after grabbing a drink from the kitchen, and suddenly, you run into his tall, muscular figure, your face practically knocking against his chest. And he laughs and raises an eyebrow at you while his maroon gaze trails lazily over your body.

"It's been a while, princess. How was the studying?"

"It was good..."

"What were you studying again? Making out with strangers in bars?"

His eyes glitter challengingly, and his velvety low voice is carefully playful and teasing, but you can hear the edge in it. You glare up at him, 

"Oh, you mean the thing you were studying too? I heard you were hanging out with some other girl."

For a long moment, no one says a word, and you just stare deeply into each other's eyes. But then Sukuna laughs and cocks his head, 

"Well, it's true what you heard, but it was only two or three times. I'm not interested in her. Especially not now, when you seem to have time for me again."

You know he is leaning down on purpose, knowing full well how hot you find your height difference. You know he is brushing his lips over your ear with the intention of making you weak. You know he is calling you princess in that low sexy voice to make you come home with him tonight and forget all the dumb shit both of you did during the last few weeks.

You know now would be the right moment to tell him it's over for good. But you don't do it. You don't want to.

What you want is to put a hand on his toned chest and grab the front of his white shirt to pull him closer. 

"I have time for you, Kuna. I have time tonight and maybe tomorrow, too."

You can feel his smirk when he kisses you, and his muscular, tattoed arms wrap around you and pull you against that tall, strong body that feels so fucking good against you.

"That's good, princess, since I couldn't stop thinking about you and me those last few weeks. It's more fun when you're with me."

The two of you are back at your typical shit again. Passionate kisses at various parties, loud moans, and entangled sweaty bodies in either Sukuna's bed or yours. Once a week, twice, maybe more often. Sometimes, he stays the whole night and makes your dormmate complain about him using up all the milk in the fridge.

The occasional late-night texts turn into nightly calls. Lying in your bed in the dark with a racing heart as you listen to Sukuna's low voice telling you random things he did today, smiling when he tells you to sleep well.

You go to parties together and make out on kitchen counters. You go to clubs and dance and kiss and make it look so dirty that strangers come up to you and tell you to get a room. You give Sukuna a good luck kiss in the morning before his exam and laugh when he walks around with your red lip print on his cheek. 

People start commenting again on your relationship status, but you just laugh and roll your eyes.

Just like you roll your eyes when Sukuna pulls up at your place on a Wednesday at quarter to midnight, his car window rolled down, long fingers casually flicking off the ash of his half-smoked cigarette as he smirks at you,

"Wanna go on a ride, princess? Jump in. Let's drive to the beach."

"It's almost midnight, you idiot!"

"So what? I didn't say just for tonight, did I? We can stay for a few days, check into a hotel, have some fun tomorrow at the beach, go swimming, sip sweet cocktails at a shabby little bar, fuck in the warm sand, things like that. I know you want to."

You do.

You know you have an exam next week and really shouldn't miss any courses, but what can you do when Sukuna is here in front of you with his sexy smirk and that enticing sparkle in his maroon eyes, offering you the chance for a spontaneous adventure you will probably never forget?

You get into his car. You let him rest his large hand much too high on your thigh, and you let him kiss you breathless at every red light, giggling when he misses the traffic light changing, and the cars behind you honk. But Sukuna just grins against your lips and keeps kissing you while he lifts his hand to flip the guy behind him off in the rearview mirror.

You listen to him complaining about his teammates and his coach and make sure to nod understandingly and do the "Oh, no, he didn't!" and "Ah, that sucks!" at the right moments, earning you a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

You check into a cheap hotel down at the beach, feeling your heart beating like crazy because it feels like you are a criminal couple on the run in some noir movie. Or maybe two forbidden lovers meeting here in secret, far away from the cruel reality where everything is too serious, and people expect you to be a responsible adult.

Sukuna fucks you like he's starved for your body. Hard, deep thrusts and bruising kisses. Passionate sex that makes the old bed creak loudly while the sound mingles with your gasps and moans of Sukuna's name. Rough fucking that turns into surprisingly gentle lovemaking later that night, and Sukuna's soft moans against your neck and sweet little nothings whispered in your ear.

You return home two days later, feeling lightheaded and a bit sore from all the sex you had with Sukuna during those two days. On the hotel bed, in the shower, at the beach at night, on the drive home in his car.

His hand is on your thigh, slipping a bit under your short skirt, caressing your skin while he kisses you thoroughly in his parked car in front of your dorm. Maybe his hand tightens a bit on your thigh, not wanting to let go. Maybe you do the same, your fingers tangling in his soft pink hair, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away and saying goodbye.

When you finally exit his car, he grins at you with lips that are swollen from all the kissing and smeared with your lipstick. The red one that he likes so much on you.

"I'll call you when I'm home, princess. And let's meet again on Tuesday or something. I heard there's a party at Choso's dorm."

"Alright… or you could just stay the night."

The smile that lights up his face is enough to make your breath quicken. He is out of his car in a second, a large hand on the small of your back, steering you towards your front door. And you are grateful for the darkness of the night that helps you hide the stupid big grin on your face.

You don't know if you will ever be more than this on-and-off thing. You don't even know whether you would want it to be more. You don't know if you ever want to date Sukuna for real or if you ever want to call him your boyfriend.

But you know he is your boy, and you are his girl.

It doesn't matter how long your little fling will last this time, just a week or maybe a month. It doesn't matter if you'll go your separate ways for a little while again at some point. In the end, you will always come back to each other. Because one thing is for sure: Whatever the two of you have will never go out of style.

I HAD SO MANY BUTTERFLIES WHILE LISTENING TO THE SONG AND WRITING THIS AAAHHH!!! College boy Sukuna is my weakness. I'm so in love with him!!Help meee!!

So yeah, I decided that 1989 is a great College Sukuna album, and I will now go back to listening to it again and daydream about him.

I hope you enjoyed this little story and that it could give you butterflies too, maybe!! Please tell me how you liked it.

Comments and reblogs would be sweet.

[nats--sw]

Gold chain (pt2) | Leah Williamson

Leah, among other things, can be a bit of a distraction for your game… but just a bit. warnings: none, just fluff and slow burn note: a short one for today,, thanks for all the love in the pt1 :( pt1 - pt3 my masterlist

It had been three days since Leah had received the Instagram notification. Every morning, she took a moment to think about whether it was a good idea to text you or not. So far, you had liked her latest post, and Leah was hoping to return the gesture, but unfortunately for her you hadn't posted anything new since your picture holding the Roland Garros trophy. Not even a story she could react to. Nothing. 

