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cyber333angel · 3 months ago

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LUMBERJACK!LOGAN X FARMERSDAUGHTER!READER

the two of you would have met for the first time at your fathers house, logan introducing himself as a the new supplier for wood at your families barn. your dad was too busy to go out and buy wood so on a stroll through town he heard about a newcomer being good at exactly that. he shook your hand and he smiled at you, the most charming smile you have ever seen and you introduced yourself shyly as well. you were a little nervous for some reason, probably because you don’t see a lot of people living in the countryside especially handsome ones like this. you go off doing something else and after a couple more minutes of conversation your father calls you back to him and logan, telling you that you needed to show him around and tell him where to drop off the wood when it’s time for deliveries. smiling through your anxiety, you go up to him, “this way mr. howlett, uh this is the-“ and your cut off suddenly, “you can call me logan. no need for the formality.” and you nod, him dropping the professionalism made you feel a little more at ease. “oh alright logan, this way here is the horses stables.” chuckling at your insinuation of his name he watches you as you walk in front of him, white dress swaying side to side as you go farther throughout the land. the whole get-up looks gorgeous on you from head to toe, your little cowgirl hat that covers your braided plaits, the snug dress that hugs your curves and the brown cowboy shows to complete. from this first meeting he knew it was gonna be hard to work for your father, already looking at his daughter this way.

after a few weeks go by your aquatinted with logan, not exactly friends but you had small conversations everytime he came by. watching him as he loaded logs of wood into this shed looking handsome as ever working out like that, your little schoolgirl crush getting bigger at every sneaking glance you took. and one day your father had some business to attend to out of town leaving you alone, telling you to handle all deliveries and duties around the barn without him. so you spend all day taking over the work your dad usually does when you get a call, your dad telling you that logan would be coming in with a late delivery and to help him unload his truck. you were gonna be alone with logan, in your house that was empty, your mind was filled with thoughts but you quickly shooed them away. which was best because logan arrived at the gates thirty minutes later pulling into the driveway with a wave and the same charming smile as always, stepping out of the car in some red flannel and jeans. “hey kid, I see your stepping up to your old man’s jobs now huh?” he says chuckling and you smile walking to the back of his trunk, “yeah for today, ill leave it to you guys to carry pounds of wood every friday afternoon. splinters are not really my forte.” and logan grins, for the past couple of weeks of seeing glances of you during deliveries you weren’t doing manual labor like your father, mostly tending to the garden and taking care of the animals and he thought that naturalistic side of you was absolutely adorable.

you guys make usual small talk while hauling the logs of wood to the shed, dusting your hands. you get an idea to invite logan in after all this hard work, it’s only fair after all the heavy lifting and you both could use something to rejuvenate you. “um if your not busy after this would you want something to drink or eat before you hit the road?” you say, your anxiety creeping up a bit after doing something your not used to like inviting a someone into your home, one you have a crush on at that. logan nods rolling up his sleeves, “yeah thanks I would love a drink.” he says and you lead the way to the house, setting down at the kitchen. “umm we have some soda, water or juice? food wise we have leftovers from dinner yesterday, we could also make a sandwich or have the snacks in the pantry.” none of those really suite logans interest which makes him ask, “you got any beer?” and you think, remembering your dad keeps beer at the lowest part of the fridge, you grab one for him and you, going back and sitting at the island. “thanks kid.” making you smile with a quiet “no problem.” you watch logan crack open the beer with his teeth looking like he did this a million times before and you twist open the bottle with your hand, opting out on breaking your teeth.

the silence between you was very awkward as you trail your eyes at everything around you except logan, suddenly hearing him speak. “you don’t drink?” you look at him confused, his eyes pointing to the beer bottle that only has a sip taken from it. “no not really, it’s more for my dad. the taste is kind bitter to me, but i couldn’t let you drink alone!” you say with a giggle making logan smile as he takes another long swig at his drink. “well thanks for sticking around anyway. i also gotta ask how is it living on a barn miles away from civilization?” logan says poking fun at you once again, “it’s not that far, and it’s nice. very peaceful..although it’s too peaceful sometimes, there’s not many people to talk too out here other than when we go to sell crops.” he thinks for a moment, looking lost in thought as he comes up with a question that almost make you cough out loud. “so I take it that you don’t talk to many boys then huh?”the snarky question making you stare at him in awe, stuttering out an answer. “I have before if you must know, it didn’t go anywhere because he moved away.. but you already know I don’t talk to a lot of people which is s’kind of embarrassing, not having a relationship or a first kiss.. you probably have experienced all that already.” you say the relationship and kiss part quietly, not knowing why you said that in the first place thinking that sip of beer earlier had you out of sorts already.

the news of you not having any relationship was quite surprising to logan, you are such a pretty girl he thought guys would be lining up to date you. “it’s not embarrassing so don’t worry your head about that and sure I’ve had my share of..relationships but it’s nothing special as people make it out to be. if you want I can even help you with your little problem.” he hears himself get carried away with that last sentence, the damage being undoable as you try to think of he really said that. the older man that works for your father, really just said that? “really? you would kiss me?” of course he would kiss you, it’s taking a lot from him to not pounce on you right then and there. and logan just nods, scooting his chair back so you have space to sit. “yeah, come sit. it’s just a kiss.” he says patting at his lap with the beer bottle still in his hand, you hesitate but climb onto the seat making yourself comfortable on his legs. placing one of your arms around his neck for balance, waiting for his next move. “calm down bub your hearts practically beating out your chest.” he says chuckling and you just softly smile, embarrassed he can hear how nervous you are. “ready? don’t be so nervous, y’re okay, doing just fine already baby.” he says that as if that could make you any calmer, sliding his hand on your waist to make you come closer. you’re breathing so hard you could hear the breaths, closing your eyes trying to copy what the girls do in the romance movies you used to watch, and you feel your lips touch his. soft with a faint smell of beer, a very gentle kiss with his rough hand holding the side of your jaw.

you think to yourself how much more you crave from him, not only wanting his lips but it’s too late. he pulls away from the kiss to see you, looking around in your eyes to see if he wasn’t the only one that enjoyed it a little more than he should have. “lemme have a look at ya, how was it bub? hmm, was it good?” you chew the inside of your mouth staring at him, your chest heaving up and down as you try to come up with a way to ask for more. “it was great..” you say dropping your head to his chest, “would you be mad if I wanted t’do it again?” you say quietly, waiting for a response only hoping he wants it as bad as you, and he does, he wants even more than what your thinking of. your jaw is picked up by his hands as logan rests it on your cheek, looking at you so softly. “kid i could would never be mad at you, especially about something like that c’mere.” he says smiling into the kiss, this time going in deeper, sucking on your lips as if he wanted to eat you. beneath you, you feel something hard rising against your heat, pushing through logans jeans and up into your dress. you rub your thighs together trying to relief yourself from the throbbing sensation in your cunt from all this kissing but it doesn’t work, all your commotion alerting logan. “what happened down here bub?” he says rubbing his hand up and down your thighs, getting needier by the minute ypu snap and take logans hand, spreading your legs open and holding it in between your legs. “I need you to touch me lo..” you whine, a newfound nickname you gave him, probably resulting from how needy you were. this was all you needed to say to set him off, the position you were sat in, the pleading eyes and that goddamn sentence just now. he lifts you up wrapping your legs around his waist as he basically ravishes at your lips, growling at you through the kiss walking out the kitchen. “where’s your room?” he says looking like he’s on a mission and your bust out in giggles pointing him up the stairs to your room. you get you your bedroom and logan places you on the bed, you watch him as he takes off his shirt, still kissing you and traveling down all over your body. sucking and biting at your lips he spreads your legs in front of him, grabbing your underwear from underneath your dress and sliding it down your legs making you shiver. “I have to stretch you out a bit alright bub? come sit here.” he says motioning to you for the spot in between his legs, doing as your told you make yourself comfortable, not ever having done this before you let logan guide the way. he rests his hand on your waist, sitting behind you kissing your neck as his other hand travels down your pussy, his rough fingers coated in your slick just from the slight touch. “you really needed my help huh needy girl..” he says whispering, taking two fingers and spreading apart your folds looking at how wet you were. he pushes two digits in and you wince, his thick fingers already feeling so good you can’t even imagine how it would feel when he actually fucks you.

logan keeps thrusts his fingers in and out your cunt as you squirm around in his lap, stimulation sending you over the edge especially with the sweet whispers logan says in your ear. “atta girl, your swallowing up my fingers good bub..” praising you as you whine in his lap grabbing at his neck behind you, “s’enough now logan.. gon-gonna cum!” you say with a sob, you could feel how deep his fingers were stretching you, you could feel his thumb circling around your clit and you could only take so much. “good girl cum on my fingers..” and you do just that, coating his two digits with your mess, leaving a white ring at the base of his fingers. he has you out of breath, your head resting on his chest as you come down from the intensity. logan keeps you close to him, swaying a little back and forth letting you collect yourself, planting kisses on your neck as he slowly removes your white dress. taking the straps off and unzipping it, “up.” he says, wanting you to lift your arms and you do tiredly, you get up from his lap and lay down on your bed staring at logan. you watch as he unbuckles his pants, a bulge prodding and stretching the fabric of his boxers. “we’re gonna take it slow alright, if we go too fast you’ll get hurt so let me take care of you baby..” he’s says to you but you can barely hear, focused on his dick that is now out of his boxers standing tall, wondering if you were too confident and if you can even take all of him. he moves both your legs to be spread out on sides of his body, positioning himself in front of your cunt. “you ready?” logan asks you and you nod, earning a disapproving head shake from logan. “words bub, c’mon.” he says again tapping at your cheek, “yes m’ready logan!” you say, a certain huffiness in your tone just waiting for him to put it in. he pushes the tip of his cock in, already feeling a huge difference from his just his fingers, grunting above you. “fuck baby..so fuckin tight for me..” you can only sob in response, scratching at his back trying to brace yourself for taking in all his length. “hngh it’s s’really big lo!” you say, your body rocking against the bed as he thrust into you, slow strokes into your wet cunt making you feel every inch. “taking me so good sweet girl, so fuckin good..” he says kissing at your neck, being ever so gentle with you as he plows himself into your pussy, your messy cunt being heard all over the room. you feel a tremble in your tummy, the same feeling you got when you were stuffed with logans fingers just a few moments before. grasping at his back you look up at him with needy eyes, the older man locks eyes with you and it’s like he can read your mind. reaching his hand down to your achey cunt and rubbing your clit, he has you quivering under him with your legs shaking. “yeah you gonna cum for me baby hm?”

nodding at him suddenly you let out a gasp, feeling logan press down on your stomach as he’s fully deep inside you, the print of his dick showing in the pudge of your tummy. it makes you whine even more from all the pressure, closing your quivering legs in on his waist from the stimulation and the intense pressure as he snickers above you, “feels good huh bubba..” you cry when he hits that deep spot in you, your hands rushing to his abdomen trying to make him slow down. “w-wait logan please! that’s too much!” and he just smiles down at you, “move your hands, look your already taking me so well..your okay baby c’mon.” he says as you take your arms away hesitantly, the tears in your eyes rolling off your cheek onto the bed. “good girl, see?” taking one of his hands and grabbing the both of yours placing it at the top of your head making it harder for you to squirm, pounding into you as you begin to climax. “m’cumming logan..!” you slur out, unconsciously squeezing around logans length, “fuck me too baby.. give it to me c’mon.” he says wincing, loud squelches echoing in the room as you both cum together, hearing him growl above you feel him filling your hole, grunting as he makes sure you take all of it. you lay there on the bed catching your breath as you come down from your high, logan comes into your view holding your cheek in his hand rubbing it, “did so for me good pretty girl, you wanna get cleaned up?” and you nod your head tiredly, “mm yes please but can you do it for me lo..” you say, eyes already shutting down on you making logan smile, “sure kid.” he says picking you up, walking to the bathroom with you in his arms wondering how the hell is he gonna show up for work with your dad next week.

#logan howlett x reader <3 #wolverine x reader <3 #wolverine #logan howlett #logan smut #wolverine smut #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #im sorry this took so long tinkas

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pin-k-ink · 28 days ago

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(STEP)BROTHER KNOWS BEST ★ MIYA OSAMU & MIYA ATSUMU

DAY THREE ➵ with a new boyfriend every week, your stepbrothers are done watching you cycle through losers. now they’re hell-bent on showing you that the only guys you need are right under your nose. but as they pull you closer, you can’t help but feel there’s more to their plan than brotherly concern.

cw ➵ stepcést, obséssive behavior, gróping, making out, nípple play, blówjob, face fućking, fingéring, squírting, hanďjob, unprotected séx, dirty talking, manhándling, double penetration (same hole), cunnilíngus, clít slápping, praise kínk

wc ➵ 11.9k

kinktober masterlist

The last rays of golden sunlight slanted through the large front windows as Atsumu strolled up to Onigiri Miya. He squinted slightly against the glare, lips quirking up at the familiar sight of his twin methodically wiping down the spotless counters. Even after all these years, Osamu's meticulous habits never changed.

Atsumu rapped his knuckles against the glass door, grinning wider when Osamu's head whipped up in surprise. With a small shake of his head, Osamu flipped the sign to 'Closed' before turning to unlock the entrance. Atsumu didn't wait for any further invitation, slipping inside with the jingle of the overhead bell.

"'Tsumu," Osamu greeted, eyes slightly narrowed as he took in his brother's expectant expression. "To what do I owe this unannounced visit?"

Rather than answering directly, Atsumu let his gaze wander around the empty restaurant in an obvious searching sweep. "Y/N's not down here?"

Osamu sighed, hanging the sanitizing rag on its designated hook. Leave it to his twin to show up unannounced clearly angling to see their stepsister whom he'd been harassing Osamu about for weeks now. Trust Atsumu's one-track mind.

"She's upstairs," he admitted, already turning to lead the way towards the back stairwell. "Probably gettin' ready for another one of her dates."

The way Osamu sneered the last word wasn't lost on Atsumu. His own jaw tensed infinitesimally before he forced his expression back to nonchalance as he followed his twin's ascending footsteps. Though he could certainly relate to Osamu's ill-disguised vexation over your active social - and romantic - calendar as of late.

The closer they drew to the apartment door, the more Atsumu could smell the telltale fruity wafts of your favorite body mist - like a tantalizing, intangible siren's call pulling him onward. His throat went a touch too dry just imagining your sweet curves all dolled up and temptingly on display yet again. Despite his best efforts over the years, Atsumu had never been able to view you as just his little sister.

Not when every flutter of your dark lashes or absent twist of your hair could zap him right back to those wet dreams that used to leave him panting and covered in sticky shame.

The apartment door swung open to reveal the hallway dimly aglow in the buttery evening light. Atsumu followed Osamu inside, senses prickling as the ambrosial sweetness of your scent surrounded him from all sides now.

"Y/N? Hey, sis, where you at?" Osamu called out in that gruff yet soothing timbre of his.

A few beats of silence followed before your familiar wind-chime voice sang out in innocent reply, "In my room, 'Samu! You can come in."

The throaty, guileless warmth of your address hung like a caress in the air. Atsumu cut Osamu a loaded look, the dimple in his twin's cheek twitching in silent acknowledgment of the mutinous direction both their thoughts had undoubtedly strayed. Twins through and through, even now...

Clearing his throat, Osamu knocked perfunctorily before cracking open your bedroom door and leading the way inside. "We've got company for ya' tonight, bab—"

His graveled words cut off in a stunned rumble. Atsumu nearly walked right into Osamu's back, frozen beside his equally stupefied twin as they both took in the vision presented.

There you were in all your effortless glory, perched in the center of your bed with those shapely legs folded beneath you in a way that should be illegal. Loose tendrils of hair spilled over one bare shoulder, tumbling halfway down the swell of your breasts where they strained against the gauzy negligee. Its delicate lace neckline plunged in a tantalizing vee between the soft, pillowy mounds in a way that had both brothers' eyes riveted.

The ethereal glow of scattered fairy lights flickered across your features as you blinked up at them with those wide, doe-like eyes framed by devastatingly thick lashes. One fingertip was trapped between guileless teeth, lips parting on what might've been a shy greeting cut off before it began.

For an endless, electrically charged moment, the only sound in the room was the thunderous pounding of three sets of hearts in sync. You glanced between your stepsiblings in bewildered contrition, clearly mistaking their stunned silence for displeasure at your state of careless undress.

"Oh! You two startled me," you breathed out in that melting honey-syrup voice, shattering the trance. One dainty hand instinctively tugged at the sheer negligee, futilely attempting to preserve your modesty - an effort that only served to emphasized your lush curves all the more.

Osamu made a strangled noise low in his throat as his eyes followed the motion helplessly. Atsumu swallowed so hard his prominent adam's apple bobbed, struggling not to burn holes through the flimsy scrap of fabric with his stare.

It was you, ever the blithe, oblivious angel, who finally eased the taut tension with an effortless giggle and widening of those luminous eyes.

"I didn't think you'd be stopping by so soon, 'Tsumu! You should've told me you were coming over..." The words drifted from your lips in a breathless lilt as you glanced up at him through a fuzzy fan of mascara-laden lashes.

Atsumu felt his throat constrict at the picture you made - barely clothed in that sheer, scandalizing negligee, limbs arranged in that boneless, artfully tousled way that always drove him quietly mad with yearning. He drank in every minute detail like a man dying of thirst, from the tantalizing swell of your breasts straining against delicate lace to those plump lips you unconsciously worried between your teeth.

"You should've told me you were coming over..." you continued in that featherlight, velvety tone that conjured images of bedsheets and moonlight and slick flesh sliding against slick flesh—

Atsumu's nails dug harshly into his palms as a strangled noise lodged in his constricted airway. He couldn't tear his gaze away, utterly transfixed as your worried lower lip slipped free in a glistening pout.

"So I could've gotten properly dressed, that is."

The teasing trail of your words dropped into loaded silence, tension thickening with each passing heartbeat. Out of his peripheral vision, Atsumu watched Osamu's prominent adam's apple work furiously as he fought for composure. They both knew damn well you hadn't meant the seemingly innocuous remark as any kind of calculated flirtation - that was just your perpetually artless, wide-eyed way.

Still, something primal and undeniably ravenous roared to life in the pit of Atsumu's abdomen at your oblique suggestion of undressing...or remaining in that diaphanous state of undress just for the two of them. His blood turned to searing lava in his veins as his starved gaze traced the delicious bow of your kiss-swollen lips once more.

Beside him, Osamu cleared his throat in a transparent attempt to wrestle back control of the situation, the gravelly rumble shockingly loud in the electrically charged bedroom.

"Nah, don't mind us, sis," he managed in a strained timbre that couldn't quite conceal the hunger simmering beneath its outwardly nonchalant delivery. "We just swung by for a quick visit before Atsumu goes outta town for a few days."

Your features melted into an adorably crestfallen pout that had Atsumu physically aching to close the distance and soothe it away with his mouth, his hands, every inch of himself.

"Aww, you're leaving?" You swung those devastatingly long, ebony lashes up at Atsumu in such an overtly innocent yet molten look that he almost whimpered aloud. "I was hoping we could all spend some time together since it's been so long!"

Osamu made a choked noise of strained agreement as your form uncoiled from the bed in one sinuous, hypnotic movement. The filmy negligee fluttered and clung like a second, teasing veil with each swish of your hips as you padded towards them.

Atsumu's gaze was immediately, helplessly riveted to the gentle swaying of your breasts with each step, the dusky outline of your pebbled nipples teleporting visible through the sheer lace. He could scarcely swallow past the sandpaper thickness clogging his airway.

"Well, I guess that'll have to wait until next time," you murmured, rolling up onto your bare tiptoes to drape those soft, addictive curves against Atsumu's front.

He instinctively froze even as every fired nerve-ending screamed to wrap himself around your pliant form like the the possessive letch he was rapidly becoming. Your clean, feminine scent - all dewy wildflowers and sweet meadow grasses and rich summer soil - swamped his senses until he felt drunk and delirious with longing.

Somehow, Atsumu managed a shaky nod of acknowledgment, unable to dislodge the gravelly words clogging his throat. Thankfully, you seemed to lapse into blissful obliviousness once more as you pulled back, all bright smiles and ingenuous cheer.

"Well! I better go finish getting ready for my date tonight," you proclaimed with a cheery lilt. "I'll come out so you both can see the full look before I head out, kay?"

Atsumu blinked slowly as your lilting declaration finally filtered through the lusty fog swamping his consciousness. A muscle jumped in his tightly clenched jaw as the full meaning sank in - you were primping up to parade that sweet, tempting body around for some unworthy prick's consumption.

Beside him, Osamu remained rigidly still save for the vein pulsing treacherously at his temple, a sure sign of the barely leashed tension within. Atsumu darted a sidelong look at his twin, catching the fleeting, almost plaintive tightening around Osamu's eyes before it shuttered behind stony impassivity once more.

You seemed to take their loaded silence as assent, already slipping back towards the closet with an airy, "Ooh this is gonna look so cute, just you wait!"

Without conscious thought, Atsumu's hand shot out faster than a snake's strike to clamp around your delicate wrist, pulse jackrabbiting beneath his calloused fingers. The full-bodied flinch you tried and failed to smother tore through him like a serrated blade even as his hold refused to slacken.

"Wait." The single growled syllable hung in the air, pregnant with unvoiced yearning and that perilous undercurrent that you'd been so expertly ignoring for years now.

You glanced up at him with wide, impossibly lush lashes blinking in that infuriatingly artless way that sucker-punched both twins on a daily basis. "Yes?" The simple query was a breathy exhalation of warm, sweetly floral air ghosting across Atsumu's lips from scant inches away.

He swallowed hard, grip tightening fractionally as if seeking purchase in this delicate moment teetering between platonic innocence and forbidden yearnings. "This...date look," he all but growled, fighting to keep his voice measured yet strained with the effort. "Let's see whatcha got planned to wear first. Before you...get all finished up."

Your lovely features rearranged themselves into a small, winsome smile that gutted Atsumu to his core with its unvarnished charm. "You wanna preview?" you asked with mirthful surprise lacing your tone. "Well...I guess I could give my two favorite guys a sneak peek. If you insist!"

With that blithely teasing assent, you spun lightly on one heel to resume your path towards the closet, seemingly unaware or uncaring of the twin looks of heated hunger tracking your every swaying movement. A few beats of tense silence ensued, broken only by muffled rustlings and the harsh, shallow breaths both brothers fought to control.

The soft clearing of your throat finally pulled Atsumu from his lust-addled trance. "Okay," you sing-songed from somewhere within the closet's dimness, "promise not to laugh, 'k??"

Before either twin could formulate a response, you emerged with a series of coy, playful footstep tapping out a cadence that seized both men by their very roots. There you stood bathed in the candlelight's honeyed glow, coquettishly posed as if awaiting judgment from some superficial fashion panel.

Atsumu barely registered your hopeful expression as his stunned gaze drank in the scrap of flimsy fabric you wore like a taunting second skin. Satin and lace that hugged every lush, tempting curve in a way outlawed in several sovereign nations. The plunging neckline plunged criminally low, simultaneously displaying a salacious expanse of soft décolletage and emphasizing the gravity-defying swell of your breasts to dizzying effect.

A hundred lascivious scenarios blossomed behind Atsumu's glazed stare without permission. He envisioned how easy it would be to trail blazing, open-mouthed kisses down that tantalizing display of flushed cleavage, to let his seeking fingers cup and knead while staking his claim in lurid imprints of teeth and tongue.

The sharp intake of Osamu's breath beside him finally punctured Atsumu's trance, realizing all at once that his twin's blown pupils were similarly riveted to the same obscene vista of your body's hypnotic geography barely contained by scraps of scintillating fabric.

You shifted almost imperceptibly from one foot to the other, that simple adjustment making the silky material shimmer and cling even more lasciviously to trembling strips of bare thigh and the shadowed vee between. A small, bewildered pout graced your kiss-reddened lips as your glanced between the two of them uncertainly.

"You guys...don't like it?" The tiniest hurt lilt in your breathy address punctured straight through Atsumu's thundering heart. He couldn't bear that wounded look, not when you'd slipped on that salaciously sinful outfit precisely to entice and enchant the depraved bastard you were heading out to meet tonight.

The mere thought of some drunken asshole leering over and pawing your sweet curves in those scraps of indecent fabric flooded Atsumu's mouth with the acrid taste of possession and fury.

"We like it," he all but growled without thinking, voice gone low and rough with naked yearning. "We like it a little too fuckin' much if ya ask me..."

The loaded weight of Atsumu's hoarse admission seemed to detonate in the electrically charged space. Osamu sucked in a sharp inhale beside him, but remained tense and coiled like an unsprung trap.

You blinked those devastatingly innocent doe eyes, clearly missing the undercurrent thrumming through your stepbrothers' every fraught syllable and micro-movement. Your lovely features rearranged themselves into a brilliantly relieved smile that sent a visceral pang lancing through Atsumu's gut.

"I'm so glad!" you exclaimed in that melted honey voice, doe eyes sparking as you did an artless little spin.

The gauzy micro-dress swirled up in a tantalizing vortex, granting them both a molten glimpse of thighs and the lacy ribbons of your garter belt before resettling in obscene folds. You radiated the picture of youthful obliviousness - here was a stunning, sweetly curved delicacy utterly ignorant of her own potent allure.

It was enough to drive twin red-blooded males slowly insane with starvation-edged hunger.

Osamu cleared his throat with a gravelly rumble, somehow locating words through sheer force of will. "Uh...babygirl? Ya' really think that's such a good idea? Wearin' somethin' like..." he trailed off with a vague gesture that encompassed your scantily-clad form, "...that out in public tonight?"

You canted your head in that precious way, lower lip jutting out in a tiny pout. "What d'you mean? It's not that bad, right? Ken said he loves when I dress up all pretty like this!"

The unspoken implication that "Ken" was looking forward to peeling you out of those shreds of shimmering sin sent a pulse of molten rage roaring through Atsumu's veins. He instinctively stepped closer, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists at his sides to restrain the overwhelming urge to gather you up and spirit you away where no other sets of eyes could devour your sweetly curved sway.

"Yeah, well Ken sounds like a fuckin' asshole who can't be trusted," he bit out through gritted teeth. He refused to watch placidly as another in your string of disappointing bathroom-door-boyfriends used and discarded you after getting his greedy fill.

As if reading his turbulent thoughts, Osamu sidled up with liquid grace to flank your other side, effectively boxing you in with their larger bodies. "Baby, I know ya' like to look nice for the loser flavor of the week," he rumbled in that low timbre Atsumu knew burrowed straight between your thighs. "But dontcha think this is goin' a lil' too far? We're just lookin' out for ya' here..."

You rolled those sinfully lush eyes with the ghost of a smirk, not even seeming to register how the two of them were subtly coiled like restraints. "You guys don't have to worry about me sooo much! I can totally handle myself on a little date night," you chided with playful lightness. "Ken knows I don't put out on the first few dates. That's for sure!"

The petite emphasis on the last phrase shattered Atsumu's carefully maintained control. He surged forward with a savage snarl ripping up from his chest before Osamu could even blink, relentless palms slamming into the doorframe on either side of your head. Your startled gasp filled his senses like ambrosia, lips parting enticingly mere inches away.

"How many other assholes you plannin' on stringin' along for 'a few dates,' huh baby?" he growled, glaring down into those crystalline pools of bewildered innocence. Atsumu lowered his gaze meaningfully to the taut stretch of deep plum lace barely preserving your decency, watching in sadistic satisfaction as the delicate tip of your throat bobbed convulsively.

"I saw the panty drawer you keep tuckin' away all those crappy leftovers from your other shitty boyfriends - thongs, garters, fuckin' CROTCHLESS shit..." Atsumu bit off each crude word with relish, drinking in the delicious spill of carmine flooding those angelic cheeks.

"'Tsumu..." Osamu's warning rasp barely registered over the pounding rush of blood in Atsumu's ears.

He leaned in fractionally closer, letting his lower abdomen just graze yours with featherlight suggestion. Your eyes blew wider than saucers, lips trembling on a residual gasp that could have been either dismay or want. Atsumu couldn't tell which and found he didn't fucking care - his whole world had narrowed to the tantalizing flare of your nostrils and the pulse visibly thundering beneath your swan's throat.

"Get it through your sweet lil' head," he rumbled in that graveled bedroom purr he knew stopped your breath. "Ain't no man on this green earth gonna be tastin' and touchin' you the way 'Samu and I have dreamed of for years now, princess..."

The heavy silence that blanketed the room was near suffocating in its density. Osamu could taste the ripe undercurrents of yearning and forbidden hunger on his tongue like a fleeting phantasm. His gaze remained locked onto you - the living, breathing embodiment of sweet temptation barely contained in that scrap of indecent satin.

He drank in every minute detail with meticulous precision honed over years of coveting you from afar. The delicate bow of your lips, slightly parted around shallow pants that made your chest swell enticingly with each inhale. The feathery wisps of hair escaping your tousled updo to trail across one flushed cheek. Each and every curve clung to by gossamer fabric that somehow only amplified the raw allure and natural sensuality you exuded without even trying.

A muscle ticked in Osamu's rigid jaw as Atsumu shifted infinitesimally closer behind you, radiating smoldering covetousness. His palms drifted up from their perch at your waist, flexing possessively against the soft give of your ribcage in a way that made Osamu's chest constrict.

You shivered bodily at the undisguised intimacy of the caress, plump lower lip getting worried fetchingly between your teeth. Osamu's focus immediately zeroed in on the subconscious invitation of the act, recalling with perfect clarity the myriad times he'd lain awake fantasizing about capturing that lush pout between his own and tasting your quiet need for himself...

Atsumu's smug rumble shattered the ripe moment as he leaned in to nuzzle that sharp jaw against the elegant arch of your throat. The sheer sin of the gesture - of so blatantly scenting and marking his claim upon you - caused a visceral flare of heated possession to spike through Osamu's veins.

"Keep tellin' yourself this latest loser-in-a-long-line is somethin' special if ya' want, babygirl," Atsumu growled in that low rasp that Osamu knew curled straight between your thighs with blistering accuracy. "But I got a thousand yen says that dickhead's already picturin' his bare dick rubbin' between these sweet tits while you're all dolled up for him..."

Twin roses of feverish color blossomed across your cheekbones at the vulgar words, one of Atsumu's broad palms cupping your breast in a leisurely caress - as if its weight and fullness belonged cradled against his calloused fingers. You trembled like a newborn faun from the blatant possession.

But even as Osamu's gaze drank in the ripe exhibition of Atsumu's crude veneration, a new resolve steeled behind his ribs. He couldn't allow his twin to monopolize your focus and reactions, couldn't bear the thought of you slipping any further under Atsumu's spell when his stake was equally branded into your mind...

Silently tracking the agitated rise and fall of Atsumu's throat, Osamu considered his next calculated gambit. You were far too precious to squander any longer on these disastrous dalliances that devastated your tender heart over and over and over again. Far too magnificent to allow some unworthy cretin's hands to sully or possess even a moment of your sweet attentions.

Which left only one inexorable conclusion: he and Atsumu would simply have to thoroughly convince you of that themselves - mind, body, and soul. No further delays, no more playing the part of passively smitten observers. Tonight was the breaking point where they finally claimed you for their own with no more false platitudes.

No matter what it took, you would abandon that foolish date and all the cheap facsimiles that had only feebly approximated Osamu and Atsumu's all-consuming desire all these long, torturous years. Once and for all, you would be thoroughly disabused of any remaining delusions.

