#they feel like something you find in a memory box years after. the way he holds sentimental value to the past and memories close

[twasmayfield]

still.

description: years later after a summer trip with her father that became fading memories, fernando alonso's daughter stumbles across a camcorder and reflects on the rare time spent with her father as she tries to reconcile the father she knew with the man she didn't.

warnings: major character death (off screen, not mentioned), loosely based off of ‘aftersun (2022)’, mostly me forgetting how eleven year olds work, afab and daughter!reader, fernando might be a little ooc, title's from a noah kahan song, lmk if i forgot anything else.

a/n: idk man, this au was stuck in my head sigh

She found the old shoebox back in March when she dug through her closet, trying to find a presentable dress to wear to an event. The box was shoved all the way in the back of the closet on the floor, looking worn and almost cold to the touch. Of course, it was long forgotten after a long night of drinking expensive champagne and schmoozing with her friends. And she didn’t stumble upon it again until late September when she was stuffing her old clothes into boxes to donate.

She pulled the box out, letting out a small huff of amusement as she dug through it. The box was full of old photographs from when she was younger. A couple snapshots featuring her parents being in love, her mother looking pretty in the sunlight, and one or two pictures of her and her father at his races. She paused, staring down at the pictures; a bittersweet feeling clawing at her chest. She grabbed the old camcorder, riffling through the box for the charger before she plugged it into an outlet, waiting for it to be charged.

Her memories of him were few and far—snippets of his smile and face long forgotten, slipping and fading away into the back of her mind—only actually being encapsulated in news articles and old race clips spread out across the internet. She thought it wasn’t fair how she couldn’t seem to remember what he used to have for breakfast, yet the strangers online knew about him more than she ever did and will.

The video is grainy now—not like the clear footage she remembered so vividly when she was younger. Now she’s the same age as he was in the video; maybe even older by a few years. She stared at the screen, her eyes studying the way his face looked in the video; the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed—the sound of his laughter quiet and faint in her ears without her ever needing to play it.

The Mediterranean sun was blinding, casting golden light over the quiet resort town.

On the balcony of a small, seaside hotel, Fernando Alonso stood by the railing, sunglasses perched on his nose, and a cigarette lazily held between his two fingers. He watched the world in easy silence, the waves lapping at the shore, the distant hum of laughter and clinking glasses from the bar below.

Inside, his daughter unboxed a new camcorder he had bought for her. She read through the instructions before turning it on, adjusting it on a stack of books. The red recording light flickered on, causing her to let out a squeal of excitement that caught her father’s attention.

“Ladies and gentleman, my father, the amazing, wondrous, one armed Fernando Alonso Díaz.” She giggled as she held the camcorder in her hands, zooming into his face; his features on display in the little screen. “Papá, say something.”

Fernando glanced at her, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What do you want me to say?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, something wise.”

He exhaled slowly, flicking ash over the railing. “Life is like a race. Everyone tells you to go faster, but sometimes… you should just enjoy the track.”

She snorted. “That was awful.”

But she’s smiling.

And for now, that’s enough.

The air was hot and humid—the clothes on her back sticking to her skin as she kicked the water in the pool, fidgeting with the camcorder she held in her hands. A few minutes ago, the eleven year old girl sat on one of the plastic lounge chairs the hotel provided, and watched as her father applied sunscreen to her arms. “I can do it myself!” She told him with a determined nod, but held her arm out anyway as her papá smiled and managed with one arm—the other in a cast due to a crash during a recent race.

The trip to the seaside was a well needed vacation after the grueling season he had so far, and she was just happy to spend time with him. He looked tired and worn down, but she chalked it up to the season taking a toll on him—that’s why they were on vacation, he needed a break. The hotel wasn’t fancy, the town was quiet, and Fernando seemed happy enough, but there’s something off. A feeling she couldn’t quite place at the time.

He’s quiet—distant even—a faraway look evident in his eyes as he watched her kick and splash water; her small hands steady and careful as she toyed with the camcorder. “Papá!” The girl called out to him, craning her body back to film him. She watched him wave through the tiny screen, his movements slowed by a millisecond. Fernando laughed as he waved, leaning back in his chair, sunglasses on, always watching. “Be careful, cariño, it was expensive.” 

“Okay!”

The father and daughter walked down a street market full of bustling vendors and wandering tourists. She walked closely beside him as she peered at each stall, noticing one that laid out an assortment of jewelry. Fernando noticed her gaze and mussed her hair as she protested and tried to fix it, causing him to laugh. “I’ll get it for you, chiquita,” he said, and watched her smile, baring her teeth as she did. She giggled as he tied the bracelet on her wrist, helping him when he couldn’t pull the strings with one hand.

She fidgeted with the bracelet, the payphone’s receiver pressed between her shoulder and ear as she listened to her mother’s voice on the other side. “The hotel’s alright. Well, we’re not actually at our hotel. It doesn’t have a phone. But yeah.” She paused, looking out the booth’s window, and seeing her father talking to a stranger, a half hearted smile plastered on his face as he listened to whatever the man was saying. “Papá? Yeah, he’s fine—just talking to someone,” she pushed the door open with her foot, hand covering the receiver as she called to him. “Mamá wants to talk to you.”

Fernando bid his goodbye to the man, giving her an easy smile as he took the receiver from her hands and held it up to his ear. She skipped out of the booth, looking around her surroundings to pass the time, knowing that her parents were going to be on call longer. She waited, almost close to pressing her cheek to the booth window to get his attention. And the call ended. She heard them exchange ‘I love you’s,’ and a smile found itself on her face before he hung up, setting the receiver back on the hook.

She sat on a chair, her legs swinging off it as she watched her father shoot pool. Hunched down on the pool table, he carefully studied the sequence, trying to find the perfect moment to strike. “Can you teach me?” She asked, curious. He looked back up, straightening his back as he held the cue stick, looking at her with an amused smile on his face. “Sure,” he waved her over and she jumped off the chair in excitement.

“Mi vida,” he called her and pulled her into his side, her cheek getting squished. He handed her the cue stick, telling her to point it carefully.

The evening sun settled, streaks of orange and pink meshed together with the incoming night sky. Her small hand reached for his, settling in it as they walked along the shore together. The sand no longer felt hot underneath her, it was bearable. She talked his ear off about how she was excited to go back to school, how she was going to make lots of friends, and how she hoped her mother would let her attend his races. Fernando simply listened, squeezing her hand with a small smile. She grinned up at him at that.

The waves crashed against the shore as birds flew overhead. This was perfect. She watched as a few people passed by them. “Will we come back next summer?” She asked quietly, her small body wrapped in a beach towel, her hair wet. She glanced up at the sunny sky, imagining different animals in the clouds, and Fernando paused just a little too long before saying, “Of course.”

On the last night of their trip, they danced at a small, open-air club. She watched in embarrassment and amusement as he started dancing, his arm out and beckoned her to join him on the floor with the others. She isn’t much of a dancer, but she tried anyway. She laughed, he smiled. Someone took a picture of them together, their happiness frozen on a piece of film. It was perfect.

The night was always quiet. The distant humming of motorcycles and cars faded as the sky darkened and the stars lit up. She woke up in the middle of the night, her father not in the room. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room. The balcony let the light of the moon in, illuminating shadows on the room’s floor. She could barely see out due to the doors, but she knew he was there. Knew he was standing outside with his elbows pressed to the metal railing as a lit cigarette found itself between his lips. He was quiet, just thinking. She didn’t know what thoughts swirled around in his mind. She wanted to ask if he’s okay. She doesn’t. And she wished she did.

In the morning, they found themselves back at the airport—their trip ending right before her eyes. She didn’t want it to end, wanting to spend time with him longer. One week wasn’t enough, but she swallowed her protests down.

"I love you, you know?" She nodded. She wished she had said it back. Fernando hugged her, tighter than they both expected. She gave him a smile when he released her from his grip, pulling at the strap of her backpack. He ran a hand through her hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead before patting her shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. She waved him goodbye as the flight attendant softly ushered her from him with a smile. She looked back and he’s there, a distant look in his face as if he was memorizing and committing this moment in his mind.

She is eleven again. He is still standing at the airport gate, watching her go.

[rhythm-of-space]

these capture something so personal about him

[kashverse]

mamakuna showing babykuna pictures of dadkuna and mamakuna when they started dating to then getting married : 3

this was such a sweet thing to write, thank you for requesting :)

sometimes, when you feel particularly sentimental, you like to take out an old shoebox hidden in the back of your closet—a silly little memory box from when you and sukuna were still young, brimming with more ambition than the capitalist machine could ever contain.

and, naturally, babykuna, with her insatiable curiosity and her obsessive love for anything you do, wiggles herself onto your lap, her chubby hands grabbing at the pictures you pull out. "what’s this one, mama?" she asks excitedly, waving around a photo.

it’s an old one. a bit worn at the edges. you smile fondly as you look at it—it's from back when you and sukuna were just coworkers, sitting stiffly in a boardroom, surrounded by serious-looking people in suits. your hair is neatly pulled back, and sukuna’s? a disaster. 

"this was when papa and i worked together at our old job," you explain, pointing to yourselves. babykuna squints at the picture, then at her father sitting beside you, who is watching the two of you with amusement. "papa looks like he fought a tornado," she says matter-of-factly. sukuna scoffs. "it was called having style."

"it was called oversleeping and showing up late," you correct, laughing. sukuna grumbles under his breath, but babykuna is already diving into the box again, plucking out another picture. this one is years later—in front of the building of sukuna's newly formed company. his tie is a bit loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and he's beaming—really beaming—in a way he wasn't in the last picture. "this is when papa started his own company," you explain, brushing your fingers over the photo.

"he looks so happy!" babykuna giggles. "yeah," you chuckle, nudging sukuna. "he was so happy he picked me up and spun me around right after this was taken."

"that’s called celebrating," sukuna says smugly. babykuna nods seriously, then turns back to the box.

next, she pulls out a photobooth strip—four little snapshots.

first one: you and sukuna sitting side by side, a little stiff but comfortable.

second one: sukuna leaning in a little closer, you both mid-laugh.

third one: you two are cheek to cheek now, eyes crinkled with amusement.

fourth one: sukuna halfway through biting your cheek. your face is a picture of betrayal.

"papa, why are you eating mama?!" babykuna exclaims, horrified. "i was just showing my love," sukuna grins.

"with your teeth?!"

"yep."

"ew."

you sigh, shaking your head, but the next picture has you laughing immediately. it’s a shot of you and sukuna in matching santa costumes, both looking like you were dragged into this against your will. your mouth is open mid-yell, probably reacting to sukuna biting your cheek—again. "uncle gojo's birthday party," you say, still laughing.

babykuna stares at the photo. "papa," she says slowly.

"yeah?"

"why do you keep biting mama?!"

"i like the way she tastes."

"ewwww!"

and then finally—she finds the last set of photos. polaroids, from your wedding. not the big, polished, magazine-worthy shots hung around your home—these ones are natural, candid, genuine. one where you and sukuna are laughing mid-toast, your glasses clinking together. one where sukuna is helping you fix your veil, an unexpectedly soft look on his face. one where you’re leaning against his chest, eyes closed, his arms wrapped around you. babykuna gasps dramatically. "mama, papa, you look so boo-tiful."

"yeah?" sukuna murmurs, looking over the photos with a soft smirk. babykuna nods. "like princess and dragon."

you snort. “who's who?” 

she blinks. 

"…obviously papa is the dragon."

sukuna grins, ruffling her hair. "damn right."

babykuna presses the photos to her chest, looking between you and sukuna with the happiest little smile. "i wanna keep these forever."

sukuna leans back, watching the two of you gush over the memories, and realizes something - he's already won everything he's ever wanted.

[aerialmirrorss]

𝐬 𝐥 𝐨 𝐰 𝐦 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ zach maclaren

playing: 𝟏𝟖 by one direction 𝜗𝜚˚｡˚ ⋆

synopsis! every winter break, you and your childhood best friend zach’s families plan the annual trip to your family’s cabin in the mountains. but when an accident happens, a guilt-ridden zach is willing to do whatever it takes to make you feel better.

paring: zach maclaren x fem!reader

warnings: childhood friends to lovers , zach accidentally hurts reader , mentions of bruising , angst , lots of fluff (zach is so hopelessly in love with you it hurts) , sexual content + unprotected sex! , fingering , mature , 18+ (minors dni!)

word count: 8.2k

notes: today’s post is a long one but bear w me pls i had to edit so much of it :(

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“can you grab the spare?” zach calls from the back of the range rover, tugging the luggage out of the trunk.

stepping out of the car, the icy air hits your face like a slap, the sudden chill turning your nose pink and making your cheeks tingle.

“fuck, it’s freezing,” you mutter under your breath, hurrying over to the pile of rocks near the cabin door. your fingers, already stiff and trembling from the cold, fumble as you dig through the stones, searching for the fake rock with the hidden spare key.

finally, you find it and unlock the door. you and zach waste no time rushing inside, flipping on the furnace and switching on the electric fireplace. warm air begins to spill into the room, cutting through the biting chill.

“jesus, it’s brutal out there,” zach says with a laugh, dropping the suitcases by the front door.

“i know,” you reply, rubbing your hands together for warmth. “i don’t get how our parents do it when they get here first.”

your gaze sweeps over the cabin, familiar and cozy even in its current state of disarray. a small smile creeps onto your face as memories flood back. by the time your family usually arrives, the maclarens have already set everything up—lights twinkling, garlands hung, the whole place transformed for the holidays.

but not this year. this year, you and zach got here first. being in college has made it easier for the two of you to make the trip, especially since it’s only a short drive from campus. with your parents tied up at work, they won’t arrive for another two days, leaving you and zach to settle in and prepare the cabin yourselves

zach seems to read your mind as he heads toward the storage closet under the staircase. “the moms mentioned something about the decorations being in here,” he says, pulling open the door.

he starts rummaging through the piles, expecting to find boxes labeled xmas. instead, his hand lands on a stack labeled snowboarding gear. a small smile tugs at his lips.

“guess the decorations can wait,” he says, pulling out the boxes. turning to you, he raises an eyebrow, and you meet his look with a knowing nod. “get dressed.”

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you glide across the flat, powdery snow after hopping off the ski lift. the cold air nips at your cheeks, leaving them rosy and warm beneath your baby pink goggles. when you finally stop at the edge of the slope, you tug the goggles up onto your helmet, panting softly as mist forms in the cold air.

zach approaches behind you, stopping at your side. you look up at him, your eyes bright with excitement. “hi,” you say, your breath still catching from the climb.

“hey,” he replies, chuckling softly, his voice warm and steady. he feels something tighten in his chest—your voice, your smile, the way you look at him. if only you knew how effortlessly you could bring him to his knees.

but he would never say it. not to you. not when it could risk the friendship you’ve built over years.

you’ve been inseparable since second grade, when zach worked up the courage to ask for your help mastering the monkey bars. you were the only one who could make it all the way across without falling, and he’d admired you ever since. now, here you are—still together, still tangled in a friendship that means everything, even if it sometimes feels like it could be so much more.

zach isn’t sure when his feelings for you started to shift, turning into something he couldn’t quite name but couldn’t ignore either. maybe it was that afternoon when he was twelve, bedridden with a nasty cold, and you showed up unannounced with a thermos of homemade chicken soup. the soup had been borderline inedible—too salty, with mushy noodles—but the gesture had warmed him in a way he’d never forget. of course, he’d eaten every last bite and told you it was perfect.

or maybe it was on his fifteenth birthday. he’d always treated his birthday like any other day, never one to make a big deal of it, but you didn’t see it that way. while he was out, you snuck into his room and filled it with many presents and blue and black balloons—his favorite colors. he’d walked in, startled by the effort you’d put in just to make him smile, and something about it stuck with him.

or maybe it was the night he ended things with his first long-term girlfriend at seventeen. her problem had been you—the closeness you and zach shared, the bond she couldn’t understand. she’d wanted him to choose, and it wasn’t even a question. when you found out, you didn’t say “i told you so” or press him for details. instead, you showed up with a bag of junk food and a stack of movies. you stayed the whole weekend, laughing, crying over sappy scenes, and talking until the early hours of the morning about your dreams and futures.

in every timeline, in every version of his life, zach knows he’d choose you. over a girlfriend, over a best friend, over anyone.

a soft click pulls zach from his thoughts. glancing down, he sees you already strapped to your snowboard, your goggles perched perfectly on your face. you reach up, offering your hand for help. with barely any effort, zach pulls you to your feet, earning a giggle that tugs at his chest more than he cares to admit.

“i don’t think i’ll ever get tired of this view,” you say softly, taking in the snow-draped mountains and the endless horizon of white and blue.

zach crouches down, fumbling slightly as he straps himself into his board. his fingers falter when he glances up at you. the way your smile glows as you take in the scenery—it’s more breathtaking to him than the view itself.

“yeah,” he murmurs, his voice quiet. “me either.”

you turn to him with a playful glint in your eye. “race you down?”

zach chuckles, shaking his head as he secures his last buckle. “no.”

you blink at him, brows furrowing. “why not?”

“because,” he says, standing and stretching, a smug grin tugging at his lips, “i’ll smoke you so fast it’ll almost be sad.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes at the playful jab, but the spark of competition ignites instantly. zach knows you well enough to see it too. before he can say another word, you tug your goggles down, lean forward, and launch yourself down the slope, your speed kicking up a flurry of snow in your wake.

“cheater!” zach yells after you, his voice echoing through the mountain air.

your laughter rings out, light and carefree, as you pull your face cover up to shield yourself from the biting cold. with a determined grin, zach pulls down his goggles and takes off after you, the race already on.

the descent starts smoothly, the rush of cold air whipping past your face as you carve through the snow, the thrill of the slope igniting your competitive streak. you glance over your shoulder, spotting zach gaining on you. he’s fast—faster than you expected—and his determined grin sends a surge of adrenaline through you.

you try to pick up speed, leaning into the next turn, but your edge catches an icy patch. it happens so quickly—a sharp jolt, your balance slipping, and suddenly, you’re tumbling. the world tilts, snow sprays into the air, and before you can even react, you collide with something solid.

or rather, someone.

zach.

the two of you go down in a tangled heap, his snowboard slicing awkwardly into the snow as he tries (and fails) to stop in time. his arms instinctively wrap around you as you both slide a few more feet before finally coming to a stop in a soft bank of powder.

for a moment, everything is still.

you blink up at him, stunned and breathless, your goggles slightly askew. zach’s face hovers inches above yours, his cheeks flushed—not just from the cold.

“you good?” he asks, his voice laced with concern, though his lips twitch into a small smile.

you can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the moment catching up to you. “yeah… i think so. you?”

he nods, chuckling now too. “well, i wasn’t planning on eating snow, but at least i cushioned your fall.”

you roll your eyes, shoving at his chest lightly as he helps you sit up. “cushioned my fall? you practically tackled me.”

“only because you fell first,” he counters, his grin widening.

despite the snow seeping into your clothes and the ache of your tumble, you find yourself laughing again. zach stands, brushing snow off himself before offering you his hand. as he pulls you up, you notice his gaze lingering just a little longer than usual, his smile softer now.

just as the rush of laughter and adrenaline starts to fade, a sharp, sudden pain slices through your side, stealing the breath from your lungs. you gasp, instinctively clutching your side. “ouch.”

zach’s smile vanishes, his brows knitting together in concern. “what? what’s wrong?”

“i don’t know, i—” another sharp pang makes you wince, doubling over slightly as you shuffle off to the side of the slope, out of the way of other snowboarders. your hands fumble to tug off your gloves, urgency overriding the cold.

you shove the gloves into zach’s hands without a word and begin unzipping your snow jacket, pulling up your thermal layer to investigate. you crane your neck to look, but the angle makes it impossible to see what’s wrong. the pain is sharp and unrelenting, leaving you wincing as you try to figure it out.

“can you see anything?” you ask, your voice tight.

but zach’s expression answers before he says a word. his eyes widen, his face draining of color as he steps closer, urgency in every movement.

“oh shit,” he mutters, already crouching down to get a better look.

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“intercostal muscle strain,” the doctor says, her tone calm but firm as you sit up with a wince. “you’re very lucky—it could’ve been a fractured or broken rib, and that would’ve been far more painful than what you’re feeling now.”

you nod slowly, wincing again as you pull your clothes back down over your bare torso.

“it’s nothing serious, thankfully,” she continues, scribbling something onto a notepad. “but you’ll need to take it easy—no snowboarding for at least a week.”

you groan dramatically, throwing your arm over your eyes in exasperation, only to regret it instantly as the ache in your side flares. you hiss through your teeth, lowering your arm gingerly.

the doctor hides a small smile at your frustration. “get plenty of rest, and take two 500mg Tylenol every 4–6 hours to help with the pain,” she advises. “for the bruising, you can pick up some arnica gel or aloe vera at a pharmacy—it’ll help with the inflammation.”

zach, who’s been quietly standing at your side the whole time, finally speaks up. “so no snowboarding at all?”

“none,” the doctor confirms, looking at you pointedly.

zach lets out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful nothing was broken, though the guilt still gnaws at him. that tumble had cost you a week of your vacation, and the thought that he played a part in it made his chest ache.

his hand rests idly on the edge of your pillow, his mind clouded with regret, when he suddenly feels your fingers brush against his. his gaze shifts to yours, and he knows immediately that you’ve read him like a book.

the doctor steps out, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. she’s seen the unspoken bond between the two of you—something that everyone else seems to notice, even if you and zach haven’t admitted it to yourselves.

“i’m so sorry—” zach starts, his voice heavy with remorse, but you cut him off with a gentle shake of your head.

“it wasn’t your fault, zach,” you say firmly, your voice soft yet steady. your fingers trace small patterns on the back of his hand, grounding him. “there was no way to stop that fall from happening, or for you to avoid crashing into me. it was just… one of those things.”

zach looks down at your intertwined fingers, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

you smile, swinging your legs carefully over the edge of the bed to stand. “though i do wish you hadn’t elbowed me so hard in the process.”

your playful jab makes him groan, dropping his head into his hand. “you’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“not a chance,” you tease, grinning as you test your balance on your feet.

his guilty expression softens into something lighter, his lips quirking into a small smile as he watches you. “fair enough,” he murmurs, his tone filled with a mix of relief and something deeper he doesn’t quite let himself say.

as per the doctor’s advice, you and zach stopped at a nearby pharmacy on the way back to the cabin, picking up some arnica gel for the swelling and a bottle of tylenol. zach had insisted on carrying everything, even as you rolled your eyes and tried to insist you were fine.

back at the cabin, he’d gone into full caretaker mode. now, you were nestled on the couch in your favorite pajamas, surrounded by fluffed pillows, a warm blanket, and fuzzy socks. zach had even turned on your favorite comfort show, leaving no detail overlooked.

in the kitchen, you could hear him speaking quietly with your parents on the phone. the tone of his voice was calm and reassuring, though you caught a few words here and there about “keeping an eye on her” and “following doctor’s orders.”