“So... how's it going?” her mother asked that afternoon. Leah had gone to visit her, finding herself with more free time now that the season had ended, not much to do aside from the occasional interview and events, nothing too physically demanding for her.

“Well, I have an interview with the BBC in a couple of days, so that's keeping me busy” Leah said, pacing around the dining room, her eyes wandering over the photographs on one of her mother’s many shelves.

“I'm not talking about work. I'm talking about your girl!” Amanda shouted from the kitchen.

"Stop calling her that. I still can't believe you embarrassed me in front of her” Leah retorted. Just then, something over the fireplace caught her attention. 

Right in the center, where her picture holding up the Euro usually was, now stood a small transparent box. Inside was your autographed tennis ball. Leah picked up the box and couldn't help but smile at the sight of your signature, along with a smiley face.

“Hey, leave that there” her mother scolded as she entered the dining room with the two plates of food for dinner. 

“This should be mine, I'm her fan,” Leah said, fiddling with the box in her hand.

“Did you help Y/N win her trophy?” her mother retorted.

“Well, I got you there in the first place” Leah defended herself, placing the box back in its spot.

"Too bad that gift was given to me. If you want a ball, ask her for it." Amanda teased.

“You're my mother. You should be nicer to me.” Leah countered, taking a seat. 

"Yes, I am your mother, but I didn't raise a coward," Amanda said with a teasing smile. “Now eat”

Leah bit her lip nervously as she stared at her phone screen. The chat with you was open, and a picture of the autographed ball at her mother’s house was ready to be sent.

God, why was she so nervous? She had captained the England women's team to their first major title in history, yet now she was afraid to send a simple message.

“Screw it,” she muttered, hitting send.

“My mom won't let me touch the ball you gave her.”

Leah panicked as soon as the text was sent and quickly locked her phone. She glanced at her watch, it was past eleven o’clock at night, and she didn’t even know where in the world you were right now. The best thing to do was to go to bed and try not to think about the message. Maybe, if she was lucky, you would read it and respond in the morning. 

Within half an hour Leah was in bed, with her ipad in her lap, checking emails. Suddenly, her phone vibrated.

She had tossed it onto the bed ten minutes ago, and now it was lost somewhere among the sheets and the pile of pillows she had. She rummaged around looking for the phone, but couldn't find it, that was until her foot got tangled in the sheets, causing her to tumble to the floor. That's when she saw her phone, on the edge of the bed, covered by a pillow.

Without bothering to get up from the floor, she grabbed the phone and smiled when she saw the notification: a message from you.

“Aww, I seriously thought she would give it to you.”

Would it be too intense if she responded immediately? 

Leah decided to go for it. “My mother is not that kind of mother,” she typed and sent the message, then relaxed as she saw you had immediately read it. The bubble with three dots appeared instantly, confirming you wanted to keep the conversation going.

"Ah, my mother is similar. I understand," you replied.

Leah was taken by surprise when the next message popped up.

“What are you doing at this hour?”

She realized she was still sprawled on the floor of her room. She got up, climbed back into bed, and opened the first streaming app she saw on her ipad, choosing an old movie she had been trying to watch for days. She took a picture, making sure to show only the ipad and part of the bed, then sent it to you.

“Watching something.”

Leah shook her head,feeling like a teenager sending things like that. It reminded her of what she used to do years ago. But she wanted to sound interesting to you. What would you think of her if you knew she was actually just checking emails and watching old football matches, trying to figure out if she could play like she used to?

"What about you? I don't even know what time zone you're in."

“I’m in Italy, just an hour difference :)”

“Italy?”

"Resting. Back to my workouts tomorrow."

"Oh, right. What’s next for you now? Berlin?"

This time Leah was surprised to see that your response was not a text, but a voice message. She hesitated before playing it, then hit the button and heard your voice.

“Wow look at you, you really are a fan,” you said in a teasing tone. Leah blushed immediately. She couldn't send you a voice message because she was sure she would get too nervous. Leah Williamson, the same woman who had spoken at the UN months ago, now felt like a schoolgirl with a crush.

She took a deep breath and replied:

“Of course I am. I’ve watched almost all your matches since Wimbledon last year. I told you I was your fan when I met you. My mother made sure to emphasize that too.”

“I just thought it was to flatter me if I'm being honest... Not that I'm that self-centered, but it wouldn't be the first time it's happened.”

Leah could tell you were walking during the last voice message; there was background noise. You obviously weren't in a room.

“Where are you at this hour?”

The next thing Leah received was a photo of a couple of tennis courts. From the angle and the small table with a glass of water, she deduced that you were sitting a few feet away from the courts.

“I thought you were training from tomorrow?”

"On grass. The grass court season starts soon. Now I was just playing with my racket.” You explained in the message. Leah didn't have a chance to respond before receiving another voice message from you. "But it's getting late now, and I need to rest up for tomorrow's training session. Say hi to your mom for me please." 

"Of course, have a good rest," Leah replied, understanding the importance of proper rest for training sessions, especially during the season.

Days had flown by since that chat, and Leah was getting antsy. She was really hoping you'd reach out first this time, just to ease her mind that she wasn't bothering you. But as she sat at Alex's place,  enjoying a glass of wine over dinner before going out, she couldn't help but feel a bit silly constantly checking her phone for a message that never came.

As far as Leah knew you had already arrived in Berlin for the upcoming Open, not because you told her, but because she'd seen some snapshots of you during training sessions thanks to some tennis websites she followed.

Leah didn't know it, but your mind was fully consumed by the upcoming tournament with Wimbledon just around the corner. It was the topic of discussion throughout your entire day: grass, Berlin, Wimbledon, Leah no, wait, focus on that WTA ranking.

"Ready?" Lucas, your coach, asked, checking his watch. It was the last day before the tournament started.

"Huh?" You looked up, putting your phone down.

Lucas gave you a concerned look. "You okay? You've seemed kinda spaced out for a few days now."

You shook your head, trying to brush it off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good."

"Is something up? You look kinda off," Lucas took a seat next to you, his concern evident in his expression. “You're not hiding some injury from me?"

"It's nothing. I'm fine, just tired” you lied, standing up and glancing at your phone once more. Lucas caught your glance.

"Don't tell me there's a girl," he said, rubbing his temples.

"What?! No! Of course not!"

"God, I knew it. It's that Italian girl, isn't it? I saw you chatting with her at the hotel."

"That was a waitress, Lucas. I'm serious, there's no one," you said, grabbing your bag from the floor. "I've got my priorities straight."