The full scope of Osamu's resolve must have filtered through his body language, because a frisson of unease abruptly rippled across your features even as rapture still hooded your gaze. Those mercurial eyes flashed up to meet his own burning stare of sin-edged promise as your fingers crept up to self-consciously toy with the neckline of your lurid dress.

"'Samu...?" The tiny querulous quaver in your voice made Osamu's throat constrict painfully. You looked so unbearably sweet and demure yet wanton all at once - the perfect heady blend that had driven both him and his twin to the brink more times than either could count.

Unable to restrain himself a moment more, Osamu surged forward with liquid grace. He cupped the soft plenitude of your cheek with a calloused palm, thumb caressing the anxious flutter of your pulsepoint as your guileless gaze bored into his. So much naked, vulnerable trust in those luminous depths despite the forbidden territory they now roamed...

"Shh, babygirl," Osamu managed to rasp past the scorching knot in his throat. His silvery eyes roved over your features with ravenous precision before letting his stare trail down to more southerly territory. "I know ya' think you've moved on from needin' either of us in that way. But that's alright..."

Osamu allowed his roaming hand to dip lower, fingertips skimming the sumptuous curve of your breast in a feather-light tease that had your eyes fluttering shut. A tremor shuddered through your slight form, causing the gossamer fabric of your dress to rub against your nipples in excruciating friction. The resulting punched-out whimper made Osamu's cock throb insistently, already aching to hear you keen for them as no other.

"We sure as hell haven't moved on from wantin' ya'," he growled against the velvety galaxy of your cheek as Atsumu groaned his concurrence from behind.

Osamu's confession felt like it detonated in the space between your bodies, the raw timbre of his words detonating against your heated skin in visceral waves. You instinctively shivered at the undisguised yearning scorching across that graveled declaration. It seemed to caress every sensitized nerve-ending, stoking insistent tendrils of answering need low in your belly.

Before you could even think to muster a stuttered reply, Atsumu rumbled his own heady agreement in that sandpaper baritone that never failed to splinter your composure. The reverberations shuddered against the ultra-sensitive strip of skin along the nape of your neck where his lips damn near grazed in a searing tease. You could feel the whisper-soft rasp of his exhalation feathering across your flushed epidermis with each panted breath, raising chill after delicious chill.

A violent tremor wracked your form at the dual overload of their overwhelming presences entirely bracketing you in from both sides. The indisputable proof of their smoldering desire felt like a physical force, utterly inescapable even if you'd possessed the will to flee this rapidly thickening miasma of temptation.

Dimly, you registered Osamu's rough palms cupping your jaw in an achingly tender yet inexorably possessive hold. His pewter gaze remained locked onto your features with an inscrutable, raptor-like intensity - as if meticulously cataloging every minute shift of emotion flickering across them. As if committing the exquisite artistry of your discomposure to permanent memory.

You felt incredibly small yet...cherished in that breathless moment between your stepbrothers. Despite the tangible undercurrent of primal want you could all but taste pulsing and crackling in the heated air, their combined physicality and nearness still enveloped you in a discordant sense of utter safety too. As if you remained untouchable - a revered treasure to be exalted or surrendered to reverent hands alone, with no other outcome even remotely permissible.

Osamu's piercing stare lasered downward, meticulously tracking every miniscule part and quiver of your lips. You couldn't be sure through the lusty haze fuzzying your senses, but you were fairly certain his pupils expanded fractionally as your pink tongue instinctively flicked out to wet them. His prominent adam's apple bobbed convulsively, the clenched ridges of his jaw shifting beneath his tawny skin as you watched him visibly struggle to restrain himself.

The tip of his calloused thumb stroked one maddening circle against your tingling skin before unexpectedly drifting lower to trace the plump curve of your lower lip in a molten caress. Your breath strangled in your constricted throat at the unmistakable claiming possession of the action. Osamu's quicksilver stare remained riveted to your parted mouth, utterly transfixed as he unhurriedly mapped its trembling shape and glistening give.

For several agonizing heartbeats, the only sounds permeating the heavy quiet were your shared, harshly indrawn breaths intermingling in the charged space between. You longed and dreaded in equal measure for Osamu to finally break the suspense, certain whichever filthy confessions he finally unleashed would undoubtedly scorch like a brand.

At last, his deep timbre sliced through the ripe tension in a ragged, gravel-rough rasp. "Y'know, baby...there were so many nights after leavin' your bed where I had to slip away and take matters into my own hands. Just to stay sane after bein' surrounded by you—sweet, soft, and so fuckin' unconsciously tempting..."

Osamu's eyelids practically drifted shut, pewter irises disappearing behind a smoky veil as he indulged in whatever vivid reminiscences your nearness summoned. You felt the trembling beginnings of a delicious shudder start outward from your solar plexus at his blatant implication. The blunt rasp of his voice caressed every tingling nerve like a brand, making your lungs constrict with effort.

"Had to lock myself away..." he continued in that sandpaper timbre that burrowed straight to your molten core. "'Til I could come with your name on my lips and pretend for just a second that it was you and not my own fist wrapped around my cock, milkin' me dry."

A desperate whimper very nearly shredded free of your parted, panting lips as a fresh blaze of slick heat roared between your clenching thighs. You shamelessly canted your pelvis against the merciless wall of Atsumu's front in a useless bid for friction, for release, for...something.

Osamu's rugged features etched themselves into a semblance of a pained smirk at your helpless reaction, sensing your imminent unraveling with predatory precision. It only made his stare rake across your features with that much more unhurried, heated savoring.

"Or sometimes..." he ground out after a beat, voice rough yet unraveling into something lower and thicker with carnal recollection. "Sometimes I'd picture you still curled up against me in that sweet little nighty of yours, so warm an' soft..."

That shudder broke free in full force then, rendering your entire form trembling like a leave in a gale. Osamu allowed the calloused pad of his thumb to resume tracing the shape of your parted lips almost absently as he descended into this shadowed reverie.

"Could damn near feel how it'd be..." he rasped, pewter gaze molten and unblinking as it continued devouring every twitching nuance of your rapt features. "...to have you close enough to breathe in deep while I got myself off to the thought of sinkin' into that perfect, tight little—"

"Osamu." Atsumu's single bitten utterance from behind you landed like a thunderclap in the scorching quiet. His deep baritone carried unmistakable notes of reproval...and yet undeniable want too. As if he were berating Osamu for succumbing to such feral depravity yet still savoring every lurid syllable regardless.

The brusque sound of your stepbrother's voice jolted through you like an electric shock after the thick,molasses-paced obscenities dripping from Osamu's lips. You blinked hazily, only then realizing you had devolved to shamelessly writhing against the scorching planes of Atsumu's unforgiving front in wordless, wanton entreaty.

Osamu seemed to relish both your and his twin's reactions in equal measure. His lips curved into a practiced smirk - part self-deprecation, part primal male arrogance at reducing you to such a dissolute state. That piercing pewter stare stayed locked onto your dazed features as he ran the very tip of one callused digit around the gasping, swollen shape of your mouth.

"Better be careful there, baby sis," he gritted out in a gravelly tone that somehow sounded unhurried yet rougher around the edges,as if spiraling towards that precarious edge of control. "Y'keep temptin' us with those pretty lips of yours much longer and one of us is like to finally snap and fu—"

"Enough." Atsumu's low command cut through the thick, desire-hazed miasma shrouding the room like a knife. The razor-edged utterance had an immediate sobering effect, seeming to splinter the fevered tension into something darker yet no less molten.

You turned your bemused stare up towards him, following the simmering weight of his glowering regard as he leveled it towards Osamu. Atsumu's expressive features had taken on an almost feral set - upper lip curled into the slightest of snarls, russet eyes blazing from beneath lowered brows, the sharp ridges of his jaw clenched until they strained against the tawny skin.

Osamu met his twin's look of mute challenge head-on, lips twisting into a semblance of a sneer. "Got a problem, 'Tsumu?" he drawled in a deceptively nonchalant rasp laced with undisguised provocation.

You couldn't help the instinctive tremor that skated down your spine at the sheer predatory undercurrent suddenly charging the air between them. It was almost as if some unspoken gauntlet had been thrown - two apex predators silently squaring off to determine pack hierarchy in your presence.

The thought should have been unsettling instead of sending fresh tendrils of yearning licking through your veins. But you found yourself utterly transfixed, pinned between their uncompromising physicality and slowly circling intensity.

Atsumu's palm settled over your lower abdomen once more in a scorching, proprietary caress, his solid heat all but searing against your back through the thin layers between you. "Think I got a pretty big problem with you talking to our girl like that, runnin' that filthy mouth of yours," he practically purred in that honeyed rasp yet underscored by sharpened steel.

His grip tightened imperceptibly, forcing you to crane your neck and meet the blazing molten regard he turned on you next. For a suspended moment, the whole world seemed to narrow to the three of you coiled in shared tension and intoxicating promise.

"Don't listen to him, pretty thing," Atsumu breathed against the fragile shell of your ear, words whiskey-rough yet somehow dripping with honeyed persuasion too. "Ain't nobody gonna touch you but me and 'Samu from now on, you hear? Say it and I'll prove just how good we aim to treat our sweet girl..."

A shuddery exhalation stuttered from your parted lips before you could stop it - an exquisite combination of delirious anticipation and dawning unease. Despite the electric promise and undisguised possession dripping from his every word, you still couldn't shake the feeling of teetering on a precipice overlooking unknown depths.

Which was likely why Osamu chose that highly-charged moment to snake one broad palm around the elegant curve of your hip, anchoring you to him with blatant ownership and disrupting his twin's attempt at dominance.

"Don't go pullin' that syrupy sweet-talkin' bullshit on our girl," Osamu cut in with a rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate straight through your intertwined forms. "She knows damn well I've had first claim on that pretty mouth for years, don't you babydoll?"

His quicksilver stare pinned you with laser-focused intensity despite directing his sneering challenge towards Atsumu. You instinctively shivered at the knowledge of what searing, heart-stoppingly explicit confessions were poised to tumble from those chiseled lips once more.

"In fact," Osamu drawled in that hoarse, midnight timbre that snagged like barbs in your soul, "I seem to recall tellin' you every lil' fantasy I used to have about slippin' this fat di—"

Atsumu's snarling interruption shattered the baiting quiet before Osamu could unleash the full depraved scope of where his thoughts strayed. "Like I told ya' to shut that lying mouth before, asshole!"

His prominent adam's apple bobbed convulsively as he visibly fought for control, taut forearms tensing where they encircled you from behind. You felt utterly caught between them, riding the cresting tempest of their volatile struggle for dominance.

The only sounds were the harsh, intermingled rasp of three sets of harsh breaths for numerous charged moments. Then Atsumu shifted behind you, radiating menace and possession as he pressed a series of searing, bruising kisses along the fragile arch of your throat in stark counterpoint to his next vicious whisper.

"Bet that pretty brain of yours never even imagined the kinda racy fuckin' dreams you started hauntin' my sleep with, huh babygirl? Me picturin' every lush inch of you spread out an' beggin' while I finally got to bury this cock so deep inside—"

The filthy, blunt confession dangled unfinished in the simmering ether between you like a taunting lure. Atsumu pulled back far enough to pin you under the crucible of his searing, animalistic stare - all mottled color high on his chiseled cheekbones and wild, blazing hunger crackling behind rusted amber irises.

You remained utterly suspended between them, trembling full-bodied from the force of his carnal words yet rooted in place by Osamu's defiant, unbreakable tether at your hip. Their dynamic gravitated between bitter rivalry and seamless tandem in a way that rendered you thoroughly disoriented.

Then Atsumu seized your nape in a shockingly authoritative grip, wrenching your mouth up to fiercely clash with his in a punishing, rapacious kiss filled with teeth and tangling desperation. You moaned into the blistering possession unbidden, overcome with dizzying sensation and relief at finally sating this long-simmered craving for his claiming mastery.

Just as quickly, the rough ecstasy was torn away as Osamu snarled and wrenched you bodily in the opposite direction to crush his lips against yours in an equally all-consuming brand of furious passion.

You gasped into the blazing tangle of their frenzied kiss and groping hands as if drowning, only to be dragged up for desperate air once more by the demanding slant of Atsumu's mouth. His broad palms branded searing trails down the shivery planes of your back and lower, clenching handfuls of yielding flesh in a way that made you whimper against his lips.

"A-Atsumu..." you managed to stutter dazedly when he finally allowed a scant exhale. "Osamu, I...I can't—"

The rest of your plaintive entreaty shattered into silence as Osamu seized you by the hips, spinning you in one sinuous motion to crash against his solid wall of heat. You barely registered the low, guttural rumble that shuddered through his sculpted chest before he was devouring the gasping shape of your lips with reinvigorated fervor.

Your hands scrabbled across the flexing hardscape of his back, desperately trying to anchor yourself in the midst of their warring, rapacious possession. This only seemed to inflame Osamu's intensity as his calloused palms roamed lower in blatant defiance, cupping and squeezing with fiery possession until you keened into his demanding kiss.

"You hear that, 'Tsumu?" he panted against your swollen mouth in a gore-edged rasp. "She wants us both so goddamn bad, don't even try to pretend otherwise..."

His next words devolved into a filthy growl as Atsumu's brutally possessive grip abruptly wrenched you backwards once more, leaving you floundering in their lust-drunken vortex. Before you could even gasp his name in feverish entreaty, Atsumu's mouth slanted over yours in another thorough plundering.

You could only keen his name in wanton surrender, hands fisting in the soft strands at his nape as you gave yourself over to his merciless onslaught. Atsumu growled in primal victory, his clever tongue delving to taste every salacious inch as if branding you, ensuring you never again forgot whose mastery you belonged to.

Osamu rumbled a provocative scoff at this display, clearly relishing in igniting his twin's carnal possessiveness. The maddening temptation of his warm, sinewy form crowded against your back, reminders of his own dominion in the form of slow, smoldering caresses along your waist and lower.

When Atsumu at last tore his mouth from yours, you could barely draw coherent breath. Gazing up at his leonine features awash in a haze of lusty triumph, you finally found the threads of your voice.

"Please..." you breathed in trembling entreaty. "I don't want to choose between you. I need...I need you both so bad, can't you see that?"

The naked nakedness of your confession seemed to strike them both like physical blows. For a suspended moment, the only sounds were your shared, harsh respirations intermingling in the charged air. Then...the subtlest nod of mutual, silent understanding passed between the twins over your shoulders.

You registered the taut lines of Atsumu's body relaxing fractionally as Osamu pressed a series of lingering, ardent kisses along the fragile arch of your throat and jaw in a searing trail. When you craned your neck instinctively to allow him greater access, you caught a glimpse of their shared look of simmering revelation.

"Think we're finally seein' it too, babygirl," Atsumu rumbled in a tone gone lower and thicker with dawning wonder. You shivered at the gravelly timbre that never failed to lick molten trails straight between your thighs. "You were always meant to be ours...for both of us to treasure and ruin in the way only we can."

Osamu's deep, gravelly hum of agreement seemed to reverberate through your very core where you were pressed flush against the solid wall of his chest. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back, the scorching brand of his large, calloused hands as they mapped every sumptuous curve in a series of leisurely caresses.

From behind, Atsumu crowded in closer still - the searing wall of his equally muscular frame enveloping you in a way that should have felt confining yet only amplified your yearning. The crisp, masculine scent of him surrounded you in an intoxicating wave, making your head swim dizzily.

"Fuck, you feel so goddamn good against me like this, babygirl," Osamu rasped in a whiskey-rough timbre against the fragile shell of your ear. "Like you were made to fit perfectly in our arms...in our bed."

A violent shudder rippled through you at the naked possession and unabashed promise lacing his deep voice. Before you could formulate a breathless reply, Atsumu's low rumble from behind undercut the intimate moment with a flash of his typical aggravating bravado.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get too fuckin' cocky," he growled, the verbal jab neutered by the undulation of his hips subtly grinding against the swell of your backside. "Seems like you're forgettin' we agreed to share what's ours now."

You whimpered at the unmistakable hardness insistently nudging against you - a bluntly carnal reminder of the delirious temptation they collectively represented. Your head lolled back in helpless abandon to rest against the sturdy juncture of Atsumu's shoulder and throat. Osamu's pewter stare remained riveted to your features, silver irises blazing like polished agate as you blinked back at him in a haze of lust and wonder.

"Don't go gettin' distracted already," he chided in a murmured tone thick with promise, adjusting his secure grip to pull your lower bodies into even more insistent alignment. "We got one very important question to settle first with our sweet girl here..."

Osamu angled his chiseled jaw until his hooded gaze pinned you beneath the potent smolder of its focus, holding you utterly transfixed. His tongue slicked out to wet his lower lip in an unconscious, innocently provocative gesture that had your mouth going cotton-dry.

"Ya want this, pretty thing?" he rasped in that gravel-rough timbre that never failed to lick straight between your thighs with unerring accuracy. "Ya really want 'Tsumu and me to go ahead and take what's ours...make you completely ours at long last?"

You could only mutely nod at first, hypnotized by the searing glint of sin-edged yearning blazing behind his steady regard. But then Atsumu's low, filthy chuckle gusted across the back of your neck, raising delicious gooseflesh in its wake. His clever fingers traced idle, illicit patterns from your hip up towards the vee between your breasts in a teasing cadence that had your thundering pulse kick into a staccato gallop.

"That ain't gonna cut it, babygirl," he tutted in mock reproval. "Need to hear ya' say it... Tell us how goddamn bad you wantin' those pretty lips stretched wide around both our cocks."

The crude, shockingly vulgar words should have appalled you. Should have registered as too far, too depraved to be uttered in civilized company. But they only seemed to detonate a white-hot geyser of molten arousal low in your belly. A helpless, needy noise slipped free before you could stifle it.

"Yes!" you rasped in a desperate, thready exhalation. "Gods, yes...I need you both so badly my entire b-body aches for it."

Osamu swallowed the rest of your fevered confession in a branding, soulsearing kiss that curled your very toes. His questing tongue swept between your lips in a sinuous glide of satin against satin to taste and savor every keen and mewl you willingly offered up.

From behind, you could feel Atsumu's own self-satisfied growl of rapture reverberating against the tender knobs of your spine as his deft fingers trailed an invisible path down your sides to span your hips in a scorching grip. Then he was bodily grinding the rigid length of his cock against the swell of your ass in undisguised possession and dark promise.

You nearly unraveled from the exquisite sensation, arousal detonating in an aching conflagration that very nearly whited out your vision. Atsumu swallowed your garbled sob of sheer need with another merciless slant of his sinful lips against the frantically thundering pulse at the juncture of your throat. The leisurely study of his wicked tongue and teeth left you reeling.

"Soon, babygirl," he purred against your sensitized skin between open-mouthed, branding caresses. "Gonna make you sing so fuckin' pretty for us soon..."

Then Atsumu suddenly spun you to face him, gripping you with inexorable command. You whimpered at the abrupt loss of Osamu's heated imprint, seeking him instinctively even as your stepbrother hauled you against his hulking frame once more. Atsumu's blazing stare pinned you with dark promise for a suspended beat, thumb drifting up to trace the swollen-slick curve of your lower lip.

That searing look of untempered possession flickered briefly to Osamu before returning to scorch you. "'Samu an' I both aim to take our time and treat you right, sweet thing. Make sure you're nice and ready for the main event..."

Your mind swirled in a lust-drunken haze, trying desperately to reconcile his sudden shift into something almost...protective. His russet irises burned into yours with fierce possessiveness as he slowly, deliberately dipped his calloused fingers beneath the elastic band of your lacy panties.

"Wh-What’s the main event?" you managed to stutter, though your breath had turned choppy and erratic.

Osamu's warm, rough palm encircled your nape, drawing your attention back to his own uncompromising expression. Something akin to dark male appreciation simmered behind his hooded eyes, though a hint of concern threaded his next husky utterance.

"What my idiot twin is tryin' to say is, we're both damn well-endowed. Don't want it hurtin' when we fuck this pretty little pussy of yours so good. Gonna stretch and get ya' ready, alright babydoll?"

Your brain short-circuited, unable to process the sheer, carnal scope of the picture his words conjured. Before you could formulate a reply, Osamu's chiseled lips captured yours in another toe-curling, soul-baring kiss. Atsumu's own hands occupied themselves with slowly, meticulously peeling your panties down the curve of your thighs until they pooled around your ankles.

"That's it, sweet girl, just give yourself over to us," he growled against the shell of your ear, deft fingers dancing lightly across the exposed skin of your hips. "'Samu and I got ya'..."

Then he was dragging you backwards into the solid wall of his furnace-hot chest, calloused hands skimming reverently along the silken skin of your thighs. You could only moan into Osamu's plundering kiss as those clever fingers danced higher, trailing a searing path through the soaked folds of your aching sex.

Atsumu's rasping, approving chuckle seemed to vibrate right through you, his broad palms sliding down the flare of your hips and inner thighs in an excruciating tease. You bucked instinctively against his torturous touch, only for him to wrench your hips back against the unyielding steel of his own.

"So fucking wet for us already, aren't ya'?" he crooned darkly in that honey-thick rasp against the back of your neck. "Can't wait to see just how much you can take..."

The blunt edge of his thumb slid past the soaked folds of your outer labia, dragging the wetness towards your clit in a slow, maddening circle. You moaned into the devouring sweep of Osamu's mouth at the sensation, trembling full-bodied as the ache intensified low in your belly.

"Such a pretty little mess we got," Osamu crooned in a throaty murmur.

His fingers threaded through the strands of your hair, gently but firmly anchoring your head in place. He broke the kiss just enough to speak, the words hot against your parted lips. "Open that pretty mouth and suck on these for me, babydoll."

Your lashes fluttered in a haze of delirium, but you complied automatically. His fingers slipped past your lips and teeth, the tang of his salty skin exploding on your taste buds. Atsumu's deep, filthy chuckle rumbled against the delicate knobs of your spine as his hand continued its lazy, tormenting ministrations.

"You heard our girl," he practically purred in a voice gone impossibly deeper with want. "She's hungry for it. Bet she can't wait to take her fill..."

Your head fell back in helpless abandon, lolling against his sculpted chest. Osamu's eyes darkened with undisguised desire as his fingers began to gently pump in and out of your mouth, the rough pads stroking the silken contours in a mimicry of a far more intimate act.

You whimpered around the thick digits, sucking eagerly until they were coated in saliva. When he pulled them away, glistening trails of liquid linked them to your parted lips like gossamer threads.

"Good girl," he breathed with unmistakable approval, a roguish grin splitting his lips as he caught his lower lip between his teeth. "Now why don't ya' go ahead and show 'Tsumu how sweet you can be."

Your stomach clenched in a wave of dizzying anticipation, gaze flicking uncertainly to the twin at your back. He must have caught the subtle motion, because the next instant, his palm was tilting your chin to the side and his mouth was devouring yours in a claiming kiss that left you utterly senseless.

"C'mon, babygirl, let 'Samu watch just how much you want me," he murmured against your swollen mouth, the words barely registering in your lust-drunk haze.

You could feel the hard press of his erection nudging against the swell of your ass even through the denim barrier separating you. Then the heat of his hands was lifting you, spreading the yielding globes of your thighs to bracket his own. You instinctively clung to his biceps for balance, the muscles flexing deliciously under your grip.

"Oh, gods," you whimpered, the raw, hoarse plea barely recognizable.

He'd dragged the hem of your dress higher until the fabric bunched around your waist, leaving you completely exposed. You felt his hands cup and squeeze the supple flesh, the sensation amplified tenfold without the shielding barrier.

Atsumu's lips curved into a leonine smile of pure masculine satisfaction against the curve of your throat. "There's a good girl," he rasped, his breath gusting warmly against the rapidly beating pulse point there.

Osamu's pewter gaze remained riveted to where your bodies were molded together, his own arousal evident in the rigid jut of his jeans and the way he'd unconsciously wet his lower lip. He was still close enough that the intoxicating scent of his cologne seemed to saturate the air around you, mingling with Atsumu's clean, woodsy musk.

"Think we can do better than good, 'Tsumu," he drawled, voice gone hoarse and guttural with want. "I'm thinkin' our girl here wants us to show her exactly what kinda pleasure she's in for."

You watched as Osamu sank down on his knees before you, the position leaving him eye-level with the most vulnerable part of you. You could only shudder at the sensation as his warm, rough palms settled on the backs of your thighs, the coarse brush of his stubble a heady contrast as he leaned forward.

"Hold her still for me," Osamu growled in a voice gone impossibly deeper, and you were certain that you'd combust.

"With fuckin' pleasure," Atsumu muttered, the words a sultry rumble against your neck.

Then the hard ridge of his cock was insistently grinding against the exposed flesh of your backside, his grip anchoring you in place for his twin's ministrations. The air punched from your lungs in a harsh gasp as Osamu's hot, slick tongue finally swiped a sinuous line between the folds of your core.

You could feel the vibration of his answering groan all the way through the tender walls, the sensation heightened by the calloused pads of his thumbs dragging along the seam where your thighs met. His dark head angled slightly, the tip of his nose nudging at the swollen bundle of nerves above.

"Fuck, you're sweet," Osamu groaned, his eyes flicking up to pierce yours with molten intensity.

You could only whimper, head spinning in an erotic haze as he continued his thorough exploration. He seemed to revel in every gasp and shudder that wracked your frame, every involuntary jerk and twitch against his questing tongue.

"How's she taste?" Atsumu asked in a dark rumble, his grip tightening fractionally on your thighs.

"Like fuckin' heaven," Osamu replied without hesitation, his tongue continuing its languid sweep along the length of your slit.

He punctuated the words with a deliberate swipe of his tongue around the entrance, probing slightly before repeating the motion. The slow, decadent pace was driving you mad with want, but Atsumu's implacable hold prevented any desperate bucking.

"Don't get too fuckin' smug now, brother. Remember, I get to go first," Atsumu murmured against the back of your neck, the words almost teasing.

He shifted his stance ever so slightly, dragging his clothed erection along the seam of your ass in a deliberate thrust. Your stomach clenched in an aching spiral at the sensation, even through the layers of fabric.

"G-god," you stuttered, the word breaking on a sharp inhale as Osamu's tongue delved deeper, the tip swirling along the sensitive edges.

"Don't go forgettin' to be a good girl and thank him properly, now," Atsumu taunted, his fingers digging deliciously into the tender flesh of your thighs. He released his hold just long enough to trail one hand lower, pulling his hand back with a sharp slap that was aimed directly at your sex.

"Thank you," you cried out, the words broken by a sob.

Osamu's answering chuckle vibrated against your core, sending another bolt of heat straight to the liquid, throbbing ache building low in your belly. When his tongue plunged even deeper, the slick muscle stroking along your walls in a devastating rhythm, you arched mindlessly against Atsumu's immovable grip.

"You can do better than that, babygirl," he admonished, his voice gone thick and guttural. His hand hovered threateningly, poised for another teasing spank. "He's doing such a good job, ain't he? Go ahead and show 'Samu just how much ya' appreciate his tongue fuckin' that greedy pussy of yours."

You could only nod, the movement frantic. The next instant, three of his fingers came down in a punishing strike directly on your clit. The sensation sent a lightning bolt of sensation careening straight up your spine, the pressure coiling tighter, more intense.

"Thank you! Tha-ahh...thank you so much, Osamu," you managed to stutter.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," he rumbled, his lips brushing along the sensitive nub at the apex of your sex. The stubble of his jaw abraded the tender flesh in a maddening glide that only further inflamed the liquid, molten need.

His silver eyes gleamed wickedly in the dim light of the room, the pupils blown wide with undisguised carnal desire. "You gonna cum for us like this, sweet thing? Or d'you need somethin' a little thicker inside to take the edge off?"

You could only moan at his brazen inquiry, the sound bordering on a whimper. Then he was sucking your clit between his lips and flicking the swollen bud with the tip of his tongue, his fingers curling upwards to stroke the sensitive front wall of your sex.

"F-Fuck, 'Samu, I'm gonna-"

Your sentence was broken off by a keening cry as the pressure coiling low in your belly abruptly detonated, shattering through you with the force of a tidal wave. You were dimly aware of the hot liquid that gushed out in a flood, coating Osamu's waiting mouth and chin. He merely lapped at you like a starving man, a guttural groan rumbling through him.

"Shit," Atsumu swore, his own hips jerking forward as his cock ground against the exposed swell of your ass. His free hand was palming his own length in a desperate rhythm, the other maintaining its bruising grip on your hip. "Didn't think ya'd squirt like that, babygirl. That's a damn sight to behold..."

You were too far gone, caught in the throes of orgasm to even attempt a reply. Instead, you slumped back against Atsumu, grateful for his steady support as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through your trembling frame. Osamu was still lapping gently at the swollen, soaked folds, the sensation almost too much.

"Please," you whimpered, the word bordering on a sob. "Too much..."

"Just cleanin' ya' up, pretty thing," he crooned in a hoarse voice, his hooded stare lifting to pin you. His tongue swiped the glistening sheen from his lips and chin, savoring the taste. "Fuck, you're gorgeous like this...all soft and pliant, fucked out."

Then Osamu was rising in one fluid motion, the movement bringing his broad body into closer alignment with yours. The muscled expanse of his torso was a solid wall before you, the defined ridges and dips tempting you to lean forward and explore. He caught your wrists in his grip, drawing you close and guiding them down to the waistband of his jeans.

"Wanna touch me, babydoll?" he rasped, the gravel-rough timbre edged with sinful promise.

Your fingers trembled as they worked at the buckle, then slid the zipper down until the straining ridge of his arousal was visible, a damp spot visible where the tip was tenting the fabric of his boxers. You sucked in a shaky breath, gaze darting up to meet his. Osamu's pewter eyes had gone dark with need, the normally silver irises now the color of storm clouds.

"Go on," he urged, the words a gruff growl. "Wrap those pretty fingers around my cock and give him a nice, hard squeeze."

Your pulse hammered erratically, the tempo ratcheting higher as you slipped your fingers into the waistband of his boxers. They wrapped around his shaft, the skin scorchingly hot and satin-soft. Your fingertips skimmed along the vein that ran from root to tip, exploring the unfamiliar terrain with tentative strokes.

The muscles beneath his abdomen contracted sharply, a groan punching free from his lips. Then Atsumu was hauling you backwards against his own unyielding frame, his calloused palm sliding along the flare of your hips and the curve of your stomach.

"Don't forget about me, sweet girl," he growled, his voice thick and husky. "'Samu's got you warmed up and nice an' ready to take our cocks. Time for you to put that pretty mouth of yours to good use, don't ya' think?"

You could feel the heavy length of him nestled against the seam of your backside, the sensation almost dizzying. Your own fingers were still wrapped around Osamu's thick shaft, and it gave a slight jump as your thumb stroked along the silken crown.

Atsumu rose to his full height, forcing you to your knees between them. His hands tangled in your hair, fisting the strands in a loose grip as he tilted your face upwards. "Don't know if you're ready for 'Samu to fuck that throat just yet, so I'll be a gentleman and go first."

Your lashes fluttered closed at the image, arousal sparking low in your belly once more. Then Atsumu was pressing his thumb against your bottom lip, parting them to slip inside. You automatically opened for him, swirling your tongue around the salty digit as you stared up at him with hooded eyes.

"Yeah, there's a good girl," he crooned, the praise sending another wave of heat through your veins.

His grip tightened fractionally, guiding you to the open fly of his jeans. You yelped in surprise as his cock sprang free andslapped against your cheek, the tip glistening and flushed. Atsumu chuckled darkly at the startled noise, the sound reverberating against the hollows of your ribcage.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. It's not gonna bite," he teased.

His grip remained firm on the back of your head, angling you in place. You could see the way his muscles contracted, his free hand wrapping around the thick length and giving it a lazy stroke. Then the tip was grazing your lips, smearing the salty precum.