“yeah, I will. alright—yeah, sounds good, I’ll let her know. oh- okay. bye.”

zach ended the call, setting his phone down on the kitchen island before heading over to you with a water bottle, a couple of tylenol pills, and a snack bowl balanced in his hands. he plopped onto the couch next to you, a small laugh escaping as he handed you the items.

“let me guess,” you started, mockingly, “make sure she’s actually taking the pain meds and don’t let her go snowboarding no matter how much she begs.”

zach laughed, shaking his head. “pretty much. they’re just worried about you. it took a lot of convincing to stop them from dropping everything at work and driving straight to the hospital.”

you took the water bottle and pills, rolling your eyes as you scanned the label. “this is bullshit. i feel fine. it doesn’t even hurt that much anymore.”

zach raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “don’t lie. i can hear you cursing under your breath every time you move too fast.”

he twisted open the water bottle and popped open the tylenol, handing them back to you with an air of exaggerated patience.

“i can open my own stuff, you know,” you grumbled, though you took both from him.

“sure, you can,” he said, leaning back against the couch with a smirk. “but this way, i get to feel useful. so, humor me.”

you roll your eyes but oblige, popping the pills into your mouth and washing them down with a gulp of water. for the rest of the afternoon, you and zach fully embraced the art of laziness. you binged several episodes of your comfort show, made your way through the entire snack bowl, and eventually ordered pizza, which arrived just as the last crumbs of chips were devoured—all within four hours.

the warmth of the blanket, the soft hum of the TV, and the exhaustion from the day caught up with you. before you knew it, your eyes drifted shut, the drowsiness overpowering. when you woke, it was to the gentle sensation of zach’s fingers absentmindedly scratching your scalp, the rhythm soothing and familiar.

blinking groggily, you realized your head was resting on his chest. you froze for a split second, then relaxed as the memory of shifting there for comfort came back to you. his chest was sturdy, warm, and—well—perfectly positioned to avoid putting pressure on your sore side. at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“hi,” you croaked, voice raspy with sleep.

“hey,” zach replied softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. his hand paused in your hair briefly before he added, “you need to put the arnica gel on your bruise.”

you groaned in protest, burying your face further into his chest like a stubborn child. the vibration of his laugh rumbled beneath you, warm and familiar.

“c’mon,” he coaxed, leaning forward carefully so you weren’t jostled, reaching for the small container of arnica on the coffee table. his other arm stayed around you, steadying you as he sat back.

with a reluctant sigh, you pushed yourself off him, grumbling as you lifted your pajama shirt just enough to expose the bruised area. even with the pain dulled from the meds, the stretch made you wince, and you let the shirt drop again with a frustrated groan.

“can you help me put it on?” you asked, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

zach hesitated for a beat, the question catching him off guard. you didn’t notice, but his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, the proximity and intimacy of the request making his pulse quicken.

“yeah, of course,” he said, his voice steady despite the way his heart raced. he unscrewed the lid, squeezing a small amount of the gel onto his fingers before looking at you. when you nodded, he shifted closer, his movements gentle and deliberate as he applied the gel to your side.

his touch was careful, almost hesitant, as if afraid of hurting you. “let me know if it stings,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual.

“it’s fine,” you replied softly, your eyes closing again as the soothing coolness of the gel and his careful touch eased the ache.

zach’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he worked the now-warmed gel into your skin. the rhythmic motion of his fingers was steady, but inside, his composure was unraveling. there was something undeniably intimate about this moment—your quiet, fluttering reactions every time his fingers brushed a new spot, the way your breath hitched when he applied just the right amount of pressure.

his fingers moved instinctively, lifting your shirt a little higher to cover the edges of the bruise, and that’s when he saw it. the small, delicate tattoo just below the curve of your breast.

divine feminine.

the words seemed to stare back at him, burning into his mind as his breath hitched. he swallowed hard, his hand pausing briefly before continuing, slower this time. zach could feel his body reacting in ways he knew it shouldn’t. his chest tightened, and he bit down on his bottom lip, trying to keep himself grounded as warmth pooled low in his stomach.

then you let out a soft, unintentional moan—a mix of pain and relief as his fingers brushed over a particularly tender spot. the sound, quiet and fleeting, sent a chill through him. he froze, inhaling sharply, his hands momentarily still against your side.

your eyes fluttered open, hazy with the remnants of drowsiness. “i’m sorry,” zach murmured, his voice tight.

concern crosses your features as you began to sit up. “zach, it’s fine,” you said, misinterpreting his sudden apology. “it didn’t hurt. i promise.”

but that wasn’t it. not at all.

no, zach wasn’t thinking about the gel, the bruise, or even the fact that he might’ve applied too much pressure. his thoughts had plunged into dangerous territory, spiraling with images he couldn’t suppress.

he was imagining you making that sound again—but for entirely different reasons. how your breathless moans might sound against his ear as you writhed beneath him, your body arching into his as you begged for him to let you cum.

how you might look with your face pressed into the pillows, gripping the sheets, gasping his name in broken cries as he pounded relentlessly inside you from behind, squeezing tightly around him, his hands gripping your hips firmly but gently, guiding you to him.

zach blinked, forcing himself back to the present, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. he dragged a hand through his hair, quickly standing up and mumbling something about needing a drink of water, leaving you puzzled and slightly concerned as he practically fled to the kitchen.

you stood up, muttering a low curse under your breath as the ache in your side flared. despite the pain, you followed him into the kitchen, determined to figure out what was wrong.

“zach,” you called softly, your voice breaking the quiet. he didn’t turn, his back to you, shoulders tense as he stared down at the empty glass in his hands.

stepping closer, you positioned yourself in front of him, standing just beneath his gaze. even then, he refused to look at you, his jaw clenched tightly.

“zach,” you repeated, your fingers gently brushing against his cheek, cupping it to force his eyes to meet yours. the warmth of your touch was almost unbearable for him.

“don’t—” he mumbled, voice low and strained, his gaze flickering to the side as if avoiding yours could somehow mask the turmoil written all over his face.

but you saw it anyway—guilt. raw and unfiltered, pooling in his dark eyes and spilling over in the form of unshed tears.

“zach, what is it?” you asked, your voice soft, barely above a whisper in the still air.

he blinked hard, his breathing uneven as he struggled to hold himself together. the weight of his thoughts pressed heavily on his chest. you trusted him, leaned on him when you were in pain, and here he was, betraying that trust in the worst way—fantasizing about you.

the images haunted him. he couldn’t stop the shameful loop of memories from late nights in his dorm, where he would close his eyes and imagine you in ways he couldn’t admit aloud. he would picture you on top of him, trying to adjust to his size, your brows furrowed and lips parted in quiet gasps. how you might bite your lip to stifle your moans, only to collapse onto his chest when you came undone, breathless and trembling.

but those were just fantasies, fleeting and far removed from reality. they weren’t supposed to bleed into a moment like this—when you were hurt, vulnerable, and looking at him with those wide, concerned eyes.

he squeezed his eyes shut, his voice barely audible. “you were hurt because of me, and i—i can’t stop thinking about…” he trailed off, shaking his head as if trying to physically dispel the thoughts. “it’s not right. i’m not right.”

you frowned, your thumb brushing against his cheek in a soothing gesture. “zach, talk to me. what’s going on?”

he hesitated, his chest rising and falling as he wrestled with himself, unsure if he could say the words that would change everything.

“hey.” your voice was firm yet gentle, cutting through the silence. zach’s eyes opened, hesitantly meeting yours.

“it’s me,” you said, your tone softening. “you can tell me anything, zach. you know that.”

he chewed the inside of his cheek, his jaw tightening as he tried to muster the courage to speak. “i’m so sorry, y/n,” he began, voice heavy with guilt. “i feel awful about what happened today—about you getting hurt. and then you’re here, trusting me to help you, and i’m…” he trailed off, sighing deeply as he covered his eyes with his hand. “i’m trying so hard to control myself, and it’s not okay.”

your brows furrowed as you processed his words, trying to piece together what he meant. the hesitation in his voice, the way he avoided your gaze—it all felt so unlike him.

then, as your eyes flickered downward, you noticed it. the unmistakable bulge in the fabric of his sweats. your breath hitched in realization, a soft gasp escaping your lips before you could stop it.

zach’s hand remained firmly over his eyes, his posture rigid as if bracing himself for your reaction. the room felt impossibly still, the weight of the unspoken hanging heavy in the air.

you reached up, your fingers wrapping gently around his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. zach resisted for a moment, but when he finally let you guide him, his eyes met yours—hesitant, filled with embarrassment.

you offered him a small, reassuring smile, one that melted the tension in his features ever so slightly. without a word, you leaned in, your lips brushing softly against his in a kiss that was both hesitant and deliberate.

his brows furrowed, his body frozen for a split second, caught off guard by your sudden boldness. but then, as if a switch flipped, he responded, his hands instinctively finding your face. his touch was firm yet gentle, cradling you as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

it was tender and charged all at once, a silent confession spilling between you both without the need for words. the kitchen, the guilt, the tension—it all faded into the background, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in the moment you hadn’t realized both been waiting for.

your small hands gripped the sides of his sweater near his waist, anchoring yourself to him as his tongue slipped into your mouth without warning. the sensation sent a shiver down your spine, a soft gasp escaping your lips. every movement—every stroke of his tongue against yours, every firm tug of your hair—set your senses on fire, unraveling emotions you’d worked so hard to bury.

of course you liked zach.

you always had.

the realization hit you like a flood, overwhelming and undeniable. you had tucked those feelings deep into the corners of your heart, afraid of what would happen if zach ever found out. you couldn’t bear the thought of ruining what you had. but the truth was simple: your heart had always been his.

you loved him.

zach pulled back suddenly, breaking the kiss as both of you panted for air. his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and ragged. “wait, wait—” he murmured, his voice low and unsteady.

you whimpered softly, a needy sound you didn’t mean to let out and his cock twitched at it. “zach, please,” you whispered, desperate to feel his lips on yours again, the taste of him still lingering.

he smiled softly, brushing a quick kiss against your lips that left you craving more. “i know, m’sorry, baby,” he murmured.

the nickname made your stomach flutter, sending a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the cozy cabin. you sighed, tilting your head to look up at him, waiting for the words that you knew were coming.

zach’s face was conflicted, his brows drawn together as he avoided your gaze for a moment. “i can’t believe i’m saying this… but we can’t tonight,” he admitted, chewing on his bottom lip in that pained way he did when he was struggling with something.

you groaned softly, the disappointment evident in your expression. your eyes softened as you saw the genuine concern etched into his face.

“i don’t want to hurt you even more,” he continued, his hand brushing lightly against your side. “and it could make your injury worse.”

“zach,” you whined, leaning your forehead against his chest, squeezing your eyes shut. “we’ll be careful,” you pleaded, your voice soft and hopeful.

you tilted your head back up, your big, pleading eyes locking with his. you knew exactly the effect they had on him, and for a second, you saw him falter. his jaw tightened as he exhaled a shaky breath, clearly battling with himself.

zach let out a defeated sigh, his resolve crumbling as he crouched down and effortlessly lifted your legs around his waist. the sudden motion made you giggle, clinging to him instinctively. “i win,” you teased breathlessly, a triumphant grin spreading across your lips.

his only response was a sly smirk before pinching your ass, making you squeal in surprise. “careful, or i might change my mind,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he carried you to the bed.

the soft mattress welcomed you as he laid you down gently, the warm glow of the electric fireplace casting flickering shadows across the room. the heat of the moment mirrored the cozy warmth surrounding you both.

zach slid between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips as he settled there, his aching length pressing against you in a way that made your heart race. neither of you hesitated—your lips collided in a fervent kiss, all hunger and passion, as if this moment had been years in the making. which it was.

your fingers found their way into his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you pulled him closer. his lips moved against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own, each kiss deeper, more intoxicating, than the last. it felt as if the rest of the world melted away, leaving only the two of you in the crackling warmth of the cabin.

“god, you have no idea how much i’ve wanted this,” zach murmurs against your lips, his voice a mix of hunger and longing. your response is a soft moan, quiet but fervent, that makes him press even closer.

he trails a series of slow, teasing kisses down your neck, each nip and suck prompting a sweet, aching arch from your body—until a sudden twinge in your side makes you wince. zach notices immediately, pulling back, concern flooding his eyes. “you okay?”

you nod, forcing a soft smile while trying to mask the lingering pain. you’ve waited too long for this moment and the last thing you want is for him to stop.

he studies you for a second, as if assessing whether you’re truly good, then sits back on his legs. “alright,” he says, voice calm but resolute, “this is how it’s gonna go, then. you can’t move. at all.”

your brows draw together, half-expecting him to crack a grin. but he doesn’t. he’s serious, his gaze unwavering.

“if you move,” he continues, his voice dropping lower, “or try to, i’ll stop.”

you swallow, the weight of his words and the gentle authority in his tone sending a surge of arousal low into your belly. you bite the inside of your cheek, eyes fixed on him, already imagining how you’ll manage to keep still under his touch.

“okay,” you whisper, voice steady but laced with anticipation.

zach’s fingertips skimmed over the outside of your closed thighs, his touch feather-light yet deliberate, as if savoring the moment before taking it further. you watched him through half-lidded eyes, heart thrumming in your chest. with patient care, he began to slide your pajama pants down, revealing your baby blue lace underwear.

his throat worked over a hard swallow as he took you in, jaw clenching and pulse thrumming hot beneath his skin. he could feel himself respond immediately—his cock straining against the softness of his sweats. you saw the way his eyes darkened, how that gentle composure threatened to unravel.

without a word, he eased the lace down as well, leaving you bare before him. instinctively, you kept your thighs pressed together, a final barrier of modesty even as your cheeks warmed. he paused, taking in the sight—the subtle flush on your skin—letting the tension in the air stretch taut.

his gaze flickered up to yours, intense and wordless, the warm glow of the fireplace painting both of you in golden hues that made everything feel dreamy and far removed from the outside world.

“perfect,” he whispered, the single word washing over you, making your skin prickle with a delicious heat. it was as if he saw you in a new light—something delicate and cherished. you felt the flush rise all the way from your chest to your cheeks.

he worked on the buttons of your top with gentle care, careful not to brush too roughly near your bruise. his eyes softened the moment the fabric parted, revealing the tender, discolored skin along your ribs. it was more than just concern written in his features—there was affection, regret, and a silent promise to be gentle.

before you could protest or reassure him, his head dipped down, pressing a series of soft, reverent kisses to the bruise as he eased the top off you, leaving you bare. you shivered under the weight of his tenderness, the careful attention making you feel impossibly close to him.

his fingers drifted lower along your navel, the sensitive skin prickling under his touch. he nuzzled his head beneath your jaw, encouraging you to tilt your head and grant him better access as he breathed slowly, evenly, his warm breath fanning over your throat. just as you began to surrender to the sensation of his lips on your neck, he slipped his hand further down, exploring the softness between your legs.

the first gentle slide of his fingertips through your slick folds made your jaw slacken, a quiet gasp escaping. gathering your wetness, he began to trace slow, deliberate shapes over your clit, drawing you into a heady rhythm that set every nerve alight. your body instinctively wanted to rise to meet his touch, but each time your hips started to rock forward, he’d slow his pace, lifting his gaze to give you a knowing, pointed look—reminding you of your earlier agreement.

the unspoken rule was clear: no moving. you had to let him lead, to trust him completely. caught between sweet frustration and delicious anticipation, you let out a shaky breath and let him guide your pleasure, your heart pounding in your ears.

“shit—you’re soaking,” zach groaned, voice low and strained as he picked up the pace of his fingers. each curl and slide drew out soft, breathy whimpers that spilled from your parted lips. he wore a look of intense concentration, as though memorizing every sound you made.

without warning, his middle finger pressed at your entrance before slowly sinking in, earning a strangled moan that made him nuzzle deeper into your neck. “god,” he breathed, voice muffled against your skin, “you feel so good.” you tightened around him reflexively, and he groaned, the vibration of his voice sending sparks along your spine.

straightening up, he shifted to sit back on his legs, changing the angle and giving himself a better view. he guided your knee down flat against the mattress, not just for his eyes but to ensure you couldn’t easily arch into his touch. a high, keening moan tore from your throat as he curled his finger inside you, hitting that perfect spot that sent tremors through your thighs.

you fought the urge to lift your hips, remembering his warning. still, your body trembled with the need to move, to push deeper into that intoxicating sensation. zach noticed—how could he not?—and it fueled the dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. he knew you were on the edge, knew how badly you wanted to give in.

meanwhile, his own restraint was wearing thin. he was hard—achingly so—and the slow, deliberate way you clenched around his finger nearly did him in. but he held back and added a second finger, pulling a sharp moan from you. if you couldn’t keep still now, how could you handle all of him inside you? this was a test of sorts, a delicious torment, and he was savoring every second.

he felt the way you clenched around his fingers, each flutter and squeeze like a plea for release. your hand gripped his wrist, desperate and trembling, but his pace never wavered. “gonna cum for me, angel?” he asked, voice heavy with anticipation.

you nodded frantically, wordless cries tumbling past your lips as he kept hitting that perfect spot inside you. the pressure built swiftly, stealing your breath, until you shattered around him. your vision went white, the world narrowing down to nothing but the pleasure he wrung from your body.

he guided you through it, not stopping until your muscles started to twitch with the first hints of overstimulation. finally, he slowed, easing you down until your body relaxed beneath him, trembling and sated.

with deliberate slowness, he withdrew his fingers, eyes locked on yours. you watched as he brought them to his mouth, his gaze never leaving your face. he sucked on the digits, tasting you the way he’d imagined a thousand times, letting out a deep, appreciative groan. the warmth of his breath on your skin, the soft glow around you both—everything felt charged and intimate, humming with the understanding that nothing would be the same between you again.

zach tugged his sweatshirt off in one smooth, hurried motion, the fabric barely brushing his skin before it landed somewhere on the floor. the urgency in his movements was unmistakable—he was desperate to feel you against him again. every nerve in his body was alight, the ache of wanting you growing more intense by the second.

with a quick push, he lowered his sweatpants and boxers together, freeing himself in one swift motion. the sight of him made your pulse stumble. he was huge—imposingly so—and the thought of taking him in had your breath catching in your throat. you tried to keep your expression neutral, but the widening of your eyes gave you away.

zach noticed. a hint of a smirk ghosted his lips as he settled himself between your thighs, his length resting hot and heavy against your abdomen. leaning down, he caught your mouth in a kiss that was both tender and all-consuming, as if he needed to show you how much he wanted you, how badly he craved this moment with you.

“it’s okay, baby,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and reassuring. “we’ll make it fit.” he pulled back slightly, just enough to watch your face as he guided his tip to your entrance. he gave himself a few slow pumps, as though trying to ease the ache and calm the racing of his own heartbeat.

your breath caught again, excitement and nervous anticipation mingling as he hovered there, every second swelling with tension and promise.

he pressed forward slowly, a careful, deliberate push that drew a ragged gasp from both of you. his forehead hovered just above yours, the soft brush of your lips more an exchange of breath than a kiss, and you tangled your fingers into his hair, gripping gently as he eased himself deeper. small, shallow strokes let you stretch around him, adjusting inch by inch.

your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the dull ache that signaled your body opening to him. he paused when he was fully sheathed, giving you time to accommodate his size. your breath caught as his pelvis brushed against your clit, sparking a low moan from your chest. then he pulled back just enough, pushing forward again to repeat the motion, sending soft ripples of pleasure through you. each gentle thrust replaced pain with gathering warmth, and you felt your body relaxing, welcoming him fully as a quiet whimper escaped your throat.

soon, the discomfort faded entirely, leaving only the sweet, humming pleasure of his movements. once he sensed the tension melt from your muscles, he began a steady, more confident rhythm. a subtle shift in angle, and before long, he had your legs wrapped around his waist, granting him deeper access. the pace picked up, each thrust punctuated by the soft slap of skin and echoed moans that drifted through the room.

you couldn’t hold back a curse at the intensity of it all—his body pressed to yours, filling you so completely, his breathing mixing with yours in frantic, needy staccato. it was raw and intoxicating, the two of you lost in the moment, in each other.

“mm, s’ so deep,” you whimpered, voice catching as you glanced down between your bodies. the sight of him disappearing into you with each thrust made your stomach flutter, your walls gripping him tightly.

zach’s breathing turned ragged, trying to maintain enough control to keep you safe and comfortable. but the temptation was too strong, and he gave a particularly sharp thrust, testing your reaction. you yelped, not in pain but in startled pleasure, and he felt you clench around him in response. encouraged, he repeated it until you were left hiccuping between sobs of bliss, every stroke drawing you closer to that sweet oblivion.

“i know, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with need. leaning down, he braced himself and brought his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. he stroked firm, fast circles, determined to send you over the edge first. your nails raked along his shoulders, your breath hitching with each spiral of sensation. the coil in your belly tightened, ready to snap, as he coaxed you closer and closer toward that shattering release.

“—zach,” you warned, voice thin and strained. his response was a low, desperate moan, fingers and hips working in tandem, never giving you a moment’s respite. every thrust felt deeper than the last, his fingertips circling that swollen, sensitive spot until you were on the verge of unraveling completely.

“c’mon, baby,” he coaxed, voice rough and urgent. “soak me. i wanna feel it.” his pace quickened, hips snapping forward, and you gasped as a wave of pleasure hit you hard and fast. your walls clamped down around him, body arching, a silent scream caught in your throat as you were hurled headfirst into bliss.

zach kept moving, guiding you through the aftershocks, his cock dragging through your pulsing muscles as you trembled beneath him. your moans tumbled into whimpers, every nerve still singing with overstimulation. your fingers curled into his shoulders, breath coming in ragged gasps. “please cum inside me,” you begged, voice shaky and raw, desperate to feel him follow you into that world of sensation.

you felt him stiffen, his rhythm faltering as he pressed closer, every breath hot against your ear. with a low, guttural moan, he finally let go, hips rolling gently as he filled you, warmth spreading with each soft pulse. you could feel it, the tension draining from his body, leaving both of you weightless and sated.

his forehead dipped into the crook of your neck, lips pressing languid, grateful kisses against your skin. he was careful with his weight, mindful of your injury and the tenderness in your body, as both of you lingered in the lingering glow. your breaths intermingled, still coming in soft, uneven gasps as you drifted down from that blissful high.

after a moment, he slowly pulled out, making you both hiss quietly at the sensitivity. he rolled onto his side, immediately reaching for you and covering both of your cooling bodies with the duvet. you shifted to face him, still a little breathless, your eyes meeting as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“hi,” you managed, voice husky and soft, a small, contented smile curving your lips.

a quiet laugh escaped him, his arm moving soothingly up and down your back. “hey,” he replied, voice deep and warm, as if speaking in a secret language only the two of you understood.