"Good. What you have to worry about now is Berlin. Remember, Wimbledon's around the corner" said Lucas, standing up and grabbing his bag. "If you want, after that tournament, you can sleep with whoever you want, Italian or not. But for now, you must keep your eyes on the grass. Okay?"

"Okay"

The next morning, as you sat down for breakfast, Leah's face caught your eye while scrolling through your Instagram feed. She had posted some photos, seemingly from a night out. 

It struck you how you hadn't come across Leah until the Roland Garros final; she seemed like an incredible person. You had even done a quick Google search when you first started following her on Instagram, impressed by her contributions to her sport back home.

It wasn't your fault that your family never showed much interest in football, so it wasn't surprising that you couldn't recognize any of the people beside Leah in those pictures. In the final photo, Leah was wearing a top that exposed her abdomen, wow, with a hand from someone you didn't recognize resting on her waist.

“Hmm?” You quickly tapped on the tag on the other woman's body. Her Instagram profile revealed that she was a football player too. Leah was in many of her photos, often seen next to her or hugging her. 

“Hey, Y/N” Lucas intervened, taking the phone from your hand and turning off the screen. “I've been trying to get your attention for minutes, your match starts in an hour.”

You nodded your head. Lucas didn't seem to notice the tension in your jaw, you tended to be serious before matches, so it wasn't unusual.

As you warmed up on the court, your mind couldn't shake the thoughts about Leah.

"Who was that other woman?"

"It doesn't matter. Leah is just a fan, maybe a friend, not someone you're going to marry."

"Exactly. Whether she has a partner or not shouldn't affect anything."

"But I couldn't help but find her cute."

"She's undeniably beautiful."

"Focus on Wimbledon."

Despite the game starting, your mind continued its internal debate.

Your opponent secured the first game at 40-0. Now it was your turn to serve. Just as you tossed the ball into the air, a nagging thought intruded again.

“Does she have a girlfriend?”

The ball hit the net. An irritated sigh escaped your mouth, knowing you had to make this serve count, aiming to avoid a double fault.

Shaking off the distracting thought, you prepared for another attempt. Gazing ahead, you focused on your opponent's movements, determined to regain control of the match.

"Her mother played matchmaker when we met," you mumbled to yourself, the distraction causing you to miss the hit once more. This time, it sailed over the net but landed wide, giving your opponent an unexpected point.

Even your opponent seemed surprised by the unforced error you just made, giving her a point without any effort on her part.

"I need to find out who she is," you muttered under your breath, feeling the pressure with each lost point.

Your serve had enough power behind it this time, but your return lacked precision, sending the ball flying into the stands. As the ball sailed out, your opponent glanced at you in disbelief, clearly surprised by the unforced error you had just made.

"Wälti, that was her name," you murmured to yourself, the name lingering in your mind like a persistent echo. 

With the score now at 40-15, your opponent was on the verge of breaking your serve.

You needed to get rid of the doubt, but you couldn't leave the game, you weren't that crazy. But you could do something else, win the game in record time. Focus on winning to satisfy your curiosity and anxiety. You adjusted the gold chain that hung around your neck and took a deep breath. You had to hurry.

The match ended 0-2, with you taking the sets at 2-6 and 1-6. Your best result on grass.

"Where'd that come from?" Lucas asked once you were alone. "Since when is your backhand so killer on grass?" he wondered. "I've never seen you pull off moves like that on grass."

"Just got inspired," you said, tossing your visor aside and slumping into the chair. "Can I have my phone now?" Lucas hadn't given it back to you yet, not as a punishment, but because you'd asked him to keep it. 

Lucas handed it over, eyeing you. "You're keeping something from me," he noted, scratching his beard. "But if it's what's making you play like a champ, I'm all for it," he said, grinning.

You brushed off your coach's voice, fingers darting to your Instagram. With a few taps, you found Leah's chat, eager to shoot her a message.

"Heyyy! How was your night?" you typed, your leg bouncing with impatience. Though you needed to hit the shower, the excitement of hearing from Leah consumed you.

"Hope you're not feeling too rough today; starting the week hungover would be nasty," you added, fingers hovering over the screen in anticipation. But as the moments passed, there was still no response from Leah, leaving you hanging in suspense.

A cold shower seemed like the perfect remedy to clear your mind, and thankfully, it did the trick. Lucas egging you on for extra drills, especially to fine-tune your backhand, also helped to distract you.

By dinner, any hope of hearing back from Leah had evaporated. You were so disinterested that you didn't even bother bringing your phone along. It wasn't until nearly ten, when you reached for your phone to set the alarm, that you noticed Leah's message—a voice message.

"Hey, fancy hearing from you!" Leah's voice chimed in, carrying that distinctive lilt that hinted at a potential afternoon spent dozing off. You could practically imagine her, wrapped up in blankets, nursing a post-party hangover. "Yeah, went out with some friends. We were celebrating the end of my mate's long-distance thing. Was fun, until they started getting all soppy, reminding me I'm the last single one in the group."

A groan slipped out before she continued, "I may have had a bit too much to drink," she confessed with a sheepish chuckle.

Those messages had been sent around 4 pm, while you were deep into your training session.

The rest of the voice messages were sent after 7 pm.

"What the heck was up with your game today?!" came the first, followed by a chuckle "Just watched the highlights of your match. Seriously, what did that poor player do to deserve such a thrashing from you? She ain't an ex, is she?"

Then, a last voice message added, "Sorry if that sounded a bit too nosy. Just curious, you know?"

You chuckled, enjoying the sound of Leah's accent. It had this magical way of making you grin like an idiot, even when you were just staring at your phone screen.

But now, what really mattered was Leah's relationship status, she was single, confirmed without even having to pry. Knowing she was single now seemed like a game-changer. Suddenly, that whole thing with Wälti didn't matter anymore, Leah's path was crystal clear. Not that you were planning to make any moves to win her over; that was definitely not on your agenda, at least not for now.

“Remember, Wimbledon”

Oh… the other thing that hit you: Leah truly proved herself to be your fan. It blew your mind that someone recovering from a hangover would bother to watch highlights of your match just to chat about it later. She was the first person to do that, apart from your coach or family.

"Hey, I'm free tomorrow, at least from the matches. What do you think if I call you tomorrow?" you typed, feeling a rush of anticipation mingled with nerves as you crawled into bed.

Before closing your eyes, you couldn't resist checking your phone one last time. And there it was, Leah's response: "Sure, call me anytime tomorrow. I'll be waiting for you."