"Open," he ordered, the word a throaty command.

You complied immediately, the soft, wet heat of your mouth enveloping the velvety steel of his shaft. His head fell back in a groan, the sound a mix of relief and agonized pleasure. The hands on the back of your head kept you pinned as he began to rock his hips slowly, fucking into your mouth with careful thrusts.

Meanwhile Osamu had dropped to his knees once more, his deft fingers hooking the delicate strap of your dress and yanking the fabric down your shoulder. He peppered a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses along the newly exposed flesh, teeth nipping lightly at the tender skin.

"You have such pretty tits, babydoll," he murmured, his words fanning the exposed skin.

Then his hands were cupping them, the roughened pads of his thumbs circling the nipples into aching points. Your breath hissed through your teeth, a sharp sting of pleasure-pain. He seemed to take that as encouragement, repeating the motion before dragging the pad across the erect peaks in a gentle tug.

Atsumu's grip was anchored in the back of your hair, keeping you from jerking away at the sensation. Instead, he took advantage of the moment to thrust deeper, the tip nudging the back of your throat. You couldn't help but choke a little, your gag reflex triggering as the muscles contracted around him.

"There ya' go," he groaned, the words guttural and raw. "Just relax and let me use that throat..."

You did your best to comply, letting the tension in your shoulders ease as he continued to drive deeper, faster. His fingers were gripping the sides of your skull, his gaze burning into you as he fucked into the wet, soft cavern.

Osamu's mouth latched onto one nipple, suckling it with firm, demanding pulls. His other hand kneaded the opposite breast, rolling the sensitive flesh between his thumb and forefinger. The sensations were all building, tightening the coil of desire deep within your belly until you were trembling beneath the onslaught.

"Fuck, she's good at this," Atsumu bit out, the words a ragged gasp. "'Samu, she's got the sweetest mouth. You have to try-"

The sentence broke off as he shuddered almost violently, his cock throbbing on the precipice. He yanked you off his length in a rough jerk, a thin thread of saliva still connecting your swollen, parted lips to the flushed tip. You could only watch as his fist wrapped around the base, stroking once, twice, and then he was spurting in white ropes across your face.

You moaned at the sensation, the warm liquid splashing against your lips and cheeks. It dripped down in pearlescent rivulets, streaking across the slope of your breasts. Osamu's own cock pulsed beneath his touch, his eyes burning dark and molten as they stared down at the debauched sight.

"Goddamn, that's a fuckin' sight," he rasped, the words strained.

Atsumu gave himself a few final strokes, the motions milking the last vestiges of pleasure. When he released his hold on his cock, it was to drag a fingertip along the trail of cum, then press it past your lips. You sucked eagerly, swirling your tongue around the salty digit and humming at the flavor.

"Such a dirty girl," Atsumu growled, his free hand fisting in your hair. "'Samu, how's about we take this to the bed?"

You watched as the twin in question nodded, the action almost frantic. The next instant, you were being hauled to your feet and guided towards the massive king-size bed dominating the room. Your limbs felt boneless, and you were grateful for the guiding touch of their hands.

"How're we gonna do this?" Atsumu asked, directing the question towards his brother.

"Why don’t we ask her?" Osamu responded, his fingers trailing along the delicate curve of your shoulder. "What do ya' want, babydoll?"

The question threw you for a loop. It had never even occurred to you that you'd be able to choose, or that the twins would even care enough to offer you the opportunity. Your gaze flicked uncertainly between the two, a flush warming your cheeks as the words left you.

"I want...both. At the same time," you murmured, the words almost too soft to be heard.

You could see the way Atsumu's cock twitched at the statement, already hardening again. It was an impressive feat, given that he'd only just orgasmed a few moments prior. He glanced at his twin, the smirk playing about his lips clearly conveying the sentiment 'so we can share, after all.'

"Both, huh? Ya' wanna take our cocks at the same time?" Osamu clarified, his tone thoughtful. "We agreed that 'Tsumu would get your pussy first, since I got to eat it. What about that sweet ass of yours? Think you're ready for that?"

"N-No, I meant…I want you both in the same hole." You could feel the heat creeping into your cheeks as you stuttered over the words.

The silence stretched between the three of you, broken only by the soft sounds of your breathing. You could feel the way your heart hammered against the cage of your ribs, the blood roaring in your ears as the reality of what you'd said began to sink in.

Atsumu was the first to speak, his voice a hoarse rasp. "Did ya' just say what I think you did?"

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" Osamu asked at the same time, his brows knitting in concern. "That's a lotta cock to take. Don't wanna hurt you."

Your gaze darted between the two of them, and the words slipped out before you could even register them.

"I trust you," you said, and realized it was the truth. "I can take it."

The next instant, the world was tilting on its axis as Osamu tossed you effortlessly onto the bed. You landed with a bounce, the impact jarring you slightly. Then his weight was blanketing you, his hips bracketing your own and his cock a scorching brand between your legs.

"That's right, ya' can," he growled, the words a dark promise. "Just lie back and let us take care of ya'."

Atsumu had already positioned himself on the bed, his hand pumping along the shaft of his length in a lazy rhythm. His golden eyes gleamed with undisguised lust as he watched his twin grinding against you. The head of his cock nudged teasingly at the entrance, and a thrill shot straight up your spine.

"I want to make this good for you," Osamu murmured, his voice a low rumble against the shell of your ear. "So tell me if anythin' starts to hurt. Got it?"

He pressed forward, and the swollen, slick folds parted around the thick length. It wasn't nearly as painful as you'd anticipated, the wetness easing the slide. A shudder wracked his frame, a harsh groan punching from his lips as he sank deeper.

"Gods, you're so fuckin' tight," he bit out.

He didn't stop until the root was flush against the curve of your sex, his hips slotted neatly against your own. You could only arch mindlessly beneath him, the sensation of being so full unlike anything you'd ever experienced. Your inner walls clenched around the intrusion, and Osamu's answering hiss told you that the sensation was pleasurable.

One iron-corded arm wrapped around your waist, and you felt him lift you slightly. You were practically straddling his thighs, the angle causing him to slip even deeper. Atsumu shifted into place behind you, his hands cupping the generous swell of your ass and spreading the cheeks.

"Fuck, that's a pretty sight," he groaned, his fingers digging into the supple flesh.

Osamu began to rock against you, the shallow thrusts setting your nerve endings aflame. You could only whimper helplessly, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders for purchase. Your hips jerked as a particularly strong bolt of sensation rocketed through your core.

"Gonna need ya' to relax, babydoll," Osamu rasped, his hands anchoring you firmly in place. "Just a little more, and then 'Tsumu will be joinin' the fun. Be a good girl for us, now."

You forced the tension from your limbs, allowing him to move freely. The next instant, the blunt tip of Atsumu's cock was probing at the same entrance, his length sliding alongside his brother's. Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream as the pain-pleasure mingled, the sensation overwhelming.

"You're so goddamn tight," he ground out, the words grating and raw.

Atsumu didn't give you a chance to respond, merely pushed his hips forward with a firm thrust. He was met with slight resistance, the muscles clenching tightly around the combined girth. Then his cock was bottoming out, the sensation nearly sending you spiraling over the edge.

"Shit," Osamu swore, his head falling back. His throat bobbed as he swallowed convulsively, a fine tremor running through his muscular frame. "This is...holy fuck."

Atsumu made a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a moan, the low, guttural noise reverberating through you. He rocked his hips experimentally, the motion sending sparks of heat licking along your veins. You were stretched taut, the dual sensation of having them both inside bordering on too much.

"How is she?" Atsumu bit out, his gaze meeting his twin's over the top of your head.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Feel so damn good around my cock," Osamu groaned.

Your only response was a moan, the wordless noise a benediction. He took it as a cue to start moving, the shallow thrusts driving a little deeper, harder. Atsumu's own cock was pulsing with the need for release, and he mirrored his brother's movements, timing his pace to match.

They were like two cogs in a well-oiled machine, their motions a seamless tandem. Each thrust sent a wave of sensation crashing through your core, the coil of tension ratcheting tighter and tighter. Your vision had gone hazy, the world blurring at the edges.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Atsumu groaned, his fingers digging into the generous curve of your ass.

"Hold on," Osamu gritted out. His grip shifted, his hands lifting you easily by the backs of your thighs. You were practically bent in half, and the new angle allowed them to reach even deeper. "Gonna give it to her just like this, 'Tsumu. Give her every last inch and fuck her nice and hard."

Then the twins were pounding into you with merciless, punishing thrusts, their cocks dragging against the sensitive inner walls. Your fingers dug into the taut muscles of Osamu's shoulders, and the sharp bite of your nails had him groaning low in his throat.

"Gods, she's tightening up on me," Atsumu hissed, his words ragged and broken. "Cumming...gonna cum!"

His hips snapped forward one last time, and the pressure detonated in a blinding supernova. His cock gave a violent twitch as he came, a low groan tearing from his lips. You could feel the hot gush of his seed, and the sensation was enough to send you plummeting into your own release.

Osamu managed to thrust a few more times before his own body was succumbing, his hips grinding flush against the curve of your ass as he spilled deep inside. The world around you faded to black, the pleasure-pain of it all leaving you dizzy and weak.

It took several minutes for the three of you to come down, your chests heaving with exertion. You could still feel the warmth of the twins' bodies surrounding you, and Osamu's lips were trailing along the curve of your neck. Atsumu's face was nestled into the side of your throat, and he nuzzled the skin there lazily.

"Fuck, that was intense," he mumbled, the words muffled.

Osamu nodded, and the motion caused his hair to brush against your cheek. "I wasn't expectin' her to take both of us like that."

"Think she can go again?" Atsumu asked, lifting his face to look at his brother. "I don’t think we convinced her to not go out with any more of those losers."

"Maybe she just needs a little more convincin'," Osamu drawled, his mouth curling into a feral smirk.

You could only whimper softly at the prospect, the sound a mixture of desire and exhaustion. Then Atsumu was sliding his hands along the supple swell of your hips, his thumb dipping between the crease of your ass. You jumped at the unexpected contact, the reaction earning a chuckle from him.

"Easy there, sweet girl," he crooned, the husky edge returning to his voice. "We're gonna have so much fun together."

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rafeandonlyrafe · 10 months ago

Text

bruised knees

words: 2.1k

warnings: mentions of blowjobs, losing virginity, virgin!reader (but fic is not smut), jealous! and overprotective!rafe, childhood friends to lovers, fluffy

rafe has been beyond overprotective of you his whole life. ever since you met in first grade and you let him borrow your brand new crayon box, only for a bully to come up and tug on your pigtails, causing rafe to pause his coloring to shove him away and tell him not to touch you ever again.

you smiled at rafe, the same smile you look at him with now, and he knew he would take care of you no matter what. you hugged him tightly and from that day on always shared your crayons, and everything else you had, with your new best friend.

“ready?” rafe slings his arm around your shoulder, pulling you towards the boat.

“yes!” you squeal, trying to navigate holding your tote bag and backpack at once, when suddenly both are out of your hands as rafe takes them and carries them down the pier.

“rafe, i can carry my own stuff.” you roll your eyes. it's a losing battle, your best friend will always lessen your load, hating seeing you do any sort of physical labor, feeling like that's his job.

“yeah, whatever.” rafe just ignores your argument, it's one he's heard so many times before, yet you make no attempt to take the bags back. “who all did you invite again?” rafe asks as you enter onto the boat, quickly beginning preparations for the day at sea, having gone through the motions so many times, knowing the boat like the back of your hand even though it's the cameron familys.

“uhh, topper, tina, kelce, steph, tiffy and hayden.” you go through the list of names in your head of friends that will be joining you and rafe on the yacht.

“how is tiffy since the break up?” rafe asks, knowing you like to talk while you work, pulling various lines while you straighten up the boat to make it more presentable, going through the motions together, always together.

rafes question launches you into a gossip session with rafe, spilling all the secrets your friends told you at your last hang out, but they know you don't keep anything from rafe, so it's no surprise when he knows as well, not that any of the girls would complain, rafe often takes over the role of protector to your friends as well, caring about who you care about.

“there's hayden!” you call to rafe, pointing down the dock to the parking lot where haydens truck just pulled in, a few minutes earlier than you expected anyone to start arriving.

“great.” rafe mumbles under his breath, making sure you don't hear his upset tone. he liked hayden at first, sharing some common interests (mostly golf), but then hayden got far too touchy with you, his gaze heating when it turned to you in a way that infuriated rafe, and he made sure to show hayden when you weren't around how much it pissed him off.

rafe is probably to credit for you never having a boyfriend for an extended period of time, but he can't help it, you're so perfect and no guy can possibly deserve you, so he has to scare them off before you get too invested and give them all of your attention instead of him.

“hey, heyds.” you greet him with a hug after he makes his way down the pier, making rafe grunts as haydens hand rests a little too low on your back for his liking, making rafes mind reel at the possibility of something going on between the two of you.

your other friends slowly begin to pile onto the boat, steph being the last one to get there as she is notorious for being late, which is why you told her to show up half an hour before everyone else, and somehow still managed to get there last.

“ready for takeoff?” you ask rafe, stepping away to join him at the wheel while your group of friends find places to sit while rafe navigates the boat towards the ocean.

“i am.” rafe nods, having disconnected the last line. no matter what is happening, you always sit next to rafe on the bench as he directs the boat, ready to be his second in command at any moment, even if its just fetching him a drink or checking the water depth.

“i can’t wait to swim.” you say with a sigh, having not gotten out into the water all week, which is rare with how much peace you find in the ocean.

“how about that one sandbar we took wheezie to?” rafe questions, wanting you to decide where he anchors the boat.

“ooh, yes.” you nod.

“she complained to me last night that you weren’t over.” rafe smiles at you when you let out a laugh.

“i don’t spend one friday night and she complains! ugh, i love that girl.” you grin thinking about wheezie, treating her like she’s your own little sister, having known her since she was born.

“you’ll stay tonight, right?” rafe asks, missing you sharing his bed like you do every weekend.

“mhm, i’m not driving home after being out on the boat all day, gonna be so exhausted.” you roll your eyes.

rafe smiles at you, wrapping one arm around his shoulder, leaving him to drive with one hand, but wanting you close to him, secretly hoping hayden would look through the windows from the lower deck and see you all cuddled up into his side.

neither of you have ever broached the topic of taking things beyond just friendship, despite rafe desperately wanting to take things further, he doesn’t want to mess up the one good thing he has in his life. you’re such a source of brightness that when you’re around him he forgets all about his fights with his dad, or issues with barry.

“here.” rafe nods to you, immediately going to drop the anchor, planning to stay in one spot all day.

you help him make sure its secure before moving to the main deck with everyone else. “alright, who is ready to swim?” you shout with glee.

“you know i am.” hayden smirks at you, pulling his shirt off over his head.

“mhm, that’s why i like you, not afraid to get wet.” you say, rafe carefully watching the interaction, unsure if you meant the innuendo or not.

you take your tshirt off as well, tossing it onto the pile that everyone is making on the sofa, revealing swimsuits underneath their clothes. rafe also undresses, but slowly and quietly.

you tug your yoga pants down next, having kicked your shoes off upon entering the boat. you turn towards rafe, always checking in with him, seeking him out amongst the crowd.

rafe smiles at you, his eyes dropping subtly down your body, quickly checking out your pale lilac swimsuit before he sees a different shade of purple, this time blossoming around your knees.

hayden seems to notice too, a smirk growing on his face when he sees the localized bruises.

“what the fuck did you do?” rafe grunts out before he can stop himself and use the calming methods you so carefully taught him.

“what?” hayden turns to look at rafe, but he’s already charging at him. rafe shoves hayden backwards, making him stumble but he manages to maintain his footing.

“rafe, chill!” you shout, grabbing at his arm.

“did he-did you fucking blow him?” rafe questions, pointing to your knees. “how did you get those bruises?” “jesus, rafe!” you take a step back, but don’t drop your grip on his arm, not sure if he would try to pull away. “you seriously ask me that in front of all our friends? for your information i was working out in the garden yesterday and bruised my knees kneeling on the pavers. but thanks for embarrassing me.”

you drop his arm when you feel tears welling in your eyes, quickly turning and sprinting into the interior of the boat.

you throw yourself onto the bed in one of the two bedrooms, hiding your face in the white pillow as you cry.

“y/n…” rafe says softly. you don’t jump at his voice, you expected him to follow you, but you don’t feel like talking to him.

“please, y/n.” rafe pleads, and you feel his weight dip the bed down as he climbs onto the mattress.

“stop it.” you whine when rafe pulls you into him, but you don’t struggle as he cuddles into you, pressing a kiss against your hair. you’ve cuddled rafe before, of course since you’ve been friends for so long, but never with this little clothing on, and you are very aware of how much of his bare skin is touching yours.

“i didn’t mean to embarrass you, y/n. i just… i just got so angry thinking about you possibly doing anything with hayden. i don’t like him. he’s not good enough for you.”

“why would you even think i would do that though? you know im a virgin.”

the words shock rafe, and you can physically feel him tense up. you pick up your head to look at him, brows furrowed together.

“i-i didn’t know that.” rafe just assumed you lost it to one of your short term boyfriends.

“no… no i would have told you, rafey. you’re my best friend, i… you told me when you lost yours.” you remind rafe of when he was 16 years old and had sex for the first time, calling you only an hour after to confide in you, partly hoping you would get jealous.

“i thought you knew that i wouldn’t want to hear about you sleeping with someone. i guess i just figured you kept it to yourself for my sake.” rafe doesn’t realize the implication of his words as they flow from between his lips.

“why would i?- wait… you like me?” you blink up at him.

rafe pauses. now is as good as time as any, especially with the growing threat of hayden and other guys who aren’t scared of rafe potentially taking you away from him. “yes. i love you. i think i’ve loved you since first grade.” “holy shit, you asshole!” you shout, and it’s not the reaction rafe was expecting as he tenses, waiting for you to run off, or get mad, but instead your shout turns into a laugh, “i can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner!” and then your lips are on his, finally feeling the perfect meld of your mouths together as rafe quickly snaps into action, his lips moving against yours as he cups your face.

“i love you too, in case it wasn’t obvious.” you whisper against his mouth before resuming the kiss.

“thank fuck, i was ready to murder hayden just because i thought you liked him.” rafe laughs, tugging on your waist to bring your bodies even closer together, leaving his large hand resting against your bare back.

“pshht.” you shake your head. “he’s not even half the man you are.”

“holy shit, i love you.” rafe repeats, taking you in for another kiss.

“my friends are never gonna believe that we finally got together.” you giggle. “i think they’ve all placed bets.”

“your friends?” rafe shakes his head. “baby, i think even our parents have.”

“i… i’m really happy we admitted are feelings.” you say shyly, a blush covering your cheeks as you look down, breaking eye contact. “everyone told me that you liked me too but i was too nervous to ruin what we had.”

“hey, it’s okay.” rafe says softly. “we have forever this way.”

you feel tears well up in your eyes again as you wrap your arms around rafe, pressing your head into his bare chest.

“gosh, i can’t wait to go tell everyone.” you admit with a giggle.

“yeah? wanna go get in the water too?” rafe asks, unsure if your friends waiting for your argument to be over to swim.

“hell yeah.” you slide off the bed, rafe taking a minute to check out your body, not hiding his heated gaze as you catch him.

“holy shit, you are checking me out!”

“duh, you’re my girl now.” rafe smirks, also getting off the bed, placing an arm around your shoulder. “gonna give you bruised knees for a different reason, baby.”

“wait, rafe-” you begin, suddenly not feeling like swimming anymore, but he pulls you out onto the deck, seeing all your friends sitting awkwardly on the sofas, waiting for whatever argument to be over with.

“don’t worry baby.” rafe drops his mouth to your ear, making sure your friends can’t hear. “we can talk about that virginity of yours later.” rafe doesn’t give you a second to respond, placing his fingers on your chin and tilting your head towards him to press a kiss to your lips to the chorus of all of your friends letting out woops and claps, along with shouts of “finally!”

“i told you!” tiffy shouts, holding her hand out towards stephanie. “you owe me 20 bucks!”

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart

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livecrow · 1 month ago

Text

You've been kidnapped by the local butcher and he convinces you he's going to fucking eat you.

Dark!Ghost x fat fem reader drabble

CWs: dead dove, rape, dehumanization, gaslighting, bondage, undiscussed kink(?), animal play(?), threats and talk of cannibalism but no actual cannibalism

(A tidied up and extended ramble I subjected @391780 to on anon. Inspired directly from their post where Butcher!Simon draws a diagram of beef cuts on you.)

_____________________________________________________________

It’s pretty immediately obvious he’s a murderer. He’s probably a serial killer for all you know.

In reality, Simon doesn’t consider himself a serial killer, despite his body count. He’s just someone who doesn’t have qualms dealing with nuisances. He’s a retired vet, after you’d killed enough people, what’s a few more?

No, his kills were just business, practical. They were men who made the mistake of getting in his way, of being inconvenient. Most, anyway—there’s at least one or two whose only crime was being an especially annoying cunt. Sometimes, some people “jus’ need killin’”.

As a butcher, he does find the implication funny, but no, he’s not eaten any of the scum he’s off’ed. “Don’t serve ‘em up to customers, neither”. After all, Simon’s got far higher standards than that. They weren’t even fit for dog food and he has a reputation to uphold. No one can compete with his quality.

No, you’re nothing like them. You’re special.

Never in his life had he seen a prettier creature—and you’re absolutely prime. He’s salivating just looking at you, plump and oh so soft. He can see it in the way your skin wobbles gently as you move about. Simon couldn't find a straight line on you. And he’s looked. He’s been transfixed watching you, aching.

You live your life meandering obliviously, no brand in sight, not even a tag on your ear. He's surprised no one else snatched you up. Poor thing left to fend for itself ‘s cruel. Nothing else to it.

Wrangling you was simple, it’s not like your large form actually offered you anything towards your defense. It was easy, really. Your lack of instincts was staggering, it was even more shocking that you lasted this long, he almost couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

You were clueless to the danger, even when it was directly in front of you, it only endeared you to him. Your eyes roved over him, not paying him any mind, just carrying on about your undoubtedly inane business. Only when he was on you and it was too late did you start to kick up a fuss.

The look of panic on your face was just priceless. All this crying and babbling nonsense like, “What are you doing?!” and “Stop!”.

Simon's main concern was not damaging you too much, he was careful. Just a single huge bicep around your neck and any fight you had seemingly evaporated with fright. You're bent over in a headlock, his grip as rigid as a pillory, but he’s not applying enough pressure to actually choke you. You’re just forced helplessly to come along or be dragged.

Not that it would have mattered if you were too wild to be led, he would simply tighten his hold, and allow up a quick nap. He’d pull out the dolly, load up the truck and be on his way.

On the big stainless steel work table the metal stings you even through your clothes. Unfortunately for you, even that scant protection doesn't last. The sight of the shears was enough to paralyze you again, and with a handful of strategic snips, Simon rips your last vestiges of humanity from you. All your skin transforms to gooseflesh, shivering on the table, but your nipples is where his roaming gaze finally settles.

He’ll have to remember to adjust the heat later. After all, “‘s a bit early to start chillin’ you”, he’d chuckle. You were a bit of silly thing, he thought. Maybe it’d be a minute till you’d actually catch on.

You're his little prize. Simon will coddle you, give you plenty of softness and warmth. You’ll not want for blankets, pillows, and other such treats, but not a stitch of clothing will ever touch your skin again. There would be no hiding your nakedness.

“Clothes? Clothes ‘re for people, what y’ need clothes for?” he scoffed. You don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s a question, because he doesn’t want you to answer. A dog doesn’t answer “who's a good boy?” does he?

He’s measuring you, jotting things down. You think distantly that the pencil looks puny in his fist. While he's at it, he's feeling and squeezing every inch of you. You’re groped and prodded like some saran wrapped package of beef at the grocery store.

Only when you think there’s finally a reprieve, you’re being hogtied. You’re trussed up in practically half a roll of twine, fat bulging between the strands, desperate to escape its bite. Simon says it looks good on you, can’t resist taking one of your new little rolls between his fingers, giving you a teasing pinch. You struggle of course, but the terrifying man commands you to “Settle”, says the only thing your fussing will get you is rope burn.

He claps you on the ass affectionately, assuring you that the scratchy string is only temporary. He knows a guy for leather, does good work. All hand stitched. Simon will have a proper harness made for you. Something with a lot of d-rings. It will be more comfortable for you and he can situate you how he likes with minimal bruising or chaffing.

As he admires your skin, he’ll remark offhandedly that he’ll have to ""'ave somethin' from you" too. He’s not usually one to bother, but it’d be a travesty to waste hide like yours. Couldn’t find more supple could y’? He hasn’t decided what’ll be yet, he’ll need to do some maths to figure out how much material you'll make. Behind his mask and the façade of impassivity, he savors your reaction. That’d be about the first time your consciousness flees from you.

Simon will lay it on thick, praise how "well-marbled" you are. Delectable. So plump and well-fed, you can't blame him for any of this, really. He'll say something about kobe beef and taking good care of you. He’ll massage you daily, knead every inch of you between his huge oiled hands. He'd take his time, temple t' toes. You couldn’t get a knot in a muscle if you tried.

Your more delicate bits don’t escape his tender ministrations either. He takes painstaking work in rubbing your insides down with thick fingers, wringing orgasms from you until you're limp and still as the rest of the meat in his shop. Says it’s good for the flavor, will make you even sweeter.

It’s all completely horrifying, it has to be a nightmare. He says all this so casually, like he’s telling you the time of day. This man is truly completely deranged.

His hands are always on you, it’s never fucking ending. He's taken it upon himself that you never “exert” yourself and you have no choice in the matter. Bastard won’t even let your hands free to eat or bathe. He "grooms" you. Brushes your hair, trims your nails, cleans your teeth, brushes, lathers, rinses, dries, moisturizes your skin. It’s humiliating and you hate every second of it.

The juxtaposition is too much, the horror and absurdity of it all. All the restraints and manhandling, your looming demise, while insisting on soft surfaces for you, water temperature just right, food carefully curated and cut up just so. He won’t let anything happen to spoil the meat.

He doesn’t spare any expense on your “feed” either. You eat what he eats, might as well be eating off his plate. Albeit simple, it’s good food, you don't see a point in denying it. It's fresh and flavorful and to no one’s surprise it includes a lot of meat. Always from his shop of course, only the best for you.

He’ll bring out some new parcel every night for dinner, unfolding the brown paper wrapping, holding up to you to admire his work. “‘S a ribeye”. He goes on about the marbling, the even color of the meat. “Couldn’t find fresher” he’d say, "was only jus' bleedin' this mornin'".

You’re his captive audience. There’s nothing else you can do but warily watch him make dinner, even if seeing a blade in his hand gives your heart palpitations. Steak, sautéed mushrooms, jacket potatoes, roasted broccoli.

You’ve long since stopped fighting him when it comes to meals. Because it can always get worse. After being bent over on the floor, forced to eat off a dish without the use of your hands, you’d resigned yourself to the fact that eating off his fork was a sufferable compromise. Still, if he’s in a mood he won’t even allow that. You'll eat off his fingers, and he’ll laugh at your expense and chide you when you inevitably “make a mess”.

The food was prepared, but this time the kitchen knife didn’t leave his grasp. It wasn’t a steak knife. It was too big and not serrated, but that didn’t seem to bother Simon. It certainly bothered you. Its presence loomed like a guillotine in your peripheral.

He feeds you bites between his own. Every mouthful and he looks so pleased. You desperately missed his mask at meal times. At least then you couldn’t see his smug fucking face.

On the plate the steam billows and curls. The meat gives easily under your molars, practically melts in your mouth. Hot and rich and juicy, it’s basted in butter, with garlic cloves and sprigs of rosemary, seasoned with cracked peppercorn and flakey sea salt. It’s a touch rarer than you’d like.

You wish you were capable of escaping the horror of it all for even a second, pretend you were anywhere else, with anyone else.

Simon punctuated his first bite with a low rumble of approval, watching you with those dark, cavernous eyes. He’d continued in that way, a man content in silence.

”...you'll taste better.”

He waited until your last bite to say it, maybe that was mercy on his part. The meat transformed in your mouth, became sinewy and bitter. You couldn’t swallow, and went to spit it out. But he expected that apparently, was on you in a second. Giant rough hand sealed over your lips, practically enclosing the bottom half of your face, smooshing your cheeks up into your eyes.

“Chew.”

It takes longer than usual, but you try to obey. His hand hasn’t moved from your mouth.

“Swallow.”

His eyes move from yours to your neck, his thumb grazing your throat lightly, tracing the bite’s trajectory as you force it down. His eyes are back on you then.

With Simon’s free hand he deftly pierces the last drippy morsel off the plate with the knife, popping it between his scarred lips. The hand still on you moves, migrates to cup your jaw, gradually starting to squeeze. You don’t have any fight left and open before it becomes painful.

Fear paralyzes you again, when he brings the knife towards you.

The movement is slow, as if he’s actually concerned about frightening you. He’s holding it longwise, pointed off to the side.

Then it’s on your tongue.

He drags the flat of the blade’s length across the trembling muscle, leisurely, only moving it away to flip it and clean the other side, myoglobin discarded on your tongue

“They’ll say ’m ‘spoilin’ ‘er rotten’. Eatin’ off my own plate, sleepin' in my own bed, warm under my roof. Keepin’ you safe indoors. Such a sweet, tame thing, are you?”. He strokes your cheek, wiping at a drip at the corner of your mouth with a thumb before popping that in his mouth too.

Whenever Simon’s put up enough with your smart mouth, he enjoys the look of your wide wet eyes and your trembling lips stretched around a padded ring gag.

The sounds you make when gagged are special little nonsense noises, almost like you're trying to talk like a person would. Sweet, pitiful sounds. He also loves when wet, choked sobs that cascade out of your open mouth, forcing you to drool. “You’re so messy, sweet’eart. Nose runnin’, too.” Says you're leaking from practically every hole. Eyes, nose, mouth, cunt.

Sometimes, you might almost be fooled into thinking he feels sorry for you in those moments when you're hyperventilating and hysterical, or wailing so mournfully. He always hushes you when you're crying, pets and hold you, dries your face, as if he’s not the cause of your tears. Despite how much Simon adores the taste of them, adores the soft jingling of the little cow bell tied ‘round your throat when your whole body quivers with sobs, the stress will sour the meat. He’ll say as much, but surprisingly it doesn’t help calm you down.

If it was necessary, he's not opposed to sedation. After all, he's done the research to find one that won't affect your flavor. But most of the time, his solution to your despair is yet another thorough fucking. Dopamine to counteract the stress.

Simon forces the orgasms out of your body as easily as he forces his cock into it, you're utterly helpless to stop either. His livelihood is working with his hands and unfortunately he’s damn good at it. When all's said and done and you're spent, he’ll lightly chastise you for working yourself up, for fussing.

He loves the heft of you in his hands, weighs your heavy tits in his palms, grips your ample belly. Simon can't resist taking mouthfuls of you into his mouth, worrying your supple fat with his incisors. Your tits, ass, thighs, arms, belly, back fat, hell, your double chin. It doesn't matter, any squishy bit of you. You're always afraid he might be getting impatient, that he’ll take a bite out of you, but he never does. Simon says he's just sampling, maybe tenderizing you a little.

His favorite taste of yours is still between your legs. He has you thank him for being so careful there. Past you inner thighs and plump mons, the pressure of his teeth yields, feeling barely a graze.

He likes putting mirrors in front of you, says he wants you to see how lovely you are. Your hands are clipped together, chain snagged in one of the shop's many meathooks, just low enough that you don’t strain your shoulders or quite have to stand on your tiptoes.