“i don’t think i told you this earlier but…” you begin, voice soft and cautious as you search for the right words. “i’m all in, zach.” your heart is pounding in your ears, and you’re pretty sure he can feel it where he’s pressed close to you under the duvet.

zach’s eyes soften, a gentle smile curving his lips. the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes gives away his relief. you draw a shaky breath, forging ahead. “i feel like you know you’ve always been it for me. or even if you didn’t, i did. you’re my endgame.”

you’re watching him carefully, looking for any flicker of doubt or hesitation, but all you see is the same warmth and affection you’ve been craving for years.

he doesn’t say a word at first, just leans in and kisses you—slow and deliberate, a silent promise pressed softly into your lips. then he moves along your cheek, brushing your skin with tender pecks, and keeps going until you’re giggling, trying to squirm away from his playful assault of affection.

when he finally pulls back, both of you breathless with laughter, he meets your gaze head-on. “i’ve always loved you, y/n,” he says, voice steady and sure. “you’re it for me.”

your heart swells, and you think you’ve never been happier than in this very moment, wrapped up in his arms, secure in the certainty of what comes next.

for the rest of the night, you and zach drifted in and out of conversation—those familiar, meandering chats that never really needed a point—punctuated by soft laughter and sweet nothings murmured into the darkness. in the quiet spaces, you made love again and again, as if making up for all the time lost.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

the next morning, you woke to find the bed empty. you stretched, the slight ache in your side a warm reminder of the day before. slipping into zach’s sweater and a pair of sleep shorts, you followed the glow of holiday lights out of the bedroom. as you reached the upstairs landing, your eyes widened at the transformation: the entire cabin, from the top floor down, was strung with festive garlands, sparkling ornaments, and twinkling lights.

a fond smile curved on your lips as you descended the stairs, drawn toward the kitchen by soft clinks and muffled curses. rounding the corner, you spotted zach at the stove, his back to you, clearly wrestling with some culinary experiment. “morning,” you said, leaning your elbows on the island.

he turned quickly, an anxious frown on his face. “did i wake you?” he asked, only to relax when you shook your head. you slipped behind the island to join him, his arms sliding around your waist as you took in the sight of eggs and batter, a haphazard attempt at breakfast. “wanted to surprise you,” he murmured into your hair. you giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek in thanks.

“good morning, baby,” zach said softly, smiling down at you.

just then, the front door swung open. in came both sets of parents and a handful of siblings, chatter and laughter echoing off the wood-paneled walls. “hello, hello!” your mom’s voice rang out. before you and zach could step apart or even explain yourselves, she rounded the corner into the kitchen. the scene she found: zach nuzzling your neck, you murmuring about how sweet he was being, both of you bathed in the soft glow of holiday lights.

you froze, cheeks flushing, while zach’s arms tightened protectively around you. your families, already grinning from the doorway, seemed more than pleased to discover the truth you’d both been too shy to admit—until now.

“alright, i called it! everyone cough it up!” avery, zach’s little sister, crowed triumphantly. your families groaned in unison, each one reluctantly digging into their pockets to hand over five dollars. avery quickly amassed thirty bucks in her palm, grinning from ear to ear.

you and zach exchanged a look, trying and failing to stifle your laughter before pulling apart and greeting everyone properly. you embraced each of them in turn, still a bit stunned to see them all here a day early. the cabin brimmed with the scent of pine, hot chocolate, and something baking in the oven—warmth and comfort encapsulated in one cozy scene.

for the remainder of your winter break, you and zach reveled in that feeling of family and togetherness. your days filled with laughter echoing off the wooden walls, good-natured bickering with siblings over board games, and playful teasing from your parents that had both of you blushing more than once. above all, there was the gentle thrill of reaching for zach’s hand under the table, catching his eye across the room, and feeling love wrapped around you like a warm blanket against the cold outside.

© aerialmirrorss

[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 · 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

contents: fluff. established relationship. found family. megumi takes up baking and it takes you back to your teenage years when a certain white-haired someone pined for you. 1.4k wc.

Nine year old Megumi has a crush on someone. You were pleasantly surprised when he asked you to take him to the grocery store to pick up some ingredients, and you inquired if there was a special occasion or a school cooking project as you both walked along the aisle and collected the items on his list that he prepared beforehand.

Your heart melts when you learn that he was planning to gift the pretty girl in his class something homemade, and he decided on butter cookies because she mentioned in passing that it was one of her favorite snacks. You think it’s incredibly sweet that Megumi came up with the idea himself, and even more so that he wanted to set aside a weekend to create something completely from scratch with his own two hands when purchasing a square tin would’ve been much easier.

It certainly reminds you of an insufferable yet equally lovable sorcerer that’s way too tall for his own good with too bright blue eyes that make you forget everything around you if you stare into them a little too long. When you both were just two young teenagers pining after each other and he showed up with a white pastry box hidden behind his back on a summer day, with the strawberries in season and nurtured and harvested to perfection. You smile at the pleasant memory before forcing yourself back to reality.

When you are getting ready to pay for the things you and Megumi placed on the conveyor belt, he stops you and pulls out his Digimon wallet (courtesy of Gojo’s taste in presents) and explains he wants to purchase it with his own savings and be able to say that this gift is entirely by him without receiving any help from others.

You almost had to hold back a tear because when did this boy become so sweet? You suppose he always was this sweet and thoughtful, it just took a bit of time and some trust for him to fully warm up to you and Gojo despite the circumstances with his family and almost being sold off like a pawn to the Zenin clan. And now he has a home where him and his sister could feel like they belong and be surrounded with people that he could depend on because at the end of the day Megumi is just a boy much too young to be growing up too fast.

You announce your return home to Gojo and Tsumiki with the soft thud of the grocery bags being placed on the kitchen counter, and Megumi scurries into his bedroom to fetch the printed recipe he tucked away in a drawer. You carefully take out each item from the bags to place on the surface for him to get started, and white tufts of hair come into your peripherals and Gojo greets you with a cheeky grin.

“Angel, you’re back.” His hand falls on your hip and he softly pecks your lips when you turn your head toward him. He does a quick scan of the contents in front of you, and he decides you must be some kind of mind reader or his telepathic messages have finally reached you after several days now. “Aw baby~ Don’t tell me you’re baking something for me? How did you know I was craving—”

“Not me.” You shake your head and cut him off promptly. “Megumi.” And at the mention of his name, the young raven-haired boy enters the kitchen with a loose paper in his grip. You offer him a polite smile before addressing that everything he needs is on the counter and point to where the baking equipment are, and if he has any questions or concerns then you’ll be in the next room with Gojo as you drag your boyfriend by the arm to give Megumi his privacy.

“You see, Satoru, our Megumi here has a crush on someone. And he’s taken it upon himself to bake her cookies!” You say just above a whisper, a proud smile lining your lips and Gojo arches a curious brow. You catch a peek between the threshold that separates the kitchen and sitting area with Gojo looming behind you and find Megumi checking off the ingredients and looking over the instructions. He’s being thorough, that’s a good start.

“Megumi, eh? You know, I’m a little surprised he’s crushing at all. He’s quite the serious kid.”

You huff at him softly. “Well, serious or not, I think everyone is allowed to have crushes. Besides, doesn’t this remind you of something? Like that time you baked me a strawberry shortcake because strawberries were my favorite?” You look back up at him, and in your gaze there was always a sort of sweet and dreamy expression that never fails to make his heart swell three times too big.

“Ah.” Gojo chuckles, and his mind drifts back to the fond memories of his own youth, when he too used to try his hand at baking sweets in the hopes of impressing you. He remembered how long it took and how many attempts he made since he had no prior experience. There was a lot of flour and eggshells, and maybe he did set the oven on fire… but the moment he saw your face light up with your beautiful smile it was worth all the trouble and the mess. “That was the cake that changed it all for us, huh?” His arms move to your waist and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You nod and hum affectionately, your hands reaching up to wrap around his neck though with his height he had to bend down slightly. “That’s one way to put it. But as much as I appreciate the sweet gesture, I am so glad you left the baking to me since then.”

“You’re still teasing me about that to this day?” He playfully nips the sensitive spot on your neck causing you to giggle and lightly shove him away. “But hey, I never claimed to be a master chef. A little bird told me that maybe a homemade cake from me would be the thing to win your heart.”

“Well, I hope you know it was more than the cake that won my heart.”

“Yeah, I know it was my good looks and charm, you can’t get enough of me.” Gojo teases, peppering kisses over your shoulders and neck before pulling back just enough so his smirk comes into your view. “Enlighten me then. Since I still don’t have a clue why an Angel like you fell for a great catch such like myself.”

You playfully roll your eyes at his jokes, and you mull it over for a long moment to purposely keep him in anticipation. There are so many reasons that made you love Satoru Gojo back then, and every day you find new things to love about him. But for now the two qualities that come to mind should suffice for an answer. “Maybe it’s because I found you funny. And cute sometimes.”

“Sometimes? Cute most times, I think.” Gojo quips, and he gently pinches your cheeks. “And of course, my sense of humor is legendary. Who else can make you laugh like I do, hmm?”

“Alright, I think that’s enough flattery for you in one day. Any more and I’m afraid your enormous ego might burst.” There’s a teasing lilt in your voice, and suddenly the air around you feels sweeter as Gojo brings you closer to him and kisses your cheeks before resting his forehead against yours.

“But you know I love you, right?” He says in a much softer tone. “I might tease you a lot and act like an idiot sometimes, but I do appreciate you still being here with me through it all. Without you, I don’t want to imagine what my life would be like without you. You make me a better person, you know that?” He tenderly cradles the side of your face and gazes lovingly into your eyes before there’s a flash of his dimples and a boyish giggle. “And the fact you think I’m cute is icing on the cake. Pun intended.”

You groan softly but the laughter that came shortly after is one of genuine affection. “I'm gonna go check on Megumi.” Before you turn on your heel, you plant a big smooch on his cheek then you’re gone the next second. He stands there, grinning from ear to ear as he rubs the spot you kissed like he still was (and he still is) the lovesick boy just a few years back.

꒰ note ᰔ the idea where megumi takes after gojo in some ways really squeezes my heart and that’s what inspired this little piece. ꒱

[voxslays]

GIFT-GIVING

Featuring >>> Alastor x Reader; In which, the reader gifts Alastor a simple thirties era radio—a radio which ends up meaning more than they could ever imagine.

It was December, your favorite month of the year. You didn’t have a specific reason why, you just enjoyed all of it. All the snow and chilly winter air, the feeling of being bundled up by a fire, etc. The hotel was decorated in the finest Christmas decor, and only a few days ago you set up the tree with Lucifer. Alastor smirks softly at the memory of the tree-trimming, his voice carrying a faint hint of amusement. “You know,” He stands up slowly. “I must say,” Al slowly moves closer to you. “December really becomes you.”

You give him a confused look. “What do you mean by that?” You ask gently. Alastor chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. “The way your cheeks get rosy in the cold, the way your eyes light up when you look at the Christmas decorations...” His expression softens slightly. “December just suits you.” You make a little ‘aww’ sound. “Well thank you.” Your cheeks are quickly covered in a dusty, rosy pink blush. “Oh!” You exclaim, pulling a medium-sized box from under the Christmas tree, “Before I forget, here’s your Christmas present.” You hand the heavy box to him. ​​His eyes widen slightly, genuinely touched by this small gesture. "For...me?" He takes the box carefully, a rare display of vulnerability crossing his features. "You didn't have to..." He slowly unwraps the present, taking care not to tear the purple wrapping paper. Inside is a brand new ‘RCA Victor’ Emerson radio, one that was built in the thirties. You had heard that Charlie had accidentally broken Alastor’s ‘one of a kind’ vintage radio. And what better way to surprise your friend than to give him his favorite thing in the entire helluaverse? “So what do you think?” You ask sweetly, before noticing he is staring into space at the mahogany radio. “Alastor?”

His expression is unreadable, staring at the radio with an intensity that makes you uneasy. After what feels like an eternity, he looks up at you, his eyes glistening with an unspoken emotion. "Where did you find this?" His voice is barely above a whisper. The usual surrounding radio static is completely gone, his voice no longer sounding like a vintage radio. His signature smile is completely gone. “I pulled some strings.” He picks up the radio carefully, turning it over in his hands. He runs his fingers along the mahogany wood, tracing the ‘RCA’ logo. "You can't be serious...this is…”

He trails off, his mind racing. His hands tremble slightly as he holds the radio "How...how did you know about this exact model? This was…" His smile returns, but it's different—a softer, more genuine one that you don’t think anyone (besides maybe his mother), has ever seen. "This was my very first radio..." You simply smile back at him, placing your hand on top of his. He flinches back momentarily, before sinking into the touch. He looks down at your hand on top of his, his heart racing. He's never been one for physical affection, but there's something about your touch that feels...right.

He gently intertwines his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. "Thank you.” He gently sets down the bulky thirties era radio. “Of course.” You whisper gently. “Merry Christmas eve.” His other hand moves to gently cup your cheek, his gloved fingers brushing against your skin. "Merry Christmas Eve, my dear.” You slowly pull away from his grasp, not used to Alastor’s touch. “We should probably get to bed. Charlie will have us up at the crack of dawn.” You jest playfully. He chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're probably right..."He slowly gets up, but pauses, turning back to face you. “Goodnight.”

It was six o’ clock in the morning, and just as you had predicted the night before, Charlie was knocking on your door. “Wake up! It’s Christmas!” She squeals happily. It was strange, and you knew it must be for the others as well. Most of the sinners in this hotel haven’t celebrated Christmas in a long time, and some never at all. Yet, for Charlie’s sake, you all sleepily marched down into the hotel lobby—stopping to get the necessary morning coffee and hot cocoa—and sitting by the Christmas tree. Alastor is the last one out of the kitchen, holding his infamous ‘Oh Deer’ mug in his hand as he takes a seat on the couch next to you.

“Morning.” You yawn. He sits down next to you with a soft sigh, sipping his coffee. "Morning..." He's still clearly moved by your Christmas gift from yesterday, and there's a gentle smile playing on his lips. He leans over slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. You lean in expectantly. “Yeah…?” Alastor’s breath is warm against your ear as he whispers. "Thank you again for the radio. It's perfect." He pulls back slightly, looking at you with genuine warmth in his eyes. “I’m glad.” You both share a warm smile. "Did you sleep well?" Alastor asks, before taking another sip of his coffee. “Fine.” You sigh, clearly tired.

“What about you?” ​​Al smirks slightly at your question, leaning back against the couch. "As well as can be expected, I suppose." He glances around the room, taking in the sight of the other demons slowly starting to open their gifts. So far, Niffty unwrapped a rare bug kit, and Husk a bottle of cheap brown ale. You look over to Alastor one last time before joining the others. “Merry Christmas.” You say softly, your voice as sweet as sugar. His heart skips a beat at your words—He’s never celebrated a christmas with such a large amount of people before, since it was usually just him and his mother before she died—and your sincere enthusiasm does something to his usually icy demon heart. He leans in close again, this time his lips almost brushing against your ear. "Merry Christmas, my dear."

[itneverendshere]

how does a moment last forever - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

Rafe’s sitting on the deck of his family’s boat, the sun finally starting to dip a little lower in the sky, casting this beautiful orange-pink glow over the water. It’s a perfect evening—calm, warm, everything laid out exactly how he planned. But his hands are sweating so bad he feels like he’s about to jump out of a fucking plane.

You’re sitting across from him, legs crossed, sipping on a drink and looking out over the water. You’re not a big fan of all the fancy Cameron stuff, but you’ve always had this soft spot for the boat.

Rafe doesn’t know what it is—maybe it’s the quiet out here, away from everything and everyone. It’s just you two. It’s always been like that on the water.

He's embarrassed to admit he’s been carrying the ring around for a couple of weeks now, trying to find the right moment. He kept thinking he’d know when the timing was perfect, but here he is, overthinking it.

Should’ve just done it the second you stepped on board, but nah, he’s an idiot, waiting for the right line of conversation or whatever.

The problem is, you know him better than anyone else, even himself.

You always do. It’s like you’ve got this radar, and right now, it’s probably screaming at you that he’s acting weird.

Over the past three years you’ve learned all his tells. He feels like he’s coming undone, and not in the way he’s used to. He’s fought people, and had these moments that should’ve sent his adrenaline through the roof.

But this? 

Asking you to marry him? It’s on a whole other level.

You turn to Rafe, catching him staring, and you raise an eyebrow.

"You’ve been acting weird all day."

There it is. Busted. You always knew when something’s up. He takes a deep breath, "’not acting weird."

"Liar."

You lean back against the cushions, smiling at him like you know all his secrets. And hell, you do.

"You’re doing that thing again," you point towards his fidgeting fingers, and now you’re fully facing him, your glass resting against your knee. "Spill it."

Rafe moves in his seat, running a hand through his recently buzzed hair. You’d liked it so much the last time he did, last year, he decided it was only fair to do it again. 

This isn’t how he planned it.

He thought he’d get some big, romantic speech out, but he can't think straight now. He’s never been so nervous in his life, not even when he thought you’d never take him back after you saw him relapse. 

"Alrigh’, fine," He mutters, pushing up from his seat to stand. "Give me a sec."

Your eyes follow him, confused but curious, and he walks over to where he stashed the ring in his jacket pocket. He can feel you watching him, probably trying to figure out what the hell he’s doing.

He reaches in, fingers brushing over the small box, and for a second, everything gets real quiet in his head. He can hear the water lapping against the side of the boat, the hum of the wind, and then just... you. 

Just you both.

Rafe turns around, and you’re sitting there, waiting. Still waiting. Always patient with him, even when he was an idiot.

This is it. It’s not some high-stakes deal, no street fights, no mess of his past haunting him—it’s just him and you, the girl who’s been there through it all. 

And somehow, this feels bigger than anything else. Maybe you already know. Maybe you’ve known this whole time. Your eyes meet his, and for a second, he swears he forgets how to breathe.

Rafe crosses the short distance between you and drops to one knee. He doesn’t think about it. It’s instinct now, like muscle memory, the way he moves. The way he’s always moved toward you, like you’re the only thing pulling him forward.

Your eyes widen, and for the first time today, you look genuinely surprised. Your drink forgotten, you lean forward, hands resting lightly on your knees, mouth parted in a silent gasp.

"Look," Rafe starts, his voice catching, and he clears his throat. "I—I don’t have a big speech planned. You know me." He laughs, but it’s nervous, shaky. His heart’s still threatening to jump out of his chest, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to get through this without his whole nervous system exploding. "But I’ve been carrying this thing around for weeks, waiting for the right time. Thinking I’d know when it was perfect or something."

He opens the box, revealing the ring. The diamond catches the last bit of sunlight, sparkling like it’s part of this whole perfect evening. Your eyes flicker down to it, then back to him.

"The truth is," He continues, "there’s never gonna be a perfect moment. Not for us. Because every moment I’m with you feels like it already is. Somehow, you’re still here, you’ve always been here baby, so I must be doin’ something’ right," He pauses, trying to stabilize his voice "And I want that. Forever. Just you and me."

You blink, and he sees the way your lips tremble, like you’re holding back tears. It’s rare for you to get emotional, but there’s something about this—about him, down on one knee, baring his soul—that’s gonna make you sob like a baby.

"I know I’m not perfect. Far from it." He swallows hard, his throat dry. "But I love you. More than I ever thought I could love anyone. And I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you."

His heart is pounding so hard, he’s sure you can hear it. This is the most vulnerable he’s ever been, and it scares the fuck out of him.

Because if you say no, there’s no way he’s ever recovering from the heartbreak.  

"Will you marry me?" Rafe’s voice is just whisper, but it feels like the loudest thing in the world.

You’re silent for a second, staring at him with those wide eyes. Then, without warning, you laugh—this breathless sound—like you can’t believe this is happening and you’re nodding, tears falling over before you can stop them.

"Yeah," you manage, your voice breaking. "Of course I will. Yes!"

The relief hits him so hard he almost falls on his ass he but then he’s slipping the ring onto your finger, and you’re already pulling him up, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in there.

Rafe feels your arms wrap tightly around his neck, your breath against his skin, the way your body molds perfectly against his.

He’s still half in shock, still processing that you said yes, that you’re now officially his forever. You bury your face into his shoulder, and he can feel your tears soaking into his shirt, but you don’t let go. 

Before he knows it, he’s crying too. Really crying.

Not the kind of tears he’s able to swallow back or hide. These are the ones he can’t control, the kind that make his whole being shake as he also buries his face in your neck. 

You don’t say anything yet— you just hold him, one hand stroking the back of his head with your thumb, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back. Rafe pulls back slightly, his wet eyes meeting yours, both of you sniffling, your cheeks streaked with tears.

There’s this split second where you’re both just looking at each other, eyes puffy, noses red, overwhelmed by everything you’ve just shared. 

Then, you both start laughing.

It starts with a chuckle, but then it builds, like neither of you can help it. His shoulders shake as the laugh spills out of him, and soon enough, you’re giggling too.

Loud, uninhibited, like you can’t believe this is real.

"Are we really doing this?" you ask through your laughter, wiping your eyes, your voice still cracking from all the crying. "We’re actually getting married?"

He nods, "Yeah, we are," he says, there’s this huge grin on his face now, the kind that makes his dimples show. "Holy shit, we’re getting married."

You throw your head back, laughing harder, clutching your stomach like you’re afraid you might fall over from the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

Rafe watches you, the way the joy lights up your face, the way your eyes crinkle at the corners, and he can’t stop himself from laughing along with you.

This is perfect. You're perfect.

You’re still holding onto him, but your eyes are drawn to the ring on your finger. It sparkles in the orange light, the diamond catching the last bit of the sunset and making it glimmer like something straight out of a dream.

You stare at it in disbelief, turning your hand slightly to watch the light bounce off the edges.

"Holy shit," you breathe, eyes wide. "That rock is huge."

Rafe chuckles, leaning back to watch your reaction, wiping at the last of his tears. He seems a little proud of himself, though, seeing your expression. "You like it?"

"Like it?" You shake your head, laughing again. "I love it, but—baby, be honest, how much did you spend on this?" You give him a half-teasing look, your voice laced with shock. "Seriously, how much?"

He grins, you’ve seen a million times before, but this time, there’s so much love behind it.

"Wouldn’t you like to know, Miss Cameron-to-be?"

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face at his playful tone.

"Oh, so we’re keeping secrets now, huh?"

