#this is too much to handle i don’t even know what to think

[wriokitty]

Sukuna is not good at apologizing.

And you? You’re not good at letting go of grudges. The end result is a pretty nasty predicament—you’re mad at him, he’s mad that you’re mad at him, and you’re mad that he’s mad that you’re mad at him. It’s a full circle. The start point and the end point meet and you just don’t know where to begin.

He could always apologize, of course—that would be a lovely start. But he won’t. (He really should, though, you think. It’s his fault).

“Hey,” he says gruffly, “scoot over. ‘S my side.”

You’re taking up the entire bed. A petty, childish, and last resort sort of method to keep him away from you for the night because you don’t think you can handle dealing with him in such close proximity. And of course, you certainly won’t be taking the couch, so that naturally leaves only one option: him.

“Hey. Did’ya hear me?” He scowls, looking at you with deeply creased, deeply furrowed brows and an intense glare that makes you want to throw a pillow at his face. You refrain, however—but only because someone has to be the emotionally intelligent one of the two of you, and it certainly won’t be him. “I said move over—I’m tired as fuck and I wanna sleep.”

“Then sleep,” comes your unhelpful reply.

“They teach you this in the first grade,” he smiles thinly, eyes narrowed into slits as he gives you a sarcastic look, “but you actually have to lay down to sleep. Can’t do that if you hog the entire damn bed.”

“I’m sure they taught you what a couch was in first grade, too,” you counter—and as if to double down on your juvenile, stubborn display of spitefulness, you angle your body to take up more of his side of the bed. “Go ahead and use that if you wanna lay down so bad.”

“And they also teach you in first grade that the couch is bad for your damn fucking back, so move the fuck—”

You cut him off sharply with a rather snobby tone. “That’s not in the first grade curriculum. I don’t know what first grade you went to, but maybe that would explain some of the loose screws in your head.”

He’s had enough. Sukuna is not good at apologizing. And on most days, he’s not that good at being a boyfriend, either. Not by the general standards, anyway. He doesn’t say sweet words or coddle you very much. Sometimes, he’s awkward about affection and doesn’t quite know how to initiate physical touch. And, on most days, he can’t communicate his feelings properly, so they tend to come out wrong. Typically, that manifests in rough, unintentionally harsh words.

He’s not proud of it, but it’s not a switch he can exactly flip off in one day.

But one thing he is good at, however, is worming his way into your soft spot, anyway. It’s a very peculiar, very distinct part of you that for some unknown reason, opens up for him and puts up with his bullshit regardless of what that bullshit is. Fifty percent soft, sweet affection, and one hundred percent stupid, foolish devotion.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

He debates it for a moment—because sometimes even Sukuna doesn’t dare test your limits—before he ultimately decides to go for whatever plan he’s scheming. It turns out his plan involves all two-hundred-something pounds of his bulky, muscled figure draping itself over your body with an exaggerated sigh from him. You flinch, gasping in shock, and he simply gets himself comfortable.

Sukuna is not good at apologizing.

Yet, somehow, he’s even worse at reading the room, evidently. You clearly don’t want him near you, but here he is, arguably closer to you now than he is on the average night.

“Sukuna!” You hiss, trying to push him off as you grumble under his weight, “get off! You asshole, you’re too heavy for—”

“Heavy?” He gasps, “this is considered body negativity.”

“Oh fuck off,” you scowl, “you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what, exactly?” He asks smugly.

Despite it all, there’s something surprisingly gentle about the way he lays on you. His head is perfectly situated to rest against your collarbone, his hands delicately have your hips in their hold, and half of his body is slotted between your legs to keep a good brunt of his weight off of you.

More than anything, he’s a weighted blanket than he is an aggravating boyfriend that you’re trying to avoid.

“Is everything a joke to you?” You glare.

He glares back. Equally as hard, equally as intense, but infinitely more infatuated underneath it all. “No,” he grumbles, “just don’t like goin’ to bed mad. So ‘m here whether you like it or not.”

Some part of you can’t help but soften at that. A small, fractional, tiny amount of you thinks…oh. Oh.

(And yes, there are certainly better ways to express: I would like to go to bed without being mad at each other because I love you too much, but he’s not perfect. Nowhere near it. That much is a known fact quite abundantly by now. But you know what he means, and in you’re being honest with yourself…well, it’s enough.

He’s always enough, even when he seems like he shouldn’t be.)

“I’m still mad at you,” you grumble stubbornly.

Your arms wrap around him tightly.

“And I’m still fuckin’ tired and sleepy. What’s your point?”

He tucks his head into the crook of your neck and inhales your scent.

You’re mad at Sukuna. And he’s tired of it. Sometimes, he’s not good at apologizing, and sometimes you’re stubborn about accepting it. In the end, your limbs tangle in bed like this, anyway. You think that’s the only part that really matters.