He directs you to watch, popping the lid off of a permanent marker with a squeak.

He maneuvers you this way and that as he works, dragging the marker down your body. His lines are surprisingly clean considering his canvas is such a pliant, organic shape. Hands are as steady as a surgeon. The marker tickled terribly on skin, the ethanol smell burning your nose, making it hard to think.

It only took a minute to recognize what he was doing. Your skin itches under the felt tip. You flail, trying desperately to smear it, to muss his work, but the ink dries too quickly.

Simon wouldn't let you keep your eyes closed, so in that moment you were grateful for the onslaught of tears blurring your vision somewhat.

That day, he showed you all your different cuts, as if you cared, as if you were together enough to pay attention.

Chuck, rib, loin, sirloin, rump, round, flank, plate, brisket, shank.

He tells you which are his favorite. Tells you which of his mates he’ll have over to enjoy you, ponders what pieces he’ll think they’ll like best. How to cook different cuts to get the best effect, that some cuts are naturally tougher and have to be cooked slowly, while the other cuts are tender and fatty, can be cooked at a higher temperature, quicker.

From the very beginning, he’s referenced the “Big Day”.

He’ll ask if you're excited over the shinnnnk of a knife against a whetstone. Simon always keeps his tools in order, clean and sharpened expertly, but he thinks he'll polish them up extra shiny for the occasion. To a mirror finish, so you can see yourself. You're so beautiful, it'd be a cryin' shame for you to miss it.

It’s been months now you’ve been with him and the day never comes.

...

You didn't dare question it.

But if you did, Simon would just chuckle, amused that you're so eager. Maybe he'll say that he decided he wants some milk from you instead.

#i love that this is the first thing i've ever posted publicly and it's this abomination #now i need something soft with Ghost as a form of pseudo aftercare #this is a sick fuck dark/horror version of Ghost and isn't intended to be canon accurate #dead dove do not eat #both reader and author are fat #I don't know how to write accents #egregious abuse of quotation marks and italics #dark!Ghost #dark!Simon Riley #call of duty #Silmon Riley x reader #Ghost x reader

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fictionismyreality3 · 9 months ago

Text

Learned your lesson? (18+)

Simon Riley x Reader

Tags: Smut, daddy!simon, angry!simon

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, thigh riding, daddy kink, face slapping, slight impact play, spanking, face fucking, hair pulling, choking, exhibitionism if you squint

Notes: absolute dEBaUchErY 🤪 but I have no regrets 🤭 gimme a chance and I’d let Simon ruin my-

In hindsight, the situation you were in was probably your fault.

You hadn’t meant to make Simon angry, and he wasn’t really, but you were being a brat. In your defence, having him away from you all the time got a little lonely, and you could only fuck yourself with the dildo he got you so many times before you started wanting the real thing.

That’s why you had blown up his phone all day, sending him video after video of you fucking yourself in every room of your apartment, moaning his name as you came. In the back of your mind, you knew it was a bad idea, but it felt so deliciously good to imagine his eyes widening as he stood on base and got all your little gifts, especially when you were riding the dildo with his t-shirt on.

Your hands gripped the black marble countertop of your shared bathroom as you bounced your ass back against the wall, the hyper-realistic dildo hitting you just right. When Simon showed up with a clone-a-willy kit in hand before a long deployment, you nearly spat out the soda you were drinking.

“What the fuck is that?” You managed to sputter as you coughed, trying not to spit soda all over the living room carpet.

“Your stress reliever, luv’.” Simon’s eyes sparked behind his balaclava as he chuckled with mirth.

The rest of that night consisted of you whispering in his ear and tracing his neck with your tongue, keeping him hard as you carried out your diy sex toy production.

And now, as you fucked yourself on your clone of Simon’s cock, your phone propped up to record, the dildo did its job, but it wasn’t Simon.

It wasn’t him.

That’s why you made sure to look directly into the camera as you felt the familiar sparks building up in your core, and when you came, you let him know how much you missed him.

What you couldn’t have known, was that the wifi on base was horrendous. You’d think with the budget going towards the military, they could at least invest in a new router, but no. Simon often had to struggle through paperwork, which he already detested, waiting for the tiniest files to load. In your eagerness to tease him, you sent all the videos at once, but couldn’t have known that they’d take ages to get delivered.

By the time they reached their destination, blowing up Simon’s phone all at once, it was hours after you’d initially hit send. It was nearly impossible for him to be away from you as it is. As soon as he saw your face the day you met, he knew that he’d be needing you for the rest of his life.

He didn’t like leaving you and he didn’t like sharing.

Two weeks away from the only reminder of having a normal life was already painstaking. It was the last day on base and Simon was counting down the minutes till he could get home and show you how much he missed you. The time spent rubbing himself in the barracks bathroom, jerking his cock to the thought of you, all it had done was provide temporary relief. He needed the real thing.

He needed to be buried so deep in your tight little cunt that he made himself a part of you with each thrust.

Simon was counting down the minutes as he sat through the last briefing of the day, just a few hours away from getting to let out all his pent up tension, when his phone began to buzz endlessly. His heart spiked, threatening to burst from his throat as he saw the texts from you. Instantly, the worst case scenarios of what could’ve happened ran through his mind. He wasn’t a paranoid man by any means, but when it came to you, the only thing that mattered more that keeping you happy was your safety.

What if something happened? What if you were hurt? What if you’d been taken hostage and someone was sending him videos of you being tortured?

Okay, so, maybe a little paranoid.

Not wanting to wait in agonizing curiosity, he clicked open the attachment.

Within seconds, sounds of your wanton moaning filled the room, your breathy whimpers of his name silencing the rest of the 141 who had been debriefing. All eyes snapped to Simon as he fumbled with his phone, dropping it to the floor in his haste to mute the video. This interrupted Soap’s guffawing, as his eyes locked on the screen, the video of you riding the dildo he got you playing on repeat.

“Jesus Christ, Lt! Tha’ yer woman? She’s a sight to-” Gaz smacked him upside the head as Price tried to avert his eyes, clearing his throat.

“Watch your fuckin’ eyes, Johnny, before I rip ‘em outta your skull.” Simon snapped.

Finally, he managed to switch the video off, but the damage was done. Even though he sat as still as a statue for the rest of the brief, his balaclava hidden face betraying no emotion despite Soap’s repeatedly cheeky comments, Simon was livid.

From the time he first took you, he ruined you for anyone else. Nobody could replace him, nobody could break you or make you scream like he did. But you’d ruined everything else for him too. And just the thought of someone else getting to have you, getting to touch even an inch of your skin, was enough that he had to ball his fists so as not to throttle Johnny’s neck.

He trusted his guys with his life, even if he’d never tell them that. But this was different.

This was you.

While you giggling conspiratorially to yourself, thinking about the fun you’d have with him when he got home, Simon was whiteknuckling the wheel of his truck, trying not to break the speed limit to get home to you faster. His cock was achingly hard as he ran over how he planned to punish you again and again in his mind. You’d love every second of it, he always made sure you did, but he wanted to tease you just like you did him.

This is what he loved about you. How you were so eager to please, but so eager to rile him up, it was the perfect combination to make Simon’s cock scream at him to fuck your pretty throat.

He nearly ran a stop sign imaging cumming in your greedy mouth.

His dirty girl.

His greedy girl. He definitely couldn’t give you the usual treatment this time. The thought of your ass marked up with his handprints after a spanking was tempting, but you would enjoy it far too much. He wanted to see you struggle to get even the slightest bit of relief after the stunt you pulled.

The rumbling of his truck signalled his arrival to your keen ears, and you jumped up from the couch, running to the front door of the cozy house you’d bought together to stand on the porch waiting for him.

Simon got out of his truck. He knew you were standing there, where you always were to welcome him home after a deployment, but he didn’t look at you. Getting his gear bag from the back, he slung it over his shoulders and trudged up the front stairs. His kit was well over 100 pounds, but he still managed to carry it with one hand. The other hand shot out to wrap around your throat, causing you to stumble on your feet.

“Simo-” Your greeting was cut of by your now restricted air supply, and your hands instinctively clawed at his grip on your throat. He didn’t utter a word, only reached around you to open the door, pushing you inside as he followed, closing it with his foot.

You were pinned up against the wall as soon as his gear bag had hit the ground, and you could already hear his ragged breaths.

“D’you have any idea,” He huffed, trying to restrain himself from just fucking you against the wall. “how much shit you’re in for… love?” He ground out the pet name like it took effort for him to keep from swearing even more.

You quickly ran through everything that you could have done wrong in your mind. Sure, you’d been a brat all day, but Simon liked when you were bratty from time to time. Nothing you could think of could explain the tightly contained anger that was rippling off of him.

“What? Did you not like the videos?” You managed to say breathily, the grip on your throat keeping you perched on the edge of loosing your breath. “Did I not like the-” Simon stopped to let out a low, raspy chuckle, his head dropping to the crook of your neck.

“I loved the videos, sweetheart. An’ so did the boys.” He whispered slowly into your ear.

Immediately your face scrunched up as you tried to decipher what he meant.

“What do you mean, Si? I only….oh.” The reality of your mistake hit you all at once.

Oh.

How could you have forgotten that Simon would probably be around the rest of the 141, not to mention how inept with technology he was. No wonder the rest of the team saw you. Your swirling thoughts were broken up by Simon releasing your throat, only to grab your arm, and roughly drag you over to the couch.

“‘Oh’ is right, luv’.” He murmured as he sat down, pulling you on top of his lap to straddle him. Your hands instinctively went for his balaclava, wanting to take it off and see his face, a permission only you were granted.

Before your fingers could even meet the fabric, Simon was grabbing both your wrists with one hand, pinning them to your lap. You really had poked the bear in all senses of the word. Simon was utterly massive, and he could easily palm any part of you that would take most people two hands to hold.

With his free hand, he pushed his balaclava up so it rested just underneath his nose, his lips free to kiss you. Your stomach was churning with a mix of apprehension and excitement. You knew the look in his eyes, the look he only got when he was going to break you. It was nearly impossible to keep from leaning down and pressing a kiss to his inviting lips, but you knew that you were already in as much trouble as it was.

With the way you were straddling his lap, the thin material of your shorts allowed you to feel his cock growing ridged underneath you. Heat bloomed in your core and Simon’s grip on your wrists suddenly felt electric.

“You’re a greedy cockslut, aren’t you?” He slipped the hand which wasn’t keeping your wrists trapped underneath your shirt. “So desperate you jus’ had to be a brat, hm? Had to let everyone see wha’ a needy girl you are.”

The low, condescending tone of his voice made your head swim, and your breaths began to come faster and faster as he palmed your tits, beginning to play with your nipples. You couldn’t exactly be sorry when he was making you feel so good, but there was still some guilt in the back of your mind for putting him on the spot.

“Simon, I’m-” Simon’s large hand slapped you lightly across the cheek, tugging your hair to refocus your gaze on him. “Don’t fuckin’ call me that.” He pinched your nipple hard, causing you to reel forwards into his chest.

“What’s my fuckin’ name, huh? Only good girls get t’call me Simon.” He dug his fingers into the skin of your wrists, the pain warning you of what would come if you weren’t more obedient.

“…daddy?” You tried quietly.

Simon’s grip on your wrists lessened instantly, and his hands began to tease at your tits again. The whiplash of pain to pleasure was something that he had perfected, and he loved the way you’d bite your lip as you struggled to catch up. All it took was just getting you to call him daddy and he could already feel you melting in his lap, your eyes getting half lidded and foggy.

“That’s right, bunny. And daddy teaches his baby how to behave doesn’t he?” Simon said expectantly, beginning to peel off his t-shirt you were wearing.

“Y-yes, daddy.” The cold air hit your skin, sending a shiver through body as you were left in just your thin pajama shorts, straddling your hulk of a boyfriend. Without the t-shirt in the way, Simon had easy access to your gorgeous tits, and took the opportunity to take a nipple in between his teeth, his other hand running up and down your back.

He was rock hard by now, the feeling of your soft skin on top of him sending his mind into a buzzing haze of desire. All he wanted to do was rut up into that precious pussy of yours and make you cum around his cock. But he had to be patient. He had to make sure you knew what you did wrong.

As soon as he felt you begin to rock your hips, a movement so imperceptible that only those who knew you would realize what you want, he gripped your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. Simon’s eyes were narrowed in warning, and a dark chuckled left his throat.

“You’re so greedy.” He growled, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Show daddy you’re more than jus’ a needy little girl.”

“How, daddy?” You breathed.

A whine fell from your lips as you slipped further away from being rational, your head fuzzy with want as you felt Simon’s cock pressed underneath you.

“Can’t get off without my cock, hm?” He thought back to the videos of you fucking yourself on the dildo he got you. Simon loosened his grip on your hips, allowing you to move, only to shifted you so that he could tear your pajama shorts off. He lifted you slightly so that you were straddling one of his thighs instead.

“You wanna cum s’badly? You need it s’much that you’re a brat?”

“Fuck yourself on my thigh then, luvie.”

Your breath left you in one big whoosh, and the moment Simon gave you permission to move, you were grinding down on his thigh. The fabric of his jeans rubbed against your clit, sending little jolts of pleasure through you.

Simon watched as your eyes got droopy, half opened through your haze of pleasure. He was still angry but right now all he could focus on was how pretty you looked. Your cheeks all flushed from his words and the exertion of grinding on him, your little hands holding onto his shoulders, and the wet spot on your panties.

“That’s it, pretty. Jus’ like that.” He groaned.

His cock felt impossibly hard, raging with need every time he looked at the way your tits bounced. Fumbling with his belt, he pulled his cock out. The noise caught your attention, and you faltered, going to reach for him. You didn’t get very far, because as soon as Simon felt you stop moving, he delivered two quick spanks to your ass.

You cried out in surprise and pain as he fisted one hand in your hair, and the other around his leaking cock. His hands were so big it made him look normal sized, but you knew he was easily almost ten inches.

“Such a whore.” He whispered, pulling your hair so your head was forced back. “Jus’ had t’get my cock in your mouth.”

Simon stroked himself lazily, savouring the wave of heat which coursed through him every time he ran a thumb over his tip. It wasn’t your touch, but it would do for now. Your gaze was forced to the ceiling as Simon kept you locked in position, observing you like his own personal work of art. The sound of his quiet groans filling your ears was torturous knowing you weren’t allowed to touch him. You could feel yourself leaking into his jeans, and knew he no doubt felt it too.

“Are you- oh, gonna be a good girl f’me?” His mouth latched on your exposed neck as he sucked a hickey into your skin, marking you as his. You were panting, practically trembling as he forced you to keep still. Simon was closer than he’d like to admit. It had been weeks since he’d touched you and just seeing you writhing on lap, trying to get whatever friction you could, made his cock leak.

“Say it, bunny.” He rasped into your ear, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“I’ve learned my lesson, daddy. Please, can I…” You trailed off, afraid that if you asked for his cock you’d seem ever more needy.

But Simon was thrilled.

Having the love of his life, almost naked on his lap, desperate to touch him was like a dream. The hand in your hair pushed your head down, his palm big enough to cover the back of your head.

“Suck.” He growled.

Rubbing the head of his cock along your mouth, demanding entrance, you parted your lips. Simon pushed inside of your mouth, heavy on your tongue as he let out a long, drawn out groan you wished you could have on repeat.

“Shit, sweathear’- oh, fuck..” He hissed. You could feel him twitching in your mouth.

He tried to focus on anything but the warm, wet-

Oh, god.

Simon bucked his hips up and began to fuck into you without warning, sending your hands shooting out to his stomach to catch yourself. His cock hit the roof of your mouth and your throat tightened on reflex as you tried not to gag. You could feel Simon’s nails digging into your scalp as he bobbed your head up and down.

“Sorry, luv’ I jus’,” He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of your lips around him. “Been achin’ for you, bunny. All those videos y’sent me.” He moaned, no longer able to keep himself from being gentle.

“Let daddy cum in y’mouth, sweetheart.”

The words flooded your pussy with heat, and Simon took notice of the way you moaned around his cock. He was strict, but he wasn’t cruel, and you had been good so far. Taking a little pity on you, Simon used his free hand to grab your hip, bouncing his leg so you could get a little relief. The sudden stimulation sent your dripping cunt into overdrive, and as Simon rammed his cock into your throat, you began to rut against his thigh.

He would’ve told you to keep your eyes on him, but they looked so pretty rolling back into your head.

“Yeah, yeah jus’ like that.” He said, his voice raspy as he tried to hold himself back. “Be good for daddy. Get close, luv’.”

You didn’t have to try with the way your cunt was clenching around nothing. Every bounce of his leg rubbed your clit against his jeans, and he pushed you further by holding your hip to help you grind against him. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, and Simon knew it too with the way you were moaning around his cock. Every noise you made sent a vibration through him, and he began to fuck your mouth with abandon, his balls tightening in anticipation.

“Oh, god. Oh f-fuck, bunny keep-” He spasmed in your mouth. “Keep suckin’ just like tha’. Daddy’s gonna cum in your pretty lil’ mouth.”

His words made your head spin. The only thought on your mind was drawing as much pleasure from him as you could, so you took his balls in your hand, rolling them a few times to push him over the edge. Your core was fluttering with need as you rutted against Simon’s leg, which he kept bouncing, hitting your swollen clit mercilessly. It was too much for both of you after weeks without each other.

Simon’s hand left your hip so he could tangle both hands in your hair, the need for his own pleasure taking over. You managed to glance up, wanting to see his face as he came.

“Luvie.. luvie, oh sweatheart.” His mouth hung open as he let out a noise he didn’t know he could make. The sight of you grinding desperately against his thigh tipped him over the edge.

“Oh, fuck. Bun-”

Ropes of hot, thick cum shot down your throat, filling your mouth and spilling past your lips. The taste of Simon on your tounge was enough to break you. Your mind shattered as you began rutting on his thigh, not caring how needy you looked, the heat in your pussy sent you spiralling. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, and you gushed all over Simon’s leg as he pressed himself so deep into your mouth that your nose hit his stomach.

He sent the last of his load down your throat and pulled your head up as you gasped for air. The world was fuzzy, but you felt two big, strong arms pulling you up from where you’d collapsed forward onto Simon’s stomach.

Taking you into his lap, he ran a hand through your hair as he rubbed your back in slow, comforting circles. His cock lay resting against his stomach, big even when it was getting soft. Simon’s hand found your chin and he turned your gaze to his, helping you come back to reality by taking off his balaclava to let you see his face.

“Did so good f’me, pretty.” He pressed a kiss to your nose, making you giggle.

“Thank you, daddy.” You managed to say, your eyes getting droopy as sleepiness began to creep in.

“I think you learned your lesson, sweetheart.” He mused, noticing your breaths begin to slow. “Jus’ rest here, luv’.”

“Daddy’s got you.”

Simon watched with reverence as your head rested against his shoulder, your flushed cheeks making you look even cuter than you did choking on his cock. This was good. This was right. He’d take care of you forever, he knew it from the moment he saw you. You didn’t realize yet, but you had one hell of a guardian angel on your side.

#smut #simon smut #ghost smut #ghost x f!reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you

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jonnywaistcoat · 9 months ago

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Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

#writing advice #rambling #first drafts #gotta say not mad on being called a horrormaster #feel like ive a ways to go yet #horror journeyman maybe

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won4kiss · 2 months ago

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── ❝ ꒰ 𝑂𝑁𝐿𝑌 𝐵𝑂𝑈𝐺𝐻𝑇 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐷𝑅𝐸𝑆𝑆 𝑆𝑂 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐶𝑂𝑈𝐿𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸 𝐼𝑇 𝑂𝐹𝐹 .ᐟㅤ ៸៸ ﹙ 심재윤 ﹚ ᶻ𐰁

GENRE ៸៸ suggestive ៸ b2l ៸ oneshot ﹔ SYPNOSIS┆in which you and jake can’t ignore your feelings for each other anymore.ᐟㅤ ꒰ WORD COUNT﹕1559 ꒱── 𝓦ARNING(S) not proofread ៸ very suggestive!! ៸ skinship ៸ . ݁ ✦ ݁ . ⊱ LIBRARY . . . ﹕LUNA 💭 —ngl this was so freaky of me im sorry!!(✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ݁𖥔 ݁˖

YOU NEVER THOUGHT THINGS WITH JAKE SIM COULD BE ANYTHING MORE THAN A FRIENDSHIP.

well, maybe you did—maybe you've thought about it more than you’d care to admit.

but for so long, you've kept those feelings locked away, buried under the bond of being "best friends."

you've known jake for years, seen him at his best and his worst.

you've laughed until you cried at his terrible jokes, stayed up late watching movies, even fallen asleep on his shoulder more times than you can count.

for the longest time, you convinced yourself that what you felt for jake was the kind of love you reserved for a friend—a really good friend, but nothing more.

lately, though, it's been different.

it's not just the little glances he gives you when he thinks you aren't paying attention, or the way his hand seems to linger on your lower back when he hugs you goodbye. ── 𝘔𝘖𝘙𝘌 𝘜𝘕𝘋𝘌𝘙 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘊𝘜𝘛 .ᐟㅤ

no, it's the way your heart speeds up when he's near, the way your pulse races when his voice drops low, just for you.

the way your breath catches when his eyes flicker to your lips during a conversation, even if he doesn't kiss you.

the lines have blurred—lines you swore to yourself wouldn't cross, and tonight, they feel like they're disappearing altogether.

you're at one of jake's usual parties, something casual with a few friends, but you can hardly focus on the conversations going on around you.

the music blasts softly in the background, and you're very aware of the dress you chose for the evening.

it's unlike anything you'd normally wear in front of him-delicate, fitted in all the right places, with the perfect amount of skin that makes you feel bold.

it's a quiet statement, one you're hoping he'll notice.

and oh, he's noticed.

from the moment you walked through the door, his eyes had been on you—an intensity behind them that you haven't seen before.

every time you catch him looking, your heart flutters, and you wonder if tonight will finally be the night when everything changes.

when the night winds down, and everyone else says their goodbyes, it's just you and jake left.

the silence in his apartment feels heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken words.

you sit on the couch, trying to play it cool, but you can't help the way your mind is racing, wondering if he's feeling what you're feeling right now.

jake stands in the doorway of the kitchen, watching you, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

the tension is thick, you could probably cut it with a knife.

"you're quiet tonight," jake finally says, his voice softer than usual, his eyes still on you in a way that makes your skin tingle.

you shrug, trying to act casual even though you're anything but. "just... thinking."

"about what?" he asks, walking over to the couch and sitting down beside you.

not just beside you—closer than usual, his knee brushes against yours, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity through you.

you swallow, trying to keep your composure.

but the air feels too thick, too charged. "you..me, us."

jake's brow furrows slightly, his eyes searching your face for answers. "what about us?"

you take a deep breath, knowing you're standing on the edge of something that could either change everything or break it.

"do you ever think about... crossing that line? the one we've been avoiding for a while?"

his gaze sharpens at your words, and for a moment, he says nothing, his silence speaking volumes.

his hand comes up to rest on the back of the couch behind you, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder.

it's such a simple gesture, but the touch feels loaded, like he's testing the waters, seeing how far he can go.

"every day," jake admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "i think about it all the time.”

your heart skips a beat at his confession, and suddenly, it's like the doors have finally opened.

the tension that's been simmering between you for months rushes to the surface, impossible to ignore anymore.

"i don't want to keep pretending," he continues, his eyes locked on yours now, filled with an intensity that makes your stomach twist in anticipation.

"i don't want you like a best friend."

his words hit you like a wave, and you can't breathe, can't think.

it's what you've been wanting to hear, but now that it's out in the open, it feels all too big to grasp all at once.

"i... i don't either," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky and nervous. "i haven't for a long time."

the confession hangs in the air between you, heavy and real.

jake's fingers move to your chin, gently lifting your face so you're forced to meet his gaze.

there's something vulnerable in his eyes, like he's laying all his cards on the table, waiting for you to do the same.

"you drive me crazy, you know that?" his thumb brushes softly over your cheek, the touch sending sparks down your spine.

"every time i'm with you, i have to stop myself from... from doing this."

before you can ask what he means, jake leans in, his lips hovering inches from yours.

the anticipation makes your head spin, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for him to close the distance.

and when he does, it feels like the world stops.

his lips are soft, hesitant at first, as if he's giving you the chance to pull away.

but you don't—instead, you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if to steady yourself.

the kiss deepens, slow and consuming, like both of you are finally letting go of everything you’ve been holding back.

jake's hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer until you're practically sitting in his lap.

his fingers trace patterns on your skin, burning through the fabric of your dress, and all you can think about is how much you've wanted this-how long you've been waiting for him.

when you finally pull apart, breathless and flushed, jake rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

there's a look in his eyes that you've never seen before, something raw and filled with want.

"you're all i think about," he murmurs, his voice raspy. "every time i'm with you, it's like i forget how to pretend."

your heart races as you take in his words, and you know there's no going back now.

the truth is out there, hanging between you, and you're both too far gone to stop.

"i bought this dress for you, you know," you say softly, your voice trembling with anticipation as you run your hands down his chest. "i didn't buy it for no reason."

jake's brow furrows slightly in confusion, but the way his eyes darken with understanding makes your breath hitch.

"what do you mean?" he asks, though you can tell he's starting to piece it together.

your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as you pull him closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper,

"i only bought this dress so you could take it off."

jake's breath hitches, and for a moment, everything feels suspended in the tension between you.

his hand tightens on your waist, and when he pulls back to look at you, there's a fire in his eyes that makes your skin tingle with excitement.

"you're killing me," he mutters, but there's a teasing grin on his face as his fingers trail down your arm, grazing the edge of the dress.

you smile, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw, your lips lingering on his skin as you whisper, "then do something about it."

jake doesn't need to be told twice.

in one swift motion, he lifts you onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as his lips crash into yours again.

the kiss is different this time-deeper, more desperate, like he's making up for all the time you've both spent pretending.

his hands move to the zipper of your dress, fingers fumbling slightly as he pulls it down, the sound loud in the quiet of the room.

your heart pounds in your chest as his hands roam your body, every touch igniting a fire in your veins.

the dress slips off your shoulders, and jake pulls back for a moment to look at you, his eyes dark with desire.

"you're beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with awe.

you feel a blush rise to your cheeks, but you don't have time to be self-conscious.

jake's lips are back on yours, his hands sliding up your bare back as he pulls you closer, your bodies pressed together in a way that makes you forget everything else.

it's been building to this for so long-the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the unspoken words.

now, it's all out in the open, and neither of you are holding back anymore.

as you fall back against the couch, jake hovering over you, his eyes filled with nothing but want and love, you realize that this was always where you were meant to end up—with him.

and tonight, everything that's been unsaid will finally be spoken.

𝒯aglist open ‹𝟹 @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @greentulip @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @pockyyasii @iluvnikism @wonsprincess @rikibwn @niawonn

៸៸ ❝ PLEASE REBLoG AND LiKE .ᐟㅤ 💌

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misspygmypie · 3 months ago

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Meet & Greet... and more? Pt. 6

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Words: 2521 Click here for Part 5

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

The next morning Y/N and Noah were packed and ready for their departure, with Lando loading everything into the car. He had insisted on bringing them and thankfully they were leaving from a private area of the airport, so he didn’t worry too much about crowds.

The drive was filled with light chatter and laughter, Lando making an effort to engage Noah in conversation. He pointed out various spots and shared a few facts he knew about the city, trying to make the journey as enjoyable as possible for the little boy.

As they neared the airport, Lando decided it was the right moment to bring up the topic that had been on his mind. He glanced over at Y/N who nodded in encouragement and with a deep breath Lando started talking to the boy in the backseat. “Hey Noah, I wanted to tell you something important before you two leave.”

The boy looked up from his toy car he was playing with. “Yes?”

“Well, you know how you and your mom have been so amazing to me?” Lando smiled warmly, trying to keep his tone casual and friendly. “I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you both this weekend and I want to tell you something.”

Noah tilted his head slightly, waiting for Lando to continue. “What’s that?”

Y/N took the driver’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze but she could see in Lando’s face that the Brit had no idea how to approach the topic. “Lando and I have been getting to know each other better and we’ve been having a lot of fun. He asked me if he could be more than just a friend to us and I said yes. So, he’s going to be mommy’s boyfriend now.”

“I know this might be new for you, but I want you to know that I’m really happy to be spending time with you and your mom. I’m looking forward to getting to know you even better and I hope we can have lots of fun together,” Lando directed at the boy, his expression nervous but hopeful.

Noah’s eyes widened a bit as he processed the news. “Does this mean you’re going to be around more? And can we come visit you at more races?”

Lando’s face lit up with a broad smile. “Yes, I’d love for you and your mom to come visit me at more races, it would be fantastic to have you both there. I’ll make sure to have some fun stories and maybe even a few surprises for you.”

Y/N watched the exchange with a heart full of affection and relief. She could see that Noah was beginning to warm up to the idea, even though the 4-year-old probably didn’t fully understand what it all meant, and Lando’s genuine care was making this a positive conversation too.

When they arrived at the airport and Y/N went to get their boarding passes Lando and Noah found a quiet corner near the check-in area, away from other people. The young man crouched down to the boy's level, giving him his full attention.

“Noah,” Lando said gently, “I know this is a lot to take in. It’s okay to feel a bit unsure about things changing and not fully understanding it but I want you to know that I’m here because I really care about you and your mom. If you ever have any questions or just want to talk, I’m always here for you.”

“I’m not nervous. I think it’s going to be great and you really seem to like us.”

Lando chuckled softly, his eyes warm. “I like you two very much! And if you ever feel unsure, just let me know. We can always talk about it.”

The kid’s face suddenly brightened with an idea. “That means you could come to my next birthday! It’s not for a long while but it would be really cool if you could come!”

“Wow,” Lando’s eyes widened in surprise, he surely didn’t expect to get an invite to a birthday party already, “that sounds fantastic! I’d love to come to your party. I’ll check my schedule once we get closer to make sure I can make it. But if for some reason I can’t be there, I promise I’ll throw you a special party at the paddock. We’ll make it extra fun and I’ll make sure it’s something you’ll remember.”

Noah’s face lit up with excitement. “That sounds awesome! I hope you can come but I’d love the paddock party too.”

Y/N returned with the boarding passes, her face showing relief when she saw and overheard the supportive exchange between Lando and Noah. She joined them, giving Lando a grateful smile. “Thanks for being so understanding, Lando. I’m sure he will be thrilled whether you make it to his party or if we have to do the paddock celebration.”

“It’s going to be a lot of fun no matter what ,” Lando smiled back at her, “but I don’t want to have to wait that long to see you two again…”

After they finished up their goodbyes Lando watched as Y/N and Noah made their way to the gate. He felt excited about the future and the first thing he would do when he was on his next flight was to check his calendar for his days off.

_____

It was an ordinary Tuesday afternoon a few short months later and the Formula 1 world was buzzing with its usual pre-race speculation and excitement. The latest headlines were filled with updates about team strategies, driver performances and the occasional juicy rumor.

At 2:00 PM the first hint of something significant emerged on social media. A tweet from a sports journalist read: "News coming out of the McLaren camp. Stay tuned!" The hashtag #LandoOffTheMarket began trending and at 2:30 PM, a series of paparazzi photos were released, showing Lando, Y/N and her four-year-old son, Noah, enjoying a casual day out.

The images captured the trio in a heartfelt moment: Y/N holding Lando’s hand, his arm slung around her neck casually but tightly, while the toddler sat on the driver’s shoulders, Lando’s other hand securely holding on to the boy’s tiny leg to keep him in place and Noah’s little hands wrapped around the man’s neck while his head leaned softly onto the driver’s. A big smile adorned all of their faces.