Rafe shrugs, but you can see the way his chest is still rising and falling like he’s calming down from all the emotions. "Maybe I just wanted to get you something special. You deserve it."

"Special?" You giggle, holding up your hand and tilting it toward the light again. "This thing could probably pay off the boat. You didn’t need to go this crazy.”

"I wanted to." He says it simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He reaches for your hand again, gently pulling it down so he can look at you. "I wanted you to have something that shows you what you mean to me. Even if it’s just a piece of jewelry, I wanted it to be something worthy of you, baby.”

Suddenly you’re not thinking about the size of the diamond or how much it must’ve cost. You’re thinking about him—how much this must’ve meant to him, how hard he must’ve worked to make this moment perfect for you. 

You’re thinking about how stupid you would’ve been back then if you’d never given him the chance. If you’d refused his ride home. If you’d continued to push him away when he so clearly only wanted you to be his. You feel that familiar warmth in your chest, the one that only comes from knowing how much he truly loves you.

You shake your head as you lean back into him.

"You know, you could’ve proposed with a ring pop, and I still would’ve said yes, right?"

Rafe laughs, his shoulders shaking as he pulls you closer. "Yeah, I know. But you’re not getting out of this that easily."

You smile, resting your chin against his chest.

"Fine, I’ll take the giant diamond. But seriously, Rafe—thank you. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful."

He kisses the top of your head, his arms wrapping around you tightly, "You ready for this?" he murmurs his low against your temple.

You pull back just enough to peek up at him, your hand resting on his chest, the ring catching the light again. "For what? Marrying you?"

He nods, his blue eyes soft, his smile still a little shaky from everything that’s just happened.

"Yeah. Forever. You and me."

You smile up at him, and without hesitation, you nod. "I’ve been ready for that for a long time."

Rafe’s smile widens, and he leans down to kiss you—slow and sweet, like he’s savoring every second of it, he’s got all the time in the world.

He has you forever. 

You draw back from the kiss, grinning up at him with that playful glint in your eyes that he’s always loved.

You tilt your head slightly, "So," you start, lacing your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes, "How am I ever going to show my gratitude for this?" You wiggle your fingers, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, it is a pretty big ring."

His smirk spreads slowly, the kind of smile that makes your brain go fuzzy, and you can imagine the gears turning in his head. His big hands drop down to your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there, pulling you just a little bit closer.

"I’ve got a few ideas," he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck as he leans in, his lips brushing your skin.

You shiver at the contact, the heat from his hands and mouth making your thighs clench.

“Yeah?" you almost pant, he’s always affected you like this. "What kind of ideas?"

His lips suck lightly against the sensitive spot on your neck, and you’ve never been so thankful to be holding on to him. His hands grip your waist a little tighter, his thumbs tracing slow circles against your hips as he speaks between soft kisses. 

"Let’s just say you’re gonna be thanking me for a while."

You laugh softly, the sound making him delirious, it’s somewhere between a giggle and a breathless sigh as his lips trail up to your jaw. "I see. So this is part of your grand plan, huh?"

"Mmhm," he hums, not pulling away, teeth still nipping at your skin. His hands slide down your back, squeezing gently. "You think I spent all that time planning this just for a 'thank you'?"

You chuckle, tilting your head to give him better access to your neck, "Now that you mention it, I did say yes. Isn’t that enough?"

He lifts his head slightly, enough to look at you, his lips still inches from yours, his smirk widening.

"You think you can just say yes and call it a day? Nah, baby, I want the whole deal."

TAGLIST: @italiekim @luannemarureis

if you ever asked me to me tagged in my all my works and you're not tagged here or haven't been tagged yet, please lmk!! i'm writing down every taglist from all my different works!

[lilacgaby]

˗ˏˋ🧸 bows and bottles ౨ৎ

pairing: girldad!megumi x wife!reader

summary: megumi had been shocked by you multiple times this year. finding out you were pregnant? a shocker. with a girl though? even more shocking. good thing he was a natural.

tags: pet names, pregnancy, afab!reader, domestic au, marriage, insecurities, fluff

(a/n: another lovely ask by @lexiene !! i think every jjk character is a girldad personally )

those two lines you showed to him changed the course of his life.

he was nervous sure, but you being there always calmed him down. he examined the rest of the items you'd placed in the gift box one by one, noting the gender-neutral clothing.

"you don't know the gender yet?"

"no silly! i'm only like.. a month. i think i have to be eighteen weeks or something to know."

"oh, okay."

"are you hoping for a gender?" you asked, moving your legs to face him on the couch.

"no, as long as they're healthy." he answered honestly, though the thought of having a girl did make him feel a bit nervous.

"hm, okay."

the weeks working up to the appointment you'd made were nerve wracking for megumi. you'd only been suffering mild symptoms of nausea and fatigue, so he'd been at your hand and feet most days.

the months had passed and your bump had grew. he'd been an angel for you, never letting you complain for more than a couple seconds. he'd wake up in the middle of the night and cook for you if you needed, he just wanted you and his kid to be safe.

as he drove to the appointment, reality set into him. you were having his baby, and they were going to find out the gender right now.

but an idea struck you in the car. "hey, how about we have them keep it a secret? we can have a fun little gender reveal party."

he physically slumped at the idea, relaxing a bit. "yeah, sounds good. but a small party, gojo is way too much of a lightweight for a huge one like last time."

you laughed at the memory, looking out the window as you held megumi's hand close to your thigh.

the visit at the doctor's was quick, they put the results of the ultrasound into an envelope for you two, and let you take home dozens of copies of the scans.

you went home content, smiling brightly as you looked over the pictures.

"they have your nose." you said out of the blue.

"you can't even tell that, it's a scan."

"yes i can."

"whatever you say."

the next week you had a small get together with some of your friends and megumi's. you wore a plain white dress since you didn't mind if it was a boy or a girl, and megumi wore a white button-up.

gojo wore a pink shirt, and argued with yuuji who was wearing a blue shirt.

nobara was carrying bags and bags of baby supplies, but was also wearing a pink shirt.

nanami was there holding a small gift box, he wore a white button-up with a pink tie.

they, along with some of your family, all held up confetti poppers. at the count of three they blew them up, pink confetti flying everywhere.

as gojo and nobara high fived each other, cheering at how they were right, you and megumi hugged eachother.

you now were able to go crazy, making everything really cute and pink for your little daughter. bows and bunnies scattered her nursery, pink flowers painted all over the walls.

cute rugs and rocking chairs, even her crib got a princess canopy.

nobara had gotten you the cutest little dresses and shoes, in the tiny box nanami had gotten for your baby girl it was little earrings. pure gold with a gemstone of her assumed birthmonth.

the months passed by really quickly, megumi kept his missions to a minimum so he could stay clung to your side.

he was a saint like always, holding your bump up for you to give you a few moments of relief, massaging parts of your body, he'd always be there for you.

but your little girl was stubborn and refused to come out. when he thought you were sleeping he'd speak to her, ask her nicely to come out tomorrow, speak about how excited he was to see her.

after a couple nights of that and morning walks? your water broke. he grabbed the overnight bag and made it to the driveway, only to realize..

he forgot you. oops.

picking up an annoyed you, he made it to the car and drove as fast as he could safely.

you delivered your baby safely, megumi thinking his wrist was going to snap from how hard you had it in your grip. he rolled his eyes though, because you were right.

she did have his nose. and his hair color, and his eyes. but she had your skin color, your lips, your eyebrows.

she was adorable.

she slept the whole day, not waking up unless she was woke up by you or him. she was an angel. barely ever crying.

he was relieved to find that she had your demeanor, your expressiveness that was more than just a straight demeanor most of the time.

he was the happiest when he looked into her and saw you, features of you that worked so harmoniously with his.

she was perfect.

she definitely had a favorite. spoiler alert: it wasn't you.

she always giggled when megumi was around, her first word was papa, much to your dismay. she clung to him all day, he was a natural at everything after all.

whenever he'd go on missions she'd cry, him having to call you just so she could fall asleep.

when she became a toddler? she'd run to the door to greet him everytime he'd come back. staying up past her bedtime just to see him.

but always passing out in his arms, wanting to stay by his side as she slept.

he'd do her hair once it was long enough. she begged and begged for him to learn how to braid, and after much consultation he learned.

he was there with her when she got her ears pierced, holding her hand as the needle went through her ear. it didn't hurt, but the numbing sensation felt weird. she wore the golden earrings she was gifted 5 years ago with pride, almost convincing megumi to get his ears pierced too.

almost.

she had him wrapped around her finger, doing anything she wanted whenever. if she wanted a toy she had it the next day. she wanted to go somewhere? let's start planning a family trip.

he taught her how to read patiently, grabbing any number of baby books to help her piece together the words, clapping together when she read a page successfully.

they shared a sweet tooth, so most of time he'd 'sneak' her snacks. candy, lollipops, chocolate, cupcakes, they'd share them together and laugh because they thought you didn't notice.

they were like two peas in a pod, they acted exactly the same sometimes. shed repeat his sentences, the way he walked, and even his facial expressions.

she clung to you just as much though, don't get it confused. she loved your attention on her as much as he did, scrunching her face when you two kissed in front of her. her using her body to push you away and 'reprimand' megumi.

he loved his girls so much, he didn't think life could get any better than being sandwiched in between the two of you while you watched random movies in the living room.

but it magically did, when for his birthday he was gifted baby socks. "are you joking?" he said, hugging you both tightly.

"those are too small for him!"

"they aren't for him sweetheart."

with another baby girl on the way, and his two treasured ladies right beside him, he definitely thinks he was born for this.

to stand by all of your sides, forever.

[blooms-in-april]

I'm thinking sad Jaskier thoughts.

It takes a while for Geralt to realize the music is gone. Oh Jaskier still sings- for their supper, for Ciri when she's sad, to entertain Kaer Morhen on late card playing nights. But the music- the music is gone. No more of the mindless humming as he walks, no more parsing over rhymes by the fire, no more harassing Geralt for his thoughts on such and such melody. Jaskier sings like a wind-up music box, only when requested, cranked for it, and snapping shut into silence like the sharp closing of a lid.

Yennefer snorts at his concern. "It took you this long to notice?"

Geralt grunts. She smiles, sharp and bitter. "You always were slow."

"How do I fix it?" Geralt snaps. He is not here to be mocked or play games.

"Can you fix it?" Yennefer asks. "I don't know."

Geralt doesn't know either. All he can do is try.

One of the mages had left a god's damned harpsichord in their tower room. It takes Geralt weeks- lugging the ornate monstrosity down from the mages tower, finding schematics in the library for the damn thing, undoing by sheer will the rot and moulding of a hundred years on the instrument. He spends his evenings waist deep in the guts of the instrument, swearing over chords and tuning and keys.

Jaskier's silence, now that he notices it, gapes like an open wound, bleeding wherever he goes. It stains memories of years past, of a cheerful smile and conversation given to him so freely, so easily, not a hint of subterfuge or awkwardness or fear. Now Jaskier only says good morrow if Geralt says it first, only speaks when spoken to, only smiles when Ciri is looking his way.

Geralt polishes the harpsichord until his fingers blister and his nose stings from the smell. He paints the elaborate carvings with pure gold leaf. He spends hours tightening strings trying to get the thing in tune. He worries over it like a child, because he doesn't know what else to do.

"What do you think?" He asks Eskel as they carry it carefully down to Jaskier's room.

"It's very nice." Eskel says diplomatically. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

"Appreciate it?" Geralt doesn't want appreciation. He wants that soft tone back in Jaskier's voice when he speaks to him. He wants Jaskier to speak to him, to turn to him free and easy with something to say.

"He'll like it," Eskel says, "Just-"

He turns, his soft eyes full of warning. "Just don't put all your hopes on an old harpsichord."

Lambert snorts, "Too little too late!" He laughs. And Lambert has always been hateful, more so since Aiden was lost, but the words feel true.

Jaskier smiles when he presents him with the harpsichord. He exclaims and laughs and claps his hands. He extolls its virtues, coos over its decorations, fusses over it with all the enthusiasm of a performing parrot. He pulls Ciri onto his lap and guides her hands on the keys, composes a little ditty on the fly for Yennefer, plays something sweet and sad that makes Lambert turn his face away. In all the merriment and gratitude and excitement, he looks Geralt in the eyes only once. Once, upon the first shock of the present. Once, with eyes wide and open, like a wound.

Geralt lingers as the others go off to bed, watching as Jaskier slowly fades as his audience wanes.

"Thank you, Geralt." he says. "It is truly a magnificent present. And far more than I deserve."

Do not thank me is what Geralt wants to say. Do not thank me, not when I have done this to you.

"I didn't do much," is what comes out of his mouth. "It was already there."

Jaskier does not look at him. "If this is an apology-" he says, "I do not need it. You were tired and upset. You spoke your mind. And nothing you said was- untrue. From a certain point of view. You do not need to absolve your guilt to me."

"Jaskier," Geralt says. "I'm sorry."

"And I forgive you." Jaskier says "I forgave you even the moment you after spoke. I don't think I would be myself if I could do otherwise."

It is done. The gift given, the apology accepted. And yet the silence still sits heavy in the air. It is not fixed. It is still broken. It is still out of tune and all of Geralt's twisting and tunings have not set the melody to rights.

"Why are you still like this?" He says. Jaskier stiffens. The words are wrong again, he's done it again, and he could scream with frustration, like a child who keeps swinging the sword and cutting himself on the dulled edge.

"Do you know the Countess de Stael bought me a Stradivarius once?" Jaskier said. "You don't know what that is. A fiddle, rarer than rubies. There were only twenty ever made. It sings like nothing else. She presented it to me on a bed of velvet, and told me she loved me. She told me to stay. And I would have."

Jaskier plinks a few idle notes. "She kicked me out a month later. Too mouthy. Too tacky. Too gauche. She had found someone better. She took back the Stradivarius and handed it off to her new minstrel."

"What I am saying, Geralt-" He says. "What I am asking- Is that you not do things you do not mean. That you not give me false hope. That you stop trying to make me love you, because I already do. I already do and it hurts. It hurts so much."

[harrywavycurly]

I’m a sucker for a fake marriage AU but what if Harry married us for real but because he had to? Or because he was drunk? Then he falls for us for real?🥹😍

Hiiii babes!! I too love a fake marriage AU they just like hit a special spot in my soul! So I changed this slightly, I hope you don’t mind? 😬💖

A/N: This is kinda short but if you want a part 2 let me know and it’ll go into more detail about everything✨

-find all things Lonely here✨

Summary: Harry is just tired of being lonely and well..he knows you are too so what could it hurt to just be together? Aka Harry asks his bestfriend to marry him✨

“Harry please stand up.”

“You didn’t even let me finish what-”

“I don’t need to let you finish to know what getting down on one knee means Harry.” Your words are rushed as you feel your breathing begin to become more rapid due to the overwhelming sense of panic that’s settling in your chest. “Please stand up.” You hear him let out a sigh as he reluctantly stands up but stays standing right in front of where you’re sitting on the edge of the pink and orange striped cushion of your outdoor loveseat, you watch him as he reaches over so he can place the ring box on the table next to you.

“Will you just let me explain myself please?” He asks with a raised eyebrow as he watches how you place your hands in your lap and being messing with the ring on your pinky, a habit he knows you do when you’re nervous or stressed. He immediately takes a small step closer to you when he realizes he’s the cause behind you feeling so uneasy, he kneels down so he’s eye level with you and places a hand over both of yours.

“I’m sorry for just dropping to one knee like that.” He gives your hands a little squeeze as he ducks his head down a bit until you finally meet his gaze. “That was a bit dramatic even for me but I just need to get this out okay? And then when I’m done you can do that thing you love to do and ask me a million questions and I’ll answer all of them.” He looks at you and when you just give him a small nod he smiles and stands up after giving your hands one more reassuring squeeze.

Harry clears his throat and readies himself to give you the detailed explanation as to why he showed up to your house for lunch dressed as if he was headed for an event in his powder pink suit with blue button up underneath, roses in his hand and then before you could even serve him a glass of wine he was down on one knee with a box in his hand. You take a few deep calming breaths reminding yourself that the man in front of you is Harry, your bestfriend and he doesn’t do things for no reason so you’ll sit and listen to him because he’d do the same for you if it was you who’d been down on one knee in front of him not even five minutes ago. He runs a hand through his hair as he finally lets his eyes find yours just as a playful smirk takes over his face as his eyes flicker to the roses on the table next to the loveseat you’re sitting on before returning to you.

“We’ve been friends for what? Eleven years now?” You know by the playfully tone of his voice that he doesn’t actually want you to answer him. “I remember we met at that house party and I was so flattered that you were going to let me be the first frat boy to take you home.” You roll your eyes as the memory of meeting Harry replays in your mind.

It was at a college house party and he was in the kitchen with a red solo cup in his hand, a backwards SnapBack covering up his beautiful head of curls, a red flannel half buttoned and a pair of black skinny jeans. You thought he looked actually like the fraternity boys your fiends had warned you about but there was something different about him, the way his smile seemed so genuine when he saw you walk into the small space and offered you a drink and it was when you saw the dimples and heard his accent that you knew you were in trouble. The two of you stuck together the rest of the party and when it was starting to get too wild for your taste you told him he could take you home and Harry who’s always been a gentleman, said his place was closer.

“Then you had to go and ruin the moment by throwing up all over my boots.”

“I ruined the moment? It wasn’t the fact you weren’t even a frat boy but just a member of some boyband who liked to crash college parties?” This makes Harry let out a huff as he shakes his head at your teasing.

“Some boyband? That’s a bit rude love.” He playfully glares at you as you lean back and get more comfortable in your seat. “But that’s also the night we became bestfriends because as I helped you get home and held your hair while you got sick we just talked all night and if I remember correctly which we both know my memory is one of my strong suits then that’s also the first time you stole one of my shirts.” The playful smile that’s on his lips makes you look down at your hands in your lap and lift a shoulder in a casual shrug.

“You gave it to me.” You argue as you look up making Harry just nod as the smile on his face grows.

“I did didn’t I?” He asks and the look on his face tells you he was almost testing you to see if you remember the night the same way he does. “You remember the kiss right? In the backyard by-”

“The pool. Yes Harry I remember.” You don’t know why the memory of Harry kissing you drunkenly by a pool at a house party makes your cheeks get warm in embarrassment but it does. “What’s this have to do with you getting down on one knee?” You want him to get on with the explanation because going down memory lane with him isn’t something you’re sure you have the energy for right now.

“Right. Sorry.” He shake his head as if to try to refocus his thoughts on what he’s actually trying to get across to you. “I feel like I have everything I could ever want in life. I have more money than I know what to do with and I have a career that I love and I’m finally at a place where I can just sit back and enjoy all the hard work I’ve done over the last fifteen years of my life and relax a little but taking this time off has made me realize something.” Your eyes meet his as he lets out a sigh as he looks into your eyes and you swear you see a hint of sadness tucked away in the dark specks of his bright green eyes. “I don’t have anyone to share my life with. I know I have my family and friends but I’m still so fucking lonely.” His voice is lower than before and your heart aches for him, you know Harry isn’t one that’s ever dealt with being alone very well and all this free time has been a little harder on him than he intended it to be.

“I just want to be with someone that makes saying goodbye hard and that makes me want to rush home just because I know they’re there waiting for me.” The corners of his mouth twitch as he fights the small smile that wants to form. “I want to be someone’s husband and I think that someone should be you.” You feel your mouth drop open as your eyes widen at his statement.

Harry lets you have a few moments to let his words sink in as he takes a few steps towards the table the roses are on so he can grab the box he had in hands when he was down on one knee. He gently opens the top and reaches in and takes the simple gold band out and holds it between his index finger and thumb before placing the empty box back on the table. When he looks over at you he just gives you a reassuring grin when he sees you’re already looking up at him.

“I know you’re lonely too sweetheart.” You let out a shaky breath as he kneels down in front of you and gently grabs your left hand. “But you don’t have to be anymore.” Your eyes glance down at your hand as Harry starts to slowly slide the band on your ring finger. “We already have a great foundation because no one knows you better than me right?” He gives you a playful wink as he slides the band past your knuckle.

“Like I know how you take your coffee in the morning and how you need to be held when you’re upset. I know how to make your perfect bubble bath and I can tell if you’re in a bad mood just by the way you text me. I know when you need red wine and when you need white or when you just need a bottle of tequila and a lime. I know all your fears and I know all the amazing dreams you have and I’ll happily help you make them come true if you’ll let me.” You sniffle as you feel your eyes start to have that familiar sting letting you know you’re a few moments away from full on crying.

“Harry-”

“I love you and I know you’re going to tell me it’s not the same as being in love with you but I think that will come with time? Don’t you? I know you love me too and I don’t see how this couldn’t work? It’s not even like the physical stuff would be weird because we’ve hooked-”

“You shouldn’t marry someone just because you’re lonely Harry.” You have to stop him from saying anything else as you feel a few tears escape from your eyes as they roll down your cheeks and before you can wipe them away Harry has his hands cupping the sides of your face and his thumbs are gently swiping them away.

“I’m lonely yes but that’s not the only reason why I want to marry you. I think you might be my person and I just spent too long trying to just keep you in my life anyway that I could and now I just can’t imagine myself being anyone else’s husband but yours.” He knows he sounds crazy but he also knows he’s talking to you, the one person who understands him the most.

“Why now?” You ask as you reach up and place one of your hands over his that’s still holding the side of your face.

“We aren’t getting any younger love so figured it was now or never.” His answer makes you chuckle as you lean into his touch. “I know this is a lot and if you need some time that’s fine.” You just nod as he leans forward and places a kiss to your forehead, you drop your hand from the top of his so he can release the sides of your face. “Just don’t take too much time yeah? You know how I get.” He half heartedly jokes as he stands up, you watch him look down at your hand and a small smile creeps onto his face as he sees the gold band sitting nicely on your ring finger.

“Call me when you’re ready sweetheart.” Is all he says as he leans down and kisses the top of your head before he turns and heads towards the gate of your backyard that will take to your driveway where his car is parked. You just sit there and stare at the ring on your finger as you hear the sound of his car starting up, you feel your eyes fill with a new wave of tears as the sound of his car backing out of your driveway hits your ears.

“Oh god.” You mumble to yourself as you place your head in your hands as the events of the afternoon really hit you, your bestfriend really asked you to marry him. You close your eyes as you come to the understanding that while he admitted he does love you he’s not in love with you, making you face something that you’ve been trying to avoid for years, the fact you actually are in love with him. So now you’re left with two choices, marry him and hope he does one day fall in love with you or tell him no and hope it doesn’t ruin the friendship the two of you have.