You sigh, pulling up the blanket to cover yourselves. (Mainly you. He just happens to be there, too, of course. But this isn’t for his warmth, too—it’s just for yours. How cold he is or isn’t through the night is of no concern to you.)

“Night,” he mumbles quietly after some time, “and…and sorry, or whatever. I…well, I just…you know?”

You snort softly at his attempt, giving in and letting your fingers weave into his soft, familiar strands of hair while he relaxes at the feeling.

“We’ll talk in the morning. I love you.”

He smiles a little into your neck. It’s barely-there, but it undoubtedly exists.

“Love you too.”

“A lot, right?” You ask cheekily.

It’s quiet for a moment. You think he’s going to tell you to shut up, or just go to sleep, already. Instead, there’s a hushed mumble of, “yeah. A lot. Now goodnight.”

(You fall asleep rather quickly after that—and admittedly, much easier than you would have if his body was on the couch and not with you.)

Cliche fights before bed that end with a begrudging petty cuddle sesh are my guilty pleasure. My crack if you will

[kleptokure]

Silent Affection ⭒˚.⋆ ✴︎˚ ⋆˙⟡

Truthless Recluse x GN!Reader

Contains slight spoilers if you are not past 8-18.

·˖✮ ✮‧˖

You fail to remember the last time the environment around has been so quiet. Getting used to the bustling habitat of each region you traveled to, accompanying Gingerbrave, came as easy.

Now, left without the lively setting, everything feels astray. It feels otherworldly, even. But the worst part of it all is the stranger Pure Vanilla Cookie has morphed into.

Change can be a good thing, and you kept an open mind to those who reverted to different opinions. Yet this? No, this entire situation regarding your dearest is a case you cannot bring yourself to accept.

You never thought you would see Pure Vanilla Cookie's eyes modify themselves into such a dull state. The sparkle that was average to spot in his eyes seemed to fizzle out, but you swear you see the flicker of one when his stare lies onto you.

At the current moment, you stand before him as he sits on the edge of the bed in his gifted headquarters, residing inside of the unnerving tower.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie! You have to snap out of it. Our friends are in danger, we have to rescue them!" You try your earnest to get through to him, but all you receive is his eyes piercing into your own.

All of the warmth that used to trail after Pure Vanilla Cookie seems to have left. Uselessness strikes your dough, and motivation is not given from your emotionless lover. What else is there to do to convince him?

Pacing around the room, you attempt to think of another way to persuade Pure Vanilla Cookie back into his common traits.

You are unaware of why you were to be left at his side, now thinking about it. Shadow Milk Cookie did not afflict you with the same treatment he gave the others. As of right now, you've been permitted to stay beside Truthless Recluse for an unknown reason.

Expressing gratitude for your handling differing from your allies comes as hard. The fact that they can easily crumble from a tearing of the feeble cards they've been transformed into does not come as heartwarming.

Now, you put yourself before the silent cookie. You would hate to guilt trip your partner, you truly would—but it seems to be your last option.

"What if it were me? Would you turn me away, too? Leave me to be stuck as a tarot card?" You give your best to sound disheartened.

Truthless Recluse narrows his eyes at you, the grip he holds around his staff tightening. That counts as a reaction, much to your favor. Though would it do much in the long run?

He fails to see reason in why his heart feels heavy. Oh, but it is not with remorse. The gloomy cookie feels angered. How dare you suggest such an event could ever happen? He refuses to allow you to be turned into a small card, put inside of a bag and shrouded in complete darkness.

Yet he allows the misery to fall upon his other companions. Why must you be a discrepancy? He should've pushed you away long ago, yet he decided to complete the exact opposite.

Truthless Recluse feels ridiculous, causing to add onto his frustrations.

He stands up, towering over you with his absurd height. Pure Vanilla Cookie is one to be feared with his current body language, but you still stand in your place.

"You will not," he asserted, like a king to his pawns. Pure Vanilla's frown appears more prominent. You did not expect your short speech to cause such a reaction, coming off as wordless for a few seconds into your staring contest with him.

Then, you feel upset yourself. His single words, the few ones he's ever spoken to you, are hard to digest. Truthless Recluse can say that, but not hold to that same promise for your comrades?

Your hands clench into fist, standing with your chest puffed before the intimidating cookie.

"I don’t understand you. I never thought I would say this, but you are becoming insufferable!" Part of him feels hurt by that, and again, he falls short in knowing why.

"If you are so resistant to helping, then I will do it myself. You can stay here for as long as you'd like. I’m leaving." With that said and done, you turn on your heel, walking towards the exit of the room that you grow sick of.