The immediate reaction was a wave of shock, excitement and curiosity. Fans and media outlets scrambled to learn more about Y/N and her son, who had previously been unknown to the public.

Social media platforms immediately were flooded with comments about the sweet new addition to Lando’s life. “Noah is the cutest!” and “Lando’s little family is absolutely adorable!” were among the most read comments. Photos of Noah, with his wide-eyed wonder and charming smile, quickly became a tiny sensation and fan pages dedicated to Lando began posting collages and edits featuring all three of them.

They praised Lando for his new role as a father figure and expressed their adoration for the young boy who had captured their hearts and many fans eagerly awaited any glimpses of Noah in future posts but also were quick to defend the family from invasive or negative comments.

For Lando, Y/N, and Noah the announcement marked a new chapter. What had started as a private romance was now thrust into the world, changing the dynamics of their lives in ways they had yet to fully comprehend. However, Lando and Y/N tried their best to handle their relationship as normal as possible.

With Lando being away for races their days were filled with text messages, Lando’s messages often included snapshots from his busy days at McLaren. He would send a photo of himself and his team, a behind-the-scenes glimpse of his gear or the track or a funny moment from the garage.

Meanwhile Y/N would send images of her and her son, whether it was Noah’s latest art project, a day at the park or a cozy evening on the couch. Lando’s favorite ones though were Y/N sharing how she and Noah were watching one of Lando’s races together, cheering him on.

_____

A few weeks later it was Y/N and Noah’s first visit to a race since news of their relationship had hit the headlines. From the McLaren motorhome Lando spotted them making their way through the paddock and walked towards them, beaming brightly. Y/N was holding Noah’s hand, guiding him through the crowd. However, the photographers, drawn by the media frenzy over Lando and Y/N’s relationship, were relentless. Flashes from cameras and invasive questions quickly created an overwhelming atmosphere.

Noah soon became frightened by the flashing lights and the amount of people around him. His face turned pale and tears began streaming down his cheeks as he clung to Y/N’s leg, sobbing uncontrollably.

Seeing Noah’s distress and Y/N’s struggle, Lando’s protective instincts kicked in. He pushed through the crowd, his voice rising above the noise. “Give them some space! Back off!” he shouted angrily. The photographers reluctantly stepped back, though they continued to snap photos from a distance.

“Noah, buddy, it’s okay,” the driver said gently, kneeling down to Noah’s level. “We’re going to get you away from all these cameras.”

Noah, his face flushed and tear-streaked, looked up at Lando with fear. “I don’t like it… too many lights…”

Lando’s heart ached. Without hesitation he lifted him up into his arms, holding him close and trying to calm him down. “It’s alright, Noah. I’m here. We’ll find a quiet place.”

Y/N followed Lando as he carried Noah through the paddock. The tension and anger Lando felt were evident and everyone around them could sense his frustration. Reaching the McLaren hospitality area just a few short moments later Lando handed Noah a juice box, hoping to soothe him. “Here you go, buddy. This should help.”

Noah took the juice, his sobs gradually subsiding as he sipped. Lando, seeing that Noah was starting to calm down, turned to one of the team assistants. “Can you please take them to one of the offices? They could use a quieter spot to relax for a second.”

The assistant nodded and gently guided Y/N and Noah away, Lando watching them with anger boiling inside him. He then stormed into his and Oscar’s driver’s room section, slamming the door behind him. Oscar, who had witnessed the scene, followed him in.

“Everything okay?” Oscar asked as he entered the room.

Lando paced back and forth, his fists clenched. “Those photographers,” he began, his voice rising. “They were relentless! They had no regard for Noah, no sense of decency. It was like they were more interested in scaring him than taking decent photos.”

Oscar watched as Lando’s anger poured out. “It’s one thing for me having to deal with the media but to see them treating a child like that… It’s infuriating. I just wanted Y/N and Noah to have a nice day and they ruined it!”

Oscar nodded, understanding the depth of Lando’s frustration. “You did everything you could to get Noah out of there and make sure he was ok. Unfortunately sometimes that’s all you can do.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lando stopped pacing and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “I just hate feeling so powerless and unable to protect them from this.”

“They will be fine, mate. Let’s focus on the race and try to enjoy the time you have with them.”

Lando nodded, taking a moment to compose himself. He couldn’t shake the anger he felt but he was determined to channel it into a positive outcome.

_____

As the race day wound down and the paddock was slowly emptying out Lando seemed detached. His usual bright demeanor was replaced with a contemplative silence that Y/N noticed immediately.

She watched him from across the paddock, his gaze distant as he stared at the now empty track. After making sure Noah was taken care of Y/N walked over to him, concern etched on her face. “Is everything okay?” she asked softly.

Lando turned to her and she could see the exhaustion and vulnerability on his face. “I just... I don’t know, Y/N. Today was supposed to be special and instead it felt like I failed in so many ways. I see how the media affected Noah and I can’t shake the feeling that maybe it’s not worth it, us being together, with everything that comes with it.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his words. She reached out and gently cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. “Lando, listen to me. I know things were a bit chaotic this morning and I know it’s hard sometimes with all the attention but that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“But what if this life isn’t fair to you and Noah? What if it’s too much?” Lando’s eyes met hers, searching for reassurance.

Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her courage to say what she had wanted to say for a while now but was too shy yet to admit to both herself and him. “Lando, I love you,” she finally let him know, feeling relieved that the words were now out. “I love you so much that I’m willing to face the challenges that come with being with you. Noah loves you too. He was a bit scared today but he looks up to you. He thinks you’re the coolest person ever, you’re his idol.”

Tears glistened in Lando’s eyes, touched by her words. “I love you too, Y/N, so much, both of you,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I’ve loved you for a long time and hearing you say that makes me the happiest I’ve ever been. You both mean the world to me. I just don’t want to be the reason you or Noah are unhappy.”

Y/N’s expression softened as she wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “We’re not unhappy, Lando. We’re just learning how to navigate this. What we have is worth it. Your love, it means everything to us and the challenges are just part of it.”

Lando pulled Y/N into a tight embrace, his heart swelling still hearing those three words over and over again in his head.

Noah had been playing with an engineer who had taken a break from helping pack up the equipment to entertain him. His laughter filled the air as he enjoyed the playful distraction and when Lando’s gaze fell upon him, the toddler’s eyes sparkled with joy. He ran towards Lando who picked him up with one arm while still having the other one securely around Y/N, embracing them tightly.

“I’m so lucky to have you both,” Lando murmured, his voice trembling slightly. “I promise to do everything I can to make sure you’re both happy and safe, always.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed Lando’s cheek. “And we’re lucky to have you. We’ll get through this together.”

_________

Click here for Part 7!

Tag: @barcelonaloverf1life @remmysthings @poppyflower-22 @vickykazuya @hadids-world @ririyulife @deafeningunknowntyrant @lexiecampos @littlegrapejuice @eloriis @yawn-zi @landossainz @taliya8346282844eliviahdgdajs @casuallyeating @destinyg237 @jaydensluv @hc-dutch @alana4610

#ln4 x reader #lando imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando norris #lando fluff #lando fic #lando x y/n #lando norris x y/n #landonorris #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

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seratopia · 1 year ago

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miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - intoxicated → she/her pronouns!

modern ceo au! what happens when miguel is drunk

It's extremely rare when Miguel goes out to drink with coworkers, it's rare enough when Miguel gets out to go anywhere in general. He's either cooped up in his office, glued to his work, or glued to you at home.

You suggested to Miguel earlier this week about getting out to a bar, along with a few of the other higher-ups of the company. It's healthy to get out, you said, even if all he's going to be doing is drinking alcohol and eating meat.

Miguel's only good with people in a more professional sense; he's not the best at being all buddy-buddy with people he usually works with. He's quiet the entire time he's at the bar, occasionally taking a bored nibble at a bowl of loaded fries.

He kind of regrets this; surrounded by loud music, loud people, TV's with sports games playing in the background. He just misses you, he wants to come home and make food with you.

One of his coworkers, nudged him in the side a bit, obviously gesturing towards the wide array of various drinks and juices.

"Might as well have a drink while you're at it." He says, and Miguel is just stone-faced the entire time. The man walks away towards the remaining group of coworkers, possibly to either go dance, or to stare at girls from afar.

Considerably, it's been a while since he's had a drink. One or two wouldn't hurt, especially as a last minute scrounge for enjoyment in this god-awful bar.

Slowly, Miguel nurses on a drink provided by a suspiciously sleek bartender, leaning his cheek into his palm whilst taking a couple sips. He can feel the wolfish eyes of various women & men staring at him, feeling somehow exposed in his tight white button-up and simple pants. If only you were here, to sit in his lap and run your little hands against his chest.

The thought makes his head spin, a violent hot warmth running up his cheeks, his mind being blurred like a smudge on someone's reading glasses. The room's almost tilting sideways, the thoughts in his head dissolving away. (miguelito is a lightweight because i say so)

Miguel's drunk, for the first time in literal years.

He doesn't like it; he feels out of control of his body, unable to think or function correctly. He feels like a different person entirely, his eyes replaced with jelly and the tips of his ears turning scarlet.

The drink tasted good and all, but Miguel's thoughts on you feel magnified, every feature, every action you do running through his head like a cassette tape. He misses you more, and he really wants to see you.

Cleverly, he pulls out his phone, sighing to himself on the counter. It takes him a moment to put in his phone password correctly, fingers drunkenly tapping on the screen until he can find your contact.

. . .

You receive a text notification at about 9:43. Expectedly, you knew Miguel probably wouldn't make it through the whole night, but you're proud of him for trying. You open up your phone, amidst watching a show in bed.

miguelito💞💓: My love, I am intoxicated.

The text makes you giggle a little, imagining him all red-faced and tripping over himself with his coworkers.

Conveniently, you receive another text, one from the person you asked to keep an eye on Miguel.

It's a picture of Miguel with his head leaned against the counter, lovingly zooming in on a picture of your face with his phone. His ears are red, and there's a half-drunken drink beside him.

james q: he says he misses you. want me to take him home? you: it's okay, thanks tho. i'll be there in 10 to get him. james q: 👍

Assuming Miguel's still on his phone, you shoot him a text.

you: i see u looking at me

You giggle to yourself, and Miguel is visibly both shocked and excited, peering left to right as if you were magically in the bar.

miguelito💞💓: Please pick me up. I hate it here. you: ok sweetie, be there in 10

. . .

Despite the hour, the bar is bustling as ever, populated with underage girls wearing slip dresses and drunk frat boys. You worm through the building, searching left and right for your husband through the cacophonous bar.

Finally, you spot him where the counter is, big head tucked into crossed arms.

Gently, you slip your hand onto his shoulder, warmly rubbing him awake. At first he flinches, staring at you as if you were a stranger. He relaxes a few seconds later, lovingly and drunkenly fixating on you.

"Hey hun, I'm here to take you home." You say, and Miguel feels so warm, so comforted in contrast to the rash environment of the pub. He wants to kiss you, but he's too drunk to focus.

Without a word, Miguel rises from his bar stool, arms and hands immediately inching around your shoulders. He doesn't realize it, but he's pressing more of his body weight onto you, leaning on top of you like a slug.

Seeing you roll away the finest, sexiest piece of man as if it were nothing makes the party around you fume, their thoughts of asking for a number shattered within a minute or two.

Miguel trails after you, gluing himself to your back as you maneuver yourself out of the stuffy bar. Finally, you're out in the cool air of the dark, muffled edm music booming from the block's other counterparts.

The sidewalk is somewhat barren, scattered with a few people smoking or walking.

"I missed you, s'much." Miguel slurs, seeing the outline of your car in the dark parking lot.

"I know you did, baby. Now you get to come home with me and we can do whatever you want, like we promised." You say, unlocking your car with the press of your key.

He smiles just a teensy bit, his heart warming at the thought of snuggling up to you in bed, or cooking a late-night meal of sorts with you while a show plays in the background.

Miguel's the passenger princess tonight, adjusting the seat backwards so he can actually sit. He stares at you the entire time through bleary eyes, watching you start the car as if it were the most artistic and most beautiful thing ever.

"I love you." Miguel says, and you can feel the gratuity in his voice.

"I love you too."

#across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #fluff #reader insert #romance #x reader #spiderman #spiderverse #seratopia writes ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

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evilminji · 6 months ago

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Oh... oh no it's all coming together ( o.o)

Ya'll remember my Danny haunts Space Games post?

That but MORE SO. Harder. Like... ZONE GAME DEVELOPER PASSION PROJECT harder. Because? Special Interest chemicals go brrrrr~☆

And you KNOW... you absolutely FUCKING KNOW! That Danny was minding his business, going about his life, hyped as FUCK for the new Space Game 5 (a niche game but so what? It has REALISTIC physics! It's set on THE MOON!).

Has NOT stopped rambling on about it.

Been driving everyone insane, because it won't be out for MONTHS.

When~?

Youngblood, probably, goes "So what? That sound BORING. There barely anything to DO in that! Not like one of OUR Super Cool ZONE Video Games™. OURS are way better! And we gave LOADS more options then THAT! Now can we get back to-"

Freeze frame, record scratch.

Wait. WHAT!?

Danny is violently answers out of that eternal child faster then you can say "Dude! Chill!" Got them manic Obsession Eyes. Oops. Youngblood forgot Danny is Space Obsessed. But also PROTECTION Obsessed. Meaning he can't LEAVE where he is protecting.

You know.... FOR SPACE.

He needs a work around to feed his Obsession. Video games do it. Since he can go INTO them, but leave at a moments notice, if trouble happens. It's like being both IN SPACE but also AT HIS POST! Double Obsession Feeding! Happy chemicals! Mmmmm, content ecto-goo~

But now? NOW?! He's learning there is BETTER Space?!

WHERE IS THE BETTER SPACE?! *kicks open the portal*

It? Is a terrifying time for everybody. Thanks A LOT, Youngblood. It takes like... five Amazons and Pandora herself tackling the little menace, to get him still long enough to get a semi-coherent answer out of him. Stop him trying to shake down random ghosts for answers they can't GIVE.

Youngblood is grounded.

DANNY has an Obsession-crash headache, is really embarrassed, but honestly no one blames him. No one acts their best when they're Obsession gets suddenly triggered that hard. It was a poor man offered El Dorado, a scholar all the secrets in the world. He got swept up in it.

That SAID, yes, there IS a video game shop near here. There are, of course, countless such shops. It's the Zone. There are countless EVERYTHING. It's the nature of the Zone. Just don't harrass any of the developers and all will be well, Phantom. They're not afraid to put YOU in time out as well.

Deal! ( /☆.☆)/ *grabby hands*

There? Are so, SO many games. For systems Danny's never even HEARD off. Alien ones, new ones, long dead ones. Zone exclusives. It's less a shop and more a sprawling maze.

His grin is FERAL.

Space. Gaaaaaaames!!!

The more realistic the BETTER. Give him that living vicariously like an Astronaut DREAM. But fantasy maybe! Or in the future! Or deep space! Alien mayhaps! There are a few. The blended Obsessions that are kinda like his. Space and video-games instead of Space and Protection.

And? Oh~

Oh they are so SO realistic.

Impossible to play on any Earth computer, too. Not a single chance. Wouldn't even TRY and run. But! He is a Fenton! And he WILL have his Space Games! If his parents can make a portal in their basement? HE can make a Bank of Ectoplasmic Supercomputers in his spare room! Or Bedroom! Depends on renting prices!

He GUTS every landfill for MILES for usable parts.

"Liberates" parts from Rogues, left and right. Fuck their evil plans! He has computers to build! The Justice League? Baffled. Alarmed. Nooooot his problem!!!

He completes his works and? Oh~ the smile is both terrifying and fangy.

Spaaaaaaaace~☆

He starts College. On line, of course, he refuses to leave Amity. And Online can be done at his pace, at his hours. So? For once? He's actually doing WELL. Even BETTER? It helps him remember to leave them games every once and a while. Eat something. Be human.

But... well... it's like a slow flip of his Obsession starving. Now that he has all the Space he could ever want? He... suddenly finds Amity... peaceful? Which is GOOD! It's... it's GOOD.

.........just not for him.

He can almost physically FEEL him mind unclenching it's death grip on the town. Finger by finger. Hands releasing, letting go, as they... reach for something. As he starts taking NOTE of crime rates in major cities. Alien attacks and Rogues, Heros spread too thin, people getting HURT.

In need of PROTECTION.

He... he doesn't WANT to be that fickle. He LOVES Amity! It's his HOME. He wasn't protecting it just because he craved something to protect! In the end, he drags it out longer then he probably should, argues with himself, ignores the problem. Is STUBBORN.

It's only after Dani starts talking about coming back to Amity to stay with him, do the college thing like he did, that he realizes...

Amity's not his Haunt anymore.

They talk. She's excited to help him find a nice shit hole of a city to protect, but also worried because he looks really gaunt. He may LOVE Space... but...

It's the GHOST in him that loves Space. The Astronaut. The Kid who refused to die, who ate a PORTAL TO THE EVERYTHING and crawled out still exsistant, who told Death not only "not today" but "not EVER"? That kid had something to protect. Was and is and always will BE, protection. Himself, his friends, his family or the town. Doesn't matter WHAT it is.

He refused to go, so he could protect them.

The part that DID, though, was starlight. And yeah, he needs it. Feeds it desperately. But it... doesn't exactly support his human half, you know? Doesn't anchor him. Make him want to eat and sleep, be human and alive, connect with people.

Space makes him ghosty.

Dani ultimately convinces him, after spraying him down with a hose and shoving a cheeseburger down his face, to move to Metropolis with her. They get ALIENS! Have Aliens HEROS! BIG DESTRUCTIVE FIGHTS. With lots and LOTS of people who need help! Plus? Gotham is within a day trip!

And UNLIKE Gotham, the Ecto isn't RANK AF in Metropolis.

Seriously, it smells like a burst sewer pipe over there.

Danny agrees. Can totally afford a modest lil place thanks to some patents. Makes one HELL OF A SCENE moving in. With his giant, ominous, futuristic, weirdly day glow green glowing bank of super computers... in this, "we love our Alien Blorbo" Metropolis.

Cause Green and Glowing sure ain't welcome round these parts! No SIR! Somebody call the COPS!

Danny isn't even half way through, when Superman lightly touchs down, a forced grin plastered to his face. The "please, God, not another Rogue. Not a new one. Please!" all but RADIATING off him.

Hmmmmm....

Danny... kiiiinda forgot not everyone was as "I see fuckin NOTHING, man" as Amity natives. Awkward. Welp! Fenton Oblivious Gene's, ACTIVATE!

"Oh, HIIIIIII~☆ Superman! What brings you round these parts? Gosh, it's an honor! Dani! Come meet SUPERMAN!"

Clark knows what he's doing. Danny knows, Clark knows what he's doing. They are both from the Midwest. They ain't gonna break first! You kidding? Clark still has to ask. Inserts himself by INSISTING on helping. A welcome to Metropolis! Ha ha! (How long we gonna lie for, kid? How long? I can do this all day.)

Clark? Learns that Danny has become ABSURDLY knowledgeable about terraforming, spacecraft, aerospace engineering and anything else related to Space Survival. Thanks to... his "games".

Which Clark is PRETTY sure? Are creatively set up, alien, training programs. Cause both of the Fentons are DEFINITELY at least partially non-human. But, eh. Who is he to judge? The "mad scientist" vibe, though... THAT is his to judge. Which he does.

Routine check ins!

And pasta bakes. Because good lord, Fenton, you are skin and bones! And? If it helps with both Watchtower maintenance AND some killer articles? Because Danny is a fountain of Space related knowledge who loves to share it? That's between Clark and the weird, semi-feral, gremlin he's adopted! (Yes, honey, he KNOWS Danny is a grown man. But I did it with BRUCE-)

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @legitimatesatanspawn @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation @the-witchhunter

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp prompt #minji's writing #zone video games au #space games au

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luvyeni · 4 months ago

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FUCK MY WIFE ,, 방찬

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ bangchan x fem!reader wc. 3.9k+

genre. neighbor!au, smut

𓄷 includes ... cheating, unprotected sex, oral ( both receiving ), daddy kink

「 authors note 𖹭 」 you don't technically need to read the lee know fic , but it doesn't reference parts from the story so.

❪ masterlist! ❫

chan watched you go inside minhos house; he also saw minho following behind you, like he was on a mission. “hey baby.” he felt the lips of his wife's on his cheek. “hey.” he said looking around for your mother and minhos wife. “Who are you looking for?.” his wife asked, he shook his head. “no one.” he saw them both talking to each other; both of them so unaware of what their daughter and husband were up to. “just looking for the host or hostess.”

“ah she's over there talking to their neighbor that lives across the street from them.” she pointed. “i'm not sure where her husband is though— hey!” she waved as the two ladies approached them. “Mr. and Mrs. Bhang , how are you enjoying the barbecue?” the lady of the house asked him, chan tipped his drink with a smile. “You guys know how to throw a party , and the desserts are amazing.” he complimented. “well that's courtesy of Ms. y/ln here , she owns the bakery as you know.”

“Well you are an amazing baker.” the lady gushed, “thank you.” she said, his wife spoke up. “Hey, where is your husband?” He watched her look around much like he did before , but he knew where he was — and to say he was jealous was an understatement. “Probably inside feeding the cats.” she shrugged it off. “That man and those cats , sometimes I swear he loves them more than me.” she laughed.

“ah! there he is.” She said, the man standing around, his face red but chan didn't comment on it. “I told you those damn cats, I knew it.” she said. “yn seems to be missing as well , that girl probably snook off and went home.” your mother said, chan couldn't believe how oblivious the two were, it was almost comical how right on the nose they were but also so wrong.

both the ladies walking away; leaving him with his wife. “should we get going soon?” he asked, she nodded. “yeah, let me say a few goodbyes to the girls then we can head home.” he nodded , and she was off , he turned back to Minho who was adjusting himself, finally making eye contact; chan just gave him a nod like he knew— lucky fucking bastard.

Chan remembers the first time you came home from college for winter break; it was your freshman year, you were twenty-one years old; coming home from a grueling day at work to see you sitting on his couch; it was a cold day out but you were still wearing the tiniest skirt only with fleece tights, with the tightest long sleeve shirt that made your tits pop.

he couldn't remember why you were there and honestly he didn't care, you were sitting there waiting for his wife; so cute , so carefree— so fuckable. The obvious fuck me eyes you were giving him made his 30+ heart beat; and his cock stirring in his pants. that was the first night he ever fucked his wife.

no it wasn't the first time he ever fucked his wife in general; but it was the first night in a very long time; probably since before they got married all those years ago that he fucked his wife with so much lust and hungry, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of her— but his mind wasn't on his wife; no, he was thinking about you being under him, and him filling your tiny little cunt with his cock.

his wife was none the wiser either; thinking he just finally had a spur of the moment, and she wasn't complaining it was the best sex they had in a while, she was happy— blissfully unaware that her husband was thinking about the young girl down the street while he filled her with his load.

After that he thought it would go back to normal; and it did, you went back to college for the rest of the semester, and his sex life with his wife returned back to normal; slow and mundane , much like before— then you returned back for the summer, it just got worse from there.

Not only did you somehow get hotter over the last few months; now due to the heat you were wearing less and less clothing; miniskirts and shorts so short you didn't even need to bend over for people to see your lacy panties, your tiny crop tops; shiny titties bouncing up and down as you made your way down the hot streets.

Then it was the sunbathing; fuck the sunbathing. he didn't know if you did it for attention or what; and he didn't care he prayed every time he walked his dog that you were out there in the tiniest bikini soaking up the sun; and everytime you were, you'd sit up, lowering your sunglasses, parting your lips as you waved at him, wishing him a good day; he watched you purposely push your titties together— because you knew he was looking at them. that was the second time he fucked his wife, much like he did that winter.

That entire summer; it was like a routine, he'd walk the dog and you were out there in your bikinis; you'd have a small conversation where you'd subtly push your tits together; or your eyes would lower to his cock that knowing you; could see twitching in his shorts, biting your lip before he'd walk away— and then he'd go home and fuck his wife, he fucked his wife so that he wouldn't fuck you.

His wife must've been in heaven the entire summer; but she was surely let down once again when you went back to college for your second year— and their sex life returned back to normal.

“You know Mrs. Lee?” his wife said from their bathroom; bringing him back to reality. they had finally made their way back to their home. “she thinks that girl across the street from them, yn i think that's her name.” she walked into the room “she thinks she's trying to make a move on her husband.”

‘She's not wrong’ chan thought, but he didn't say it out loud. “How so.” he said, not bothering to look up from his phone. “just the little thing she does, the looks she gives him; and how she talks to him, she even said she started the sunbathing again.” he finally looked at his wife. “Sunbathing?” he said; of course he knew what she was talking about. “Yeah , half naked in her front yard, the other wives said it too.” fuck he couldn't wait to walk the dogs again. “that girl, her poor mother is none the wiser either, her daughter parading herself around seducing women's husbands.”

she climbed into bed , moving his phone out his, climbing into his lap. “not my husband though.” she kissed his lips. “My husband isn't desperate enough to fall for a young girl that's looking for attention?.” he groaned as he felt his wife grinding against him. “Mhm of course not.” he didn't move , letting her do what she wanted. “Good, now fuck me.” she moaned out

He flipped her over, slotting himself in-between her legs; his cock hard, from his wife yes; but also from the thought of you into those tiny bikinis, especially that red one; fuck that red one that barely covered your titties, the bottom not even covering your ass. “chan baby fuck me.”

And that he did, but much like all the times before; his mind was on you, how tight your pussy would be, your titties covered in his cum, how loud he would make you scream his name; you you you , that's all was on his mind as he plowed into his wife. “fuck chan, I'm gonna cum.” his wife screamed. “fuck cum.” he pulled out of his cum jerking his cock off, thinking it was you as he came all over her , covering her in his cum. “fuck.”

He quickly finished his wife off , rolling on to his back. “fuck it's been a while since you fucked me like that.” she kissed his cheek. “you even came so much.” She stood up. “Next time do it inside me, it's so messy like this.” he nodded breathlessly as he watched his naked wife walk back into the bathroom. Chan closed his eyes, the vivid image of you still there making his cock hard again. “shit.” he cursed.

Pulling his shorts up; ignoring his hard cock. “you're still hard.” his wife made her return , laying in bed. “What's got you so wound up today?” she asked. “stress probably don't worry it will go down.” she nodded, turning on her side. “Well get some rest.” he hummed. “okay.” he waited until his wife fell into a deep sleep before making his way into the bathroom to jerk off to the thought of you.

The next day; he came home from work and his wife was holding the leash in her hand. “walk the dog.” So before he could even put his things down , he was heading out the door with berry.

After doing his daily walk with the dog , he started on his way home; telling berry about his day. “oh hi Mr. Bahng.” you were coming from across the street; the lee house. “hi yn , going to see Mrs. Lee?” he watched as your eyes widened for a split second , before going back to normal. “yeah, my mother let her borrow a dish and she needed it back.” you lied right through your teeth , and he knew it , but could he really judge you if he wanted to do the same thing. “yeah, where is it?”

“Oh she wasn't home, I asked Mr. Lee but he had no idea what I was talking about.” you said so smoothly; like this was nothing to you. “Guess mommy will have to wait to make those brownies.” you smiled so sweetly, he wondered if you tasted as sweetly as you smiled. “You'll have to bring me some,” he said. “your mother's brownies.”

“Of course.” you toyed with the necklace that sat nice on your titties, he noticed the hickey on top of your left breast , wanting to groan so bad; they probably fit perfectly in his hand. “Mr. Bahng?” you asked. “you okay, you're a little red?” he laughed nervously. “Of course, it's just a little hot out today.” he fanned himself , you pouted. “isn't it?” your whiny voice , he felt his cock move. “I heard it's gonna be like this all week.” you sighed, before perking back up. “but it's perfect for sunbathing.”

You smirked watching his eyes widened a bit. “sunbathing?” he asked. “Yes , it's the perfect weather for it , I might do it tomorrow.” of course you were gonna do it tomorrow; because you knew he'd be by with his dog. “Yeah?” he said, you nodded. “yup!” you bent down slowly, giving him a good peek of your tits. “Hello berry.” you patted the dog's head. “She's so cute.” you looked up at him, giving him the image of what you would look like kneeling in front of him , right before you took him into your mouth. “yeah she is.”

the way he was looking at you made your panties wet; you were ready to go again, even though you had just come back from getting the best fuck of your life from Minho— who's to say you can't get the second best on the same day. “well I should go.” he said , simply because he was losing his mind. “My wife is probably waiting for me.” you nodded. “yeah my mom should be on her way home now, i have to start preparing for dinner.” You gave the dog one last pet before standing up. “Goodnight Mr. Bahng.”

He watched you walk away, your ass peeking from your tiny skirt as you made your way into the house. “Mr. Bhang.” He heard a voice from across the street where Minho stood with a smirk. “Mr. Lee.” He gave a head tilt. “Off to see the wife.” he air quoted the word see. “you know it.” he winked before making his way home— his wife might catch on if he comes home after a walk ready to fuck like a dog in heat.

The next day he once again found himself walking the dog; for a split second, he wondered if his wife knew what she was doing sending him on these walks; but that thought quickly went, of course he would think that his wife was a cuck for the young girl down the block. “Hello Mr. Bahng.”

There you were, laying on a towel in the grass; red bikini, fuck he was really about to cum in his pants. “Hello again.” he gave a little smile. “I see you were true to your word.” you smiled , nodding. “It was so nice out today, I couldn't resist.” you sighed , your tits barely covered. “Oh yeah , my mother got the dish.” you said. “huh?” He questioned. “for the brownies , it turns out it wasn't Mrs. Lee but the couple next to them, the kim's.” he nodded. “Their son Seungmin brought it today.”

“that's good , so your mom will be able to make the brownies then.” you nodded , sitting up , now giving him a full view of your tits as you sat back on your hands. “yup , she's making them now.” You said. “I can bring you some tomorrow if you'd like.” You tilted your head to the side. “I'm sure your wife would enjoy them.”

“Oh yeah for sure,” he said. “I would like that very much.” you hummed. “okay!” You smiled. “See you then.” you waved , before turning back on your stomach , the view of your ass; the bottom's barely doing anything. “fuck.” he cursed as the dog began to pull at the leash. “come on berry.” he gave your ass one last peek before continuing down the block.

“Fuck baby if you keep fucking me like this I don't think I'll be able to keep up.” he rolled off of his naked wife. “Where are you getting this energy from all of a sudden?” He smiled , pulling his shorts back up. “Just love for my wife.” and the lust for you; the need to fuck you. “mhm i like it.” she smiled.

“i'm going to visit my mother tomorrow.” his wife spoke up. “yeah, when?” he said. “I'll leave tomorrow and I'll return within two days.” she said. “I’ve prepared the food for those two days, just heat it up and eat.” he thanked her. “Oh and the lady down the street has some treats she said she'll bring them as well, you better save me some.” He completely forgot about that; you did say you'd be by— he thought his wife would be here; to stop him from taking you right there in the living room. “She'll be here in the afternoon.” He nodded , tomorrow may just be the day he gives in. “okay.”

He waited for you the entire day; he knew you were coming and he was ready, he made a decision the night before; if giving the opportunity he was gonna fuck you; he knew it was wrong, his wife did satisfy him , but it was clear his thoughts of you were infiltrating his mind; and it wasn't getting any easier. maybe this would be the first and last time , maybe he just needed to get it out of his system — he tried to justify himself, just as he heard a knock on the door.