[v6quewrlds]

How I met your mother after your daughter gets her heart broken

the front door slammed shut, and your teenage daughter, noa, stomped into the kitchen, her school bag dropping heavily to the floor. your smile faltered and joe straightened.

"noa? what's wrong, hon?" you asked gently, setting down the knife and turning to face her.

noa's eyes were red-rimmed, and her face was flushed. "i broke up with chance," she blurted out, her voice wavering. your heart sank, and you stepped closer, your arms instinctively reaching out to offer comfort. "he cheated on me," noa's voice cracked and a stream of tears trailed down her cheek.

your expression grew stern, and you shot joe a warning look, silently reminding him to keep his scowling in check. "oh, munchkin. that's terrible. do you want to talk about it?" you cooed, guiding noa to the kitchen island and pulling out a chair.

"it's just… i didn't expect it," noa sniffled, her eyes downcast. "some girl he works with texted me. she said they've been going on dates behind my back."

"that little…" joe's fists clenched, his jaw tightening. you laid a hand on his forearm, silencing him with a squeeze. "is there anything you want me to do, munchkin?" joe asked, his voice characteristically even though you knew he was seething.

"no," noa mumbled, shaking her head. "nothing that you won't end up on the news for, dad," she said with a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood. you couldn't help but laugh at joe's concession, despite the situation.

"wait, actually dad, can i ask you something?" noa's question snapped joe out of his anger-induced silence. he took a deep breath, nodding for her to continue. "how did you know you wanted to marry mom?" she asked, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand.

joe leaned against the counter, folding his arms over his chest, a fond smile playing on his lips. "well, it took me a long time to convince her to even go out with me," he began.

"oh, come on," you playfully rolled your eyes. "you make it sound like i was being unreasonable."

joe smirked. "weren't you? you had me jumping through hoops for months before you said yes to a first date that you swore wasn't a date."

you couldn't argue with that, your laugh bubbling up at the memory. "well, i had to make sure you were worth it," you quipped, nudging him with your elbow. "you were this hotshot quarterback, and i didn't want to be just another notch on your belt."

joe's eyes lit up with mirth. "and what made you decide i was worth it?"

you paused, your gaze flicking up to his baby blues. "it was the way you talked to my mom at the florida game. you were so respectful and kind to her, even when i was giving you the cold shoulder."

joe chuckled. "your mom was my biggest fan before you wanted anything to do with me." he turned to noa, his expression softening. "but the moment i knew i wanted to marry your mom was when i hurt my knee my rookie year. she didn't let me look down on myself, didn't let me feel sorry for myself. she was the first one to tell me to get back up and fight for what i wanted."

noa listened, her eyes on her dad, taking in his words like a sponge.

"it was your mom's way of showing me what real love and support looked like," joe said, his voice serious. "when you find someone who believes in you, even when you don't believe in yourself, that's when you know."

noa nodded, her eyes still glued to her dad. "what about you, mom? when did you know?" she asked, looking at you with a glimmer of hope.

you took a deep breath, your thoughts drifting back to the early days of your relationship. "don't laugh, okay?" you began, a grin spreading across your face. "but it was when my grandma was moving out of her old house. your dad insisted on tagging along for the 7-hour drive even though he had never met her before. he was so patient, so helpful, carrying boxes and assembling furniture like it was his own grandma."

joe's cheeks flushed slightly at your revelation. "i don't remember that being particularly romantic," he said with a chuckle.

"oh, it was very romantic. especially when you were arguing with my brother over which way the couch should face," you said, your eyes sparkling at the memory. "it was like you fit right in with the crazy. arguing with my brother, laughing with my grandma, and debating capitalism with my dad. it was perfect."

joe leaned in closer to you, his gaze filled with affection. "wasn't that the trip that i asked your parents for their blessing?"

you nodded, your smile pulling wider. "yeah, when you threw up in the bathroom just before you asked and i had to convince you that you weren't gonna die. i had no clue why you were so nervous," you said, your voice filled with the warmth of nostalgia.

joe could only grumble as noa laughed at his expense. "thanks for sharing that, babe."

[reimaybe]

🎧: paper rings — taylor swift

“i could never marry someone who doesn’t like dogs,” you spoke casually as your fingers spammed random keys while playing some random obby on roblox. yoichi, whose head was resting lazily on your shoulder, barely reacted; still half-lost in exhaustion from his last match.

“what if they’re allergic?” he mumbled.

“you’re not allergic to dogs,” you replied, glancing at him briefly before focusing back on the screen.

truthfully, yoichi hadn’t fully processed what you were saying, too tired to connect the dots. but when you paused the game and turned to him with a slight pout, he blinked, processing what you had said earlier.

“oh! i get it,” he said, a laugh escaping his lips as the pieces clicked.

you rolled your eyes, pushing him lightly. “okay, whatever, yoichi. get off me.”

you bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile—you were supposed to be sulking, after all—but the way his laugh grew louder made it impossible.

“alright, my turn to say something random,” he said, pulling you closer despite your half-hearted protests.

“will you marry me?,” he asked, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

“with what, paper rings? cut the crap.” you scoffed, hoping that he wouldn't notice the way your ears were flushed red.

his eyes lit up as he glanced around your dorm, spotting a pile of papers in the corner. “do you want to?”

you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound filling the small room and making his smile widen. “let me finish college first, yoichi.”

“deal,” he said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your temple. “but after that, i’m holding you to it.”

years later, yoichi still finds himself smiling at the memory. it had been three years since you graduated college, and today was the championship match for the world cup–a long time dream of his, and with you by his side every step of the way.

after a hard-fought battle, the final whistle blew, and victory was theirs. as the crowd erupted in cheers, yoichi searched for you, his heart racing. when he finally spotted your teary-eyed face, all the pressure lifted from his shoulders.

without a word, you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder as cameras flashed, reporters rushed towards you two, and the field erupted in cheers.

still holding you tightly, yoichi whispered, “there’s something i need to ask you.”

your brow furrowed with curiosity as he knelt on the grass, pulling out a small velvet box. “remember when we joked about getting married?” he said, a smile breaking across his face.

your hands flew to your mouth in shock, and your eyes widened, the moment feeling surreal.

“will you marry me?”

[bonbonly]

producer lewis who makes a sex tape with you and sends the tape to jenson. lewis attaches a note that says something like "can't wait to hear your thoughts about this xx" because he's a cocky little shit. after jenson watches the tape, he calls lewis saying he has some thoughts and they should meet up to discuss them. lewis and jenson then surprise you, the star of the tape, with dinner and a show.

hehehehehe finally got on my laptop!

bon's thoughts (18+)

film critic!jenson's at his desk. he's writing a new article about your film that had just come out a few days ago. he's going easy on you for now, you hadn't done anything to anger him nor had you showed up at his office grumbling about something he had written. he chews his pen, glancing from his computer to the window where he sees one of his female colleagues chatting away about what she did for vacation. she was cute, he gives that to her, but he never has the energy to go and ask for her number. not when you were visiting him. not when you would go two steps further to push him to the edge before going down on his cock. he chuckles at the past memories, closing his laptop to head out for a small lunch break when the door swings open. it's the cute colleague and she tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, handing him a small package.

"it's for you, jenson!" she chirps, setting the box down and sliding it over across his desk, "it's from producer hamilton. said you should check this out!"

jenson raises an eyebrow, nodding his head and thanking her. he opens the box, it's small and could almost pass as a ring box which could be hamilton's attempt as a cruel joke and there jenson sees a flashdrive. ah, flashdrives. jenson's starting to get a good idea of what this could be about and he stands up, closing the blinds to his office. he peers through to see the cute girl heading to the break room and jenson frowns. he tosses the flashdrive into the air a couple times, debating what he should use his lunch time for and ultimately decides that if hamilton was going out of his way to contact him after years, it had to be pretty important. he sits back down at his desk, fingers drumming against the wood and a slip of paper catches his eye. he pulls it out, admiring how firm it felt and read its contents:

any thoughts? i'm sure you'll hate missing out on this - l.h.

his eyes flicker to the flashdrive once more, hands already on its way to open his laptop and plug it in. clicking on the file explorer, he drags the mouse over the flashdrive's name on the side of the screen. there's only one video. the thumbnail makes his eyes wide, a small surprised laugh slipping past his lips. it's you on your knees, tongue out with cum dripping down your face. oh he has to see this.

an actual full sex tape. jenson's not really shocked that you'd eventually have made one, everyone in hollywood knows your reputation. he still can't get behind the fact that you actually agreed to be in one, though. unless hamilton tricked you, but even that was unlikely. you were smart, very smart. you wouldn't ever put yourself in this position unless you knew what would happen. 45 minutes long. jenson can't even explain what's happening in front of him. he feels like he's actually there, watching lewis throw you onto the bed and spit on your cunt. he can see the tattoos on his hand, his fingers massaging your sensitive pearl as you're tied to the bed, bucking your hips and whining, begging to cum.

"such a fucking whore, god," lewis groans, and he sets the camera up on the nightstand. his hands roam over your body, squeezing every piece of fat he can find. his mouth's on your tits, biting on your nipples as you yelp out loud, tears streaming down your face, "if you weren't so talented, i would've kept you as my personal slut, fuck."

jenson can't see lewis's face but he knows the man must be grinning ear to ear as he sees you fighting against the restraints, wanting to touch him. he slots himself between your legs, pulling his throbbing dick from his boxers and stroking himself. he spits on your cunt for the second time, letting his cock slide along your folds. you're whimpering, pleading with him to be fucked.

"and why should I?" lewis mocks, "you've been fucked by almost everybody here, what difference does it make if i don't?"

your voice, despite being muffled, is clear to jenson's ears, "you're the best, lewis, you always stretch me out so good, no one else can."

jenson rolls his eyes, knowing damn well that you had to be lying. he bites his knuckles, palming himself as he continues to watch. lewis laughs, finally sinking his cock inside you and you're already arching your back, crying in joy as he sets a steady pace. his thrusts are slow but deep, each one making your tits bounce so deliciously that jenson wishes it was him, not lewis, fucking you. he pauses the video, shutting his laptop down since he's seen quite enough and smiles to himself, it's a really shitty thing to do but he can't stop himself anymore.

"what a wonderful film," you exclaim, your arm linked with jenson. you glance between the man next to you and lewis, "you never told me how you guys know each other."

lewis smirks, "everyone knows each other here, sweetheart. don't act dumb."

jenson snickers, "i have to say lewis, you made me jealous there. best fuck she's ever had, really? i'm sure i could prove her wrong," and you frown, eyes snapping to lewis about why jenson knows about the tape but before you can ask, the two men are redirecting you down the street to a restaurant for dinner. once inside, you're tapping your foot impatiently, glaring at lewis.

"ok, i'm going to be really nice here and ask-"

"oh, look at the appetizers aren't they delicious?" jenson asks, bringing your hand to his lips as he kisses each finger, shoving the menu to your face to distract you. lewis shifts his chair closer to you, letting his arm wrap around your waist as his hand comes up to grope at your tits. you're biting your lip, squeezing your thighs together as you keep glancing between the two of them.

"what are you both doing?" you whisper, leaning into jenson as his lips travel up to your neck, "papparazi could see, anyone could see!"

"anyone could see the sex tape," lewis points out, his thumb brushing over your pert nipples through the thin fabric of your dress. you hold back a whine, brows furrowing,

"yeah i know, im well aware of that, but i couldn't give a shit about it right now... we should just eat dinner and get out of here, take this back to my hotel room," you scoff, gasping as jenson bites down onto your neck before sucking gently. your eyes gaze up at the ceiling, slowly travelling down when you meet a cold, hard gaze from a set of big brown eyes.

it's carlos sainz, his jaw going taut as he sees what's happening across the restaurant. his hand is just about ready to shatter the glass of wine he's holding up to his lips. he's with some associates, not interested in what they were talking about because his eyes were on you. watching what you're doing... especially with hamilton fondling your tits so openly in public. you gulp, feeling jenson smile against your cheek as he gives you a quick kiss.

"im hungry, what about you?" he asks.

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | three

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel gets a little birthday surprise, and you get a little too drunk. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, pining, f!masturbation [barely], sending nudes, joel finally locks his office door, dirty talk, the slightest slip of possessive language, uh.. ahem.. biting, protected piv birthday sex, a messy dinner party, excessive alcohol consumption [i'm talking embarassing], irritating men, soft!joel. word count: 10.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: let the pining commence folks. hey siri, play brown eyed girl by van morrison. special thanks to @bageldaddy for the emotional support as i endured the labour that was the final hour of editing this. hope you guys enjoy! this is part three of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two.

Thursday.

A fortnight passes in the slow blink of a bleary eye.

Fall nudges Summer out the door, solidifying its presence in Maine with flaxen leaves and rolling grey clouds.

The rain comes at night. Rivulets of moisture that leak onto the windowsill, seep into the cracked wood there and fill your room with the sweet smell of petrichor. It clears before the sun rises most days, but you unpack of a box of sweaters and hang them in your closet, nonetheless. You enjoy communal coffees in the kitchen and try not to frown when the morning light doesn’t warm your legs the way it used to. Force yourself not to feel mournful when you get home one afternoon and find Pete on the sofa with a blanket over him.  

And perhaps that’s why when you wake on Thursday to sunshine—to warm bed sheets, to blue sky, to bright whites and yellows coming through the window—you feel lighter. Start the day with a calm countenance that has you blinking sleep from your eyes and smiling drowsily as your fingers trail the windowsill and come off dry. You share a pot of coffee with Pete; let him explain soil vapour extraction to you for the fifth time. Listen, smile, nod, and don’t roll your eyes when he asks do you get it now? And when the time comes to get ready for the drive to campus, you are smiling. Shoulders loose, eyes bright.

It had been a tiresome couple of weeks.

As the middle of the semester drew closer, you’d spent days on end poring over a laptop with tired eyes and cramping fingers. Writing and editing—and then rewriting and re-editing—your first round of essays and analyses. Balmy afternoons spent nursing glasses of cheap wine with your roommates evolved to late night coffees alone in your room, eyelids drooping as you fawned over every word, every quote, every fucking comma – all of it for him.

Him who you hadn’t been alone with in almost fifteen days.

Him whose texts were seared into your memory, left unanswered on your phone.

Him who you could hardly look at during lectures, for fear of losing your train of thought.

Him who you were hellbent on impressing. 

Joel, Joel, Joel.

And as busy as you’d been, it hadn’t stopped the stares. Brief, intimate glances from down the hall in the history commons. The flash of a knowing smile as you shuffle toward the exit after a lecture. The graze of fingertips against your elbow, muddling your mind as you rush to meet a text translation study group.

Watching, waiting, wanting – a near insufferable task since that afternoon in his office.

Late into the first week you’d discovered that, upon focusing hard enough, you could still feel the ache in your knees; the rug burns his carpet had left on your skin. And then you shoved the memory of it down; compressed it somewhere deep inside, hidden away until you had the chance to open it back up again, and take your time with him like you truly wanted to.

And it seems today was that day.

You stare out the window for a moment. Sip your coffee and rake in the greenness of the grass, the cloudless sky, the ray of sun shining across your bedroom floor – and decide you’ll wear a skirt to Joel’s seminar.  

The pin on his shirt is blue.

Not cerulean, or baby, or steel.

Not like how the sky was blue as you drove to campus with your windows down. Not like clear turquoise waters on a white sand beach in Greece, or like a robin’s egg swathed in leaves and sticks. But a deep, rich colour. Royal blue. A folded circular pin, with two tassels coming out the bottom of it.

It’s the first thing you notice when you walk into the lecture hall – the thing your eyes snag on repeatedly as you wander towards the third row and tuck yourself into a seat. That vivid splash of blue against a plain white t-shirt. No buttons today; formal wear forgone in place of a simple tee that hugs the vast planes of his chest, snug against the thick span of his biceps. His arms are almost enough to distract you from the gaudy brooch.

Joel won’t stop moving at the foot of the room, pacing the same length of floor over and over again, waiting for the crowd to settle. Hands busy themselves at his waist, wiping a small square of cloth against the lenses of his glasses. A muscle in his forearm twitches with every swipe of fingers against glass, and the sight has a hazy flush rising in your neck. Despite yourself, you try in earnest to catch a glimpse of what the pin says. Bare thighs tensed in your seat as you tilt your torso forward, eyes squinting.

The last students wander in, and he’s shifting, sliding those glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and snatching the slide clicker from the desk. He offers a polite greeting to the room.

It doesn’t take long for someone to speak up. “Special occasion?”

Joel’s hands still, chin tilting down as he glances at royal blue and then back out at the group, a wry smile breaking across his face.

“Just a thing the faculty does here,” he clears his throat awkwardly, laughs a little. It’s a soft sound, his laugh. Tickles your ears and makes you want to smile in return. “Some of the others started it a few years back… they make everyone wear one on their birthday.” 

A chorus of surprised well-wishes chime from around the room, and Joel waves them away with a broad palm, shaking his head.

Even from three rows back you can see the pink in his cheeks; the resistance in his eyes as he intercepts the kind words soaring in his direction. You recognise a shyness there, an unwillingness to be the centre of attention, and it surprises you. Joel always seems so confident, standing week after week in front of 30 odd people and talking for hours. But you suppose then he can hide behind his words; behind years of knowledge and study and practice. When it’s about him? He falters. Tries to hide. You almost want to curse at him for being so endearing. And maybe you would – if it wasn’t his birthday.

“Nah, none of that,” Joel tuts, shaking his head. “Let’s get started, alright?”

He claps his hands once, and the sound reverberates through the quietening room. The fabric of his pants clings to the meat of his thighs, tightening around muscle as he rests against the edge of the desk. You fight to keep your gaze on his face.

“Today we’re gonna start with talkin’ about the instigators in our parallel texts.”

And you try to listen, you really do.

Try to focus on his words as he talks, spouting thoughts about antagonists of war, about Helen and Menelaus, about Paris of Troy, but you can’t get past the spread of his thighs against the desk. The way his body moves when he finally rises, wandering to-and-fro across the space. How his thick thumb presses against the clicker in his hand, slides shifting on the wall behind him. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the rough spell of his drawl vibrating inside your mind, spinning it’s yarn, and tangling itself in the space where rational thought normally resides. Birthday. It’s Joel’s birthday. Your hands clasp in front of your face, knuckle snagged between teeth, biting down, clinging to some far reach of clarity; something to bring you back to the ground and halt the dallied trance you seem to come under whenever he’s nearby.  

Birthday, birthday, birthday.

As he discusses the Judgement of Paris, your mind wanders to a teacher you had as a child. A stern woman in her sixties who was fearsome among the gang of six-year old’s you roamed in. One year it had rained on your birthday, a spitting storm of hail and thunder. And when you cried, she told you that it only rains on your birthday when you’ve been a bad little girl.

It was sunny the next year, but she wasn’t your teacher anymore, and there was no one around to praise you for how good you must’ve been that year. For how hard you must’ve strived to achieve such wonderful sunshine on your special day.

A wry smile splits your face, tucked into the back of your hand, for you know better than anyone else just how bad Joel has been. And yet today, for his birthday, the sun shines.

He steps closer to the front row of seats, and your eyes glean across the lettering on his pin; the words Birthday Boy laid out in gold. A huff of laughter escapes you, and then your eyes are drifting up, past tan skin and scruffy facial hair, to find Joel staring straight at you. Dark, intrigued eyes. Assessing you, undressing you. Frowning.

“Somethin’ to add?” he clips.

The smile slides off your face. “Sorry?”

“Do you have somethin’ to add?” he drawls, unimpressed. The words slow and paced out as if he were speaking to a fool. “You seemed amused.”

“Oh,” you blink.

You shift awkwardly in your seat, straighten up, aware of every set of eyes in the room on the two of you. Joel’s face is stony, unimpressed. It’s the first time he’s made direct eye contact with you since you stepped into the room, and he is… on edge, clearly.

“No,” you decide on the safe answer, tone firm. “Nothing to add.”

He stares for a moment and then nods. Mutters a stern Pay attention underneath his breath before returning his gaze to the rest of the room. You scoff quietly, and swallow down the stab of embarrassment his words bring. The feeling is sour in your mouth, like the seed of a lemon is stuck behind your teeth.

Two seats to your left you hear a poorly concealed titter. Turn your head to spot a woman, maybe a year or two younger than yourself, giving you a pitiful smirk. You arch an eyebrow. Mouth what?

She simply shakes her head at you and turns to look at Joel, all glossy lips and doting gaze as she listens to his continued ponderings about Menelaus' role in the Trojan War.

You watch her for a moment. Note the way she laughs at his jokes, smiles as he goes off on a mindless tangent about something you aren’t paying attention to; hanging onto his every word. And you wonder if this is how you look to other people when you watch him. Another stark-raving Maenad, thirsting and possessed by the spirit of this Bacchant of a man. The Roaring One. The one with bedroom eyes and cheeks like wine. Joel Miller; fraught, brooding, and willing to embarrass you in front of a room of your peers to feel an inch of the self-control you've so easily ridden him of. A Dionysian fit to oppose the doomed Bacchant inside of you, whose mouth foams and eyes roll in ecstasy at the mere presence of him.

He crosses the front of the room, back and forth, and you imagine him as a bull of a man. Golden locks and thorned head, thyrsus in hand as he commands the attention of an enthralled audience. Corrals them to follow him, to adore him. And yet the image you create is distorted at best, a watered-down version of the truth, for what spites you the most is that he simply… doesn’t have to try. There are no attempts to convince; no persuasion in his voice, no dishonesty necessary as the room swoons for him. As you yourself yearn for him. Covet his touch, his body, akin to that of a God’s.

And perhaps there is some immorality there, some gross misalignment of hubris, that yearns to reset the scale. To remind this man that indeed you have knelt before him, but he knelt for you first.

The thought has your thighs pressing together.

“Well, Juno hates Aeneas because she hates Trojans. And for that we have Paris to blame,” he answers someone’s question with a chuckle. Gains a few scattered laughs in response. “Because we all know how Juno feels about Paris.”

You rise from your chair, legs shifting before your brain can catch up. Take careful, tip-toed steps towards the exit. Joel’s eyes drift in your direction, curious gaze draping over the bare skin of your legs as he talks. Just for a second though, a split second, before he’s looking determinedly back to the room, and you’re disappearing from his line of sight.

“And so, she thwarts the Trojans every chance she gets,” his voice grows softer as you stray farther from the door, until it’s nothing more than a vague purr down the hall. You wander into the women’s bathroom and slip inside an empty cubicle.

Birthday, birthday, pay attention, birthday, they make everyone wear one on their birthday, pay attention.