With a grin stretching across your face, you drifted into the most peaceful sleep you've had in ages, feeling a sense of warmth and excitement settling deep within you.

[fortunxa]

Fourteen days

[sequel to ‘Blue hair, blue eyes, blue lights’]

Jinx x fem!reader / modern AU

summary: They say the longer the wait, the sweeter the kiss. But, darling, I’m starving, so don’t keep me guessing.

cw: around 4k words but could be mediocre, mild nsfw

author’s note: I’m alive! Sorry for the delay in posting, I’ve been hustling :( But here’s the awaited sequel, so buckle up ;)

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“Uno, motherfucker!”

Jinx is… competitive, to say the least. As of right now, we’re lying on my bed, legs tangled, and playing UNO while it’s pouring outside. It’s well past midnight, and I stopped trying to shush her victory cheers after the second round. She has a way of making her presence known and commanding your attention, but truthfully, she isn’t hard to miss anyway. Every aspect of her exudes an unapologetic ‘Look at me!’ aura—from her infectious laughter to her bold fashion sense. Even her braids have a life of their own, swirling and swaying with every step she takes. She’s unforgettable.

But I’ve come to discover a more delicate side of her in her most vulnerable moments. It’s almost like she transforms into a different person, both in terms of her personality and, surprisingly, her appearance. Her features become softer, more child-like, her eyes wide and innocent. The way she effortlessly switches from one persona to the other is impressive to witness. On the flip side, she has a tendency to become obsessive and possessive, which resulted in us spending almost every waking moment together. You may call me crazy, but it makes me feel needed. Ultimately, isn’t that what we all want?

These are just a few of the observations I’ve made about her in the past two weeks. My mind’s file on her is growing exponentially, tucking away every information I learn about her in a safe place—from her preference for orange juice but hate for oranges to her strained relationship with her older sister, which makes my room the designated hangout spot whenever we’re stuck inside. Jinx is a complex person with many layers, and while I can’t claim to know everything about her just yet, I do feel like I have built a stable foundation of understanding what makes her unique. I certainly know enough to start falling for her.

“Alright, alright, you win. Again,” I say with a small smile playing on my lips and twenty cards in my hands. My phone is buzzing beside me—probably another message from my mom asking us to be quieter—and I ignore it. I still remember her face when she asked us how we met, and Jinx jumped up, telling her all about the police chase, earning a nudge in the ribs from me. It’s a miracle she still lets us hang out, but with the number of times the blue-haired girl sneaked in through my window, I don’t think it would’ve changed much if she didn’t.

I feel a yawn building up, but before it reaches the surface, I’m pinned against my bed. “And what do I get for winning?” Jinx teases as she straddles my hips, and I certainly feel awake now. Another thing that I learned about her is how touchy she gets, but it still catches me off-guard at times. My heart rate quickens, and I’m sure she feels it pulsating through my wrists. She smirks at my dumbfounded expression and lowers herself even more, brushing her nose against mine. “Cat got your tongue?”

This proximity between us takes me back to the night we met when we almost shared a kiss. Fucking almost. Although I’m familiar with many aspects of her, I’m still a stranger to the way she tastes. Is it sweet like the Skittles she keeps stealing from me or, on the contrary, sour like the Warheads? Perhaps it carries the freshness of her toothpaste or the fruity allure of her cherry-flavored chapstick. I need an answer to the question that’s been consuming my thoughts as of late, and I need it now.

Just when I’m about to get it, my phone buzzes again, and—you guessed it—Jinx pulls away and casually snatches it off the bed, reading the message. I feel like I’m about to explode.

“Aw, why didn’t you tell me that we woke your mom up?” she innocently asks as I stare at the ceiling with a blank look. I suddenly feel self-conscious. Maybe I was misunderstanding our connection since the beginning. Maybe she never wanted us to take it further. And maybe this is another thing that I need to learn about her—she’s just flirty, and there’s no ulterior motive behind her actions. How fucking stupid was I to think otherwise? I’d be fine if she wanted to stay friends, but this whole teasing is starting to make me feel like a toy. I need clarity.

“I guess I was too focused on our game,” I finally mutter as a reply, putting the UNO deck away before standing up to grab us two fresh pairs of pj’s. When I turn to face her again, she’s already watching me with a worried expression.

“You okay, toots?” I’m not. Jinx walks over, and her bare feet make a thumping sound across my carpet. She positions herself in front of me as her eyes analyze my demeanor, and I feel vulnerable under her scrutinizing gaze. I wonder if now’s the time to be open about my feelings, but as I take in her cerulean eyes—I stopped calling them blue as they’re so, so much more than that—I can’t bring myself to face the rejection.

My cowardice wins.

“I’m fine,” I say with a tight-lipped smile before presenting her with a nightshirt. She opens her mouth, presumably to push her investigation further, but decides against it. Her eyebrows knit together at the newfound awkwardness.

We change into our nightwear, and Jinx snuggles under the comforter while I head to turn off the lights. I remember her fear of the dark, and quickly turn on the nightlight, casting a soft pink glow across the room. I find myself wondering if she cares enough to remember the little things about me, too. I slide into bed alongside her, making sure to maintain a respectful distance between us. The air is filled with an uncharacteristic silence, broken only by the gentle patter of raindrops outside and our quiet breaths.

I flip on my side, my back toward Jinx as I try to fall asleep. I can sense her restless shuffling as she tries to find a comfortable position before she settles by wrapping her arms around my torso. She’s flush against me, and I let out a sigh—screw it. I turn around and face her before pulling her frame into my chest. Her grip tightens, and a shuddering breath escapes past her lips. I’m not a mind reader, but I know that the sudden sour mood brought her feelings of uneasiness, and a plethora of negative thoughts, igniting her own insecurities. I rest my cheek on top of her head and close my eyes. My hand finds its way into her hair, and I start massaging her scalp gently. When she finally relaxes, it doesn’t take long for me to hear her soft snores.

I don’t remember dozing off, but the morning light filtering through my window comes too early as I slowly flutter my eyes open. My eyelids feel heavy, and my bed is unexpectedly empty, fueling my disoriented state. I sit up groggily and rub the sleep from my face before scanning the room in hopes of catching a glimpse of Jinx, but she’s nowhere to be found.

Right as I’m about to sink into self-pity over her Irish goodbye, my bedroom door suddenly bursts open. I jump, and my tired eyes lock with her cheerful ones. I guess she never left after all.