He opened the door; and there you stood, your daily outfit that consisted of a skirt too short and a shirt too tight— this most definitely wasn't gonna be the last time. “I bought the brownies.” you smiled.

“So you slept with the neighbor across the street?” jisung asked, you nodded. “it was good too.” he scrunched his nose up. “didn't ask , but now you're going after the guy down the street?” he asked. “Who's also married?” you shrugged. “Babe, your mother still has to live on that block.” he said. “Yeah , I've had your mother's cooking and it's phenomenal.” Felix started. “but I don't think even the most chocolatiest of brownies can be made to fix this fuck up if people find out.”

“trust me they won't.” You said. “Once again I feel like I'm inclined to stop you as your best friend, but as someone who loves drama , I kinda wanna see where this goes with these two guys just for the plot.” you laughed watching Felix scolded his boyfriend. “Be careful yn.” He said , his hands yanking at jisungs hair. “and don't get pregnant.”

After hanging up with them you made your way downstairs where your mother had the brownies already packaged up for you to take; this allows you to go back to retrieve the pan once he's finished; if you're successful with your plans today, hopefully this will be soon. “Perfect.”

You made your way down the street; standing in front of the house , walking up the walkway, anticipating bubbling up in your stomach as you knocked on the door, waiting for him to answer; putting your best smile on as he opened the door. “I brought the brownies.” he smiled; fuck he looked good, a plain white tank top and black shorts, so simple, but so fucking attractive. “Come in.”

You walked past him; his eyes following you as you walked into his house; closing the door before looking out making sure no one saw; that was the last thing he needed. “You can sit them on the counter in the kitchen.” He followed behind you , watching your ass move, you sat the treats down , turning around where he was standing in front of you. “Mr. Bahng?”

you were taken aback but not surprised when he pushed you against the counter, grabbing both sides of your face; kissing harshly, his hand coming down to your ass squeezing. “oh fuck.” you moaned as he roughly grabbed your tits, grinding his hard cock against you. “fu-fuck you see what do to me?” you reached down grabbing his cock in his shorts. “I did this?” you bit your lip. “you want to fuck me that bad?”

he groaned as you palmed him through his shorts. “fu-uck been thinking about this for a year.” he groaned. “making you take my fat cock down your throat.” he groaned. “yeah? wanna cum all over my face?” you brought your lips to his ear. “cover me in your cum -fuck- i wanna taste you so bad.” you said biting down. “fill my mouth with your cum.”

“Fuck.” he pulled away from your, the look on your face made him move quickly , pushing his pants down to his ankle right there in the kitchen. “on your knees princess.” you sunk down to your knees. “gonna -fuck- gonna suck my fat cock?” he groaned , stroking his cock right in front of your face, your mouth watered. “yes.” he smiled , grabbing the back of your head. “open up princess.”

he filled your mouth up, throwing his head back, holding on the counter as you took him into your mouth. “that's it, suck daddy's cock.” you moaned around his length, your panties sticking to your cunt as you bobbed your head up and down his length. “feels so fucking good.” he moaned. “gonna cum all over your face.”

it was the best experience he'd experienced in a while; his wife wasn't the biggest fan of giving head; so he almost never got it and when he did, it was half-assed. “sh-shit.” the way your throat tightened around his pulsing length , the gagging noises coming from your mouth , eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure. “fuck I'm gonna cum.”

He thrusted into your mouth a few more times , before pulling out. “open your mouth princess.” he stroked his cock , hips twitching as the cum shot from his tip landing all over your face. “oh fuck!”

you smiled , holding your mouth open as his cum hit the back of your throat. “taste good, baby? you like my cum that much.” you nodded , he lifted you up onto the counter. “wanna taste this pussy so bad.” he lifted your skirt. “wet fucking cunt.” he groaned. “yeah , you think about my pussy when fucking your wife?” he grunted , biting your thigh. “fuck!” you yelped , moaning as he licked your cunt. “sweet fucking pussy.”

your hands tangled up in his hair as he tongue fucked you on the counter where he most likely shared food with his wife. “Oh fuck daddy that feels good.” you fucked yourself on his tongue, his nose bumping against your clit deliciously, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “fuck I'm gonna cum , i'm gonna fucking cum.” you squealed. “fuck!” you came all over his face , hips jutting against his face riding out your high.

he pulled away, giving your clit little kisses before pulling away. “You liked that princess?” you smiled , nodding. “so much.” He lifted his shirt over his head, revealing his abs. “fuck.” you moaned, running your hands down his stomach, stomach churning in need for him again. “pl-please fuck me daddy.”

“fuck, you want daddy's cock?” he grabbed the base of his cock on your folds. “ye-yeah , fuck me please.” you moaned. “pl-please fuck me.” he slid into your slippery cunt. “oh fuck your pussy is sucking me in.” you moaned. “you-you're so big.”

he huffed with a smile, “yeah? my cock stretching your tiny pussy?” he moaned. “fuck , slutty pussy.” he grabbed your hips. “just let anyone fuck you.” he began to plow into your cunt. “me , Minho -fuck- just love fucking men that aren't yours.” you moaned out. “fuck yes!” you screamed. “I love it.”

“I know you do, slut.” he slapped your tits, pinching your nipples. “gonna cum inside this pussy.” you gasped as he thrusted up into you, hitting your g-spot making your mouth hang open as he hit it over and over. “oh fuck you look so fucked out , gonna cum for daddy?” he rubbed your clit. “hmm?” you nodded. “fuck yes, i'm gonna cum.”

“fucking cum for daddy.” he slapped your pussy , moving his fingers back and forth as your juices gushed out of you, coating his abs in your cum. “fuck i'm cumming.” he groaned. “daddy's gonna fill you up.” he grunted. “fuck!” he cursed, stilling his hips as he came, filling your warm hole with his sperm. “shit.” he slowly pulled out, watching the cum leak from your hole. “Keep it inside princess.” he pushed it back inside you. “good girl.”

“Do they taste good?” you straddled his waist, feeding him a piece of brownie , the both of you now in his bed; you were wearing one of his shirts. “mhm.” he moaned at the taste. “So good princess.” you smiled , wiping the chocolate from his plump lips, licking it off your thumb. “When will your wife be back?” You asked , he rubbed your waist. “tomorrow evening.” you hummed. “perfect.” you bent down, kissing his neck. “fuck princess don't leave any marks.”

“I know.” you whispered against his skin. “you can fuck me over and over.” leaving more kisses along his neck. “until your wife gets back.” he hummed. “fuck yeah.” he moaned as you grinded your hips down.

yeah he knew he could no longer fuck his wife to get you out of his mind.

©️LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #skz hard hours #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #skz hard thoughts #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids fics #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan scenarios #bang chan hard thoughts #bang chan hard hours #bang chan x female reader

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toruro · 1 year ago

Text

— ✧ flight of the stars

"It’s funny; Minghao’s whole career is about being in the driver’s seat but somehow when it comes to you, he doesn’t know when to press on the gas or hit the brake."

you go following flights to the stars, and these cars can get us home (zayn)

genre: smut (18+ / mdni), f1 au, brief high school au, angst, fluff

description: being a doctor, you think you should feel guilty when you start to enjoy the presence of a “regular” a little too much, but who can blame you for missing your patient when he's xu minghao. you know—the xu minghao: crown jewel of SECTOR Racing, top pick of the season, and possibly the one person who knows more about you than anyone else in the world.

tags: character death (not reader / hao), discussion of medical issues, descriptions of pain, pining, racer minghao, physiotherapist reader, probably inaccurate representation of physiotherapy, also featuring kwannie, sollie, cheol, wonu, & hannie

w/c: 13.3k

fic playlist

a/n: oh. always thank u to @gyuswhore for helping me w this, and special smooches to han for going over this w me too ^^

smut tags. oral (m receiving), pet names (baby)

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Cheol is going to kill Minghao when he finds out he somehow managed to screw himself over while training. Well, only if Minghao doesn’t kill himself first.

It was just supposed to be a regular session, doing some standard neck exercises with Wonwoo, his training partner. General training shit—you know, the stuff Minghao needs to do so his neck doesn’t snap in half the next time he races and then—pang! Pain flares up in his muscles when Wonwoo adjusts the controls on the harness around Minghao’s head a little harder, the latter losing his form in a moment of unexpectancy.

His hand flies up immediately Wonwoo stops, shutting off the controls and loosening the tether attached to Minghao’s harness, releasing all the tension. “Are you good?” he asks, taking a step closer as he takes in the sight of the racer.

Wonwoo’s heart sinks into his chest when he finds Minghao’s head and neck unmoving, staring straight down as his breaths begin to grow shaky, and—crap, his eyes are glossy and—oh fuck, Wonwoo might just shit his pants.

“Hao—” Wonwoo calls out again, this time his voice drenched with worry as he reaches out to try and untie the harness from around his friends head, but as his hand brushes over the back of his neck, Minghao shifts a little and that’s when Wonwoo hears it—a sharp gasp following by Minghao muttering under his breath:

“G-get the medic.”

His voice is labored and Wonwoo knows exactly what to do and nothing at the same time. His mind is racing because holy crap, SECTOR probably just lost their best racer for a few months, if not the entire racing season, and it’s all because of this stupid neck training session, and—Wonwoo stops himself from thinking about what this means for Minghao’s work and forces himself to scramble back, running out of the training room and down to the nursing hall.

Five minutes and several phone calls later, Minghao is being loaded into a stretcher. He doesn’t say a word though, doesn’t know what to say.

Five hours and even more phone calls later, Minghao is sitting up with a brace around his neck, and his manager and friends around his hospital bed (Wonwoo and Hasnsol are to his left while Seungcheol stands on his right).

“So you’re telling me I won’t be able to compete for the rest of the season?” Minghao finally scoffs out after a couple minutes’ worth of silence in tense air.

“We don’t know that yet,” Cheol responds, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the racer carefully. Minghao’s lips are curved down in a heavy frown but his eyes remain unwavering as he finally looks up at his manager.

“Fuck,” he breaths out.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Hansol asks worriedly, and Minghao knows that his friend is only just concerned for him but all the pain and frustration is already starting to bubble up inside of him.

“Like a bitch,” he mutters bitterly.

Seungcheol sighs deeply, stepping closer to the bed. He knows the situation isn’t easy for Minghao—it isn’t easy for anyone—and he’s aware of the stakes involved for the team. “Hao, you know we’ll do anything to get you back on the track as soon as possible.”

Minghao scoffs, not meeting the eyes of his manager. “Yeah. I know.”

Wonwoo nearly flinches at the stillness of his friend’s voice. “I’m sorry,” he finally says loudly, causing the other three in the room to look at him. “I messed up with the controls—it’s my fault, and I—”

“It’s fine,” Minghao huffs, tearing his eyes away from his friend. “It was an accident.”

It’s not fine. It’s not fucking fine at all and—

Deep breaths, Minghao reminds himself, but when he actually starts to think about the ache that blooms from his neck and down his spine, it gets harder and harder to keep his cool. He feels like he’s ‘bout to pop a vein from all the blood that’s rushing through his body, the only thing snapping him out of his trance being Wonwoo’s voice.

“You’ll start seeing a physiotherapist tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Best to start the recovery process early, Minghao thinks to himself, mildly calming his irritation. He purses his lips, trying to navigate the cluster of thoughts that plague his mind until he finally musters up the courage to ask, “How long is it gonna take? T-to heal?”

His friends look at him solemnly, and Minghao feels his heart sink right down to his stomach.

“We don’t know.”

“You already sa—” Minghao stops himself from saying something he might regret. “Could I actually be out the whole season?”

There’s silence until Cheol finally decides to speak up.

“There’s a chance.”

Minghao thinks he might scream.

“Hey Seungie!” you chirp, walking into the reception of your office with a bright smile. Your best friend greets you with only an eye roll as you approach his counter at the front, peeking at him from over his monitor.

“I told you to stop calling me that in public!” he whines, nose scrunched up as you laugh at the way he’s pouting.

“No one’s even here, no one’ll hear anything,” you try to reason as he huffs and turns away, refusing to look at you.

“Still!”

You sigh, putting down a brown bag on the floor before raising your hands up in surrender. “Okay fine, I’m sorry.”

“Are you really?”

This time, you roll your eyes. “Yes … Seungie—”

“I hate you!” Seungkwan roars as you double over laughing. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! I’m officially disowning you as my best friend.”

You gasp, stepping back and picking up the brown bag again. “Are you kidding me? And here I thought I would’ve liked to share one of my Americanos with you but I guess not …” you sigh dramatically, starting to walk away as you lift the bag to wave it in Seungkwan’s face.

“I was just joking! Come back! How could I disown you as my best friend—c’mon, you know I was just joking,” he pleads from behind you.

You grin as you turn around and walk back to him with a grin. “You’re horribly unpersuasive. Like your acting skills are actually an abomination,” you tell him, pulling out one of the cups of the cold drink and handing it to Seungkwan. “You’re lucky I love you,” you continue, laughing a little as Seungkwan snatches the cup away hastily with a bashful “thanks” under his breath.

“Okay, well ditto to you too,” he barks back. “Who else would put up with you and your ugly crying over Taylor Swift music videos?”

“Hey! Wildest Dreams is a lyrical, musical, theatrical, melodcial masterpiece! ”

“Okay, first of all, melodical isn’t even a word, and even if it was—” Seungkwan is cut off by the ringing of the office phone line. “I probably need to answer this but we are not done with this conversation,” he shoots at you.

You giggle, waving him off and heading down one the hall to get to your office, barely catching what Seungkwan is saying, or who he’s even talking to. It vaguely crosses your mind that it’s a bit too early in the morning for your office to be getting work calls, but you brush it off as you slip past your door and into your little room.

It’s a nice little space you’ve made for yourself; your physiotherapy firm was set up a few years back, and you’d even recently gone through a certification process to belt yourself as one of SECTOR’s physiotherapists. Pretty exciting stuff when you think about it—being able to work with such top-notch racers (albeit under rather unfortunate circumstances), and you get to do what you love at the same time.

Now, you haven’t actually gotten any big-shot patients yet, and you’ve started to appreciate that more recently. It’s not as stressful, and you don’t have to navigate a possibly awkward doctor-patient relationship with someone who’s dealing with what might be a career-changing injury.

You wonder when you’ll stop forgetting that your luck ran out years ago.

Just as you set your bag down and slip into your chair to answer some emails, Seungkwan is knocking on your door and walking in. “Hey, uh, this is kinda important,” he tells you, pointing behind him at his desk where he was taking the call.

“What’s up?” you ask, slightly worried by Seungkwan’s quick change in demeanor from playful to serious.

“Some doctor at SECTOR’s facility just called and—” Crap, you know where this is going already. “—Xu Minghao just fucked up his neck. Like yesterday. And he’s getting discharged from the hospital in a few hours hopefully and they’re gonna send him over right away so you can take a look and start working with him.”

You press your lips together tightly, head going slightly dizzy at the mention of his name. Of course, when you finally got yourself licensed to practice under SECTOR, you were aware of the possibility of working with him, but this feels a little too real and a little too fast.

“You good?” Seungkwan asks, snapping you out of your haze. “Lost you for a second—it looks like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Sorry, just zoned out,” you laugh stiffly, turning on your computer and taking a shaky breath. “I’m a bit nervous I guess. I’ve never worked with a professional like him—at least not yet,” you continue to say, and it’s not entirely a lie.

You are nervous, and in any other situation you would try your best to just not think about the situation but given Xu Minghao is going to step into your office in a few hours, you figure you should get to work right away.

Seungkwan steps out soon, saying, “You got this. Seriously, you’ve been working so hard for so long and you finally get to work with one of the big shots!”

Chuckling at his optimism, you finally open the email application on your monitor. Your inbox is flooded with emails, most of which are a series of X-rays and MRI scans of your soon to be patient, and so taking a deep breath, you dive in.

“Hey Hannie, did you sanitize Room C?” you ask one of your (few) employees as he steps out from the supply room behind the reception.

“Shoot, was it supposed to be C? I’m sorry, I cleaned up B, but I can go to C and get it sanitized right now—” he starts to say, turning towards the supply room at the end of the hall.

“Hey wait no it’s okay, I just asked for C ‘cause it’s a bit bigger but it doesn't really matter. Don’t worry about it—have you had your lunch break yet?”

“Nah not yet, I was just about to step into that with Seungkwan, but he’s taken a moment to grab coffee from the cafe across the street.”

You chuckle, “Already? I got him an Americano only a few hours ago …”

Jeonghan laughs out loud at that, slipping off his cleaning gloves and patting his hands down on his scrubs. “You know how Seungkwan is with his Americanos.”

“Don’t remind me—he’s crazy. I don’t know how he ingests that much caffeine and still functions like a normal human being but—”

Seungkwan’s voice cuts you off. “I know you guys are talking about me but I’d suggest you take a break and go get ready because I swear I just saw a car with SECTOR’s logo on the back pull up onto the street right up front.”

Oh fuck. You’re already starting to feel awfully nervous.

“Shit, really? I didn’t think they’d be here as early as noon,” Jeonghan says quickly, tossing the gloves and turning to you for instruction. “Anything we need to do?”

“Guys, just chill,” you say casually. Ironic, you think to yourself, because you feel like your heart might pound right out of your chest any second now. “Just handle this like you would any other patient. I’ll probably have to talk to his manager, but while we’re doing that Jeonghan can take Xu into B and just ease him into things. Lay off the tension, you know? He’s probably stressed out as is.”

“Noted,” Jeonghan nods as he walks down the hall, and then you turn to the door of the reception where you see a group of three people walking up.

You try to make out their figures; that one on the left’s probably one of SECTOR’s health directors, and the one on the right is … that’s Choi Seungcheol isn’t it? The one who sent you the emails? He’s Xu Minghao’s manager, you’re pretty sure of it.

You straighten your back when the front door opens, clutching the clipboard full of prints of the scans you were sent earlier. Setting your eyes straight, you take a deep breath and finally take in the sight of the three people filling into the reception.

Yup, there’s Choi Seungcheol … and then Cho Miyeon following behind and she’s pushing a—shit, it’s Xu Minghao in all his glory.

Well, you’re not sure how wondrous he feels right now in that wheelchair, eyes cold as he stares at the floor. His neck’s held up in a thick brace that you can see reaches down under his shirt and over his shoulders; he doesn’t look up, and for a moment you’re grateful.

It puts off the question though, the words that linger in the back of your mind.

Will he recognize you? Well, more importantly …

Does he even remember you?

You rid yourself of the personal thoughts when Choi Seungcheol approaches you, holding out his hand to you. You shake it, strong and firm as he smiles awkwardly. “Nice to meet you, thanks for making time for us today.”

“No problem,” you reply with a nod as Jeonghan comes in from the hallway. “My assistant, Jeonghan here can take Mr. Xu to one of our rooms while I talk with you two about a few things. Does that work?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Seungcheol nods, motioning Jeonghan to Minghao in his wheelchair behind him. The racer keeps his head down as Jeonghan brushes over and starts pushing him down the hall to Room B. You wonder if he’s even noticed you.

As Jeonghan goes off, you turn back to the other two still in the reception and point at your room. “Shall we?”

Once the three of you settle down, Seungcheol and Miyeon sit across from you, the former speaks up. “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice—this all happened really quick and if you can't already tell, we’re kind of desperate to get him back in the driver’s seat as soon as possible.”

“No worries, please. These kinds of situations are exactly what I’m here for,” you tell them, and they both seem to crack a small smile of relief. “Now I spoke with the doctor that examined him at the hospital, and then briefly with Ms. Cho,” you say, motioning towards the woman on your right, “And there’s a general understanding that Mr. Xu’s suffered a pretty serious strain in his neck muscles.”

“Yeah, uh—how long is this going to take to heal?” Seungcheol pops in, and you sigh.

“I can give you a range, but it’s not so definite … I’d say between three to five months,” you tell him. “But again, it’s different for every patient. Muscle strains aren’t like a clean break or fracture where we can determine almost exactly when it’ll be healed … this stuff is going to take more time and it varies from person to person as well. It all kind of depends on Mr. Xu’s body, and that’s what I’m here for—to help figure out what works for him.”

“We understand that, thank you,” Miyeon nods, sitting straighter in her seat. “How often should he be coming in?”

“Hm, I’ll give you a definite answer after checking in with him today, but to estimate, I’d say around 2-3 times a week, while also using my suggestions outside of our sessions.”

You finish the conversation with the two after that, excusing yourself as you let them back into the reception before knocking on the door to Room B. Jeonghan opens the door from the other side and quietly closes the door behind him before pushing you a little deeper into the hallway.

“He seems like, really sad, so—”

“Well, duh. It’s a serious injury,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jeonghan clicks his lips and nudges your shoulder.

“Whatever. I’m just telling you to tread carefully,” he says as you make your way to the door. You don’t respond to Jeonghan as you slip in. Minghao’s turned away from you as he sits on his wheelchair in the middle of the room you purse your lips before taking a deep breath and nodding.

You got this. Seungkwan was right—you’ve worked too hard for too long to be rendered anxious ‘cause of a silly little overlap of your past with your patient.

“Hi Mr. Xu,” you greet, making your way to the table right by where he sits, finally seeing him up close. He doesn’t look at you. “I’m pretty sure you already have heard enough about what’s wrong with your neck right now, so let’s talk about how we can make it better, yeah?”

You hear a gruff, “Sure,” escape his lips, and you figure that given his circumstances, it’s understandable.

“The report says that when you first started feeling the pain you couldn’t move your right arm even a little without it hurting in your neck, right?” you clarify as you sit at the chair between him and your table.

“Yeah.”

“Is it better now?”

“A little. Can move my forearm but moving my shoulder still hurts.”

“Okay, this is a good sign actually—you’re getting through the initial stages of healing just like normal. The first week or so of strain like yours might be pretty painful, but it’s over quickly and the pain after that should be pretty bearable, although it’ll take more time for it to heal.” You tell him, looking away to glance at the scans.

As he stares at the ground, Minghao wants to scream. Good sign? What the fuck are you talking about—he can’t even lift his goddamn arm without it feeling like there’s daggers plunging into his neck, and you’re here sitting all calm faced, pristine, acting like this isn’t his fuckin’ career on the line. Acting like your words are gonna make a difference as long as he’s in this stupid ass brace with this stupid ass injury in this stupid ass room with—who the fuck even are you?

His head hurts, and Minghao thinks it’s partly because of his neck, but it’s mostly because he can’t stop thinking. Thinking about the worst possibilities, thinking about everything that could go wrong and—well shit, he chides himself for letting his anger get the better of himself, even if it was just in his head.

Shamefully, he presses his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before finally lifting his gaze and turning to face you. When you look up from your paper and finally turn back to him, you’re met with the sight of pretty brown eyes staring right back at you.

“I—” Minghao starts, but it sounds like the air got stuck in his throat as he finally takes in your figure, and then he purses his lips together and turns back away. “Nothing.” the possibilities of what he could have been thinking ruins your mind just a little.

You can see it in his eyes—Minghao remembers. Still, he doesn’t say anything about it, and you wonder if you prefer things to stay that way.

“What time is Xu scheduled for on Wednesdays? He’ll be coming in on Wednesdays, right?” Jeonghan asks as he steps into your office.

“Uh, he’s coming in for a session from 11-2 today—which, by the way, could you set up Room C for that? I can’t remember if I already put that on the to-do list.”

“Yeah I did it yesterday after our last patient of the day, I was just wondering. You’re gonna lead it with him this time, right?”

“Yeah, since it’s the first session. You were right about him being … apprehensive—”

“Sad,” Jeonghan corrects you. “A sad, sad boy.”

“Yeah well, go figure,” you sigh out of sympathy. “Anyways, like I said, it’s understandable for him to be frustrated, so I’ll work with him at first to ease him into things and stuff. You can start taking over more of the sessions once he warms up to the whole process, and once we figure out and set a routine.”

“Okay great. Does this mean I can go out for my lunch break at 11:30?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” you reply with a casual shrug as Jeonghan thanks you and slips away. You shift your attention back to your monitor before glancing through the initial medical reports you were sent by the hospital, and then the results of your own tests you ran during your first session with Xu Minghao.

It’s a shitty injury, you’ll have to admit. A neck strain on the muscles closest to his right shoulder, not only rendering his neck immobile for a period of time, but also hindering his abilities to move his right arm.

Must hurt like a bitch—physically and mentally—and the image of him staring down at the ground burns in the back of your mind.

With a sigh, you silently wonder if you could offer him the same solace he gave you.

Xu Minghao shows up to your office two hours later with Choi Seungcheol pushing him inside on his wheelchair, and you’re thankful to see that his stature looks much more relaxed than before. “I’ll come by at 2, right?”

“Yeah, that’ll be great. Thank you,” Jeonghan tells Mr. Choi with a smile before taking control of Minghao’s wheelchair and strolling him into the room. You’re already there and waiting for him, standing up to greet him with a smile.

“Hi Mr. Xu,” you say, thanking Jeonghan as he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

“Morning,” he says quietly, not quite meeting your gaze. The air isn’t as thick as it was the first day, but there seems to be some invisible barrier between the two.

“How’s the pain right now, Mr. Xu?” you ask, pulling out a notepad on your computer to jot down some notes.

Your patient’s eyebrows furrow, and for a second you have a feeling this might be harder than you thought, but his next words are more comforting than anything. “Uh, can you just call me Minghao? Mr. Xu is … it’s weird.”

“Y-yeah of course, sorry about that, Minghao,” you nod with a half smile. “So could you tell me how things are feeling?”

“I guess it hurts less. I don’t really move that much so I can avoid hurting myself though—kinda in this thing most of the time anyways,” he replies gruffly, hitting the left side of the wheelchair with his palm.

“Do you stand up? Walk around at all?”

“Not often.”

“Okay so I think we’re going to try and change that soon,” you tell him. “We’ll do some mobility checks today but if it doesn’t hurt to move your shoulder a little, then I think it’s best you move as much as you can without pain. Honestly, you’re going to be injured for a while and—”

You pause when you hear Minghao inhale sharply at that, making a mental note to soften your words a little.

“—and we don’t want you to be immobile. If you can move, try to. We’ll try and get you out of the wheelchair within the next two weeks, how does that sound?”

Minghao’s ears perk up at that. “Two weeks? Only?”

You nod happily at his sudden energy and the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Yeah, you know the wheelchair is just so you don’t move your upper body too much but like I said the last time we met, the initial stages are pretty painful but once it’s over, you’ll be more mobile. Of course, you won’t be able to get back to racing and training right away, but you’ll be able to be a lot more active than you are now.”

“How long will it take before I can start training again?” Minghao asks curiously, finally looking you straight in the eye with parted lips.

The desperation is painful to watch.

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, watching his shoulders deflate. “At least two months.”

“Two months?”

“At the least,” you say with a held breath.

“At the most?” Minghao asks hopefully.

You purse your lips. “At the most? … A year?”

“A year? That’s more than a whole racing season!”

“Yes but neck strains are fickle and we can’t let anything go wrong, and due to the nature of your sport, you really—”

“I think I know the nature of my own sport,” Minghao scoffs, and with the way he says it, you don’t know if you should be mad or sad or disappointed or a mix of all three.

“I—” you pause, “I understand your frustration Mr.—Minghao, but my job is to make sure you’re one hundred percent healed before you set foot on the track again, so please be patient and allow yourself to heal.”

Something about those last few words rings in Minghao’s ears, and he zones out for the rest of what you’re saying.

Allow yourself to heal. Fuck.

Minghao stays pretty much silent for the rest of the session, and you’re not quite sure if it’s out of complacency or indifference. You go through some slow mobility exercises, and figure out a good range for him to stay in for the next few days.

“Make sure you practice those movements every day,” you note once you near the end of today’s session. “I’ll send you an email listing all of them with instructions so you remember. Please try and do them every day, and it’ll hopefully speed up the recovery process.”

“Thanks,” Minghao murmurs as he carefully sits back down in his wheelchair.

“Is there anything else you’re doing in your free time right now?” you ask, trying to make casual conversation as you start to type up your list.

“Not really. I watch practice videos and stuff, I guess.”

You hum, not really responding until you finally finish the list and send it to his email. “I sent the list, you should start using it tomorrow. Anyways, I think you should try crocheting,” you tell him casually.

Minghao gives you a sideways glance as he raises an eyebrow. “… Crocheting?”

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug, finally turning around to face. “You know, with yarn and stuff.”

“I know what crocheting is.”

“I-I know,” you say awkwardly, slightly thrown off your game by his bluntness. “You won’t have to move your shoulders, only your forearms, so it’s fine.”

“But why?”

“It’s fun. And a nice way to pass time, especially when you can’t move around a lot. Plus, it’s always good to have something to distract yourself from—” You pause, thinking about how to finish your sentence. “—from shitty stuff, y’know?”

Minghao chuckles, and your heart swells a little when you finally see him break a smile. “Yeah, I guess.” There’s a long pause. “Shitty stuff, huh?”

You laugh, nodding. “Yeah. Shitty stuff.”

“You and your stupid Americanos,” you sigh, watching Seungwkan grin as the barista hands him his drink.

“Stop acting like you don’t indulge in me too. Getting me all those Americanos in the morning … I should blame you for this addiction!”

“So you admit it’s an addiction!” you exclaim triumphantly, waving your hands in the air. Seungkwan rolls his eyes, leaving you to sit at a table in one of the corners of the cafe. Laughing at his silent admission of defeat, you wait for your drink patiently.

It’s only a few more moments before the barista is back at the counter, calling out, “Honey lavender latte!” With a smile, you walk over, about to reach for the drink before a hand beats you to it.

Frowning, you look up at the man who’s holding your drink before you say, “Hey, I’m sorry, I think that’s my drink.”

“Uh, honey lavender latte? I’m pretty sure I ordered this,” he says. You look at him with a funny expression on your face, eyes darting between the drink you ordered and the drink that’s in his other hand. He catches your suspicion and shakes his head quickly. “It’s for my friend, I ordered for the both of us so I could get us a spot.”

“Oh,” you breath out, figuring that it probably isn’t a lie. “S-sorry for the misunderstanding. I just—” you chuckle, watching some of the tension from the man’s shoulders wither away. “I ordered the same thing—”

“Oh sorry, I—my friend isn’t here yet so you can just take this and I’ll wait for the other to come out,” he offers, watching your face, and you see something in his expression change. “Hey wait, you look really familiar,” he murmurs.

Your eyebrows furrow as you silently thank him when he hands you the drink. “Uh, are you sure? I’m sorry, I just—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” you admit with an awkward chuckle.

The man shakes his head and laughs quietly to myself. “No, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere, but I’m just blanking on it right now—sorry this is probably so weird but—” The bell of the front door rings and he shoots his head to see who’s coming in, eyes lighting up. “Oh hey, Hao! Was just waiting for you!”

Hao? Mingh—

You lock eyes as soon as he walks in.

The man from before beams as he walks up to him as your eyes finally break away, and Minghao turns to his friend. “Hansol,” he greets with a small smile, and it’s a pleasant sight to see your patient—who’s more often monotone than not—seem a bit more at ease than before.

“How’re you doing? Was just waiting on your drink and—” the man—Hansol—points at you with eyes as wide as saucers, “—oh by the way, doesn’t she look really familiar?”

You chuckle nervously, breaking out an awkward smile and waving at Minghao who returns you by raising his left arm in a sort of half-wave before turning his attention to Hansol to give him a blank stare. “Yeah, she’s kinda like my physiotherapist dude.”

This time, you chuckle a bit more genuinely, eyes darting between the amused smirk that’s just barely there on Minghao’s lips, and Hansol’s agape stare.