But then, your feet prevent you from progressing. In fact, you do not seem to be touching the ground any longer, lifted a few feet above ground. Your hands remain fixed at your side, entirely incapable of moving.

That being said, you are unable to avert your stare towards the obvious culprit. Though there seemed to be no reason to worry, as the said perpetrator of your rigidness whirls you around to face him.

You were about to give him a mouthful, but Truthless Recluse reaches words before you have the chance.

"Stay."

"What?"

"You are not going anywhere."

"Pure Vanilla Cookie, release me," you shout, yet, as anticipated, his lips are shut thin. You become weary of his orders. He declines to hear you out, so why would you give ear to him?

But you soon realize, there is not much of a choice for you here. The look in his eyes signal that, and the fact that the strength difference between the both of you is quite measurable.

With the power of his staff, Truthless Recluse hovers you over his given bed, plopping you down onto the cushioning afterwards.

Quick to straighten yourself up, you look in his direction. There is irritance noticed in your stare, though it is miniscule. It goes difficult to stay mad at him, because at the end of the day, he remains your husband. Even within this form he takes.

Truthless Recluse takes a seat right next to you, your legs pressing together. Despite the harsh tone his talk is spoken with, there's little to no hesitation in his decision to be near you. Perhaps Pure Vanilla Cookie is not as far away as you would believe, judging off of that noticeable trait.

"So you disapprove of helping out our friends, but you also disapprove of me rescuing them?" You question, because you want him to know the absurdity of his own actions. Nothing appears to add up.

"Just say you want me here. That deep down inside, you still love me," you taunt him, more so to get back at him for his pettiness. Guilt tripping and persuasion are clear to have no affect on him. Taunting is not guaranteed to work either, but you can give it a shot.

Unbeknownst to you, your little tease did gain a reaction from the apathetic cookie.

Truthless Recluse dislikes the emotions that you, and you alone, are able to make him feel. Your simple words send him into strange mindsets, ones that he believed he would abandon after becoming a deceiver.

Liars are not known to have such close relationships, so he came prepared to dump his old friends. But you? Ditching you is easier said than done.

Maybe he can come to face the truth he has avoided. The reality is, you are no mere friend. Your title to him is far greater than that, which is why he is reluctant to allow your departure. Back then, he was more proud to call you his lover. Even though now, he would concede it, you are still his beloved. He loves you, and he hates that.

Why must you make his conversion so difficult?

It is as if Pure Vanilla Cookie reset. Again, he keeps as quiet, like prior, to any words you say.

But, you took note of his dramatic response to your attempt to flee. In this case, may it be that your actions cause more feedback than your conversation? There's one way to find out.

Scooting even closer to him, you gaze into his eyes. What a beautiful man he is, even with his drastic transformation.

Lowering your palm, you place it atop his own. You begin to hold his hand, a heartfelt gesture that was common between you pair, but will he return it this time around?

To your shock, and his own, he does. A sweet man can never truly be erased, it seems. That sprouts a smile on your face. But, why end it at holding hands? What else can grow to make him act out?

Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his cheek. He appears as unmoving now, but with how short the distance is, you can see the twitch in his face.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie," you whisper. "I love you."

He is no longer Pure Vanilla Cookie, he mentally asserts. Your love is in vain, as the cookie you once knew is shoved deep down and far removed.

Nevertheless, he accepts your affection all the same. That aspect is the most bothersome for him. He ought to silence you with your foolish declarations, but he falters in doing so.

Gaining his attention yet again, your face shifts to be placed right in front of his own. Truthless Recluse finds his mind to wander to how attractive you are, but he soon cuts those thoughts short for himself. He no longer believes in such facts, he would say.

Though if he deems himself a liar, that might be a lie.

"Truthless Recluse," you spoke in a gentle tone. "I love you."

Oh. That surprises him. He reckoned you would never utter his new label, but you have, which indicates you are directly addressing him, and he's lost on how to process it. All he can comprehend is the warmth radiating in his dough, as if he's back in the oven in which he was baked.

As your prior statement of admiration came with a complimentary kiss, the next remark shall have the same acclamantory.

You angle yourself closer, your lips coming into contact with Truthless Recluse's cold ones, meeting in a delicate kiss. As frigid as he is, you will be glad to share your heat to him.

Just as happy as he is to embrace it. Truthless Recluse finds himself returning your affection, leaning in to push your mouths closer. His eyes closed, he rediscovers how enjoyable affection can be.

His grip on his staff almost slips from how weakly he holds it. Truthless Recluse finds that possessing you in his arms is far more preferable, yet he refrains, as you already pulled away, much to his disappointment.

With a satisfied sigh, you rest your head against his shoulder.

"I don’t think we should keep the others waiting," you spoke amidst the silence. "Perhaps we should go check up on them?" You wonder if your mounds of endearment caused to change his point of view. If not, then luck has long left you.