“You’re finally awake! Good morning!” she exclaims with a radiant smile while skipping over to me, her slightly gapped teeth proudly on display. Her braids are tousled from sleep as she settles on the edge of the bed, presenting me with a plate of freshly made chocolate chip pancakes. “Made your favorite. And don’t worry, I already cleaned up,” she adds, and my heart swells as my eyes flicker between her and the breakfast she prepared. She does the same, a giddy smile on her face and her lower lip caught between her teeth. Yet, as I remain silent, her shoulders slump and the sparkle dims, replaced by a nervous fidgeting of her hands. “It’s okay if you don’t like–”

I interrupt her by pulling her into a tight embrace, expressing my gratitude. At first, Jinx is taken aback, but she soon returns the hug, burying her face into my neck. The scent of vanilla extract lingers in her hair—probably from messing with it during her cooking—and her skin radiates an unusual warmth, bringing a small smile to my face.

“Okay, trinket. Dig in and get some energy,” she says, pulling away as she walks over to my vanity mirror and starts unbraiding her hair. Well, don’t mind if I do. “It’s your college move-in day after all!” She giggles happily, and I almost choke at her words. It isn’t just move-in day; it’s my imaginary deadline of making her mine slowly ending. Despite my lack of progress, she has kept her word in showing me fun—however this friendship goes, I will be sure that I’ve felt alive at least once in my life.

“Shit, I forgot! What time is it?” I scramble to find my phone, which has been lost somewhere under the pillows. I leap to my feet, unsure of what to grab first as I start flailing around. “I still need to finish packing and–and load the boxes into the car, and I–”

“Woah, slow down!” Jinx grabs my shoulders and grounds me in the middle of the room. She takes a deep breath and urges me to mirror her actions. “What am I here for?” Her hands trail up my neck and rest on my jawline, leaving me breathless again. “Finish eating first, then we can worry about the rest. Capiche?” I nod, and she pats my cheek with a grin. “Good girl.”

I’m left flustered, and she resumes untangling her hair as if she didn’t just say the hottest shit I have ever heard in my life. I try to keep my cool and finish my breakfast, but my imagination is running wild with all the scenarios I could be a good girl in. I pick out some fresh clothes for the day, trying my best to act casual while my thoughts are anything but.

“I’m just going to freshen up. I’ll be back in a few,” I say and head to the bathroom, hoping that a cold shower would tame my heat. But, on the other hand, there’s a part of me that’s begging for her to join and do it for me.

She never does—obviously—but I come back with a clearer head. Jinx’s hair is now completely down, her vibrant blue waves cascading to the floor. I see her struggle to part it evenly and decide to step up.

“Here, let me help you,” I offer as I gently take the comb from her hands, carefully brushing out any leftover knots before dividing her hair into two even sections. As I work on the base of the first braid, I steal glances at her in the mirror’s reflection. Her eyes are closed, and she occasionally lets out content hums, seemingly lost in thought.

“For the record, toots,” she speaks up as she now deftly weaves the second braid with practiced fingers, “I don’t let just anyone touch my hair.” My brain is slowly putting the meaning behind her words together, and a smile tugs at my lips as realization dawns on me—I’m special. Despite my best efforts, I fail to conceal my grin. Jinx communicates a lot through body language, so when she explicitly says what’s on her mind, it stuns me a bit.

“So, I’m not just anyone, huh?” I tease and concentrate on finishing the braid.

“Clearly you’re my getaway driver,” she retorts with a smirk, and I nudge her shoulder.

Once we’re done working on her hair, we begin filling up the boxes and clearing out most of my room. It’s a mix of emotions knowing that I’m moving away, even if it's only temporary. But what really tugs at the strings of my heart is the thought of not being able to spend as much time with the blue-haired troublemaker. With my upcoming college schedule and her still torn between taking a gap year or not, the idea of our bond weakening is the most difficult part to imagine. If I’m lucky, perhaps life will allow our connection to endure and flourish.

“Sheesh, I don’t remember packing rocks. Did you?” Jinx huffs as she loads the last box into my car. I laugh and shut the trunk.

“It’s my books, dummy,” I reply and get behind the wheel as she takes the passenger seat.

“At least you’ll be too busy reading to hook up with anyone,” she mutters, connecting my phone to the car, and my cheeks flush. Totally normal thing to say to a friend.

The song Jinx chose is blasting through the speakers as I pull off. We fall silent, but I can see her bopping her head to the music in the corner of my eye, lost in her own world with her feet on the dashboard, which she had decorated ‘the Jinx way’ as she called it. Meanwhile, I’m filled with embarrassment as I realize that I haven’t even checked the released college roommate assignments. How awkward will it be if I introduce myself to my bunk buddy after moving in? On a scale of one to ten, I deem it a seven. I don’t even remember filling out the housing application, for fuck’s sake.

We’re halfway there when we decide to take a quick pit stop, and I pull over on a backroad underneath a row of trees. Jinx gets out of the car with an indecipherable expression, and I follow in confusion. I’m no stranger to her mood swings, but I still get concerned. She’s walking around in circles, kicking at the dirt and stray rocks caught in the crossfire of her boots. When I open my mouth to call out for her, she beats me to it.

“Can I talk to you about something, toots?” she asks as she whips around to face me. I simply nod, and she continues, “Somewhere private.” She climbs into the backseat as I look around the empty road. Doesn’t get much more private than this, but I digress. I shut the door behind me and get comfortable.

“So what did you–” I don’t have a chance to finish as she straddles my lap, and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach as I recall what happened the last time she did this—her teasing won’t stop unless I speak up, but when I take notice of the whirlwind of emotions flashing through her eyes, my hands subconsciously fall to her hips, tracing soothing circles on the soft skin. I realize I’d rather be stuck in limbo than lose her altogether.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Her question takes me by surprise, and my eyebrows shoot up. She squeezes my cheeks with one hand, turning my face upwards.

“W–what? Why would you think that?” I stutter as her gaze skims over my features.

“Why won’t you make a move already?” Her voice is wobbly, and I’m left speechless. My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of the water as I rack my brain for the right words.

“I wasn’t–I’m not sure if you want me to,” I finally reply, and she makes a face.

“Look at us, Y/N” –she gestures to our current position– “you’re a smart girl, don’t act clueless now.”

Realization hits me like a train. Jinx needs loyalty and devotion—she needs me to show her how much I want her. She wants to know that despite her complex character, I’ll stick around and fight for her. In retrospect, it all seems so simple and obvious.

“Jinx?” My voice is barely above a whisper as I look into her eyes. She can only hum in response. “I’m going to count to three, and then I’m going to kiss you.” Her grip on me loosens in surprise, and her wide eyes are blinking rapidly. “I’m giving you those three seconds to stop me if you change your mind.” She stays silent, and I begin my countdown.