Your brain is abuzz, nerves alight as you place your phone carefully atop the toilet paper dispenser. Trembling fingers graze the hem of your skirt, the warm skin of your thighs, and yes you’ve been wet since you saw him. Turned on from just the sight of him, the sound of his mellow voice, the idea that maybe, just maybe, today you will get to touch him again. You can feel how it clings to your panties, sweet soft warmth pooling out of you, a dizzying wetness that longs for Joel to come and find you. To take you in his hands, tilt you down to his parted lips, and drink it from the source. 

Your fingers are cold against your skin. A delighted shiver swims down your spine as you graze them along the front of your underwear. Barely touching, hardly any pressure, simply grazing over the spot where your clit has begun to pulse. A little firmer now, you press against the thin material of your underwear, let it slip between your soaked folds. You bite your lip to contain a soft sigh, and smile as you feel how wet the material is getting. Once you’re satisfied you pull your hand away, leave a shimmering streak against your leg where you wipe your fingers, and reach for your phone.

Position one foot on the closed seat and rest your back against the cubicle wall, angling the phone between your spread thighs. Tilting your phone this way and that until the camera catches you in the perfect light; the flared material of your skirt bunched around your hips, the shiny smear across your inner thigh, the damp stain of slick against the front of your light blue panties. You take a few pictures. Trail your hand down your stomach and let it appear in some of them as well; fingers poised over the band of your underwear, just a tease. Finally content, you tuck your phone away, splash some cold water on your neck, and wander back into the lecture theatre.

Joel looks up when you walk inside. He’s seated behind his desk now, the room quiet as people jot down notes, eyes flitting between their laptops and the presentation displayed across the wall. Furrowed eyebrows and brown eyes shining with that barely-contained interest they always seem to hold when he looks at you these days. You offer him a nonchalant smile before turning your back to him. Sway your hips with exaggerated emphasis as you waltz up the stairs, slide back into your seat, and take your phone back out.

No one’s watching you now. Not your fellow Maenad, with her sharp judgemental eyes. Not even Joel. Your fingers dance their way into your text thread with him, and you select your favourite from the pictures.

You glance at the two lone messages in the thread, gaze lingering on the second message.

That can’t happen again.

Hesitation grips you, fingers hovering over the screen as you contemplate the seriousness behind the words. And then you hear him answer someone’s question, and the rough drone of his voice has you pressing send anyway.

Happy Birthday Professor x

You imagine you can feel the vibration of his phone. Feel it groan and shift in the pocket of his pants, screen lighting up. You wonder if he’s saved your name in his phone, or if a picture of underneath your skirt just popped up from an unsaved number. You try to focus on the article laid out in front of you. Stare at the messy under linings, at the notes on the margins made in your chicken-scratch handwriting, and wait.

It doesn’t take long to feel the heat of his gaze, almost paranormal in its effect. You can feel it’s weight – how it glides across your skin, sticky, viscous, and impossible to ignore.

When you glance up, you have to resist the urge to shrink into your seat. Joel’s face is a mess of emotions. Square jaw clenched tight; lips sealed. Stormy eyes that dart furiously between you and his lap, where you imagine his phone rests. Previously neat curls are now tousled and stressed over. You watch he glares downward, and drags tight fingers through the locks again. He doesn’t look up for a long time after that. Shoulders hunched forward, chin to his chest as he stares down.

Joel doesn’t stand up for the last 90-minutes of the seminar. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t joke. And he certainly does not look in your direction again. Not until the little hand on the clock strikes 11 o’clock, marking the end of his seminar, does he even entertain your side of the room. And not until the last student files out the door do you rise and meet him by the desk, a knowing look in both of your eyes.  

You walk ahead of him the entire way to his office. Joel keeps an all-too casual distance from you, but you can hear the weight of his steps against the hardwood floors. Can feel his looming presence over your shoulder – sense his bursting need to get you alone. You only fall into step beside him when the office door comes into view, and then he’s herding you towards it, palm pressing flat against the small of your back in trivial, insistent shoves.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Joel nudges you inside his office.

There’s music playing inside. Soft waves of sound undulating toward you from the record player, and yet when he drags the door shut behind him you still hear the undeniable click of his key turning the lock. The window is closed, curtains half-drawn, and the air in his space is warm; almost stuffy from lying dormant and empty for hours.

Silently, Joel makes his way across the room to where his record player sits. Your eyes trail him faithfully, trained on how his shoulder blades shift like tectonic plates beneath the thinning fabric of his shirt. The urge to wander forward and pull it off him is intense. To run your nails down his skin and leave marks on his body the way he’s done to you.

“You think you’re funny?” his voice comes, a low murmur that you almost miss through the music. He lifts a hand and pulls the glasses off his nose. Tucks them carefully onto the table.

“Funny?” you reply, mouth suddenly dry.

Joel shifts the needle, restarting the record. Momentary silence swells into a bright intro, and he’s turning to look at you, thick arms folding across his chest. Your heart is a galloping staccato behind your sternum. A bead of sweat glides from the hollow of your throat down your chest, dampening the fabric of your shirt.

“Sendin’ me that picture of your pussy all wet for me,” he tuts softly. “Knowin’ damn well, I couldn’t do anythin’ about it.”

You swallow as he takes a step towards you. His hands drift to the front of his body, and you watch with bated breath as long fingers begin working at the silver buckle on his belt.

“Y’gimme nothin’ for weeks, don’t even pay attention during my fuckin’ classes, and then…” he pauses, almost glaring at you. But it’s not contempt in his eyes. No, it’s something else, something deeper—black brown peppered with frustration and lust and… There’s a lump in your throat. Something heavy that presses against your windpipe and makes it hard to swallow.

“You get off on this, hmm?” he asks, voice gravelly. “Torturin’ me? Makin’ me wait?”

“I’ve been busy,” you murmur, eyes fixed on where he drags leather through the beltloops of his pants. He discards it on the ground between you – an offering, an invitation.

“Busy girl,” he murmurs dryly. “And what about now? Now that I’ve got you here all alone… you gonna make me beg for it?”

Your pussy clenches at the thought of him on his knees, palms clasped in his lap, and it has that slick heat pooling between your legs. You want to denigrate him the way you feel he has done to you. Order him to kneel, to apologise, to fucking beseech you. But Joel’s eyes are dark, face drawn as he watches you. And you know that you’ve already gotten even.

Royal blue swims in your vision and you give him your best smile. Shake your head and say, “Not today, birthday boy.”

Something glints in his eyes, hands twitching by his sides. You mirror him, finally inching forward a step across the carpet. His belt is solid beneath your shoes.

He’s shifting in an instant, swallowing the final stretch of distance between you until his chest knocks into yours. The breath rushes from your lungs at the contact, and his hands are clasping your face, mouth slipping against yours in a brutal collision.

It’s rough, messy, teeth knocking and chapped lips. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since that night at the bar, and it consumes the both of you.  

Joel’s body seizes yours, wraps around you and holds you to him, gripping the skin of your arms, your neck, your face, anywhere he can reach. Saliva pools in your mouth and wells into his, low sounds of desire being swapped back and forth between dripping tongues. There’s something desperate about it – how his lips bruise against yours. Something earnest and needy and urgent in the way his thumbs dig into your jaw, fingers tangling in the hair around your ears.

You’re gasping into his mouth, hands dropping to undo his zipper in a frenzied hurry. You can feel him behind the material, a firm bulge that becomes more and more evident as you work to get him undressed. His hands drop to your waist, your ass, and he’s pressing up, up, up the hem of your skirt, nails digging into skin as he squeezes and pulls you flush against him. Broad palms splayed across searing flesh, the tips of his fingers dragging dangerously close to where you’re aching for him. Your fingers shift from his pants to your own shirt, gripping the hem to tear it over your head—but Joel stops you. Bats your hands away and hoists you off the ground instead.

“Shit,” you huff in surprise, holding his shoulders for support as his arms tighten like a vice beneath your thighs and around your waist. He cuts you off with another sweltering kiss, and he’s moving. Stumbling blindly backward, a blurred mess of two people, all harsh exhales and clashing teeth, tilting back, back, back until his calves hit the armchair and he’s dissolving into it, dragging you down with him. Your knees sink into the plush fabric on either side of his waist, and his hands are on you, bunching your skirt up around your hips until your underwear is visible. He breaks the kiss and looks down quickly, lip curling upward as he takes in the sight of your barely covered cunt hovering over his lap.

“Fuck me,” Joel breaths. He cants his hips upward, clothed cock grinding against you. The pressure on your clit is exquisite. It has your nose scrunching up as your shallow breaths flutter the curls across his forehead. “Dress like this for all your classes?” he asks, fingers snapping at the band of your panties before his hand drops to cup your entire sex. “Fuckin’ filthy girl.”

“No,” you gasp as his palm settles over you. “Only—oh fuck, no, no, only yours.”

A rough sound escapes him, and he’s pushing the material of your underwear to the side. Thick fingers glide over the coarse hair on your mound, dipping in between your folds, right to the beating centre of you. You stare at his face while he stares at the swollen mess between your thighs. 

“S’damn right,” he grunts. His eyes are ablaze. “Just for me.”  

Your eyelids flutter closed, face warming at the words, and you’re whimpering as he rubs firm circles over your clit. Joel’s tongue presses against yours, coaxes your jaw open until it aches.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he marvels into your mouth. “Always so fuckin’ wet.”

A finger drops to your slick hole, slips slowly slowly slowly inside until the tip of it is curling against the soft spot inside you that he reaches so fucking easily. The air in the room is thin, his breaths a hot wash against your face, and a languid moan snakes its way out of your throat.

“Quiet.” Joel adds a second finger. It’s everything and nothing at the same time. Fingers so long, so thick – fingers that pale in comparison to his cock.

“I want you,” you gasp.

“Hmm?” he hums dangerously.

“Please,” your head tilts back, mouth ajar and thighs trembling as he works you open on his fingers. Joel lets out an impatient sound, and then his fingers drop from your swollen core, and he’s holding a condom. He must’ve pulled it from his back pocket, or between the cushions of the chair, but you don’t dwell on it. Don’t care where or how or why, too restless to be filled to ask; just give a pleased nod and lean back so he has enough room to free his cock from his pants.

The thick weight of it rests in his palm. He’s swollen and thick, the tip a deep rosy colour that reminds you of his flushed cheeks, his puffy lips, and has your mouth watering. And it’s wet with slick strands of precome that drip down his length to meet the movement of his fist.

“S’this what you were thinkin’ about?” Joel breathes shakily. “Got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock?”

“Yes,” you bite your lip. Watch him tear open the foil packet and roll latex down his length. You ignore the familiar urge to say forget it just take me I’m here and I’m yours just fuck me. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. Drags his cock against the dripping seam of your cunt. “Say that again.”

“Please,” you repeat, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. “God, Joel, please.”

A sharp wet smack and a trembling gasp fill the air as he taps the tip against your clit, and then rests himself at the notch of your entrance.

“Show me how bad you want it,” he orders huskily, hands drifting to rest on the arms of his chair. “Go on, fuckin’—ride it.” 

Breathing heavily, you reach down to grip him. holding his length still as you lower yourself over his lap.

There’s a stinging resistance there – your body pushing back against the size of him, against the angle.

Joel’s fingers drape against your clit and he rubs soft circles above the spot where you’re connected. You grip the back of the chair, face twisted in muted concentration. 

“C’mon,” he breaths, jaw set with clear intention. “Fuckin’ drippin’ for me, y’can take it, I know you can. Yeah—yeah, that’s it.”

You sigh, body relaxing, and you’re pressing down, through. Sink down on him another inch, and then another, until he’s bottoming out inside of you and the skin of your thighs is flush with his pants and he’s making this rough, low sound from deep in his chest. Your mind goes blank for a moment, vision whiting out and lungs squeezing as you hold your breath and adjust to the sheer size of him, to the delicious burn between your thighs where he’s stretching you. And everything is soft and hazy around your mind, but you can see Joel’s eyes on you. The glassy, blissed out expression on his face as you clench around him. His hands drift to your waist, fingers groping bare skin underneath where he holds your skirt up.

“Fuck,” Joel pants. “So god damn tight.”

A pathetic whimper catches in your throat as you grind down, clit rubbing against the coarse hairs at his base. You’re so full, every sense heightened by the feeling of Joel, pressing you apart and making a home for himself inside of you.

Slowly—tentatively—you rock your hips forward, rutting against him in short, shallow movements. His hands encourage your body, guiding you along his cock as you gain confidence.

Soon enough your hips are lifting and dropping back onto him, over and over, tilting against him, doing whatever it takes to drag more hopeless sounds from his mouth. The music from his record player is a low, thrumming bassline in the back of your mind, every bright refrain of guitar punctuated by sharp gasps and elongated sighs.

Joel’s eyes shift from the space between your bodies to your face. Pupils blown, sweat beading along his forehead. Watching you, he seems to fall backward, into himself perhaps. His body goes slack against the armchair, head lolling back as he stares.

“Jesus,” he mutters lowly. “Missed this perfect little pussy.”

There it is again. Perfect, perfect, perfect. You clench around him at the word, rut your hips in a particularly rough movement that has Joel’s eyes rolling back and a guttural moan falling from his lips. His chest is heaving with ragged breaths, the tendons and veins in his neck on display as his chin tilts upward. A bright red flush has raised across the exposed skin of his collarbones, his neck. You lean in and lick the skin there, skirt your teeth across his pulsing jugular. Joel’s palm clasps the back of your neck, holding you against him. You can feel his thighs tensing below you, and then his hips begin to snap upward, meeting you thrust for thrust. The angle is harsh, and he's filling you to the brim, the tip of his cock bruising against the deepest part of you. You cry out against his skin, and the hoarse sound only spurs him on.

His wide palm shifts to hover at the base of your neck, slips beneath the collar of your shirt. Splays over your collarbone, dull fingernails grating against the skin above your breast, by your armpit. You lean back to let him see you, and his eyes drop to watch the way your hips roll over his lap. His finger snags on the strap of your bra and it snaps against your skin.

“Take it off,” you mutter urgently. Need to feel his skin against yours. Chest to chest. Heart to hea—

“No.” His hips snap up into yours faster, knocking the breath from your lungs. One hand grips the armchair, one his shoulder, trying to find some kind of leverage as he pistons into you from below. That fucking Birthday Boy pin is still stuck to his shirt, and blue flashes in the periphery of your vision. A particularly rough thrust has a loud moan parting your lips, but as soon as it begins Joel’s hand is crashing over your mouth, fingers gripping your face to silence the sound. Your eyebrows raise, silently questioning overtop his hand.

“Need to shut up,” he grits out. “Gonna—ohhh—gonna get us caught.”

You glide your tongue against his palm, taste the salt on his skin. Feel his fingers squeeze your jaw harder in response. And then your own hand is moving from his shoulder, fingers gliding across the sweaty skin of his neck, to slot over his mouth. You stare at one another, wild eyes locked, palms sealed over slick lips, and something fiery pulls taught between you. Liquid heat spreads through your muscles, tightening and loosening with every movement of his body against yours. You can feel the coil at the base of your stomach tightening. Your pussy throbs in a rhythm sympatico to that of your heartbeat, and your fingers squeeze around his face.

You can feel the vibration of Joel’s moans against your hand, and then his teeth are sinking into the soft flesh of your palm. For a moment you wonder if he’ll pierce the skin. Let your blood seep from the wound and spill across his tongue; a sacrificial offering. Drink you down, devour you as he lies within your body. You bite down on his palm in return, holding his gaze as your bodies grind and rut against each other.

Your back arches suddenly, and your forehead knocks against his as your orgasm steadily approaches. Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours. Your shoulders begin to lock up, thighs burning, but he doesn’t let up. His hips collide with yours at a devastating pace, and his free hand drops between your thighs. The pad of his middle finger circles your swollen clit, and you jerk against him, every nerve inside your body fraying and sparking.

Joel slurs a curse against your hand and then you’re coming with a haggard whine into his hand, walls constricting around him in a vice grip. You close your eyes only to discover that royal blue is stained on the inside of your eyelids, unavoidable. He is unavoidable. Even in the darkness of your own mind, he lurks. The smell of him in your nostrils, the taste of his spit in your mouth. You think you hear a garbled version of your name spoken into your palm, and then a stinging sensation rips across your ass as Joel starts to come, fingernails dragging across skin, as he grinds his cock desperately into your pulsing heat. Your eyes flutter open, body shivering with the aftershocks of your high, and you watch him. Admire the way his jaw softens beneath your grip, teeth retracting and leaving dull indents on your skin in their wake.

There’s a low pinch between your thighs. It rings out minutes later, a sullen ache, as you lift your hips and let him slip from your wet clutch. His hands fall from your body, and you suck in stale air, taking a clumsy step off his lap to stand shaking on the ground before him. There are circular white marks on his cheeks, lingering reminders of how you held him, smothering his wanton groans of pleasure. You watch them slowly fade to pink, and try to settle the unsteady breaths that wrack your frame.

Your fingers drop lazily to adjust your underwear, but then those hands are tilting your hips, encouraging you to turn until your back is to him. They slip beneath your skirt, find purchase on the band of your panties, and slide the drenched material down your legs. You step out of them, and gasp in surprise when he flicks your skirt up again. A shiver travels down your spine as he glides a finger through your swollen cunt.

“Joel,” you whimper, lips poised to say that it’s too much, too soon, that you need a second to breathe.  

But Joel exhales a quiet groan, and something sharp nips the sensitive skin of your ass. Peaking over your shoulder, you find Joel’s mouth there, wet tongue soothing over the mark his teeth made on your flesh. There’s a slip of blue clenched in his fist, held protectively in his lap beside his softening cock.

You feel the vibration of something against your skin, a murmur of words that you can’t quite make out, before he pulls back. Retracts all points of contact, carefully removes the condom, clears his throat softly as he tucks himself back into his pants. The tell-tale sound of the moment drawing to a close. You swallow down that familiar tang disappointment and hold out a hand for your underwear.

And then Joel surprises you.

This soft, teasing smirk lights up his face, and Joel knocks your hand away. A huff of surprised laughter escapes you as he rises and wanders toward the desk. You watch, stunned into silence, as he drags open a drawer on his desk and tucks that blue slip of fabric inside. It slides closed with a definitive thud, and Joel falls down into his desk chair. His eyelids must be heavy, because they droop closed while you watch.

There’s a damp patch at the bottom of his t-shirt that has your face in flames, but he doesn’t seem to care, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as his body relaxes into leather. Your legs tremble as you grip the strap of your bag, taking that as your cue to quietly head for the door.

“Liked your essay.”

You pause with your fingers on the door handle. Turn to find that his eyes are still shut.

“You’re only saying that becau—”

“No,” Joel interrupts, the firm tone a sharp contrast to his lax frame. Eyes open now. “It was good.”

You hum quietly and rock back onto your heels. Unsure of what to say, you settle on offering him a small smile. He nods in return. The silence drifts back in, and you find yourself unable to speak until his eyes close once more.

“Happy birthday, Joel.”

So softly, so as to not disturb. And you aren’t sure whether he heard you or he’s already fallen asleep, but you do notice the corners of his mouth tilt upward ever-so-slightly.

Friday.

A crimson tablecloth covers the expanse of the table. Deep dark red, almost brown, reminiscent of old blood.

Plates smeared with remnants of a dinner long-past litter the surface, dirtied knives and forks stacked precariously atop them. Sauces have hardened to thickened globs on the China, sticky and stale and calling out to be cleaned. But the end of the evening is nary in sight, as Ian, your gracious host, deposits another bottle of wine onto the table.

“It’s a Cabernet Franc,” he slumps back into his seat at the head of the table, directly opposite you. “My parents brought it back from their trip to Bordeaux this past Summer. A gift.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes for the thousandth time in three hours. Pour yourself a generous glass and taste it. Say, “I’m more of a Merlot fan,” despite being drunk as all hell and having zero knowledge to help discern between different wine grapes.

Pete offers a supportive smile, and you watch as his friends light fresh cigarettes that send plumes of smoke to the already stained roof of Ian’s apartment.

Ian’s girlfriend Claire, a wildlife and conservation biology undergrad, is draped across the chair to your left. Eyelids half closed; her slim fingers grip a half-smoked joint for dear life, hand hovering dazed in mid-air between her thigh and her face. You think back on the words Pete spoke to you this morning in the kitchen – there’ll be another woman there, don’t worry. And Claire’s great, I swear. You try to reconcile his words with the girl beside you, and the dank smell of burnt weed drifting toward you through the air. She’d been high when she arrived, and after speaking a measly three words of greeting in your direction, had sequestered herself to a chair and smoked through the entire dinner. When none of the others batted an eye, you held your tongue. And their nonchalance became clear when, upon completion of the meal—overcooked chicken, sticky carrots, and undercooked parsnips—Ian and Henry lit up cigarettes at the table too.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to attend the dinner party.

They’re really cool, Pete had blabbered into his mug that morning. We do it every Friday. It’ll be nice to have you meet some of my friends.

Oh, Pete. Cool, they are not.

Henry and Ian, friends from one of Pete’s environmental engineering units, are filthy rich. The kind that you can smell from a mile away. The kind that radiates from their expensive clothes, their manufactured pearly teeth, their god-awful haircuts. The kind of rich boys that have their own apartments in Portland, paid for by a Mummy and Daddy who holiday in Europe every summer—a trip that Ian has managed to bring up at least once an hour since the moment you met him.

The one beautiful, stunning, gorgeous saving grace is that there is alcohol – enough to ply yourself with in order to deal with Ian, who asked what your postgrad was in and replied slyly, “Oh, a fun one.” Ian, who, upon learning about your translation internship in Greece, said, “Sounds like you had a marvellous vacation.”

In return, you sat like a good little house guest—ornament—and listened to the three of them talk ad nauseam about engineering. Consume glass after glass of wine, decline cigarette after cigarette; you get profusely intoxicated as they debate—interrupt each other—the validity of different pollution control policies.

It’s not until early in the fifth hour of the dinner that Ian raises the topic of philosophy.

“It’s curious, that’s all,” he says, cigarette hanging limply between wine-soaked lips.  “That these old guys would just hang out all day and… what, talk? Never understood why people rave about Socrates and Aristotle all the time. Just a bunch of sad sacks that liked the sound of their own voices a little too much, if you ask me.”

You hum against the rim of your glass, decidedly unbothered. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times, in a hundred different ways. His dining chairs are stiff, and your ass is aching against the heavy mahogany. Pete shifts awkwardly to your right. You can feel him looking at you, trying to gauge your impending reaction, and your face remains placid, numb from all the wine rushing through your veins.

“Is that what your degree is like?” Ian asks. “A bunch of old guys who love to listen to themselves talk?”

And that almost makes you crack a smile. You respond with a lacklustre shrug that neither confirms nor denies his suspicions, and definitely don’t think about—

“I don’t know,” Henry slurs, shooting a pointed glance in your direction. “I used to date this girl—”

“You fucked her once,” Ian interrupts.