Witches, now Truthless Recluse is sure he has been tricked yet again. How can he let you get away with your foolery so easily? You are such an infuriating cookie, and he despises that his feeble heart wants more of that. He would tear it out if he could.

Though he comes to terms with it quite quickly. That is just your personality, and well, Shadow Milk Cookie does plenty for his own indulgences. Would it hurt for him to take a cookie in for his own appeasement?

"No," he concedes. You have a dumfounded expression. This cookie proved to be tough to crack, and that tends to be a good factor. But now, it shrivels in appearing as a perk.

"...Huh?"

"You, too, shall reside in this tower. Alongside me." He has got to be joking. Although he carries the title of a liar, even you can tell there is no deception in his tone.

"I'll... I'll give you another kiss if you grant my farewell?" Truthfully, that came to wilt his spirit. In spite of that, his silence as a response shows he has abstained.

Your husband developing a possessive trait catches you off guard. There's a chance those few kisses became disastrous in the end, as you see his eyes linger onto your lips rather than your own stare.

Oh boy. You’re in for a ride.

·˖✮ ✮‧˖

A/N: I wanted to say thank you for the lovely welcoming on my first post! All of the notes are what encourage me to write, so it's heartwarming to see so many haha. About a part two for my first fic, I didn't really think about that. Perhaps I will if I brainstorm hard enough. Thanks for reading! (*´ڡ`●)

[staryunaa]

spending Valentine’s Day with them! Pt.1

including sunday and aventurine and phainon

a/n - some may be a lil suggestive. i felt so awkward having to search up cute and creative Valentine’s Day dates so yeah….. hope you guys like this! ps can you tell who i like the most

❥sunday calls you “angel” / aventurine calls you “dear” / phainon calls you “wife/wifey”

follows and reblogs appreciated masterlist

✦𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘

ice skating with sunday!

fiancé sunday! who can’t help but smile every time you trip as you enter the rink, trying his very best to hold in a small chuckle as he helps you up — his soft gloved palms still warm in the frosty ice rink.

“forgive me for laughing please… maybe next time let me help you first okay?”

fiancé sunday! who get flustered as you drink from the same hot chocolate cup as him, he can’t but think he’s doing something inappropriate— even though you’ve been engaged and dating for years now. even though it’s an indirect kiss, his wings still flutter at the thought of kissing you.

“are you sure you don’t want me to get you another cup — angel?”

fiancé sunday! who is surprisingly good at ice skating, turns out he took lessons as a kid!

you never knew how good sunday was at ice skating, you watch as sunday practices some spins but then he notices you blankly staring. “angel… do you not enjoy this-?” you quickly shake your head “no! it’s not that at all! it’s just..” you pause, looking up at sunday “i never knew you were this good at ice skating…” he smiles, holding your hand up and hums, taking you along the rink. he spins you around gently, swooping you back in and quickly pecking a kiss on your lips. “im quite glad you think im good at his, but it’s merely anything.” you can’t help but melt a little.. his words carried with a tender tone, you squeeze his hand before pulling on his scarf — effortlessly pulling him down, pecking a kiss on his lips too. “can you teach me then?” he laughs softly, before adjusting his scarf “of course anything for you angel…”

✦𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄

a fancy dinner date!

boyfriend aventurine! who loves subtly flustering you, using subtle hints only to chuckle at you as he notice your cheeks turning red.

he pats the spot next to him, looking up to you — “is anything wrong? you ask, tilting your head at him “just need your attention dear.” he turns his body, his hand wrapping around your chin — admiring your eyes.

boyfriend aventurine! who enjoys holding you — keeping you warm as his arm is slung over your shoulder, his head buried in the nape of your neck.

“i don’t mind staying like this for longer…”

boyfriend aventurine! who loves teasing you so much, he even does it in public.

as a waiter places a plate on the table, you notice aventurine staring blankly at you. his gaze showing a loving expression, “aven..?” you call out, he blinks tilting his head smiling. “sorry… just admiring what’s mine.” you can’t help but flush, you know it’s normal since you guys are dating — “u-uh.. thank you?!” he grabs his drink, reaching his hand out for a cheer. you follow him, picking up your glass and joining him for a cheer, quickly taking a sip of your drink. aventurine starts to eat, and you nervously follow. after a few minutes, he cuts you a slice of his steak feeding it to you. his other hand holding your chin. “dear.. say ahh..” you softly open your mouth, “tongue out too dear..” your face turns a little red — hesitantly lolling your tongue out. aventurine smiles, reaching his hand out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and petting your head softly.

✦ 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐍

breakfast in bed!

husband phainon! who loves cooking for you so much, he always makes sure you’re happy with your meal — if you think the meal is a little too salty to your liking, he creates a whole new dish perfected to your taste!