“Ohh shit, yeah that’s where I saw you! Cheol and Miyeon were talking about you when they were booking you for Hao at the hospital, and I saw your picture on the screen,” Vernon explains as the realization hits him.

“Oh,” you laugh lightly. “That’s funny,” you reply as you turn your attention to Minghao, “Good to see you’re getting out of that wheelchair. I bet it feels nice to finally stretch your legs and stuff,” you say. If Minghao could move his neck without eruptions of pain, he’d nod his head.

For now though, he settles on smiling and saying, “Yeah, it’s refreshing.” His eyes wander around you, taking in how you aren’t dressed in your usual work attire, but rather clad in a cute outfit. “Is that my drink?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed as he points at the coffee you’ve just taken a sip of.

Hansol laughs and shakes his head. “You two got the same drink so when it came out, I just let ‘er have it, since you weren’t here yet.” He glances around before putting his drink down at a nearby table. “Shit, I think I left my laptop in my car,” he murmurs, looking at his friend. “I’m gonna go get it so I can show you those videos I was talking about.”

“Yeah, that’s chill,” Minghao agrees. Hansol smiles at you and then his friend before quickly retreating from the cafe to get to the parking lot, leaving you and the tall man standing in silence. It’s a few passing moments where you awkwardly sip on your drink before something pops in your mind.

“Hey, it’s actually really funny that you’re seeing me right now because—well it’s not funny funny, but it’s a nice coincidence so I guess that counts as funny but—anyways, look, I crocheted this cardigan.” You smile, lifting your arms a little so he can see the dark, navy blue fabric you made yourself, before turning around to show off the light blue, striped pattern on the back. “Cool, right?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty. Nice color scheme and all,” Minghao agrees.

“Thanks. Have you started crocheting? I can send you some videos to get you started,” you offer. Just as Minghao is about to reply, the barista from behind you calls out another order of your drink, causing both of you to glance back. “Oh, you wait there; I’ll get it,” you say, putting your drink down on the same table Hansol did before walking over to grab Minghao’s drink and hand it back to his left hand.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to,” he says as your fingers brush over each other before falling back to your side. “Isn’t your friend waiting for you?”

“Of course I have to. I’m your doctor! I can’t make you do that,” you reason before pointing back at your best friend. “And are you talking about Seungkwan? Looks like he’s having the time of his life doing—” You turn your head around to glance at him before looking back at Minghao, “—doing god knows what on his phone and—”

“Are you talking about me?” you hear Seungkwan’s voice calling from a few meters away, and the way you cringe has Minghao stifling a giggle. “All good things I hope!” he continues.

“You know it!” you shoot back sarcastically, only to be followed by Seungkwan’s rolling eyes. “That little shit. I pay his bills!” you exclaim, a faux frown making its way onto your face.

Minghao laughs, his head throwing back a little. The small movement flares up a bite of pain in his neck, causing his breath to get stuck in his throat, eyes widening as he slowly shifts back into a comfortable position.

“Sorry,” you murmur sheepishly.

If Minghao could shrug without feeling like his neck would snap in half, he would. Instead, he raises his eyebrow playfully when he says, “Are you seriously apologizing for being funny?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m retracting my apology.”

It’s been around three weeks since you started working with Minghao. He’s warmed up to you a fair amount, and ever since you saw him at the cafe, the air around you two has been lighter.

It’s still a bit awkward at times—skitting around the moments where you wonder if you should say something about the elephant in the room before shaking your head and biting your tongue. Then again, given how often you see Minghao, you’ve gotten used to it.

Seungkwan stops by your office this morning when he walks into work. “Morning,” he greets, dropping a small brown bag by your desk as you file through some papers.

“Ooh, thank you,” you tell him gleefully, taking a break from your task to glance at the chocolate muffin that sits inside of the bag. “I’ve been craving this,” you admit, reaching in and picking out a small piece to stuff into your mouth.

“Your welcome,” Seungkwan sighs, sitting down on the seat in front of you. “Anyways, I found something cool that I don’t think you told me.”

You raise your eyebrows at him skeptically. “Yeah? What is it?”

“You and Xu Minghao are from the same hometown!”

You roll your eyes. “Why do you still keep calling him Xu Minghao? He’s told us to just say Minghao, and even if he didn’t, it’s awkward when you say his full name like that.”

Seungkwan scoffs at you, reaching his hand over to try and flick your forehead but you dodge. “Because he’s Xu Minghao. I can’t believe you aren’t still jumping up and down for getting to work with him, seeing how much you love SECTOR.”

“You want me to be happy that the best racer from my favorite team is injured?”

“Ugh, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Whatever,” you shrug, a small hint of a smile peeking from your lips.

“Anyways, you didn’t answer what I actually said. Why didn’t you tell me you guys are from the same area? That’s so cool!”

“I mean I guess,” you say with a shrug.

“And you guys are the same age so—wait, did you go to school together? Oh my god, are you guys like—I don’t know, long lost best friends or something?” Seungkwan’s eyes widen. “Oh, that’d be so cool—I could totally see a movie on this and—wait! If he’s your long lost best friend, where does that leave me? You better not replace me with him!”

You laugh at the progression of his thoughts, almost choking on your second bite of the muffin. “We did go to school together,” you admit. “It’s not like we crossed paths though. He kinda just, I don’t know, existed back then. So no worries for you, you’re not getting replaced any time soon … unfortunately,” you add with mischievous giggle.

“Better not …” Seungkwan huffs.

Minghao comes in a few hours later for his afternoon session. Jeonghan works with him for the first two of the three hours, and you walk in for the last hour. You go over some more mobility exercises, before finally sitting down so you can discuss his progress.

“So things are going really well,” you start to tell him, beginning to list off a couple signs of development which stood out to you. You’re about to commend him on keeping up the exercises everyday, when you notice him staring at the floor with a blank expression. “H-hey, Minghao?” you ask, clearing your voice when he doesn’t respond. “Minghao.”

His eyes shoot up to yours, shoulders tensing for a second before he lets out a deep breath. “Sorry, zoned out for a second.”

You chuckle nervously, wondering if it’s okay if you probe just a little. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Minghao replies casually, but you catch the way he doesn’t meet your gaze. “Just thinking about last night’s race.”

“Oh, Singapore?”

“Yeah.”

“I was able to catch a bit of it last night, but I passed out. It seemed intense though—you see Kim’s pit stop?”

“Yeah, it was kinda insane,” Minghao says breathily. His expression is unreadable, but he’s continuing to respond and so you choose to let things go on naturally. “He’s been living up to his talent now that his shitbox is back to what it’s supposed to be.”

“Can’t imagine how frustrating it is.” Fuck, when Minghao’s shoulders drop, it feels like you said something you probably shouldn’t have.

I can imagine, Minghao thinks after hearing your response, but he bites back the words. “Yeah,” he says dejectedly instead.

Silence. This seems like a good chance to change the topic.

“Uh—” Sorry, you want to say, but you choose to hold your breath instead. “I have good news.”

“Oh?”

“We can get you out of the neck brace today,” you tell him happily.

Minghao’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yeah, your progress has been great. Didn’t want to tell you earlier to get your hopes up, in case something went wrong, but everything has been looking really good and you’re at the point where we usually take any supports like braces off.”

Minghao grins, and it’s a stark contrast from the grim shadow cast on his face just moments earlier. You take a few moments to go over the procedures with him, helping him out of the foamy, firm brace with gentle hands and watchful eyes.

“How’s it feeling?” you ask, setting the brace down by one of your counters so you can dispose of it later.

Minghao lets out a low groan of what you can only assume is relief when he looks up. “Like my skin can finally breathe,” he sighs heavily, a bright smile taking over his features as you turn to face him.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell him, before beginning a quick examination process of the area under the brace and going through some quick motions.

“All done?” he asks. When you nod, he continues. “Kinda early, huh?” he say pointendly, and you both quickly glance at the clock on the wall: his session is supposed to end in 43 minutes.

“Oh yeah, uh—actually … I was wondering if you wanted to try something?” you ask tentatively, and Minghao senses your hesitation. “If you have the time.”

Raising a brow, he nods. “Yeah I don’t mind, what is it?”

“One second,” you tell him, getting up and leaving the room to grab something from your office. Shyly, you walk back in and to your seat, all while holding up a brown bag. “Just some old crocheting supplies I thought you might like,” you murmur, placing it down on the counter.

Minghao presses his lips together tightly, not expecting your words. “Oh, uh—I haven’t really … I haven’t taken up crocheting yet. Sorry, uh—”

“Oh yeah,” you say quickly, holding a hand up, using the other to show him the contents of the bag. There’s some balls of yarn and hooks in a little mess, and you reach in to take some out. “I figured—it’s pretty intimidating to take up by yourself but,” you sigh. “I think it’ll be really nice for you. I recommend it to a lot of my patients who can’t do their regular activities and hobbies … and now given your brace is off, your vision will have more range and it might be really fun for you. No pressure if you don’t like it, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to show you the ropes,” you admit, holding up a ball of blue yarn.

Catching onto your pun, Minghao chuckles and replies, “Sure, why not.”

“Okay great,” you say excitedly, dropping the bag and pulling your chair up in front of him and next to the table, pulling the supplies out.

Minghao is patient as you show off the different yarns and hooks, explaining the very basics in great detail. You can’t quite tell if he’s being so obedient out of genuine interest, pity, or simply polite compliance, but for whatever reason, you’re thankful. Soon, you’re showing him how you do it yourself before handing him one of your spare hooks and the ball of yarn, letting Minghao test the waters for himself.

“Yeah, just do that and—wait,” you mutter, reaching over to adjust the way he’s holding the hook. Your soft fingers gingerly brush over his knuckles, and Minghao finds himself getting lost for a moment. As you innocently fix the position of his fingers, his stomach churns in a manner he can’t quite name. “You got that?” you ask him suddenly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Sorry, zoned out again. What was that?”

“Singapore really got you thinking, huh?” you muse before shaking your head and laughing it off.

“Sorry, I—”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, I was just saying you should position your thumb like this or else you might start to cramp up really fast. Happens to me like crazy but I didn’t fix my habit and now I just gotta crochet through the pain.”

Minghao looks at you with an odd expression. “Crochet … through … the pain?”

“That sounded cooler in my head, my bad.”

Minghao laughs. It’s not a tight chuckle, or a soft giggle, it’s a laugh. And it’s bright and full and tugging at your heartstrings in a way you’d rather ignore. “It’s okay.”

“Anyways … here, I’ll show you how to start off with a slip knot and then we’ll take things from there,” you instruct.

Slowly, you walk him through the steps. You learn that Minghao is a good learner. He’s intuitive, but it’s not that you expect much different—you figure no one can get to the level he’s at without being quick to pick up on things.

You’re soon showing him how to start a simple chain, the yarn and hook still in his hands as you work him through the process. “Yeah, now you just gotta yarn over like this—no, the other way, just like that … and—yeah … yeah!” you exclaim excitedly when Minghao slips the hook right through, lengthening the chain. “You got it!”

“Really?” Minghao asks. “Simpler than I thought,” he admits aloud, and you nod vigorously.

“Yeah … crocheting looks hard from afar but once you actually get the hang of it, it’s as easy as breathing,” you explain, softly taking the yarn and hook from his hands and showing how it looks once you build in more loops.

He watches you carefully—the way your fingers so gently, with such precision; how your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly as you focus in on the task at hand, tongue unconsciously sticking out from the corner of your mouth, and—

“You’re really good at this,” Minghao murmurs quietly, and you swear he’s so close, his warm breath fans down on your cheeks. You gulp, pausing what you’re doing to look up at him.

“My mother taught me. It’s been a casual hobby ever since.”

You feel Minghao’s eyes bore down on yours intensely, wondering if he’ll respond. Something is screaming at you to pray he’ll keep his mouth shut.

Minghao doesn’t say a word, thankfully. Still, the possibilities of what could be running through his mind haunt you.

You think you should start feeling guilty. You think you should already be feeling guilty when you start to look forward to seeing Minghao. He’s your patient for fuck’s sake—you should be happy he’s not holed up in here everyday.

Still, there’s a weird feeling that festers in your chest when you think about him.

Minghao, and the way he’s so persistent, so patient, so attentive with all the exercises and information you tell him. Minghao, and the polite smile he throws your way at the beginning of each session. Minghao, and the way his eyes light up.

“We’re going to try some new mobility exercises today,” you tell him today with a grin, standing up from your seat. Minghao’s ears perk up as he catches the bright look on your face, and something inside of him swells with hope.

“Really?”

You smile and nod in return. “Yeah! I mean your recovery has been really great so far and I think this is a good point to move on and see if we can test out an even wider range of motion.” Minghao doesn’t really say anything in response, but the way his eyes light up when he watches you explain the exercises tells you enough.

In the hour that follows, you two walk through the exercises, trying out each one, and you’re almost three quarters through all the motions you planned today right before you show him how to angle his shoulder before a new exercise.

“How are things feeling? Anything hurting? Anywhere?” you ask anxiously as Minghao comes out of the last stretch you showed him with a pleasant look on his face.

“No, not like pain pain,” he says casually, leaning back into the chair. “Not the kinda pain from the strain, but I feel a bit of tension on my shoulder from keeping it in that position for too long.”

“Okay great,” you say, typing it down onto your digital notepad. “We’ll try and switch up that one next time so your body is completely relaxed from now on.”

“Thanks. What’s the next exercise?” Minghao asks curiously upon taking in the information. You vaguely think to yourself about how you enjoy his growing warmness—he’s been a lot more positive these past sessions with his rapid progress, and it’s bringing a much lighter atmosphere to Room C.

You explain the movement to him, explaining to him how to lift his shoulders just enough to circle them backwards without too much movement. It’s going pretty smoothly like the other exercises; you explain, Minghao listens, you adjust, Minghao lets you.

Right now you’re about to lean in, hands brushing over his shoulder blade to guide them to a more steep angle, explaining to Minghao how to fix his posture. Your fingers brush over his collarbone and jaw a few times in the process, your eyes keeping steady on making sure he doesn’t make any abrasive movements.

“There we go,” you tell him after showing him how to do the circular movement with his shoulders. “Why don’t you try it by yourself?”

Shooting you a thumbs up, Minghao complies, lifting his shoulder forward first slowly. He’s going through the motions of everything pretty normally—after all this is just like any other exercise so he doesn’t really worry that much until—fuck.

Holy shit, that quick but sharp pain stings so bad.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask worriedly when Minghao stills, his eyes widening.

So much. So fucking much, Minghao thinks to himself.

“Talk to me,” you say, moving closer to him so you can move your hands over his shoulder and lead them back down to a natural position.

“It h-hurt for a second. Really bad, but then it was gone,” Minghao says breathily. You purse your lips together and Minghao feels his heart sink to his chest when you turn around and type some stuff he can’t read from where he sits. “Is this like—” He needs to pause to collect himself so the nerves don’t get to him. “—is it bad?” When you hesitate to respond, Minghao already knows his answer. “Fuck.”

“Look, it’s just hurting in that spot for this exercise. The rest of your progress is amazing, but we’re just going to need to take it slower since you’ve probably just overexerted the muscle a little bit.”

“So I’ve been set back, basically,” Minghao says bluntly, his tone doing a full 180 from just a few moments earlier.

“Not a setback …” you sigh. “Just a sign that we need to go slower right now.” You watch him worriedly when he presses his lips together and doesn’t meet your gaze.

“So a setback.”

You gulp. “You can’t think of this like that. I told you from the start that progress is never linear and—”

“I don’t give a fuck, okay?” Minghao breaths out, and something about the way he says it with such a curt, tense tone almost makes you lose your composure. “This is—fuck, this my career okay? I can’t afford any setbacks.”

“I know that and that’s why I’m your doctor, okay?” you say, a bit more harshly than you intended.

You don’t understand why you’re letting his hostility get to your head all of sudden—it isn’t like you haven’t had frustrated patients before. Fuck, you’ve had people cry, sob, break down in this same room over slow progress but something about the way he looks so disheartened has your heart clenching.

“I’m here to help you,” you reiterate, your tone more composed than before. “But I can only do that if you let me.”

Minghao eyes flicker between your wide eyes and his hands in his lap. There’s a growing knot that ties in his throat, and he’s too afraid to open his mouth to speak, too afraid of what he might say. Instead, he just huffs and stands up.

“Sorry,” he finally musters up, eyes trained on the ground as you watch him carefully for his next move. “I’m leaving.”

You don’t stop him as he walks away.

When Minghao walks into the reception a few days later, he’s not surprised to see that you aren’t the one greeting him. He thinks back to the way your lips were pressed into a tight line when he walked out last week. It was the last time he’d seen you in the past few days, and some weird mix of worry swirls in his stomach.

Were you avoiding him? He wouldn’t blame you if you were, but he feels guilty for thinking that way. You wouldn’t let something personal get in the way of your work, Minghao knows that for sure.

Still, he bites his tongue when he briefly considers asking Jeonghan where you are. Would that be overstepping? It’s not like there haven’t been sessions where you weren’t there, but something about the thickness in the air around him tells Minghao that there’s something he should be worried about.

As if he could read Minghao’s mind, Jeonghan speaks up. “Doc’ll come in around the end. It’s her mom’s birthday so she’s out for most of the afternoon, but she’ll be back for the last half an hour,” he says casually, not really expecting to turn around to see Minghao looking at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“H-her—” Her mom? Minghao wants to ask but something stops him from saying it. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not here. Something feels wrong. “That’s fine,” he mutters, pursing his lips before looking at the ground.

He can feel Jeonghan’s curious gaze burning into the back of his skull, but Minghao only doesn’t move as he keeps quiet. They soon fall into the regular pattern of starting off with mobility exercises before doing a check of his range of movement.

It’s nearing the final hour of his session when Jeonghan excuses himself for a moment. Only two minutes passes before there’s a knock at the door, and then some footsteps leading in.

“Good afternoon Minghao,” you greet softly upon walking in. The man glances up at you, eyes widening when he takes in your figure.

“Oh—uh, hey.”

Minghao wants to bash his head into the wall. Hey? Seriously? That’s all he could muster up? Hey?

“Jeonghan gave me the rundown,” you tell him, looking away as you lift a clipboard and squint to read the tiny text. “No more sharp pains … returning mobilily …”

You hum slowly as you read off the notes your assistant left for you, not meeting Minghao’s gaze. He wonders if that’s what you intended. “Seeing as things are going smoothly for now, we’ll continue with the low-risk exercises and—”

“I’m sorry,” Minghao blurts out. He wonders what compels him to do it, but when you finally meet his gaze, he realizes that he just wanted you to look at him.

“Mi—”

“I’m sorry for how I acted last time. I shouldn’t have said that stuff to you. I was frustrated and took it out on you, and that wasn’t okay. I’m sorry.”

Your lips are pursed by the time Minghao is finished. He’s said enough, but when he peers up at you, his eyes speak a story of their own.

“It’s okay,” you respond with no hesitation, before turning back to your clipboard, scanning over it a few more times and then setting it down.

You smooth your hands over your lab coat, and for a moment Minghao wonders what it would feel like to have your palms run down his neck, pressing into his skin so gently yet with such fervor, fingertips ghosting over—

Minghao shouldn’t think like this.

“Jeonghan told me that it’s your mom’s birthday,” he finally breaks the silence. It’s the first time either of you have actually brought it up, and the reality of it all—fuck, it’s hitting you so hard that there’s already tears pooling in yout lashline.

You silently curse yourself for forgetting to tell Jeonghan not to tell Minghao anything. It’s okay, it isn’t like he knew any better, you tell yourself as you blink rapidly, trying to shoo away the tears.

“Mhm,” you hum, hoping he doesn’t probe any deeper. You aren’t sure what you should say.

You’re silent, and Minghao itches to reach forward, to rest his hand on your shoulder, to smile at you, to say all the things he’s been thinking about you but he just can’t. All he can manage is to clear his throat, causing you to look up at him expectantly.

Fuck, what should he say? “I’m um—I’m glad. Glad that she’s uh—that everything worked out.” That’s fine, right? There’s nothing wrong with that statement, Minghao’s almost sure of it so … so why in the world are you crying?

Shoot, did he fuck up? You’re sitting in the chair right next to him, head in your hands as you cover your face and turn away; your cries are soft but just loud enough for Minghao to hear over the rush in his ears, just loud enough for him to feel the ache, just loud enough for him to get the message.

Oh.

The first time you meet Xu Minghao, you’re in middle school. Seventh grade and walking into Algebra, going to sit down on your regular seat. Five minutes into class and a new boy walks into the room, handing your teacher a slip before being directed to sit down at a spot a few tables over.

He’s got short, dark hair, cat-like eyes, and a bit of tall, lanky figure as he slinks down into the chair. Your teacher claps her hands together and announces that there’s a new student in class. His name’s “Xu Minghao,” she said.

You don’t really remember his name at first. It isn’t uncommon for there to be new students on campus. He’s not in many of your other classes you realize as the day goes on, and so he slips your mind. Maybe you work with him for a few assignments throughout the year, but not enough for you to wave at each other when you pass the other in the hallways.

Five years later and you’re in your final year of high school. Time has passed, you have changed, Xu Minghao has changed, but what remains the same is what you are to each other. Strangers.

You’re paired with a stranger for your final senior Literature project.

“Do you want to write a paper, or do the poster?” you ask as he sits down next to you once the pairing assignments. Your teacher had given you two options on how to go about the project. “I don’t really mind either or,” you admit.

Minghao hums, setting his copy of Macbeth on the table before turning to you. “Poster? I think I’ve done enough writing in this past year to last me a lifetime,” he tells you with an obvious sigh.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Were you in Biology?”

He nods. “Regretfully.”

“Oh so you also had to write that whole research paper. Damn, that thing had to have shaved at least ten years off my life.”

“Ditto,” Minghao grumbles, running his hands over his face. “Oh god, just thinking about it is making me queasy. I’m so happy we’re in our final semester.”

“So we agree on no paper, just the poster?” you finalize.

Minghao agrees, “Yeah, that’s great.”

One week later and Minghao is at your doorstep. “Cool set up,” he notes, stepping into your room, looking down at the poster splayed out with markers all over.

You grin. “Thanks—I kind of like being artsy and stuff sometimes so I was pretty happy to do this when you said you also wanted to do the poster.”

“Seems like I made a good choice then,” he replies, sitting down on the opposite end of the poster and pulling out a notebook and his book. “I did some work and got a bunch of lines that we could use as citations in different parts.”

“That’s great,” you say, picking a pen. “Let’s get started then?”

You two get straight to work, and all goes smoothly. Minghao is a good worker, you’ve noticed. His friends are quite fun—you’ve seen him with them in the hallways sometimes—but you start to realize that Minghao doesn’t let himself sacrifice his work ethic for fun.

You make quite some progress over the next hour or two, and you’re just about to bring up one of your ideas. “So over here, I was thinking we could write out the context of the play and then—” You’re cut off by the voice of your older brother at your door. He’s looking down at his phone with his lips pressed into a tight line as he speaks.

“Mom’s starting another cycle of chemo this Thursday so—oh, sorry,” Beomgyu says quickly upon looking up and seeing you have a visitor. “Come to my room when you’re done,” he mutters before turning on his heel.

The silence that envelopes your room is deafening.

You don’t say a word as you take a deep breath and pick up a different colored marker. You clear your throat. “So back to what I was saying …”

The next time you work on the poster, it’s at Minghao’s house.

You wear a blue gown at graduation. It’s a sunny day in June, and you’re sweating a little through the silk fabric, but it’s okay.

Your father and Beomgyu are there in the stands, but your eyes can’t help but be pulled to the empty seat next to them. Your mother said she’d try to make it, but broke the news last night that it was a dream too high up to reach.

It’s okay, you had told her, but as you clutch your diploma close to your heart, all you can think is, no it’s not, no it’s not, no it’s fucking not.

You sit through the rest of the ceremony with a silence and all around you, you see your peers’ smiling faces, the encouraging words of the dean, the cheers of the crowds, and somehow you feel so lost in it all. When you’re finally dismissed, everyone claps and revels once more, but somehow you can’t find the voice in your throat to join them.

Slipping through the crowds of people who line up to take pictures with their friends, family, and all the sort, you slip out of the small stadium and into some hallway.

“Fuck!” you finally cry out, raising your hand up and whipping it forward towards the brick wall. You wince, bracing yourself for the pain, but the sting never comes. Something warm envelopes your wrist, and when you finally blink your eyes open, you see a stranger.

“I don’t understand what you’re going through,” Minghao finally says. “I won’t pretend I do either, but it’ll be okay.” He hugs you and your face is pressed into Minghao’s own blue gown that is about to turn a few shades darker.

You cry. You cry harder than you think you’ve ever cried before.

You don’t know what it is about the way he speaks. Maybe it’s the way he holds you. Maybe it’s the way he smells. Maybe it’s everything, but whatever it is or isn’t, you don’t stop crying and for a gracing moment, you bask in catharsis.

And then, you hear Beomgyu’s voice calling for you from a nearby hallway, so you pull back. Minghao presses his lips together and lets you go, hands dropping to the side as you wipe away the tears. There’s a darker blue splotch in the middle of his chest, but he says nothing of it.

You don’t say a word as you step back—the only communication you share is a nod, but you swear on every last star in the sky that he has said more words to you in that moment than anyone has told you in your entire lifetime.

You don’t see Minghao’s face until it’s seven years later and he’s plastered on the screen as SECTOR’s newest recruit. He’s got phenomenal potential as an F1 racer—greatest new talent in a while—you hear the host of the channel say, but as you look at his picture on the screen, all you see is the face of a stranger who’s held you tighter than anyone before.

The last time you saw Minghao, it was through tear-blurred vision as you scurried out of Room C—you had to tell Jeonghan through broken sniffles to wrap up the session with Minghao—that the weight of the day had gotten to your head and that you needed to take a breather.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. You retreated to your office soon after, staring at the photo of you and your mother that sat at the corner of your table, and then you cried a little more.

It’s the next day when you’re back in the office. Two patients had just finished up, and you’re sitting in your office, filing through some emails when you hear the familiar ringing of the front door opening. You furrow your eyebrows to yourself, not recalling having any other patients scheduled for at least another two hours.

Had Jeonghan and Seungkwan taken their break earlier than you thought? No, that can’t be possible because they always let you know when they’re heading out and—

“Doc!” you hear Seungkwan’s voice call out to you from down the hall. “Could you come here for a sec’?”

Frowning, you close your laptop and stand up, walking out the doorway and down the hallway towards the front entrance of the clinic. “What is i—oh.” The question dies on your tongue when you see Minghao standing in the reception.

Something in your stomach churns at the sight of him—eyes slightly blown out, lips parted but somehow curved downward in a way that has your own lips frowning. The events of the past few days crashes down on you, and you bite down on your bottom lips in hopes that it’ll ground you in reality.

Seungkwan stands behind the main desk, looking at you with some sort of awry expression, and you catch Jeonghan coming down from the other hallway to catch the odd situation. Minghao doesn’t seem to mind though, eyes zoning in on you.

“I need to talk to you,” he says. You feel Seungkwan and Jeonghan’s gazes burn into the back of your skull.

Glancing at them, you point to the door. “You guys can take your lunch break now,” you tell them before turning your attention to Minghao. “Let’s go to Room C?”

He follows you in an instant, slipping into the seat that he always does as you close the door behind you and walking up to stand in front of him.

You can hear the words already coming together on his tongue—I’m sorry—and so you open your mouth before Minghao can even say it.

“I’m sorry,” you say, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.”

“No, I—I shouldn’t have said anything. I had no idea you—” Minghao stops himself. He doesn’t know how much is too much.

It’s funny; Minghao’s whole career is about being in the driver’s seat but somehow when it comes to you, he doesn’t know when to press on the gas or hit the brake.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he says. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since graduation.”

“Me too,” you respond in an instant. “I see so much of myself in you,” you tell him.

“Stop, I—our situations aren’t comparable and—”

“Let me be the judge of that, yeah?” you cut him off with a small smile and through tears, cupping his face. The skin over his cheek bones are soft when you run your thumbs over them. “When everything is going wrong and you’re so angry, and you’re blaming all the wrong people but you can’t help it, and it makes you feel worse and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.”

“Yeah.”

You inhale steadily, feeling hot water meet your hands and trickle down to your wrists. Minghao is crying, and suddenly you are hit with waves of deja vu. “I get it, okay?” you tell him, even though you know that Minghao already knows. You get it better than anyone. “It’ll be okay.”

The echo of his words from all those years ago crashes down on you, and suddenly Minghao pulls your arms down causing you to hunch over so your face is right in front of his.

“I’ve thought about you everyday since then.” The words come out of your mouth in a soft whisper. “Even when she passed away a few months later.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters, eyes closing and head titling forward so that your foreheads press against each other. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, stroking his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry—you were right. Everything’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“I—I’m sorry, I just—”

Something about the way Minghao says the word sorry not from his throat, but from his stomach, has your mind twisting in ways that you can’t comprehend. The sound is so guttural and heart-wrenching, and this time you want to cry because he’s got nothing to be sorry for. Not a thing.

And so you kiss him.

You kiss Minghao because he is no longer a stranger. Because he is crying for you and you might as well cry for him. Cry for him, but you have done enough crying to last you a lifetime and so you kiss him instead, because they speak the same words: I love you.

And his lips are soft, his tongue warm, his hand ghosting over your arm is gentle, and you can hear it. You hear it in the way he moves against you—he understands and you want to cry again because he’s always understood, and so you don’t cry but only kiss him deeper.

“I made you something,” he admits. “It’s in the car.”

You’re thankful you sent your two coworkers out when you did, sparring all four of you the awkwardness when you and Minghao slip out of Room C and out the clinic towards the parking lot and to his car.

He pulls a blanket out from the passenger seat. It’s hardly big enough to cover your lower half but it’s bright and blue and warm, and somehow you feel your eyes well up with tears that you can’t seem to stop this time.

“Did you—did you make this?” you choke out as Minghao stands in front of you, handing the cloth over as you run your palms over the loose threads and yarn that poke through.

“Crocheted it myself,” he tells you, standing from a couple inches above, as you marvel over his work. Minghao thinks he’s done a poor job—you could probably do better—but you clutch the blanket with such vigor that he doesn’t have the heart to tell you. “You’ve helped me so much,” he says instead.

“Fuck,” you mutter over harsh breaths. “Y-you made this.”

“You taught me,” he corrects, and that’s when the dam breaks.

And this time Minghao hugs you, and you can tell he’s being careful about his neck and in all your frenzy you almost want to push him away and say, “Don’t move so much!” but then his arms fold in on you like a blanket of their own and you crumble.

You crumble into happiness because through everything you’ve ever been through, Minghao still holds you tighter than one holds onto life itself.

“I don’t think I can come here on Sunday next week,” you tell your boyfriend as you peer down at your phone. You’re leaning over his kitchen counter going between looking at some emails and glancing at the screen.

Minghao groans, and you bite back a smile. “Are you serious? Why?”

“Yes I’m serious,” you huff, rolling your eyes playfully. “My brother’s visiting town for a bit.”

“And I can’t meet him, why?” Minghao asks with a raised brow.

You laugh. “Good point. I haven’t told him I’m dating yet though. Might be too big of a ball drop if I tell him I have a boyfriend right away. A boyfriend who’s SECTOR’s best racer, might I add,” you say, pouring yourself a glass of water from the fridge before joining Minghao on the couch.

“It would be a good surprise though, right?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah yeah, whatever floats your boat,” you shoot sarcastically. “But seriously. I’ll see if I can get you two to meet, but I really can’t see you on Sunday. I have to pick Beomgyu up from the airport.”