“—Rita—"

“Rose.”

“—and she studied all that shit. Used to tell me about that guy who, he, uhm,” Henry pauses. Belches loudly. “He said something about God committing suicide and like, we’re his body or—wait what is it?”

“Mainländer,” you nod, mildly surprised. “Yeah, it’s a creation theory of sorts – God commits suicide to create the universe, and we’re all living on his decaying corpse.”

“What do you think of that?”

“Of a potential God’s potential suicide?”

“Yeah,” Henry grins dopily.

You sigh. “Would’ve been cooler if he left a note, I suppose.”

Henry guffaws loudly, leans back until his chair is balanced precariously on two legs. The cigarette falls from his fingers to his lap, glowing orange cherry leaving charred ashy marks on his jeans. If you were more sober you might’ve said something. But as if were, you just laugh and drain the final dregs of wine from your glass.

“So, your degree involves stuff like that?” Ian asks then.

“Sometimes,” you hum, already bored with the hint of mockery you sense in his tone. “We study the societies as a whole, so yeah, there’s talk about philosophy on occasion.”

“And mythology,” he wiggles his eyebrows from across the table, fluttering his fingers in the air. “Must be fun to talk about made up ideas all day.”

Henry clears his throat roughly and plucks the cigarette out of his lap, all remaining hints of laughter filtering into silence.

You stare. Feel your hackles rise. Sharper this time, as a more acute sense of irritation floods your system. “You do know that Greece and Italy are real countries with real histories, right?”

Claire moves for the first time in fifteen minutes, takes a long drag from her joint. Exhales in your direction.

“Sure,” Ian shrugs. “But you have to admit, all the stuff about the Greek Gods is a little silly.”

You spare a quick glance in Pete’s direction and find him wearing a tight, awkward smile, looking at you with something apologetic in his eyes.

“Silly,” you repeat the word slowly. It as though your brain is working at a thousand miles a minute, desperate to catch up with the conversation. Constantly two steps behind wherever Ian is dragging you. And he’s giving you this smarmy, sympathetic smile that screams oh your poor thing, you have no idea how poor your future job prospects are, and you’ve seen that smile a hundred times, had this conversation a thousand more, and you can suddenly envision yourself reaching across the table and pouring your glass of wine into his lap.

“And what about the rest?” you ask tersely. The collar of your shirt scratches against your neck, and his cigarette is spilling ash onto the fucking table, and he’s an asshole, and you want to throttle him for getting off on belittling you.  

“The rest?”

“The rest,” you nod. “I suppose I can admit that those gods are silly, so long as we’re also admitting how fucking laughable biblical Gods ar—"

Pete says your name sharply. You pause, seal your lips shut. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the wary glint in his eyes a reminder that you’re a guest in Ian’s apartment. Ian’s apartment that was paid for by Mummy and Daddy; Ian’s apartment that has a crucifix above the kitchen entryway.

“More wine?” Pete asks smoothly. He’s rising from the table before you can respond, lifting the bottle and pouring a swell of red into your glass. Ian’s grin broadens, and a fresh round of irritation flares across the back of your alcohol sodden brain.

“Gimme a second,” you mutter, pushing your chair out. Your body sways as you stand, blood rushing to your head. Blinking the dizzy spell away, you grip Pete’s shoulder for leverage and make your way past him, shuffle down the hall and into a swanky bathroom. Your feet are heavy, mind a blur, as you collapse onto the toilet seat and rest your face against the cool tiled wall.

“Silly,” you grumble under your breath. “You’re fucking silly… asshole.”

Digging your phone from your pocket, you squint against its harsh light. Fingers fumble across the screen to your messages app. Tap Nora’s name, and hold your finger against the voice memo button.

“Nora,” you mumble, nose squished against tile. “It’s awful, you... I need you to save me.”

There’s a roar of laughter from the dining room.

“Why do men always have to be the smartest person in the room?” you continue as the sound dies down. The tile is cool against your skin, a welcome reprieve from the boozy flush that’s taken over your body.

“Pete is such an—” hiccup “—asshole for inviting me to this, I swear—”

Your phone hits the ground with a sharp clatter, and you curse, torso tilting forward as you reach clumsily for it. When you tilt the screen back to your face, a jolt rushes through you. You stare for a moment, dumbfounded, at the picture. There’s the soft sound of rushing water in your ears – your pulse, you realise.

“No,” you mutter, senses sharpening the longer you stare at the picture; your soaked blue panties. At the voice memo underneath said picture, that had certainly not gone to Nora. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no.”

A moment of painful clarity comes when you make out the delivered sign below the voice message. Blurry eyes dance across the screen, vaguely deciphering the capitalised word MILLER. Panic swirls in your stomach, a churning writhing thing that feels a lot like nausea.

And then a text appears.

Are you drunk?

Your thighs are still numb from sitting for so long, so you slink dejectedly onto the floor and type out a response.

yes

that wasn’t for you

Ten minutes pass. You stare at the bright screen until worn-out tears prick in your eyes.

Doing okay?

tired

ate bad food, drank alotta wine

Probably time to go home.

cant drive

thought you hada phd? telling me to drunk driev

bad profeseor

Five minutes. Pete knocks on the door to ask if you’re okay and you assure him that you’re fine.

Where are you?

You type out the address carefully. Wash your hands in the sink and combs wet fingers through your hair to tame your appearance before skulking back into the dining room, where the vulture awaits you.

“I’m going,” you announce blandly. Claire is asleep, you think. Ian and Henry are playing an aggressive game of cards. Only Pete looks up.

“How are you getting home?” he frowns.

“Got a ride,” you mutter. Collect your things and give his shoulder a brief squeeze before slipping out the front door.

The air is cool outside the apartment building. A sharp breeze whistles through the parking lot, snakes it’s way beneath your clothes to curl against your skin. You welcome the chill. Rub lazily at the goosebumps on your arms as you glance at the last text from Joel.

Be there in 20.

You’re perched on the stoop when headlights finally appear. You curse, eyes smarting as you duck to avoid the harsh fluorescents, and then a black truck is idling a few metres away, engine purring. The passenger door kicks open and you squint, trying—and failing—to see inside through the darkness. Until—

“Get in.”

You’re barely in the car before Joel is pressing a bottle of water into your hand. The plastic is sweating, damp with condensation, and you sigh in relief. Press it against your neck, your face.

“Drink it,” he says sternly. You crack an eye open and look at him. He’s so close. Just a hairsbreadth from you, in a soft t-shirt and jeans. Glasses on the end of his nose. Fluffy hair—bed hair. There’s a soft frown on his face that dips and rolls in your vision. A downward tilt to his mouth as he puts the car in drive and tears away from Mummy and Daddy’s apartment.

“Hey,” you give him a lop-sided smile.

“Hey."

“Were you in bed?”

“You stink,” Joel ignores your question. “You chain-smokin’ in there? Christ.”

“Not me,” you huff in frustration. Take a small sip of water, careful not to spill on the seat. “They were smoking at the table. While we were eating.”   

“Who was?”

“Pete’s friends.”

“Who’s Pete?” Joel grunts. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and his eyes are set on the road. Only when you don’t respond does he look back at you.

“Who’s Pete?” he repeats. Something stony in his voice. You smile.  

“One of my roommates,” you offer. “Why? You jealous?”

“Quit it,” he bites out. “You gonna tell me where you live or am I s'posed to guess?”

Your smile spreads into a full-blown grin as you type your address into his phone. He snatches it from your hand and tells you to drink it all. You sit in silence for a while after that. Roll down the window and let your hand rest outside the car, fingers fluttering as the wind whips past them. He’s driving fast, green traffic lights blurring in your vision, and you feel your head spin faster, harder. Mumble under your breath.

“What?” he asks, voice too loud.

“Slow down,” you repeat, inhaling a deep breath. You feel him ease his foot of the gas instantly, a hand coming to hover over your knee.

“You feelin’ okay?” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

You let your eyes slip shut. Just for a second. A minute. And then—

“Hey.” A firm hand is on your shoulder. Thumb pressing into the skin beneath your collarbone. “Wake up.”

You jolt upright in the seat. Rub a palm roughly against your eye. Forget that you’re wearing makeup until you see black smeared across your hand.

Joel is saying something as you climb out of his truck, but you don’t hear it. Too busy pressing the door shut behind you and stumbling up the paved path to your house. Cool metal slides in your palm, numb fingers grappling for purchase. You scratch the key against the door’s aperture once, twice, and then feel it slip from your hand. A wave of dizziness hits as you watch it clatter against the ground.

“Shit,” you grumble. Bend down to pick it up. Rise and try a third time as silver swims in your vision. You hear a car door slam, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and slur another impatient curse under your breath.

“Let me help,” he says from behind you.

“It’s fine,” you protest, skin searing with embarrassment.  

“C’mon.” Joel’s warm hand covers yours. Pries the key from your palm and unlocks your front door in a one easy movement. “Let’s get you inside.”

“I can do it.”

“Just let me help you.”

You practically float down the hall, buoyed by the thick arm around your waist, towing you along. In your room, Joel clicks on the lamp in the corner. Dim orange light envelops the space as you fall back onto your bed with a huff, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of your stomach.

“You need more water before you sleep” he says. “And a fuckin' shower.”

“Mmm,” you agree, eyelids fluttering. “I'm… just gonna lie here for a second.”

The responding sound is that of heavy footsteps disappearing down the hall. A fleeting rush of liquid somewhere in the distance. Your eyes close for a minute, maybe two, and reopen to find Joel’s broad frame hovering in the doorway, holding a glass of water and gripping the doorknob as he assesses your most private space. Your eyes are hardly open, but you can see him in the dim light. Glancing into the darkness of the hall and then back to you, slumped messily against the pillows. After a thick moment of silence, he steps decidedly across the threshold, and closes your bedroom door behind him.

As you watch him, you begin to feel a sense of startling clarity.

Joel Miller, in your house. Joel Miller, in your bedroom. Joel Miller… seeing you make a complete fool out of yourself.  

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out.

“What?” Joel asks sharply. He rounds the bed in two quick strides, and then he’s pressing a glass of water on your side table and sitting beside you. His weight on the side of the bed has the mattress dipping, your body tilting onto your side to face his back. A wave of nausea strikes suddenly, and you suck your lips into your mouth. No.

“Y'oughta warn me if you’re gonna be sick,” he warns.

“M’not.”

“You better not.”  

“I won’t.”

“Think you’ll need about ten of those,” you hear him say. “But one glass is a good start.” 

But there’s already an ocean inside you. Rocky, white-wash waves that lap at the walls of your stomach, press against your lungs, and have your mind swaying even as your body lies still. Fingers, moving faster than your brain, seek purchase. Crawling across the sheets to snag your index through a belt loop on the back of his jeans. Chilled skin against worn denim, an anchor. Something sturdy to calm the eddying current inside you.

“What’re you—”

“Did you have a good day yesterday?” you interrupt, eager to distract yourself.

Joel is silent for a while. Keeps looking down at you until he finally says, “Yeah,” so quiet that your ears strain to hear it.

There’s a hint of something there that you can’t quite read. An emotion that he holds clasped in tight hands, just beyond your reach. You let it be, mind distracted by the soft orange light emanating from the lamp. When you close your eyes it glows against the back of your eyelids, vibrant swaths of sunset and marigold that make it hard to fall asleep just yet.

“Seventy, right?” you tease.

An indignant scoff rings out, and you squeak as a set of rough fingers pinch at the skin of your exposed stomach. The quickest touch, just a graze of flesh, before he’s pulling back. You laugh easily, open your eyes to look at him again.

“Careful now,” he warns. But you can see humour in the lines by his eyes, the quirk of his lip.

Your finger wiggles against his belt loop, tugging on the material there once. A tired patience in your eyes as you wait.

“Fifty,” he finally concedes, smile wavering as his gaze darts to the sheets.

“Mhm,” you murmur. Lips part as you let loose a low, impressed whistle. It comes out as more of a lacklustre exhalation of air. Joel’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter when he meets your eyes again, a little more relaxed. “The big five-oh, huh?”

“The big five-oh,” he repeats simply. Tired as you are, you can see the question in his eyes. This searching, curious thing that rakes across your features, waiting to note any hint that you might be perturbed by the fact.

“S’nice,” you offer quietly instead. “Get any good gifts?”

The muscles in his neck strain, shirt tightening around his shoulders as he turns to look at you head on. Soft eyes gleam with something darker, teasing, as his lips pull into a lazy smirk.

“Sure,” he agrees, voice low, suggestive. “Good’s one word for it.”

Warmth floods your stomach and your toes curl. But you falter under the intensity of his gaze, a weary heat rising in your cheeks as your gaze lowers to his collarbone.

“Hey," you say quietly. “Look, I appreciate you helping me out tonight, I just…”

Joel’s eyebrows pinch the middle of his forehead, relaxation dissipating as he stares.

“Sorry,” you grimace, skin on fire. All of a sudden, your finger feels swollen in his belt loop, a promise that you can’t keep, the fabric branding hot against your skin as the words tumble out of you. “I’m just, I’m pretty wasted, and I’m grateful, you know, but I don’t think I can—we probably can’t fuck tonight—"

Joel says your name quickly. His hand is gripping your bedsheets, sun-kissed skin against pale yellow. “We’re not fucking.”

Unwitting relief courses through you, and you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay, I just wasn’t sure if you thought maybe… I don’t know—"

“Thought that if I gave you a ride home you owed me a fuck?” he asks plainly, expression tight. A dark, frustrated laughs spills from his lips and his shoulders are tightening, muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt. “That’s not how this goes, darlin’. So don’t go thinkin’ that way, ever, y’hear me?”

You blink, eyes wide. Suddenly alert. Feel the warmth in your stomach spread to your chest, your thighs. Darlin’.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah, that’s—how does this work then?”

The indent between his brows only deepens as he gazes down at you.

“You call the shots,” Joel says. “I thought that was well established by now.”   

His brown eyes look so soft in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Honeyed and golden in the warm orange haze. You stare at them for so long that you lose track of whether or not he’s answered your question. Forget everything that isn’t the lines beside his eyes, the dark speck of his pupils, the wild hairs of his eyebrows. You feel yourself drift closer to sleep again.

“Pretty,” someone says faintly. You. “You’ve got brown eyes.”

“Jesus.” He’s still frowning.

“Brown-eyed girl,” you sing—slur.

“Alright, Van Morrison,” Joel grumbles, the lines in his face softening. “Drink up.”

You do as he asks, gulping down half the water while he watches. His fingers rest cautiously at the base of the glass in case you drop it. And when you’re finished, he takes it from your hands, stands. Another wave crashes inside you when the mattress shifts in the absence of his weight, and you drift, unmoored, onto your back again.

Joel is staring at you. Towering over the bed, hands jammed awkwardly against his hips. His presence so large, so looming. He crowds your small space, his size ensuring that there is no room for another; only you and him, you and him, you and him, and you call the shots. You squeeze your eyes shut, determined to block that thought out.

“I think I’ll go to sleep now,” you mutter. “If that’s alright with you, teach.”

Joel says something, but it’s a far away sound. You tuck your face further into your pillow.

You think you hear him say good night, or some version thereof, but you don’t hear him leave. Don’t hear his boots on the hardwood, or the creak of your bedroom door. Don’t hear his truck start up outside.

And when you wake, alone, you find that droplets of rain have settled on your windowsill, marking another wet September morning. But you don’t frown as you drag a sweater from your closet, nor as you draw the curtains and clamber back into bed. Don’t yearn for the warmth of Summer as the dull ache of a hangover ricochets inside your skull. For you can smell Joel on your sheets; can still feel his presence lingering in the corners of your room.

And that’s warm enough for you.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5

thank you for reading! x [and idgaf okay i was gonna put that birthday boy pin on him no matter what shitty excuse i had to come up with]

[jeonqbunny]

do it slowly

suguru geto x f!reader smut ♡

summary: your childhood friend suguru geto comes home for summer break after 2 long years of being away at college <3

content warning: soft dom!suguru x sub!f!reader, smut, porn w a plot, hair pulling, oral m!receiving, unprotected sex (he pulls out), uses of petnames (pretty girl, sweetheart, princess), biker suguru implied, quite a bit of fluff included.

word count: 6.1k (yappatron 6000 jesus christ </3)

today is my bday and i rlly hate this, but it took me so mf LONG to write.

about a year and a half have passed since you last saw suguru; the heat of the summer bringing back childhood memories of you two playing outside, be it in the trees around your house or running through the sprinklers in the lawn. you can’t help but sigh lightly, you miss him. he went out of state for college after graduation while you decided to stay back at home with your parents, it’s been lonely without him.

despite the air conditioner going full blast your forehead is still damp from the humid air of summer, reminding you of a fan you have on your desk that you could probably bring over to your bed. sitting up, you feel the immediately recognizable buzz of your phone on your thigh as you quickly snatch it up and see you have a text. it’s from satoru.

your prior mission of using the fan completely slipped your mind as you swiped the notification away rather quickly, readjusting yourself to lay down before opening it. your eyes narrowed at the message, your nerves immediately rising to the ceiling and beyond. “suguru is coming back for summer break?” you asked yourself out loud, chewing on the tip of your index finger as you reread the text over and over again. it was exciting, to say the least. seeing him again this soon was not something you exactly expected, but you weren’t complaining.

you read further to find out satoru was going to host a surprise “welcome home” party for him. this didn’t surprise you, though. satoru is suguru’s bestfriend, and ever since he left it’s just been you and him. the idea of all of you being back together again excited you, and you were curious to see how much suguru has grown. if he aged even half as well as satoru did, then he would be more than a little attractive.

you replied to satoru, informing him that you would be attending and helping him set up for it. after all, suguru was your beloved friend too. though you haven’t seen him since he left, unlike satoru who flew out quite often to see him with his daddy’s money. the last you heard, suguru had a girlfriend and was doing very well in his studies. 

you got ready to head over to satoru’s place to set up for suguru’s surprise party, picking up streamers and other corny party decorations on your way. you walked up to satoru’s front door, pretty much buried in all the decorations you bought as you struggled to hold yourself upwards. you let out an annoyed grunt at how long satoru took to open the door before you finally heard the door unlock and fling open. there he stood, his tall lanky figure resting against the door frame with an amused grin pulling at his lips.

“wow, you look like you’re really struggling there y/n.” he chuckled deeply, reaching forward and grabbing a couple boxes before stepping to the side to allow you space to enter his house. you let out a relieved huff when you set it all down on the table, finally being able to stand up straight. you glared at the snowy haired man, the urge to slap his cocky ass grin off of his face nearly consuming your entire being, but you decided on mercy.

“so what kind of party is this gonna be anyway? just a kick back with all of our friends or are you going to be extra like you always are?” you queried with a mocking tone, your gaze fixing up into satoru’s cerulean eyes through your eyelashes. 

satoru simply reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, a weak smile plastered on his glossy lips. “of course it’s going to be extra. you already know i wouldn’t have it any other way.” he snickered, his large hand coming up to his mouth in a mischievous manner. you couldn’t do anything but sigh and laugh along while shaking your head. the time passed quicker than you thought, the house slowly becoming decorated with balloons and streamers along with letters that spelled out “welcome home suguru” along the wall.

as the time draws near, you can’t help but chew the edges of your fingers a little raw in nervousness and anticipation to see suguru again. satoru catches this and smacks your hand away from your mouth, “you know suguru doesn’t like you doing that. stop it. go get a drink or something if you’re really that nervous…” he trails off with a look of ‘oh shit’ forming across his face, prompting a look of curiosity and confusion from you as you sneakily try to nibble a bit more on your pinky, eliciting another smack from him as a slight yelp fell from your lips.

“why’d you get all cold when you mentioned the drinks?” you ask, reeling slightly from the smack he laid on your hand. satoru sighs and ruffles his snowy shaggy hair in an exasperated fashion, “i forgot the damn drinks.” he grumbles lowly, his bright blue eyes shifting to the floor in disappointment. you stood there, absolutely dumbfounded by his utter stupidity.

“how the hell do you forget the drinks for a party?” you exclaim in a tone laced with annoyance and panic. “i don’t know! i just got lost in everything i guess.” he scraped the back of his neck in embarrassment for a moment before turning to you with a confident grin on his face. “look, can you go run out and buy a couple cases of beer or something?” he says, rustling around in his pocket before tossing his wallet at you. “nuh uh, no. i don’t wanna miss suguru’s arrival, someone else can go.”

“you and i are the only people who can drive here, plus what kind of host would i be if i were gone when he arrived? anyway, he won’t be here for like another thirty minutes. just don’t drag your ass and you’ll be fine.” he spits back in an irritated manner before you begrudgingly grab his wallet from where it landed beside you on the couch and head out to your car.

the drink run goes smooth enough, but then you hit traffic on your way back. shit. you are going to be late. the idea of being late because of satoru’s horrible planning only pissed you off even more. “how does that little idiot always convince me to do the work for him?” you sighed out loud, your hand reaching up to tug at your hair as the situation fully settled in. you tap at your steering wheel eagerly, your eyes rolling into your skull as you sit completely still in traffic. after a while of sitting and plotting satoru’s death, the cars finally started rolling. but by then it was already too late, the party had started well over fifteen minutes ago and suguru was most definitely already there.

you pulled up to satoru’s party, the street and driveway already significantly more filled than it was when you left. that’s when you saw it, a sleek black motorcycle sitting in the open garage. it caught your eye, and you were growing more curious to know who it belonged to as you wobbled your way to the door. you lugged the packs of alcohol up the small stairway leading to the front door, your arms struggling to reach the handle under the weight of the bags hanging off of them. 

finally, you managed to get the door open with a loud grunt and a deep breath following in your wake. you panted a bit, your chest heaving as you carried the heavy load of alcohol to the kitchen. you tossed them on the counter not so carefully, desperate to get the heavy weight off of your arms. you hissed, sucking in air through your teeth as you rubbed at your arms for a bit of comfort. 

you were busy soothing the ache in your arms when a familiar voice called your name from behind you. you immediately pivoted on your foot and spun yourself around to see a very tall suguru. you immediately pulled him in for a hug, holding onto him tightly as you rocked on your heels in excitement. he cackled under his breath, a dramatic ‘oof’ catching in his throat from your tight embrace. still, he returned the embrace just as tightly.

soon enough, you pulled away from the hug and shot him a look of amazement. his dark jett black hair now reached down past his mid back, and it was tied messily into a half up half down bun. it was quite the dramatic change in contrast to when you last saw him. his demeanor even felt the slightest bit different, and you couldn't quite place your finger on it. as you were lost in the view that was suguru geto, you felt your face heat up immediately as his lips formed a knowing smile. you knew you were caught checking him out, and you weren't exactly sure what to say in that very moment.