“n-no! it’s okay! i can handle a little salt!” you reach out trying to stop him from taking your plate — phainon wasn’t convinced, “I’ll make you something new, anything for you” a few minutes later, you watch as phainon comes out with a better and bigger dish — you couldn’t help but smile “you’re too good to me hubby…” phainon glanced up, smiling “i just want you to be happy dear…” his voice low and sincere.

husband phainon! who can’t help but get flustered every time you compliment his cooking

“ahh.. phainon this stir-fry is super good!” your eyes lighting up, taking another bite “you’re such a great cook!” phainon couldn’t help but go hot as he looked away, trying his beset to play it cool, “it’s just some simple stir-fry…” he muttered, his voice sounding a little gruff — he can’t help but feel his cheeks burn as you enjoy his cooking, he was used to getting compliments especially from his lovely wife but when it comes to his cooking… “it’s really nothing! i enjoy cooking for you..”

husband phainon! who can’t help but enjoy feeding you his home cooked breakfast.

phainon gently opened the door, a warm smile spreading across his face as he admires the sight of his wife — trying to balance the tray and a warm cup of tea. “good morning wifey!” his voice is soothing yet cheery. you wake up from the scent of something sweet and savory, its eggs benedict and perfectly cooked pancakes topped off with a light whipped cream. “mm…? all this for me? you look up at phainon, rubbing your eyes groggily — “mhm! all for my lovely wife!” he can’t help but grin ear to ear, at your surprised face. if he was a dog, his tail would be wagging and his ears would be pointed up — he pushes your hair out of your face quickly pecking a kiss on your forehead. “try this strawberry! and this blue berry!” after hundreds of bites and taste testing, phainon sighs happily and looks up at you “i love taking care of you…” you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck, “and i love letting you.”

anyways more parts maybe like soon

[solxamber]

Hi Sol! Hope your having a good February so far!

Could I get a: Leona, Romantic with Shivers by Ed Sheeran?

Happy early Valentine's day!

"Like my soul's on fire" || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Shivers by Ed Sheeran

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 650

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Happy Ending, Realization of feelings

Leona Kingscholar doesn’t chase things.

The world has always handed him its expectations, its disappointments, its half-hearted praises wrapped in thinly veiled insults. He’s learned to shrug it all off—to take only what he needs and sleep through the rest.

But then there’s you.

And Leona doesn’t chase, no—but he follows.

Because when you burst into his life, wild and restless, dragging him by the wrist into whatever chaos you’ve concocted this time, he finds himself moving before he can think. He groans, he complains, he calls you a menace—yet he always follows.

And it should irritate him. The way you throw yourself into things with no plan, no hesitation. The way you insist on midnight road trips with no destination, on dancing under flickering neon signs, on sneaking onto rooftops just to stare at the sky. It should be exhausting, annoying—

But damn it, you make his blood burn.

And Leona, for all his grumbling, has never felt more alive.

Tonight, it’s the city. You’re out past a reasonable hour, the streets buzzing with life, headlights flashing against wet pavement. There’s a chill in the air, but you barely seem to notice, too caught up in whatever scheme has taken hold of you this time.

Leona leans against the hood of his car, watching you with that lazy half-smirk that does nothing to hide the heat in his gaze.

“Tell me there’s a plan,” he drawls, even though he already knows the answer.

You flash him a grin, eyes alight with mischief. “Where’s the fun in that?”

And of course, he should’ve known. You live for the rush, for the spontaneity, for the feeling of wind whipping through your hair as you take a leap without looking. And the worst part?

You make him want to jump too.

Before he knows it, you’ve grabbed his hand, tugging him forward. And for all his complaints, he doesn’t resist.

He never does.

Hours blur together—bright lights, laughter, stolen kisses in the shadows of alleyways. Leona doesn’t remember the last time he let himself have fun, not like this. Not in a way that didn’t feel like a performance, like something expected of him.

But with you, it’s different.

With you, it’s easy.

You don’t want the prince. You don’t want the strategist, the second-born, the disappointment, the afterthought. You just want him.

And it terrifies him.

Because Leona has spent his whole life avoiding expectations he can’t meet, avoiding fights he can’t win. He never lets himself want things too much. It’s easier that way.

But then there’s you—laughing, warm, pressing close to him as the night lingers on—and he knows, deep down, that this is a battle he’s already lost.

It’s nearly dawn when you both end up somewhere quieter, the city still humming in the distance. You’re leaning against his shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up to you, but you’re smiling, your fingers lazily tracing patterns over the back of his hand.

Leona watches you, his mind a mess of things he’ll never say out loud.

You make him want things. You make him ache.