1…

2…

3.

When I finally taste her, I realize how badly I’ve been starving.

My hands cannot bring her close enough to me as I snake my arm around her waist and rest my free hand on her jawline. I’m not holding back anymore. If she wants devotion, I’ll show her exactly that.

I’m furious—furious that I’d been denied this pleasure for so long, but my lips move against hers as if they’d already danced this way before. It’s effortless, like the gliding of a pen on paper from an inspired writer’s hand, and she’s the muse.

It’s not a gentle kiss, the way first ones usually go. It’s hungry, rough, and precisely what was needed to let out the pent-up tension. It’s swirling tongues, dripping saliva, and smudged lipsticks. Without ever pulling away, I carefully lay her on her back, and my fingers sink into the soft flesh of her thighs. Her colorful nails claw at my back, and I groan into her mouth, digging my hips into hers. We’re both breathing heavily through our noses, and my attention shifts to her neck by biting and sucking on the tender skin, letting my hands roam over her curves freely, mapping out her body.

A trail of hickeys is forming on her collarbone, and she’s a moaning and whimpering mess under my touch; it’s a blissful sight. She locks her slender legs around my hips and pulls me further into her, chasing more friction. Watching her become so needy thrills me even more, and my hand tentatively falls to her clothed crotch. Her jaw slacks in anticipation as my fingers ghost over the area where she needs me most, and her back arches into me in response. I want to watch her unravel beneath me, shaking limbs and sweat dripping from her temples.

But she’d teased me too many times for me to grant her this relief right now.

I relish the feeling of our closeness with one last peck and catch Jinx’s lower lip between my teeth, pulling on it slightly before letting go, earning a faint whine from her.

We’re both panting and trying to catch our breaths as I hover above her, my palms firmly planted on the seat on either side of her face, propping myself up. I can’t help but admire my work. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are swollen, her smudged plum lipstick matching the bruises on her neck—still, she’s absolutely beautiful. She watches me through half-hooded eyes with her pupils dilated, and I smirk at her breathlessness.

“Leaving me high and dry, trinket?” she asks, and her hands fall to my hips, trying to pull me back in.

“Call it payback,” I reply before hoisting her back into my lap, and she yelps in surprise.

Jinx grips my shoulders to steady herself, and I try my best to smooth out her disheveled hair. I start peppering sweet kisses to her bruised skin, and she lets her head fall back with a pleased sigh. I pull her back in so my lips can find hers once again. It’s much slower this time, grounding us in the moment, and there’s that delicate side of her peeking through with each swipe of her tongue. When I pull away and take notice of her peaceful state, I know it was all worth the wait. I caress her cheek with the back of my hand, and she leans into my touch.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve craved this?” I whisper, and an amused glint flashes through her eyes.

“Two weeks isn’t that long.” She’s giggling now, and this sound alone is enough to bring a smile to my face.

“It is when you’re right in front of me, and I’m unable to touch you properly.” My thumb starts working on cleaning up her smudged lipstick, and her features soften as she mirrors my actions.

Sitting in the backseat with her feels like a full-circle moment. This is where it all began—a simple thrill-seeking witness turned getaway driver for a blue-haired menace.

Fourteen days.

It took me two weeks to make her mine.

I can’t help the dumb smile tugging on the corners of my mouth as I start driving again. Jinx’s head is on my lap, the same way it was the night we met, and she’s telling me which houses she’s planning on tagging next. The drive goes by quickly as we exchange our opinions on what the Montana spray paint smells like—I say cotton candy, she’s hellbent on bubblegum—and before we know it, I’m parking outside my future college.

“Oooh, look how fancy,” Jinx speaks up as she analyzes the building, and she’s absolutely right. The size itself is intimidating, and I can already see myself getting lost in the halls. The architecture looks modern with futuristic touches, and the campus is surrounded by grass and cherry blossom trees. If it wasn’t for my scholarship, I wouldn’t even dream of affording to study here. “Is now a good time to tell you that I’m your bunk buddy?”

I turn my head so quickly I almost give myself whiplash, and I stare at her as if she grew a second head in the last thirty seconds.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I grab her arm in disbelief, and she shakes her head with a smile, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

“Surprise!” She laughs while I’m still processing her confession. “My mechanical engineering scholarship got accepted, so I filled out your housing application and requested myself. Then I filled out mine and requested you. I didn’t think it would work, but, holy shit, isn’t that awesome?”

Any sane person would feel violated by this. But me? I’m fucking delighted.

“You’re a gift that keeps on giving.” My hands cup her cheeks as I pull her in for a kiss, the excitement getting the best of me. One kiss turns into two, then three, and before I know it, I’m peppering her whole face in them as she laughs. When she finally settles, there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Wanna test out the beds?”

[reiderwriter]

Here Isn't Where I Wanna Be

Chapter Four of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: With Spencer gone, you find yourself spiralling into anger again until a new friend - and a silver lining to your entire situation - appears.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, mentions of the smut in the last chapter in detail, no explicit smut.

A/N: And so we get to it - the plot!! If you're enjoying the series, let me know in the replies or in my inbox, and feedback is greatly appreciated~♡

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist

With Mondays back to normal, you were surprised to find yourself still under the weather the day after Spencer had left you. 

Walking into your office, your body anticipated the fight, muscles tensing, heart beating, blood pumping as you opened the door to your office. Logically, you knew he wouldn't be there. He'd practically shouted it at you the Saturday before. But seeing the vacant desk left you angry once again. 

Tense for a fight, you couldn't stop pacing back and forth in your office as the hours ticked on. A small part of you had hoped that the activities you'd indulged in during the weekend - and indulged was the word for whatever it was you'd done - had simply been your over active imagination once again. 

But even though Spencer has cleaned you up to the best of his ability, had left you in your bed in fresh clothes and tucked under the covers, he couldn't erase the traces of himself on your skin or in your apartment. 

The files you'd both thrown around on the tables were still strewn haphazardly around, the tangle of last night's clothes still discarded suggestively in a line to your couch. He'd washed you up, sure enough, and you'd found a towel and wash cloth in your laundry basket the next morning, but he'd not done a thorough job and you found yourself washing all traces of your activities away from your inner thighs still. 

So, yes. You paced in your office, and you waged a silent war against the empty desk. 

The first week, you were sure they'd come to collect it, to move it elsewhere. 

After all, his time with you - with the university - was done. 