“you look good, y/n. i’m happy to see you again after so long, seems you’ve grown too.” he remarked breathlessly, his dark obsidian eyes grazing over your figure with the same amazement you looked at him with. you nodded to his statement, your eyes fluttering slightly as you offered him a polite smile.

“yeah, not as much as you though, clearly.” you muttered back, gesturing to his height with your arms in a teasing manner. he chuckled at your response, reaching forward to ruffle your hair with his hand. “why were you late? satoru said you were gettin’ drinks?” he quizzed gently, his voice low and smooth like honey and it was enough to make you feel like you were going to melt. you nodded your head in response, carping about how satoru forgot to buy drinks. he shook his head, tsking with a weak smile as his eyes remained fixed on you. “sounds like satoru, dude would lose his head if it wasn’t attached.” he quipped in a defeated tone, before your conversation was oh so rudely interrupted by satoru. “speak of the devil.” you muttered in annoyance, reluctantly pulling him in for a side hug as your gaze remained on suguru.

satoru chortled, his blue eyes rolling as he pulled you in a bit tighter, giving you one more extra affectionate squeeze before letting you out of his grasp. “i told ya to not drag your ass y/n, don’t be angry at me.” he shrugged, his face plastered with the mundane shit eating grin he normally wore. you simply crossed your arms and rolled your eyes, turning back to pour yourself a cup of liquor to ease your nerves as suguru and satoru chatted it up. 

you sipped slowly, your face turning in with disgust at the taste before nudging satoru on the shoulder. “i don’t want this, you have it.” you requested in a dramatically appalled voice, holding the red solo cup out for him to grab. satoru didn’t hesitate in the slightest, shrugging before throwing his head back and gulping it down with ease. the idea of doing it yourself making your stomach turn as you shivered at the thought.

suguru looked over satoru for a moment, but his gaze was primarily fixed on you. after nearly 2 years, you grew taller, your body grew to be womanly, and your voice even lowered a bit. it was quite a lot to take in, especially after not seeing you for what felt like so long. the house was buzzing with chatter and music, the smell of sweat and alcohol filling the air from all the people gathered around to celebrate suguru’s return. your eyes met suguru’s again, your breath hitched in your throat and the pounding in your chest made you a bit nervous. you weren’t entirely sure exactly why you felt the way you felt.

maybe it was the fact that you were seeing him again for the first time in two years. or maybe, it was just the way he looked now. it had you astonished, for lack of better words. not once within your ten years of friendship did you see him like that, but the way he looked at you with his nihilistic smile made that change in an instant. you were lost in thought before satoru nudged your arm, pointing at the crowd that was dancing; with an irritated looking suguru in his grasp. you nodded, waving them off to go have fun as you turned on your heels to exit out of the garage door. you drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes momentarily to gather your thoughts and calm your breathing.

that’s when you saw it again, a black motorcycle standing on it’s peg in front of your eyes. you stepped closer, observing it in curiosity of whose it could be to be sitting in satoru’s garage. you continued looking at it, checking for any signs of it being someone you know. and just as you were about to give up, suguru entered the dimly lit garage with a bashful smile gracing his lips.

“i see you found my bike, it’s nice huh?” he revealed that it was his bike, and it made your head spin in perplexity. just who was suguru now? “i- yeah actually it is nice. i didn’t know you rode one until now.” you admitted in a breathless mumble, your eyes darting between him and his bike. “your girlfriend into biker guys or what?” you puzzled playfully, fully unaware of what he was about to tell you.

“satoru didn’t tell you?” he laughed out loud, his large hands tucking into his pockets as he took a few steps closer to you and his bike. “we broke up, i found out she cheated on me a couple months ago.” he informed simply, his lips pursing into a thin line as he looked you up and down. well fuck, that’s awkward. you sighed in response, resting your hand on his shoulder briefly before letting your arm fall back down to your side.

“i’m sorry, satoru doesn’t tell me much about you these days so..” you looked up at him and smiled sheepishly, an apologetic look written all over your features. he shook his head, pulling his hand out of his pocket and wrapping his arm around your shoulder reassuringly. “no big deal at all, i know how satoru can be.” he replied shortly, a weak smile tugging on his lips as he looked down at you.

“i’m about to head out, you know i hate when satoru throws these over the top parties.” the idea of him taking off already made you feel a bit sad, but you weren’t going to stop him. especially because you were just as overwhelmed by them as he was. “you want a ride home, y/n?” his question made you jolt in shock.

“uh, n-no i’m fine, i drove here. thank you though.” you blubber out, still reeling from the shock of the question. “oh, alright then, no worries.” a definite look of disappointment crosses the otherwise stoic face, making you feel as if you need to back peddle. “but!” you shout almost a bit too loud from nerves as you try to salvage the situation, “we could always meet up at my house, just like the old times, huh?” a slightly unnerving smirk flashes across suguru’s face, making your heart beat all the faster, “sure, i’ll see you there.”

you wasted no more time in heading home, making it there quicker than you’d like to admit. you didn’t even think of saying goodbye to satoru as you pull into your driveway. your headlights shined on suguru who was sliding off his helmet in front of your car, his dark bangs falling into his face messily before he straightened them out. you swallowed thickly, enjoying the view

before pulling your keys out of the ignition and stepping into the warm night air. you let out a deep exhale, the sounds of crickets and your footsteps filling your ears.

you offered suguru a gentle smile, reaching forward to grab at his hand and drag him along with you to the front of your house. he chuckled from behind you, accepting your warm hand into his and enjoying the sense of nostalgia that you brought to him. you fumbled with your keys, doing your very best to unlock the door with your shaky hands. at once, you finally unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping inside with suguru almost glued to your back.

your parents were gone on vacation for the summer, so the house was empty and looked quite desolate as you made your way up to the bedroom with him. when you reached your bedroom, your hand smacked the wall on the inside of the door and slid around in an attempt to find the light switch. the lights finally flickered on, causing you to squint from the sudden intrusion of light. suguru stepped into the room in front of you, looking around with a bright smile.

“i see your room hasn’t changed very much. it’s cute, i like it.” he murmured, the smile on his face evident in his voice as he spoke. you nodded along, turning on a lamp and shutting off the over powering ceiling light. “yeah, didn’t have much of a need or want to change anything.” you replied with a tint of blush dusting over your cheeks as suguru took a seat on the edge of your bed with his legs spread apart.

“really? even these dumb little things?” he quipped snarkily, grabbing one of your teddy bears in his hand and squeezing it. you let out a whine, as if to protest against him before snatching it from his hands and stroking it’s head with your finger. “i’ll have you know that mr. teddy is not some dumb thing.” you growled back, your finger still tracing its plushy fur as suguru chortled under his breath. 

“nothing about you has changed, y/n. you’re as feisty as ever.” he stated firmly, his dark eyes flickering into yours as he awaited your response. you let out a soft sigh, setting the teddy bear back down onto the mattress before taking a seat next to him on the edge of the bed. “yeah, kinda have to be to hold my ground around satoru when you’re gone.” you provoked teasingly, a toothy grin spreading across your face as you looked back at him. “i’ve missed you, sugu.” you added, this time sounding a bit more sentimental.

“yeah i’ve missed you too, sweet girl.” he hummed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you in and press a tender kiss to the top of your head. he closed his eyes for a moment, his chin now resting there as he inhaled the scent of your shampoo. he let out a soft exhale, the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. “how long are you gonna stay? i assume just over the summer, yeah?” you quizzed as your eyes fluttered shut, your head still pressed firmly into his shoulder. 

“just for the summer.” he confirmed in a more somber tone now, his back eyes remaining closed as he pressed his lips on the back of your head once more. he pulled you fully into his lap, slotting you in comfortably in between his thighs with your back against his chest. he slid your hair to the side, revealing the back of your neck. he pressed another delicate kiss there, trying to gauge your reaction to it all.

your breath caught in your throat, your thighs pressing together in a desperate attempt to soothe the aching that was building up in between your legs. suguru took note of this, his arms now wrapping around your waist from behind. his lips moved from the back of your neck, his arm reaching up to hook his fingers around the collar of your shirt to reveal your shoulder. he peppered hot sloppy kisses to the sensitive skin, his tongue darting out every now and then to leave wet spots in his wake.

this elicited a small whine from you, your eyes slamming shut from the sensation as your body began to heat up and squirm in his lap. Your responsiveness mixed with your hips squirming against his groin caused his cock to stiffen against the fabric of his jeans, a low guttural groan falling from his mouth and sending vibrations into your shoulder. “s-sugu..” you whined, your head rolling to the side to give him better access.

“so you do want this, sweetheart?” he asked sweetly, his hands falling to your hips to hold you firmly in place as he moved to suck on the side of your neck. you had little to no way to form words at this point, however deciding to go with a simple nod wasn’t enough. “use your words, baby. i want to hear you say it.” he chuckled deeply into your skin, his lips grazing across the soft and sensitive surface teasingly.

you mewled in desperation, your hips bucking into his throbbing member that pressed against the small of your back. “i want it.. please.. need you sugu..” your voice was wobbly and laced with desperation. you were really exposing yourself at the moment, revealing that this is something you’ve been longing for for quite some time now.

he reached up with one of his hands to wrap your hair into a makeshift ponytail, tugging it around his knuckles harshly to force your head back as he sucked on your skin more feverishly now. “i thought so, you wouldn’t stop fucking me with those pretty eyes of yours all night.” he purred, his voice velvety and full of undying lust as he squeezed your hair in his hand even tighter. you cried out from the sting, your eyebrows knitting together at the painful sensation. your hand reached up to grip at his hand resting on your hip, squeezing it tightly in an attempt to ground yourself.

this caused him to laugh sadistically as he traced small affectionate patterns on the soft skin of your hand. his grip on your hair never faltered as he pulled you up by it and stood to his feet, gently forcing you to your knees in front of him. he muttered a small ‘sorry’ for the way your exposed knees smacked against the hardwood. you immediately know the drill, urgently reaching up to unbuckle his belt as you feel your wetness seep from your panties and onto the floor below. he tugged back your head by your hair firmly, clicking his tongue before he spoke. “slow, sweetheart. do it slowly, i wanna see how pretty you look when you swallow my cock. make sure you look at me while you do it, or i’ll make you stop.” he ordered sternly, his light and gentle voice strongly contradicting the harshness of his order, but you obeyed regardless.

you wanted nothing more than for him to just fill your mouth, so you happily obliged. you looked up into his dark hazy eyes, slowly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. with one small tug, his bulge was now visible through his wet and sticky boxers. you let out a needy moan, your eyelashes fluttering up at him as you pressed your tongue to the stain of precum at his tip, lapping and sucking at it through the fabric.

suguru sucked in air through his teeth, a moan coming out with his exhale as he looked down at you. his hand reached down to grip you by the chin and stroke your cheek with the rough pad of his thumb, a gentle smile resting on his lips. “not so feisty now are you? you’re such a naughty girl, didn’t know you had it in you to obey.” he teased, his abs rippling under his shirt as his body tensed up from the feeling of your pretty lips against the clothed tip of his cock. 

you let out a slightly annoyed groan at his statement, gently nibbling on the tip with your teeth to discourage him from teasing you like that. this caused him to tug at your hair roughly, ripping your mouth away from his throbbing cock. you shrieked at the sudden tug, your head reeling with pain before he spoke. “if you bite my dick like that again, i’m not gonna let you cum. and if i’m not mistaken– that’s definitely not what you want, is it pretty?” he grumbled, his voice a lot less gentle and a lot more hoarse. he dragged your head back to force your face into his cock once more, letting out a breathy giggle as his hips pushed forward to press his stiffened member to your cheek.

you definitely didn’t want to be denied the pleasure of cumming all over his cock, so you decided to comply this time around. you reached up and hooked your fingers around the waistband of his boxers, slowly dragging them down his muscular thighs as you looked up at him with an apologetic look in your eyes. he let out a soft hum of approval, his cock finally springing free from the tight fabric of his boxers.

the sight alone elicited a wanton moan to bubble up in your throat, his heavy and girthy member twitching in front of your face with precum dripping from the tip. you lapped at the tip of his cock, the salty taste of precum swirling around your taste buds. a normally unpleasant taste

became something you enjoyed, it sent a rush of arousal straight to your core. you savored it for a moment before wrapping your lips around the tip and swirling your tongue around it slowly. you allowed a full moan to come up your throat, sending vibrations down his shaft as your wet hot tongue slid over his slit. this alone caused his hips to rut forward further into your mouth, his hand that held your hair trembling slightly as he gasped.

the sudden rut of his hips caused you to gag, finally committing to taking him as far as you could down your throat. one of your hands gripped his toned thigh, digging your nails in as you tried to steady yourself, while the other reached up to cup his balls in your hand. suguru got needy enough to start thrusting into your mouth full force, pulling your head forward by the hair to match his pace. you gagged and whined around him, hot tears welling up in your eyes and streaming down your rosy cheeks as his heavy balls smacked into your chin.

"so good baby, your throat grips my cock so fucking nicely." moans of profanities and your name fell from his pretty lips, his voice growing to be more airy and hoarse. all the sudden he pulled his cock from your throat, letting out a loud groan from the loss of contact on his throbbing length.

you looked up at him as you coughed and tried to catch your breath, a long thick string of saliva connecting the tip of his cock to your lips. you sat on your knees for a moment, waiting for his next move as saliva and precum dripped down your chin and onto your chest. he was staring down at you, his thick veiny member coated in your saliva twitching right in front of your lips. "you look stunning when you struggle to breathe, angel. you look like such a cock hungry little girl." he wanted to enjoy this view for as long as he could, taking in the way your saliva soaked the white blouse you had on as your saliva dripped from your chin in a very lewd way.

he crouched down to your level, finally letting go of your hair, and it was immediately sore and achy from how tight he was holding it. but that thought quickly left your mind when he pulled you in for a delicate but heated kiss, his large hands cupping your dainty face as he began deepening it. his tongue slid across your bottom lip, tugging it in between his lips before plunging his tongue into your mouth. your tongues tangled together naturally, your lips melting into one another's as you moaned into suguru's mouth. the kiss was dirty, sure. but it held a feeling that felt like much more than just lust. 

with no warning he pulled you to your feet with ease, letting you rest against his chest momentarily to stabilize your wobbly legs before bending you over on the desk. your hands rested flat against the cold wood surface, shivering as he lifted up your skirt and grazed his fingers along the swell of your ass. “you’ve got such a nice ass princess.. don’t remember it looking this pretty last time i saw you.” he gritted his teeth, leaving a harsh smack on one of your

cheeks before tugging your panties off in one swift motion. you shrieked, the sting of his hand lingering on your ass caused your arousal to splatter down your thighs.

“already wet and all you’ve done is suck my cock a little.. that’s cute baby.” he hums, his large hand kneading on the flesh of your ass while the other one slides in between your folds, rubbing harsh circles on your clit and watching the way your body tenses up from his touch. his chest filled with pride, seeing you so fucked out for him already from just a couple brushes of his fingers.

he dipped two thick digits into your aching hole, holding still for a moment to really feel the way you fluttered around his fingers. you bucked your hips against his hand, desperate for him to give you even the slightest bit more. doing this caused his cock to throb painfully, hardly able to focus from his imagination of what it would be like to have your gummy walls wrapped around his cock. he took his fingers out slowly, a wet pop following before he licked them clean with an airy grunt. “i’ll have to taste you another time, i need to be inside you, now sweetheart.” he aired breathlessly, his hand gripped his thick cock and he moved forward to press the tip to your leaking entrance. 

he slid it up and down your slick folds, enjoying the lewd sound it made before pushing the tip inside of you. your body jolted forward as if to escape from the sudden but long awaited intrusion, a slight pain creeping into your cunt from the stretch of his dick nearly tearing you open. this causes suguru to yank your arms out from under you and pull you against his chest, shoving his cock all the way in. you yelped in pain, your pussy sucking him in desperately despite how much you were stretched as you began to moan and whine his name.

“it’s okay baby, just take it. i’m sorry for being so rough. but i mmhh– i need to fuck you.” he apologized briefly through broken moans before starting to thrust into you from behind. he held your arms behind your back tightly and shoved you face down onto the desk as his hips snapped into your ass. sounds of slapping, your mixed moans and the creaking of the desk underneath you filling the otherwise quiet room. he leaned down from behind you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before bullying into your cunt even further.

you squeal and squeeze your legs together as the tip of his cock pounded against your cervix repetitively, your mouth falling open and your eyes fluttering to the back of your skull. “s-sugu.. fuck meee oh my god–” you babbled on and on, you couldn’t even breathe, couldn’t even speak properly to tell him how much you loved him and the way he ruined you. his hand let go of one of your arms, reaching forward to grip the base of your throat and coax your head back before placing a kiss on the tip of your ear.

“i am fucking you, sweet girl.” he chastised with a chuckle, his other hand reaching down to slide under your shirt and raise it enough to roll your nipple in between his thumb and index finger. your body visibly shuddered from the pleasure, his hand leaving your throat to let your head fall back against the desk before reaching down to rub quick circles around your clit. immediately you felt your high creeping up on you, the pressure in your abdomen building and close to unraveling. 

suguru took note of the way you fluttered around his length, the way you gripped him causing him to clench his jaw. he didn’t want it to be over just yet, making quick work of flipping you onto your back against the the desk. he pushed your knees up to your shoulders, spreading your legs wide and admiring the sight of your dripping cunt before pushing back into you with ease.

he set the pace again, pressing his forehead to yours before capturing your lips into a deep kiss. it didn’t take long for you to get close again, the bottom of his navel rubbing into your clit with each deep thrust he took inside of you. you whimpered into his mouth, lapping at his tongue sloppily in desperation before he broke the kiss. “i’m close sugu.. so so close.. please–” she cried out as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in impossibly deeper than before. he groaned out, one of his hands reached forward to hold your face in it while his other took care of your sensitive bud.

his dark raven bangs clung to his forehead as a bead of sweat dripped down his temple. “i’m close too baby, it’s okay. you can cum.” he reassured gently, stroking her hot cheeks with his thumb affectionately. as he chased his high, he felt his muscles tense up, feeling you lock up underneath him made his hips move more feverishly, determined to pull your orgasm out of you harder.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, gripping onto his back and sinking your nails into his sweaty tanned skin. you panted, finally mustering up the courage to say what you’ve wanted to for so long. ‘i love you suguru, i love you s– so much..” and just like that, you came undone as a white heat rushed through your body. your back arched off the desk, your eyes slammed shut and your mouth fell slack as your insides pulsated around him. your clear sticky cum formed a ring around the base of his cock, coating his pelvic bone and his balls as he thrusted into you.

your confession certainly caught him by surprise, but he accepted it wholeheartedly as it threw him into an orgasm of his own. “i love you too, y/n. fuck– always have, my pretty girl.” he huffed out, his hand drifting from the skin of your cheek and down to your throat to squeeze it tightly. he pulled out and pumped his swollen length a couple of times before cumming all over your tummy.

he fucked his own hand a bit more as he rode out his high, a couple more thin ropes of his hot white seed following behind. a guttural moan jumping up his throat as his eyebrows knitted together. fuck, he looked so pretty. 

he leaned in and moved your hair out of your face before pressing a delicate kiss to your temple. the back of his index finger ghosting down the edge of your jawline before he pulled away to look for something to clean the both of you up. he wiped away the mess, a gentle and almost unreadable expression gracing over his handsome face as he focused on taking care of you. 

he straightened out your skirt, his large veiny hands that were decorated with black nail polish sliding along your hips as if to worship the view a bit more before picking you up and laying you down on the bed. he caged you in underneath him, taking a good look at your face before kissing the tip of your nose.

“so you love me huh? maybe i’ll just have to stay here.” his expression softened, and a smile grew on his lips to reveal his pearly whites. the sight of his smile made your heart swell, it wasn’t the kind of smile you saw very often, but when you did it could like up an entire room. “i suppose i do, sugu.” you teased back, pressing a kiss to his lips gently before you both laid down together on your twin sized mattress.

[criminalamnesia]

thinking about reader and simon who are tied together and have a hawkgirl/hawkman fate.

aka they’re forever cursed to find each other, fall in love, die, then reincarnate and do it all over again for the rest of time.

(timeless by taylor swift is inspiring this lol)

every time the two of you die, when you’re reborn, you don’t remember a single thing. you don’t remember until your eyes meet each other’s again, and then it all comes flooding back.

it scares the hell out of you each time because what the fuck?

you just asked the tall, masked, burly man who was also in the cereal aisle to grab you a box from the top shelf.

and then you meet his eyes and suddenly decades— centuries are flashing through your eyes. you know this man. have know him through many different years, in many different lives.

the flashbacks suddenly stop, and your eyes are wide as you stare up at him.

“did you—” you begin, and he nods.

“what the actual fuck,” you mutter to yourself, glancing down at the cereal box in your hand.

he grunts, and when you look back up, he’s walking away.

“hey— where are you going?” you call after him.

“to a fucking shrink or somethin’. think I’m going fucking mad.”

you shove the cereal box back onto the shelf and hurry after him. he moves fast for such a big man.

“wait, shouldn’t we, like, talk about that or something?”

“what’s there to say?” he replies, not bothering to slow his pace for you as he approaches the exit doors.

“um, I don’t know, maybe ‘hey so we just had a shared flashback montage of us loving each other then dying brutally throughout the last however-many-years?’ maybe something like that?”

he doesn’t respond. you huff as you jog after him. he’s walking to his car— a black truck, and you’d almost roll your eyes at how predictable the vehicle was if it weren’t for the blaring of a car horn.

it’s a split second, and it gives the two of you all the proof you need that whatever the fuck those memories were, they were real.

a car comes skidding into the parking lot, making a beeline straight for you. you turn as the horn cuts through the afternoon air, your eyes widening as you’re about ten seconds away from getting well acquainted with the hood of the car, and then—

the car crashes into the man’s truck and you’re still breathing.

“what the fuck?!” you shriek as adrenaline courses through your veins.

as you attempt to get your bearings, you realize the man is on top of you. he’d saved you, had tackled you out of the way.

“you— you were— you shouldn’t have—” you pant between quick breaths, eyes wide in shock as you stare up at him.

“I…I just had a feeling…” he mutters, and it’s more to himself than it is to you.

he climbs off of you, brushing off his jeans before holding a hand out to help you up. you place your shaking hand in his, and he lifts you with ease.

you look at the crashed car, his ruined truck, and then back to him. bystanders are yelling now, and people are starting to approach the two of you.

“I’m simon.” he tells you, his eyes trained on the wreck.

you tell him your name and he nods.

“guess we’re stuck together now, huh?” he says, and you nod.

“yep. guess we’re stuck together.”