And then, in that quiet, reckless way of yours, you say, “Leona, let’s stay like this forever.”

His breath catches.

It’s a stupid thing to say. Impossible, even. Forever isn’t real—not for people like him, who have spent their lives being second place, almost-enough, not-quite-worthy.

But you look at him like you mean it. Like you really believe it’s possible.

And damn it all, maybe he wants to believe it too.

Leona exhales, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “You sure you can handle forever with me?”

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, your smile soft but certain. “Try me.”

And Leona, who has spent his whole life avoiding the things he can’t win, decides—just this once—to stop running.

If this is a dream, he thinks, then he never wants to wake up.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[kxtsukixoxo]

hi! if you'd be up to it i'd love to suggest “don't move until I say you can” with shinsou for your event? i'd love it if you made him soft too<3

authors note - tried to make him as soft as i could, i’m so used to writing about aggressive rough handling men 💔

here’s the valentine’s day event, there’s still prompts available!! ⊹. warnings - nsfw content

your poor poor roommate, the man hadn’t been touched by a woman before and it showed, such a shame too, he was breathtakingly attractive, you were determined to be the first to have a piece of him, but you were absolutely shocked that not a single woman had even kissed him to say the least. 

“i was never interested in all that i guess” shinsou rubbed the back of his neck, trying to hide his crimson dusted face from your view, the two of you were currently lounging on his bed, 

your date ditched you on valentine’s day, and your roommate, well…he had no date. 

what were you expecting? the man’s never felt romantically interested in anyone before, why would he of all people have a date. so when you came home, with tears streaked across your face, shinsou was right there. he helped you get out of the dress you’d chosen, took your heels off, and offered you to hangout with him in his room. 

“so you’re telling me…not a SINGLE woman has found you attractive, EVER” you gasped as he plaited tiny braids into your hair, you figured he knew how to do this because of his little sister eri, the two of you would babysit her every weekend, while their dad took a well deserved break.

“hey i didn’t say that..” shinsou paused, thinking carefully about what he said after that “they just…never went THAT far with me” he added much needed emphasis to ‘that’ 

“soooo” 

“so…?” 

“you wouldn’t mind me sucking you off then?” 

shinsou stopped in his tracks, fiddling with the braid in your hand, sure he’d fantasized about his pretty little roommate who’d walk around in nothing but a t-shirt during early mornings, wondering what it felt like to wake up next to you, skin-to-skin. 

this had to be a sick prank. 

“(y/n) stop fooling around.” 

“i’m serious shin” you turned your head, to look at him, he looked flustered, cheeks flushed like a teenage boy. “don’t worry, i’ll help you hm?” you placed your hand ontop of his. 

now that we have the backstory of your current situation out of the way, let’s dive into the situation shall we? 

you shouldn’t have underestimated your virgin roommate, just because he was a virgin you expected him to know absolutely nothing, didn’t you? 

you were wrong. 

if anything, shinsou had to be the freakiest man you ever hooked up with to exist. “get on all fours, don’t move until i say you can” he tapped your cheek, supportively as his trousers fell to the floor, your body weight supported by your elbows as you watched him, waiting for his next move. 

“can i…” he stared shyly, “can i throatfuck you?” he looked away hesitant of your response, you giggled as you nodded, giving him the go ahead, “i’ll be gentle, i promise” he caressed your cheek lovingly, he was such a sweetheart, oh you were fooled, so fooled, you really believed the soft exterior of this man, didn’t have a filth-rotting brain.  

shinsou placed his tip against your the bottom bed of your soft pillowy lips, pre-cum leaking out, he twitched violently as he slid into your mouth, starting at a slow pace. you looked up at him, trying to adjust to his size, and he didn’t think it was possible for him to be harder than he already is, but the way you looked up at him, he felt his dick grow tenfold. “fuck-“ shinsou huffed out as he grabbed your hair, fisting it with one hand, shinsou’s eyes fluttered lazily as he gazed at you through heavy lidded eyes, watching you take him all the way down your throat,

“faster-“.   you gagged on his cock, he could barely make it what you were saying, “are you sure-“ giving up on speaking, you nodded your head swiftly, that’s all that shinsou needed. he pistoned into your mouth, as he stretched your throat out, pulling onto your hair, your hand trailed down to your clit, shinsou chuckled “you like this huh?” he tapped your cock stuffed cheek,

“awww look at my pretty girl, rubbing her clit all hot and bothered for me hm?” his chest rose up and down with deep heavy breaths as he lifted your mouth of his dick with a heavy pop leaving your mouth, “get on the floor.” 

you stared up at him as you got onto your knees, shinsou wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it quickly “where do you want it baby?” 

“mouth-“ 

“want me to cum in your mouth baby?” 