“Got it,” Minghao agrees, shuffling closer to you as you both focus on the TV. A live interview with Kim Mingyu plays on the screen, the young man talking about his recent rise in recognition. You two sit in silence for a couple of minutes before Minghao speaks up.

“I fucking hate not being able to do anything,” he groans, shifting onto your shoulder slightly. His condition’s gotten exponentially better in past couple of weeks, but you instructed for him to wait at least two more weeks before fully getting back to training.

He’s been restless ever since, you’ve started to notice. “Do I really need to wait?” he mutters, lips close to your ear as you cuddle into his embrace.

You pull back slightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yes! I told you—it’s a part of the process.”

“Fuck the process, I wanna drive again!”

“Too bad I guess,” you say with a shrug, turning your attention to the TV. The channel moves on from the interview to talk about some updates, and eventually somewhere in the mix, Minghao’s name comes up, and you hear the man next to you curse under his breath.

Chewing on your tongue, you debate for a few moments on what to do before reaching for the remote to shut the TV off.

“Hey! I was watching th—”

“Do you ever stop complaining?” you huff, stepping out of his embrace much to Minghao’s dismay. “Stop moving,” you order him, sliding down onto your knees in front of his legs.

“What are you do—oh.” You hear the words dry on his tongue when you nudge your body between his thighs, inching closer to his groin.

“You’re so restless,” you hum, trailing your fingers from his knees, over his thighs, and finally let the ghost over the growing tent under his sweatpants. “Let me take care of you, yeah?” you suggest, toying with the elastic waistband of his pants and boxers.

“O-okay,” Minghao agrees, and you grin at the way you see his cheeks flush pink when you inch the fabric off of his pants. His cock springs out, hardening under your gaze as it slaps against his lower adobe that’s still covered by his shirt.

You think for a moment to help Minghao out of his shirt too, but with the pretty pearl of precum dribbling off his slit, veins pressing up all against the length of his cock—all of him aching just for you—you start to feel your mouth water, forgetting about anything that isn’t having Minghao’s cock in your mouth.

“Careful with the right arm, ‘kay?” you tell him, a sly smirk tugging at your lips when you bring them down, dragging them over the base of his length all the way up to the glossy tip where you place a wet kiss.

“Y-yeah—fuck baby,” Minghao grunts when you envelope your lips around his throbbing tip, tongue swirling over the slit at the top as you do so. His left arm makes its way into your hair, fingers digging into your scalp when you pull back to take a deep breath.

Saliva drips down the corner of your lips, and as you look up at Minghao with wide, glossy eyes, he thinks he might bust in on the spot. “Go on baby,” he murmurs, using his firm grip on your head to nudge your lips closer to his pink tip. “Put it in …” he instructs, and when you grin and open your lips wide once more, Minghao knows he’s too far gone to be saved.

“You’re so hard Hao,” you whisper against him, tongue tracing constellations over the base of his cock when you reach to cup his balls, massaging them under your palms.

“Fuck, just like that baby,” Minghao moans, and the sound is so guttural it has your own pussy clenching around nothing. Your skin burns when you take him into your mouth again, cock sliding further down your mouth than before.

He’s so thick, and you feel every last curve of his cock, every last vein, against your cheeks, pressing against your tongue—Minghao is all you can taste, and you might go drunk on the sensation alone.

And he isn’t faring quite well above you either—his hand in your hair has got a firm hold but if anything, Minghao is losing touch with reality. Your mouth is so soft and so warm, your tongue so meticulous with the way it’s swirling around his tip when you slip off his cock before pushing your mouth back down on him—he’s going fucking crazy.

“Baby—oh baby,” the words rumble at the base of his chest, egging you on. With every bob of your head, you start to take him down further until his fat tip is battering against the back of your throat and yeah, it’s got tears pricking at the corners of your eyes but he’s moaning and grunting and squirming all for you and you just can’t seem to fucking stop.

“Shit, shit, shit—baby, ‘m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” he warns when you deep throat all of him, your nose nearly pressing against his pelvis as you press your eyes tight and revel in the sound of his moans, the feeling of his hands in your hair.

You take his slice of warning as a token of advice, pulling back for only a breath before attempting to do the same thing again, shoving his cock into your mouth and down your throat, rubbing whatever you can’t with your palms as wetness smears all over your lips and cheeks.

“Oh—fuck, I’m—”

When Minghao cums, it’s with his chest singing your name. Breathy moans—calls for you—as you suck him through the high, hot white painting the inside of your cheeks and tongue. You pant heavily when you finally pull yourself off of him, swallowing all that is left of him in your mouth, and then he looks at you with flushed cheeks and you both grin.

And when you climb up, Minghao hugs you. He hugs you like a blanket—like the blanket he made you, the blanket you taught him to make—and you two bask in this moment because Minghao is no longer stranger, but he is here and he is in your arms and you are in is, and there isn’t any other place you’d rather be.

a/n: mika ramble time! whatever demonic sickness has been haunting me for the past 5 days will NOT get the best of me. i have been aching to get this fic out since like september and it was initially supposed to be posted on hubbie's bday but :/ unfortunately i was a bit late bc life gets in the way ;c overall i'm really happy w it! personally, i think this is among the most emotional fics i've written, and i am extremely proud of myself for some parts of this so !! yea !! if u enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it, pls feel free to leave comments / reblogs >_< they mean the world to me ^^

#seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #svt angst #minghao smut #minghao x reader #xu minghao x reader #xu minghao smut #xu minghao fanfic #xu minghao angst #minghao angst #the8 x reader #the8 angst #📝 writing #flight of the stars

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ineffable-romantics · 1 year ago

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Some thoughts on why and how I believe Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship would incorporate sex/why I do not read them as wholly asexual:

This is something I've seen the most discourse about in this fandom, and I've had a few thoughts of my own that I really wanted to expand upon in a full meta/character analysis post. I do understand that this can be a contentious topic, so first, let me clarify a few things:

First of all, this is going to be long. Tbh it probably won't be that organized either. I ramble and I'm not very good at editing, so just... you know. Be warned. (*Hi, it's me from 2 days after writing this; I'm really not kidding, it's LONG)

These are all my own thoughts. They might not be hot takes, because recently I've seen more than a few people come to the same conclusions on a lot of these points as I have. But I've also had these notes in my drafts for about a week and a half now, and have been continuously adding to it as things have occurred to me. This post is essentially just somewhere for me to collect the separate but related meta I've been kicking around in my head.

I fully respect anyone who does see and prefer an asexual reading of this relationship. These are my own thoughts and interpretations as someone who is not asexual. I am in the LGBT+ community, so while I do know a few things about the asexuality spectrum, I am by no means an expert.

This is NOT something I expect, need, or even necessarily want the show (or, God forbid, Neil's tumblr ask box) to address. Tonally, it's just not that kind of show. Newt and Anathema's sex scene was very much played for laughs, and it worked for that reason. If the show found a way to address it in a way that was both appropriate for the tone of the show and ultimately satisfying, then great! But there is so much more to this relationship than sex, and I didn't need a kiss to confirm their love, so I certainly don't need a sex scene. As immortal beings (as I assume they'll stay) there is so much of the rest of their lives we'll never get to see. You can headcanon them as asexual and potentially be right. I can headcanon them as not and be equally potentially right. Again, these are just a collection of my own thoughts, because I think the question of sexuality (or lack thereof) is just as interesting a facet of these characters as any other.

Note: Tbh I've been second-guessing this whole post and debated deleting the whole thing several times for being silly or unnecessary, bc I don't want anyone to think that this is the only thing I care about when it comes to this story/characters. But if nothing else, it's inspired me to write in a way that nothing has in a very long time, so I've decided it's worth continuing, if for no other reason than that.

This is going to be a mixed bag of textual reading, subtextual reading, and a full-on reach or two. It's been a while since I've been in an English class, but if my teachers expected me to find a deeper meaning behind blue curtains, you can expect me to read too deeply into the symbolism of a loaded rifle or an ox rib. (This is probably not what my professors had in mind when grading my literary analysis papers but oh well) My point is, if it feels like a reach, I'm as aware of it as you are. I am in no way saying that all (or even any) of my points made were deliberate on the part of Neil or the actors or the writers or the directors. I am no longer the delulu Apple Tree Yard child of my youth, I promise.

If anything said here is in any way offensive or hurtful to anyone in the asexual community, please do not hesitate to message me or comment and let me know exactly what it was. I promise you it is not my intention to do so, and am happy to clarify or outright edit anything that reads that way.

With all that being said, let's talk about why I think Crowley and Aziraphale would absolutely fuck nasty incorporate sex into their relationship.

Note: I am out of practice with essay writing, so I think I'll just go down the bullet points of notes I have been making, and expand on each as best I can

Food

Where better to start than with Aziraphale's introduction to Pleasures Of The Flesh? (Just a heads up, this entire post may feel very Aziraphale-heavy, and with good reason).

This might be the least hot take here. We've all seen the Job minisode. We've all seen That Scene.

Whether this was intentional or not, the symbolism here is off the charts. Eve was tempted by an apple. So why not go a similar route and tempt Aziraphale with another fruit, or cheese, or bread, or literally anything else for his first experience with food? Instead, we go with a huge, glistening slab of fresh meat that he proceeds to absolutely go feral upon, moaning and gasping into his meal while Crowley watches with what definitely doesn't look to be disgust or even satisfaction with a good temptation. There's surprise at the ferocity of Aziraphale's appetite, certainly. But ultimately he looks to be intensely fascinated by it, while the thunder crashes, the music crescendos, and the earth literally shakes around them.

(It's also interesting to note how very little it takes for Crowley to tempt him with the ox rib. One murmured suggestion, a bit of unwavering eye contact, and vavoom Aziraphale immediately meets him in the middle.)

Cut to Aziraphale devouring the rest of the meat with Crowley splayed back on a makeshift bed, drinking wine and continuing to watch him indulge through half-lidded eyes. Outside a thunderstorm rages while they're learning secrets about each other in warm flickering firelight. It's cosy, it's intimate, and if they'd thrown in a bearskin throw blanket, it might as well be a post-coital scene straight out of Game of Thrones.

The next time (chronologically) we see them discuss food is when Aziraphale "tempts" Crowley with oysters in Rome. So Crowley first tempts Aziraphale with meat and then Aziraphale tempts Crowley with what is widely regarded to be an aphrodisiac. Interesting.

And then chronologically after that, the Arrangement begins to form, which has always reeked of a friends with benefits situation. Just to throw that in there.

It's What Humans Do

In the very first episode, we're shown Gabriel's obvious disgust and bewilderment towards Aziraphale eating sushi, calling it "gross matter" and being proud of the fact that he does not sully his body with it. Aziraphale initially tries to defend his own enjoyment in it, before passing it off as something that humans do, as something he simply has to do in order to blend in (which we know very well is not the case).

He does this again in season 2, passing off Nina and Maggie being in love as "something humans do". But it isn't, is it? Angels are beings of love, and can sense it, and understand very well what it is... up to a point. Even romantic love is obviously within their wheelhouse, given what we now know happened between Gabriel and Beelzebub (we'll come back to them).

What the "humans do" that angels wouldn't understand is messy, physical forms of love.

But here's the thing: Aziraphale and Crowley love doing what the humans do. They love drinking, they (or at least Aziraphale) love eating. They love music. Crowley loves driving and sleeping and watching rom-coms and sitcoms. Aziraphale loves reading and doing magic and earning little licenses and certificates for achievement in his various hobbies. They love to playact at being human so much that they've stopped playacting and started building a genuinely human lifestyle for themselves and with each other.

Once together in an unambiguously romantic sense, why do we think they wouldn't also want to explore one of the most prominent, intimate, powerful human expressions of love and desire with each other?

Angels, Demons, & Asexuality

Here's where I really want to clarify that in no way do I mean that sex is necessary for a healthy, fulfilling, and loving romantic relationship, or that the lack of desire for sex makes you any less human. Asexuality is a sexuality as valid and human as any. What I would say is that it is definitely in the human minority compared to allosexuality.

Angels and demons, on the other hand, are predominately asexual. Sexless/genderless unless Making An Effort. (Which, btw, is a concept introduced as early as the original book; why even bring it up as a possibility? Why not keep angels/demons being sexless/asexual as a hard and fast rule, if not to open up the potential for later use? Chekhov's Effort, if you will. And isn't that something that Aziraphale in particular is shown to do time and time again? He makes an effort in French and driving and magic, doesn't he?)

And this is why I don't believe Aziraphale and Crowley necessarily need to be asexual, narratively. There is already a huge amount of ace rep within the angels and demons (and no, not just the horrible ones. Muriel also doesn't "drink the tea" and has no reason or desire thus far to Make An Effort, and there are certainly other angels and demons who aren't horrible like the archangels seem to be who likely wouldn't Make An Effort either).

The central conflict for Aziraphale and Crowley is that they are on their own side, the ones who went native, the ones who are so different in so many ways from their respective hives. It would make sense for them to also break away from traditional angel/demon asexuality.

I say "traditional angel/demon asexuality", because I would also like to note that I would absolutely not rule out demisexuality for either of them. This post is being written to as a response to people who specifically believe that they (like the rest of the angels/demons seem to be) would be sex-averse in a relationship, and that it wouldn't be a factor in their relationship. I could easily read them as demisexual, but I do think there would be no real way of verifying this, because they've never been able to form as close an emotional relationship with anyone else but each other. Certainly not in heaven, and I can't imagine they would be able to form that kind of attachment with any of the humans, who they love and emulate but ultimately regard as the separate species they are. So yes, they could either be allosexual or demisexual, in my opinion.

Then again, now that I think about it, Making An Effort itself could be a great metaphor for demisexuality, since they would be entirely sexless/asexual until they have enough of an emotional connection with someone to consciously manifest otherwise. Since the other angels and demons don't generally form those types of emotional connections with anyone, there hasn't been a precedent for it.

Except...

Brielzebub

We do have a precedent for it now, don't we? Gabriel and Beelzebub fell in love. They are a direct foil for Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship, speedrunning right through their courtship and finding their happily ever after on the other side of things.

For being such a 1 to 1 comparison, it feels deliberate that they did not kiss. They held hands, they were gooey with each other, but they did not kiss. That feels like such a deliberate thing to omit when you know what's to come at the end of the episode between Crowley and Aziraphale.

And going back to the food = sex metaphor for a moment, let's notice how even as they fell in love over the years, even when pints and crisps were there on the table in front of them, they never felt the desire to reach out for them. They didn't need to. It's a date (love story) even if you aren't eating dinner (sleeping together).

Yes, I know Jim liked hot chocolate. No, I am not counting it because I don't consider Jim and Gabriel to be the same person with the same proclivities, and Jim was highly suggestible at the time anyway.

Gabriel and Brielzebub's big happily ever after moment (as of now) was one between two asexual supernatural beings. They did not need to kiss to drive the point home. They showed what Crowley and Aziraphale could have, if they would only acknowledge it.

Crowley & Aziraphale's Dissatisfaction

But they do have that already, don't they? If you really think about it, what do Gabriel and Beelzebub do with each other that Crowley and Aziraphale don't already? They hold hands, they spend time together, they create little rituals, they give gifts, they're visibly and verbally affectionate with each other, etc. They are more or less already in a romantic asexual marriage relationship with each other, aren't they?

And it doesn't seem to be enough for either of them.

At the beginning of the season, Crowley is immediately shown to be unsatisfied with the way things are. Obviously part of it comes from living in his car, but it seems to be more than that (especially since Aziraphale makes it clear that the bookshop is just as much Crowley's as his, implying that he could have been living there the whole time and is choosing not to, for some reason?). You could argue he's feeling unmoored without Hell telling him what to do, but isn't that what he wanted? Isn't that what he still wants, by the end of the season? All season long, he's never indicated the desire for a new job, or a new project. He stopped the apocalypse because he wanted the freedom to openly spend time with Aziraphale, to spend his time on Earth however he sees fit. Until Gabriel arrives, he has exactly that (minus a flat).

So where does the dissatisfaction come from? And if it represents anything to do with his relationship, what does he want out of it that he isn't getting already?

I think Crowley only really comes to the realisation of what he's missing when Nina names it for him, not only putting them in the category of romantic, but physical (outright asking if they are sleeping together). These two posts [1], [2] go into more detail about what I mean, but I think it really pushes him into acknowledging that their relationship is more human than either of them have stopped to consider, and what that might mean as far as everything a human relationship can entail.

After all, Nina and Maggie only advised that he should talk to Aziraphale, make clear his feelings. The decision to kiss him, to tip them over the edge from nonphysical to physical, that was all him. And no, kissing isn't sex, but I wonder how taboo even that might be in the kind of all-encompassing asexuality most angels seem to identify with. (If they're disgusted by food and drink, I can only imagine what they think of snogging, much less sex.)

Aziraphale doesn't have this moment of someone observing their relationship from the outside. He loves Crowley, and as of 1941 probably even knows he's in love with him in a way that Crowley doesn't understand yet. Which makes sense, since love is technically his job, he'd be more likely to recognise it for what it is.

However, Aziraphale's reference for romance and relationships is Jane Austen. It's chaste. It's dancing and dinner and doing sweet things for each other and roses and candles and handholding. He contextualises his love for Crowley in that soft fantasy sort of way, where it's there, it's obviously there, but it's neat and easy and unspoken. Not to quote Glee in this, the year of our lord 2023, but it's all very "the touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets".

Someone should tell that to Aziraphale's face, then.

I'm not going to pretend I know what Michael Sheen's script notes were, but there were definitely some Choices™ made. Because yes, there were plenty of moments in both seasons with Aziraphale looking at Crowley in a sweet, loving, smitten way. And then there were moments that were yearning.

But yearning for what, exactly? All of those sappy Jane Austen tropes already apply to the two of them. So why are there moments where Aziraphale is looking Crowley up and down like the last eclair in the window and licking his lips and visibly exhaling like he's trying to get in control of himself (see: Bastille scene + Crowley telling Muriel to ask him if they have any other questions about love)? Why is Aziraphale not only unconcerned when Crowley shoves him bodily up against a wall in s1, but staring at his lips and a beat too late in noticing Sister Mary's arrival? Why are some of his lines so suggestive? I'm sorry, but the car ride after the church explosion might as well have been the beginning of a Pizza Man porn with a really weird Blitz theme. If even my mother picked up on that vibe, I can't imagine it wasn't intentional on part of both the dialogue and the delivery.

(This section may feel like more of a reach/joke, but I'm really only 20% joking. These are writers and actors who are EXTREMELY good at their jobs; they know what they were doing here.)

More importantly, I don't think Aziraphale is even aware that there is more to what he wants. He lives in the Jane Austen fantasy and it never even occurs to him that he might be interested in anything further. It never even occurs to him that, as an angel, there is anything further to be interested in in the first place. Until Crowley forces it to occur to him. Just like I believe Nina forced Crowley to confront the idea that romantic love is what he's been feeling all along, I believe Crowley forced Aziraphale to confront the idea that physical intimacy is something he's been wanting, without even realising.

Aziraphale's Hedonism

Expanding on Aziraphale for a moment. We talked about his relationship with food, but we all know that Aziraphale is defined by his love of things that Feel Good.

It isn't just that he and Crowley love human things. Aziraphale loves the best of the best, or at least his version of it. He doesn't just love food, he loves going to fancy restaurants. He doesn't just love clothes, he loves soft, cosy, warm, plush clothes, or shiny, flashy, bougie fashion. He loves the warmth of tea and cocoa, loves getting drunk, and sitting in a comfy chair in the sunlight. He doesn't just experience, he indulges.

Given the emphasis put on things that Aziraphale loves just because they Feel Good, it feels narratively strange to assume that he wouldn't enjoy the feeling of being touched, or that he wouldn't be willing to try it, at least once, with someone he cared very deeply for. And just like the ox rib, I think that once he gets the first taste of things, he would absolutely tip over into complete and utter self-indulgence.

Dancing

I also think that dancing could be construed as a huge metaphor here. After all, we're told flat-out that angels don't Dance. Except one.

I would argue that Aziraphale, in fact, Made An Effort to learn how to Dance. He threw himself into the gavotte with delight (at a Victorian gay club; noted) and worked hard to be good at it. He's chomping at the bit to Dance with Crowley, working up the nerve to ask him with undeniably romantic intent and eagerness. So, angels don't Dance... unless they Make An Effort to do so.

We are told that demons, on the other hand, do Dance, but not well. Makes sense, since they're the ones who would want to encourage a deadly sin like lust, but have as little understanding of human love and physical intimacy as the angels. Crowley, however, is shown to be an excellent dancer at the ball, especially in his compatibility with Aziraphale.

(But Aziraphale WandaVisioned the ball so everyone knew how to dance! Yes, he did. However, the rest of the brainwashing doesn't seem to affect Crowley in any way, and they did actually live through the time period where this sort of dancing was a social norm; I'd be surprised if he never needed to learn. After all, the demons can't spell either, and Crowley is at least functionally literate, as far as we know.)

As of today, it's also been confirmed that when Aziraphale asked Crowley to dance, Crowley replied with "you don't dance." Not "WE don't dance". So going along with the metaphor, Crowley is just now discovering that Dancing is something Aziraphale is interested in at all, much less with him, and not denying that he himself is interested in Dancing. In his defense, I believe he was asleep for a few years while Aziraphale was learning the gavotte, so he wasn't exactly aware of Aziraphale's hot girl summer.

Love Languages

I want to expand on that; Crowley and Aziraphale's compatibility. Specifically in regards to their individual love languages.

We all know Crowley's love language is Acts of Service. I don't think there's any debate there. He loves it, Aziraphale loves it, they're both aware of it, we're all aware of it, God and Satan are aware of it, no surprise there.

You may disagree with me, but I believe Aziraphale's love language is Physical Touch, for a number of reasons. One of which being his aforementioned hedonism. Aziraphale likes things that Feel Good, remember? He likes soft clothes, and well-worn books. Neil himself has said that they like holding hands. And any time he is taken by surprise (Brielzebub getting together, the wave of love in Tadfield, etc.) what is the first thing he does? Reaches out for Crowley. He stops him with a hand to the chest in the pub. He leads him by the hand to the dance floor. He guides him by the waist in the graveyard. He reaches out during the entire Brielzebub scene, whether he can reach Crowley or not. Despite his own turmoil, he grasps at Crowley's back during the kiss.

The one time Crowley reaches out for him (not counting the kiss yet; we'll get there), he is aggressively pushed against a wall (by someone he loves and trusts) with a complete and utter lack of concern (and perhaps some interest, depending on how you read it).

And when he isn't reaching out for anyone, or there isn't anyone to reach out to? Well, he's wringing his own hands together, squeezing his own fingers, as if to find that physical comfort in himself.

So. With that theory in mind, we have Aziraphale (Physical Touch) + Crowley (Acts of Service). Throw in 6000+ years of deep love, cherished companionship, and forcibly repressed longing, and there is a very real potential of this combination resulting in fierce sexual compatibility. Where Aziraphale would want to touch and be touched, to indulge in physical pleasure with someone he adores, in the same the way he indulges in every other fine thing in his life. And where Crowley would want to indulge him in return, to give him everything he wants, and to take pleasure in Aziraphale's pleasure, in the same way he enjoys watching him take joy in food everything else.

So Aziraphale is an angel who is insecure about his own less-than-holy desires, who would want to treat Crowley like a luxury to be touched and cherished and adored. And Crowley is a demon who has, over the millennia, been unhappy about how they've been forced to deny even their friendship with each other, who would want Aziraphale to feel comfortable and safe and encouraged to indulge in earthly delights. That sounds like a stunning recipe for sexual compatibility to me.

"You said 'trust me'" / "And you did"

Just like the Job minisode, the Blitz is RIFE with symbolism (intentional or otherwise). This one will be quick, but I did want to touch on it because I thought it was interesting. Maybe I'm reaching at this point, but I'm assuming you read the tin.

First of all, Crowley not wanting to admit to never firing a gun before; comes off as someone who very much does not want to admit to their crush that they're a virgin ("You must have done this lots of times!" / "Umm.... yyyyyeah.")

(You could make the argument that Aziraphale having a firearms license and a Derringer in a hollowed-out book is symbolic of him not being a virgin while Crowley is. I disagree, for reasons I'll go into later, but it's a valid reading. However, I see it more like keeping a condom in your wallet; it's there in case you need it, but the opportunity has not yet risen no pun intended.)

More importantly, the theme of this entire minisode is trust. We already know they trust each other with their lives against the rest of Heaven, Hell, and the world. But specifically, this is about the importance of having complete trust in your partner in a charged, physically vulnerable, intimate moment, where the only danger is between the two of you.

Aziraphale needs to believe Crowley would never hurt him if he can help it. Crowley needs to trust Aziraphale's unwavering blind faith in him. Frankly, it all feels very symbolic of two people deeply in love losing their respective virginities with each other.

The trick is a success, and they share an intimate candlelit dinner in which they reaffirm their faith in each other. Aziraphale also begins to voice his agreement with Crowley, that maybe Heaven's rules shouldn't have to be as black and white as they are, and that there are benefits to... blurring the lines, shades of grey, wink wink (at which point even my mom was like, whoa guys, this is a family show).

Btw also: Can we all agree how much it looked like Crowley was getting ready to get a lapdance in that one scene? You know the one.

Also also: "Aim for my mouth"? Come on.

The Birds & The Bees

Now that I think of it, there's also something to be said for the fact that Crowley and Aziraphale are both obviously familiar with where babies come from (how they're made and how they're born) while the other angels aren't.

Something something Aziraphale and Crowley fundamentally understand sex and reproduction in a way the other angels (and probably demons) very much do not, nor have any desire to.

Probably not important. Just thought it was worth mentioning.

The Kiss™ & Religious Trauma

The Kiss. Where to even begin?

This has definitely been the hardest one to start, because there is so much going on here that I definitely won't be able to cover it all, and will certainly miss a few things here and there.

Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss afterwards is the most interesting to me. And I don't mean directly after, I don't mean the "I forgive you" part. I mean the way he touches his lips when Crowley is no longer in the room and he no longer needs to save face, when he is completely alone. Had it been directly after the kiss, it would have been rightfully read as horror, or disgust, a shield to discourage further action.

It's not. It isn't just a touch, it's a press. As desperate and angry and unexpected and imperfect as the kiss had been, Aziraphale is pressing it into himself, recreating the feeling as best he can. Beneath all the poor timing and shock and hurt from their fight and fallout, I think it's fair to say that it was something he enjoyed. Something he doesn't think he should enjoy, something that Feels Good that he only allows himself to indulge in when completely alone.

Remember, Aziraphale's idea of love is Jane Austen and gentleness and courtship and fantasy. If he'd ever even considered kissing an option, it might have been gentle pecks, cheek kisses, forehead kiss, hand kisses. Soft, safe, chaste affection.

Crowley's kiss turns all of that on its head. He introduces physical intimacy in a very real, very messy, very human way that I don't think Aziraphale ever even considered could apply to them. Considering what other angels are like and what they look down on, even Aziraphale's Jane Austen fantasies probably would have been considered taboo.

So for their first kiss to be rough and desperate and passionate in the way it was, of course he was confused and in shock. It was deeply physical, and as overwhelming and awful as it was in the moment, it Felt Good. Enough that he grasped at Crowley and kissed back, if only just for a moment, before stopping himself. Enough that he actively pressed it into his lips afterwards, in private, to remember.

I adore how Neil has decided to evolve these characters past the first book/season. More so in this season, Aziraphale and Crowley have both become such interesting allegories for queer people on either side of the spectrum of toxic religion. Aziraphale in particular obviously, because he is the side that so desperately wants to believe, to make a difference, and to unlearn all of the propaganda he's been fed over such a long time. Just like so much of organised religion, there is so much that he is told, time and time again, that he should not want, that he is silly or stupid or outright wrong for wanting. It reminds me so much of the severe Catholic guilt one might feel for wanting/engaging in sex for the first time, and the stigma of being queer layered on top of that.

What is so critical to Aziraphale's character is that he goes on wanting, and more than that, actively pursues. He was convinced to go up against Heaven and Hell and stop all of Armageddon because he wanted to go on listening to music and eating lunch and reading books and enjoying the simple company of the person he cares most deeply for, even if that person is supposed to be the enemy.

All this to say that if angels are as generally asexual/sex-averse as I believe them to be, narratively speaking, it would make sense for Aziraphale to be singular in that regard as well. Mirroring his first experience with food, it would make sense for Crowley to be the one to first introduce this new messy, physical, human dynamic between them, for Aziraphale to hesitate (obviously we are at the Hesitation phase at the moment), and then (eventually) for him to dive in wholeheartedly, to absolutely glut himself on this new thing that Feels Good. It would make sense for his character development to show him overcoming his metaphorical Catholic guilt and pursuing the sexual intimacy most (if not all) of the other angels would scorn.

(I can't help but remember that plot idea Neil described from the unwritten sequel, with Aziraphale in a hotel room trying to watch a full porno by way of the free 2-minute teaser clips so he wasn't technically sinning by paying for it. I so hope this is used in season 3, because gosh, I wonder why Aziraphale would suddenly be so interested in observing human physical intimacy after 6,000 years. Lonely and doing a little surreptitious research there, angel?)

Crowley, on the other hand, is the queer person who has broken free from his toxic religion. He prides himself on being his own person, on their his own side. He doesn't have the hang-ups Aziraphale does. He doesn't worry that he's going to be judged or cast aside for wanting things he's not supposed to. So it only makes sense for him to be the first one to suggest/initiate physical intimacy. It makes sense for him to be the one who "goes too fast" (another fantastic example of this dynamic beginning as early as s1; what is that conversation in the car meant to represent, if not Aziraphale being overwhelmed by the intensity of their relationship, and his fear of succumbing to it when he believes he shouldn't? It's also interesting that this is the first conversation to take place in Soho, just after watching Aziraphale realise he's caught feelings for a demon, with the red glow of lust serving as the backdrop).

Do I think the kiss in and of itself was sexual? No. I think it was a passionate and devastating last-ditch effort on Crowley's part to convey the way he feels for Aziraphale. Not just that he loves him, but that he loves him in the most human way possible. But I do think that the kiss represents how they can move forward from here, and what they might want to explore with each other once they feel free enough to do so.

In Conclusion

I am sure, deep in my bones (unless we are explicitly told otherwise), that this was both of their first kisses no, I'm not counting the gavotte, and that neither of them have ever thought to do anything else physical with the humans while they have been on Earth. Like I said before, they adore the human race and lifestyle in general, but ultimately view them as a separate species altogether, and they seem mostly happy to keep to themselves and each other, unless otherwise necessary. I just can't see either of them being drawn enough to a human to pursue anything close to sex. If Crowley in particular has had anything to do with sex in the context of temptations, I'm positive he would be inciting lust amongst the humans themselves, not involving himself directly. At least not that directly.

So, like every other human experience they've had on Earth, sex is something new that they could explore together, just the two of them, on their own side. A deeply intimate, tangible declaration of their love and everything they've gone through to earn it. A visceral finger to give both Heaven and Hell. A renewed appreciation for their corporations and for each other's. A enjoyable method for immortal beings to simply pass the time in each other's company. A new and exciting way to Feel Good, and all the variations that come with it.

You might agree with this post, or you might not. Whether this is something that is ever addressed or not, it doesn't matter to me. This is a brilliant love story either way, and I genuinely feel so privileged to witness it.

But I just can't find it in myself to imagine, given everything we know about these two characters, that sex isn't an experience they would both consume with wholehearted enthusiasm, curiosity, and profound, ineffable adoration.

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Bonus feature: the very silly notes I made to myself that inspired this post

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