After two weeks, you started spreading yourself out across both desks, twisting them around into an inverted L space so you could roll your chair between the two of them. You stacked books on the stupid reminder of him, you used it as a dining table on late nights and short lunch breaks, you kicked your feet up on it as you read and acted as though it were yours and had never been anyone else's. 

And then you got angry enough that you unblocked Spencer Reid's number. 

You were raging and suffering this torment alone, and why should you be? You'd made a mistake with the case files, sure, but you'd been driven to it by his cockiness, his actions. You deserved the chance to make his life hell one last time as well. 

You took yourself home that night, wrapped yourself in a blanket and pulled your laptop in front of you, and unblocked his number. 

Immediately, you put the phone down and opened your emails. 

You'd take responsibility for the messages, sure, but you had not blocked his email. Searching through the files, you looked through your department database for his work email, searched your inbox for his messages, and came up blank. 

It took you two hours of traipsing through each email - admittedly, you'd probably signed up to one to many mailing list - just to be sure. You finally turned to your spam folder, and there it was. 

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered under your breath as you looked through ten emails. Ten emails from his FBI email account. No wonder they hadn't gotten throug, it was an unauthorised email on a company server. 

You only grew angrier as you read through the messages. 

“Y/N, I have reason to believe you have a file I need as soon as possible. Please message me back as soon as you get this. Spencer.”

“Y/N. I haven't received word from you in 24 hours. If there's something wrong, please reach out. If you're being stubborn, I hope you see reason. Spencer.”

“Y/N. I have your address. If you don't reply in the next four hours, I will be paying you a visit to collect the file myself. You have blocked my number and resisted adult conversation, and I am tired of playing these games. Spencer.”

Sick of playing games? 

From the man that had been playing jenga and scrabble with your bookshelves, that was absolutely rich. You may have worked out that nights frustrations with him easily, but you found yourself angry all over again.

You hadn't even checked your phone yet either, sure that he'd blown that up too until he figured out his number was blocked. 

He'd found your address. He'd practically stalked you to get what he wanted, and then he'd just washed his hands of you the night after? 

It had been a month, and you were still frustrated. 

Your stomach flipped, bike rising in your throat as your anger burned through you.

If he could find you, you sure as hell could find him. You'd assumed he'd found your address through work, and realised it was just as easy to find his as well.  

Before you could stop yourself, you were loading yourself into a car at 8 pm. and driving across the city to Spencer Reid's apartment. 

The red blurring your vision didn't fade until you sounded against his door and were greeted with an entirely too feminine “I'm coming!” 

The woman who opened the door was blonde and cute and sweet, and she had a wonderful smile. You were going to rip Spencer Reid's throat from his chest. 

“I-I’m sorry, I was told this is Spencer Reid's apartment,” you said, trying your best to disappear into the night.

“Oh, yes. Can I help you?” 

“No. No, I'm sorry, I- I don't need help.” 

You must've looked uneasy in that second because before you knew it, the woman was inviting you inside for a hot drink, taking your few seconds of hesitancy to push down your guards completely. 

“Spencer doesn't keep much here in terms of food, but I know there has to be some…aha! Coffee!” 

“No, thank you, really I'm alright, I should leave-” 

In another two minutes, she'd talked you into sitting down and had put a mug in your hands. In a miracle turn of events, you'd actually relaxed enough to take in your surroundings. 

It was like you'd stepped back into your work office. Spencer's apartment, or at least the main living space, was filled with books. There were stacks everywhere, the shelves alphabetised - obviously - and looking neatly chaotic. 

You wanted to examine everything, every picture, every trinket on the shelf, every weakness he had that you could exploit. You wanted to know him. 

“S-So,” you started, turning back to the woman who'd sat herself down in a chair opposite you, staring at you excitedly. “How long have you and Spencer been dating?” 

The woman spluttered her coffee before sending up a howl of laughter that had your cheeks heating. 

Okay. Misunderstanding. You were less pissed at Spencer, but only a fraction.

“Oh, god, the idea of me and the good doctor is incredibly ridiculous. No, it feels incestuous, actually. Really, like shivers down my spine type stuff.”

“So you're his sister?” You asked, even though you knew the answer. Spencer was an only child. You had spent three months with him, you knew at least that much about him. 

“I'm Penelope, I work with Spencer. He's on a case right now, and I came to find him a book.” 

“A book?” You asked again, taking another sip of your drink. Mistake aside, you felt comfortable sitting with her. The couch was comfy, the entire apartment was damn cosy, and it smelt….

Your spine straightened when you realised it smelt like he did, when you realised that thought was somehow a comfort to you. Your stomach had settled for the first time in a week, and the nausea leaving your body after four weeks of anger had made you sick. 

“Yeah, we've been working back to back cases, so he didn't have time to come back and pick up materials, so here I am as his little fairy godfriend to send him a care package.” 

You laughed gently and pulled your feet underneath you on the couch, curling up again. 

“He doesn't deserve you.” 

“What makes you say that?” Her face was open. Her tone was light  but you felt that you'd just walked into a trap. Even though Penelope had described her role on the team to you (not a profiler, not a big risk), you couldn't help but feel as though you were walking into a trap. 

“Well, he's… he's… You know the man better than I do, right? He's infuriating.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave you a smile but didn't say a word. 

“He's domineering. He thinks his way is the best way, he- he- he rearranged my bookshelves!” 

And my guts, you thought to yourself, holding your tongue just quick enough to not let that slip out. You still weren't sure where you stood on the sex. It was good. It was great. It was more than great, and yet you'd hated him until the very second he put his lips on yours, and you hated him again when you'd woken the next morning. Surely that meant that you'd still hated him while fucking him, that you'd just been temporarily blinded by lust? 

“Your bookshelves?” 

“At the university. Sorry, I- I didn't introduce myself, did I?” You told her your name, how you'd met Spencer and regaled her with tales of your office antics. 

“Penelope you, you should've seen the look on his face. It was priceless! Like a deer in headlights, his eyes were so wide, it was adorable,” you said, recounting the run-in with the student. 

“And then, infuriating man, he said he'd spent all day looking at me, but like, with the books-” 

You realised after five minutes of talking that Penelope had gone completely quiet, just grinning. Uncharacteristically quiet. You'd known her less than an hour, and you knew it was uncharacteristic for her to be so quiet. 

“So you hate him?” She asked, noticing your abrupt stop. 

“I- yes. Yes, I did. I do."

“It doesn't sound like you-” 

“We- we parted on really bad terms. I think. I took one of your files accidentally, and he was very angry, we both said some things-” And did some other things, you thought. 