“mhmmm” you nodded, trying to figure out where to place your hands in the amidst of it all. 

shinsou slapped your face with his cock, before lining it with your mouth, once again. you scooted closer towards him, desperate for him to fuck your mouth, til all you could do was swallow his load. “desperate aren’t ya?” shinsou chuckled, grabbing your hair and pushing your face onto his cock, your mouth open wide, mewling as he fucked your throat, “fuck m’ gonna cum” 

you absentmindedly grinded onto his foot, “look at you baby, atta girl” needing any sort of friction your hand glided towards your clit, rubbing it in need of any sort of relief from the ache between your thighs 

tears filled your eyes, as you moaned in approval 

“you’re doing so good for me baby” shinsou muttered as he bottomed out, into you 

your hand still rubbing your clit, you fucked yourself through your own orgasm as shinsou pulled out of your mouth and caressed your cheek, 

“let me know when you want me to repay you for this sweets” 

[woso-story]

Sore Loser

Leah Williamson x Reader

You always knew Leah was competitive. It was one of the many things you loved about her. She brought that fire onto the pitch every single game, and it was one of the reasons she was such a great leader. But what wasn’t always so great? That competitiveness extended far beyond football. It didn’t matter if it was a simple card game, a casual bet with Beth, or even something ridiculous like who could get dressed the fastest in the morning—Leah hated losing. And when she did? Well, she became a sulking, grumpy mess.

Which was exactly why you were not looking forward to tonight.

Game night at your apartment with the team was usually fun. It was loud, chaotic, and filled with laughter, but there was always the underlying knowledge that Leah would inevitably throw a small tantrum if she didn’t win. She had promised, again, that she’d be on her best behavior. You had given her a knowing look when she said it, and she had grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I swear, babe. I’ll be good.”

You wanted to believe her. Really, you did. But history had proven otherwise.

Sure enough, the night started off great. Everyone piled into your apartment, bringing snacks, drinks, and way too much energy after a long week of training. You sat curled up next to Leah on the couch, listening to the friendly banter flying around. Even Leah was in high spirits—laughing, joking, being her usual charming self.

Then came Taboo.

The teams were divided, and by some cruel twist of fate, you ended up on opposing sides. Leah shot you a playful smirk, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “Prepare to lose, love.”

You smirked back. “We’ll see about that.”

At first, the game was lighthearted, the usual chaos ensuing with people shouting out wrong answers and groaning at tricky clues. But as the rounds progressed and the scores became tighter, you could feel Leah’s competitive streak creeping in. Her relaxed posture became rigid, her lips pressing into a tight line whenever her team missed an easy point.

And then—disaster struck.

Your team won.

The moment the final point was called, the room erupted into cheers and groans. Some of Leah’s teammates slumped dramatically onto the couch, laughing at their defeat, but Leah? She looked devastated. Like someone had just told her that football had been permanently canceled.

“No way. No. Absolutely not. You cheated,” she accused, pointing at you with narrowed eyes.

You barely held back your laugh. “Leah—”

“This game is rigged!” she continued, turning to everyone in the room, her voice filled with righteous indignation.

The room fell into silence for a beat before Kyra, ever the instigator, piped up. “Leah, you sound like little Harper when she doesn’t get ice cream.”

And just like that, everyone burst out laughing.

Everyone except Leah.

With an annoyed huff, she stomped out of the living room and into your bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Kyra smirked. “Told ya. Toddler.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but laugh as well. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go handle my toddler.”

Walking into your bedroom, you found Leah sitting on the bed, arms crossed over her chest, a deep frown etched onto her face. She looked so ridiculously cute in her little sulk that you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“Go away,” she muttered.

You didn’t. Instead, you sat beside her and grinned. “You know everyone loves you, right? They weren’t making fun of you.”

Leah turned her head away. “I don’t like being the butt of the joke.”

“You’re not. You’re just a sore loser, and everyone finds it hilarious.”

She shot you a glare, but it had no real heat behind it.

Leaning in, you pressed a kiss to her cheek. She remained still, her pout still intact. So, you kissed her again. And again. And again.

Finally, she cracked. A tiny smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“There it is,” you murmured, grinning at her.

Leah sighed dramatically. “I still think you cheated.”

You chuckled. “Of course, you do. Anything for my little grumpy toddler.”

She shoved you playfully, but when you tugged her hand, she followed you back into the living room.

The second you both stepped out, the team erupted into cheers.

“Look at that! She smiles!” Caitlin teased.

Leah rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the slight blush creeping up her neck.

And, just as you predicted, for the rest of the night, everyone mysteriously let Leah win every game. Because sometimes, it was just easier that way.

And you? You wouldn’t have her any other way.