“Things that I'm sure we both regret.” 

“Oh my god-” the other woman said, suddenly going wide-eyed and jumping up from the couch. 

“You're the- you're the reason he was late! He's never been late, never, apart from - well anyway he's never late but he was late and… oh Miss Y/N, you're not telling me everything!” 

“What? N-No, I don't know what you're-” 

“Luke owes me $20. This is wonderful. Look at me, I'm not even a fancy shmancy profiler or anything!” 

“Penelope please-” 

She heard the plea in your tone and sat down again, zipping her lips up and throwing away a non-existent key. 

“While we were…arguing, he accused me of having blocked his email, ignoring him on purpose. I found out today that he emailed from his FBI account and not his university email-” 

“So it was sent to your spam folder? Yeah, it happens all the time.” 

You shot her a tired look, and she repeated her action. Lips zipped, key thrown.

“I came here to….” To what? Fight with him again? See him again? To one up him? To kiss him again, feel his hands on you, feel his fingers inside of you, his tongue on your clit as you rode his face again, his hands around your throat as you came on his dick, as he blew his load inside you, filling you with his cum- 

“Shit.” 

“Shit? What's… what is shit, Y/N? Please enlighten me, because everything seems very not shit to me right now, other than the fact that I'm due a video call from our boy wonder soon and I haven't located this book yet.

You counted in your head and then recounted again as all the blood drained from your body. You didn't even want to acknowledge the fact that you'd come here just to see him again  using whatever old excuse you could find to get back into his arms (or more accurately, his bed). 

You counted, and you counted again until your brain fogged, and you couldn't even hear Penelope asking you if you were alright anymore. 

“Penelope, I- I think… Penelope, can you keep a secret?” 

“Yes, I can absolutely keep a secret. I'm a great secret keeper. Everyone says if you want a secret keeping, Penelope is your girl-” 

“Okay, that's- that's enough. I need to- shit, I need to go and get…” 

For the thousandth time since Spencer left, you stood up and started pacing. 

“Okay, now you're worrying me, friend I just made. Please don't freak out on me.” 

“I'm sorry, I'm going to freak out, I think I'm pregnant. Very much freaking out.”

All of a sudden, Penelope was up and pacing beside you. 

“Pregnant! With a baby? You think you're pregnant with a baby?”

“I don't see how I could be pregnant with anything else?” 

“You're sure?”

“No! I need a test or a sign from God or something.” 

The woman took a deep breath herself and then grabbed your shoulders, hauling you to her side. 

“Okay, breathe. You sit here, I’ll go pick up a test. Don't go anywhere and don't spiral. Rearrange the bookshelves of you must but don't. Leave. Okay?” 

You nodded, and she rushed out of the door in a whirlwind.

For at least ten minutes, you stayed completely still. It had been roughly seven weeks since your last period and 26 days since you and Spencer had sex. He hadn't pulled out. He hadn't worn a condom. He hadn't asked if you were on birth control. As much as you wanted to be angry, though, you hadn't told him to pull out. You hadn't stopped him and asked him to put on a condom, and if you were telling the truth, you enjoyed it all the more when he'd finished inside you. You'd forgotten that you'd gone off your birth control when you'd started your job, knowing that tenure came with health insurance and wanting to get the implant cheaper or included in your premium. 

What a brilliant plan.

Still, you weren't expecting this, and you were in a haze. 

Seven weeks. You'd missed a period, and you hadn't even noticed. 

You stopped spiralling when you paced into the bookshelves and started actually looking at the things laid about on his shelves. 

There were chess pieces, small rooks placed here and there, as if dropped and forgotten. Paper stuck out of the books at all different angles, and you noticed his looping scrawl on a few of them, his notes brief and indecipherable, but still bringing a faint smile to your lips. 

Then there were the pictures. There were a lot with an older woman you instantly recognised as his mother, and your heart softened as how they looked very protective of one another. Others showed him with his team, with Penelope, and a stern looking middle-aged man, two women, a happy looking, well-built man. There were weddings, faces that popped up here and there. There was a very young, very vulnerable looking Spencer playing chess with an older man. 

The room was filled with family, and you couldn't stop the tears from welling up in your eyes as you took in how much Spencer could love. 

He cared, and he cared deeply, and there were all these people in his life that enjoyed being around him. And he hated you. 

Your heart sank, and you were about to leave when Penelope appeared again, test in hand and gently pushed you into the bathroom. 

You took the test and waited. Penelope waited beside you, clutching your (clean) hands in hers as she talked you through her day, distracting you in the only way she could.

But your brain resisted everything, focused only on how you were about to grow a family with a man you knew didn't enjoy your company. 

“What am I going to do, Penelope?” You whispered, suddenly afraid of what your future looked like. 

“I can't - I can't raise a baby with a man that doesn't love me the way-” 

You ran a hand through your hair, biting your tongue quickly. 

“You don't have to answer me, but is it… is there a chance it could be Spencer's?” 

You nodded before you could even think of lying, too wrapped up in your mental to-do list building up and up and up. 

“It could be negative? This could just be panic and stress and-” 

You heard the alarm you'd set for the test go off and jumped up, sprinting into the bathroom. 

Two lines. What did two lines mean? Two lines meant baby. 

Baby. You were having a baby. 

“Y/N, what does it say?” Penelope asked from behind you. 

“It's… I'm…shit.” 

She came up behind you and looked herself, cursing the same way you did as she watched you for your reaction. 

There was a baby. You were going to have a baby. 

Okay. You could have a baby. You could bring a baby into this world. You just had to figure out how, and write a to-do list, and avoid telling your boss until you got tenure, and tell your parents, and tell Spencer. 

Spencer. 

You had to Spencer. You collapsed to the ground, mumbling to yourself as Penelope fanned you with her hands, squeaking at your unresponsiveness. 

“Spencer…” you mumbled. “I have to tell Spencer.”

You blinked the fog out of your eyes and stood quickly, absent mindedly making a note to check if sudden movements were good for the baby or not. 

“Penelope, I need some help,” you said, moving to the living room and pulling our your phone. She trailed behind you, sending you a worrying look, and you thanked the heavens that you'd managed to run into the most forgiving angel of a woman on quite possible the best/worst day of your life. The jury waa still undecided. 

You snapped a picture of the shelves, and then, throwing your phone down, you started tearing each stack apart. 

Once you'd made a large enough gap in the stacks, you turned back to Penelope. 

“We're going to tell Spencer. Like this.” 

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