[checkeredflagggs]

Febuwhump Day 14: Becoming the Monster

pairings: gen

summary: a story about y/n, Redbull’s new second driver, told in non-sequential order

a/n: I love febuwhump and have participated before for other fandoms but this is a first for me — attempting to compete it via smau only. Hopefully I can write a complete story eventually and I will be posting it on its own masterlist in the correct order to read but it’ll be written based on the febuwhump prompt list! @febuwhump

a/n2: based on the 2024 year; sorry checo but you got replaced earlier!

a/n3: listen I like Lando but I needed a villian here

Masterlist | Taglist

y/n_gossip

liked by user, user, and 1,836,622 others

tagged: y/n_rb, landonorris

y/n_gossip: it seems like little Lando Norris might be thinking of a matador career — he keeps tempting the bulls! After a few close calls with Verstappen, Norris and L/N collided resulting in a DNF for our girl with some pretty harsh words coming from both of their radios afterwards.

view all comments

user1: this is what racing is!

↳user2: I know — I was on the edge of my seat…

user3: pretty harsh?? Girl sounded like she was gonna run him down on foot and take him out

↳user4: lol did you see the rb team after she got back to the garage?

↳user5: they literally just picked her up and moved her away from the reporters 😂😂

user6: oh the post race interviews are gonna slap

↳user7: I can’t wait!

user8: that’s so completely unfair! y/n was ahead at the apex — Lando should have given it away, not crashed into her

↳user9: seriously?? Where on earth did you get that information??

↳user8: uhh by watching the screen??

user10: oh shit….

↳user11: Lando’s post interview??

↳user10: how dare he say something like that???

f1gossip

liked by user, user, and 1,457,987 others

Transcript:

interviewer: and what are your thoughts on y/n and your collision today?

Lando: obviously not ideal. You know you never want to be in a collision- especially when it’s not your fault. Y/N…she should spend less time with Max, don’t need her becoming another monster, ya know…

f1gossip: what an interview! During his post race interview for Austria 2024, where he was forced to dnf after two different collisions with both Redbulls, Norris didn’t hold back his thoughts. During this brief moment, he talked about the close friendship between this year’s Redbull drivers — saying that y/n (a rookie) should take a step back from her more senior teammate because no one “[needed] her becoming another monster,”. He also went on to say that he was losing respect for Verstappen and the way he raced.

view all comments

user12: did he really just fucking say that?

↳user13: oh my god he did

↳user14: it’s even worse when you actually watch it because you can just barely see max next to him — when Norris said this, both max and the interviewer froze

↳user13: i mean i would too. That’s a really harsh thing to say about someone

user15: people want cunty f1 back again but can’t handle this little spat??

↳user16: cunty? Yes. Whatever this was? Absolutely not

user17: he’s just salty she’s better then him

↳user18: how do you figure that??

↳user17: she literally won her very first f1 race? He’s been racing for years and only just won his first this year

↳user18: it doesn’t count really. Everyone knows that redbull cheats

↳user17: oh my god just shut up

user20: i feel bad for y/n…it really wasn’t her fault nor did it affect lando too much but he’s (someone she’s said she looks up too before) putting her on blast with some pretty harsh words…

↳user21: she looks up to him??

↳user20: yeah! She’s said multiple times that she really admires how open he is talking about his mental health and that she really wanted to emulate him

↳user21: oh ouch…then today and that interview has got to hurt…

user22: anyone else interested in what she’s gonna do to retaliate?

↳user23: 🙋🏾‍♀️🙋🏾‍♀️

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @imlonelydontsendhelp @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @msimpala-67

[goldfades]

can you write something for nika? maybe reader being an ‘24 alum and going back to watch the game with nika

i missed writing for baby nika, so here's a fic! <3

Walking back into Gampel as an alum felt surreal. The banners still hung high in the rafters, the court still gleamed under the lights, and the student section still roared with the same energy that used to send adrenaline coursing through your veins. But it wasn’t yours anymore. It was weird, standing in a place that once felt like a second home and realizing you weren’t a part of it the way you used to be. No shootarounds, no film sessions, no huddles with the team. Just the echoes of memories that clung to every inch of the arena.

At least you weren’t alone in it.

You both stood near the tunnel, watching as the team went through their warm-up drills. It was muscle memory at this point—Aaliyah catching in the post, Paige pulling up from three, Ice going through her ball-handling routine. A scene you’d watched a million times before, but this time from the outside looking in.

The two of you had made a plan to come to the game together a few weeks ago, but it was Nika who really made sure it happened. She’d sent you a text the morning tickets dropped—"We’re going. Don’t argue."—and that was that. Not that you needed convincing.

It was comforting, going back with her. Walking into the gym side by side like you had for years, only this time without the weight of expectations on your shoulders. You could just be—be present, be proud, be in the stands as fans instead of players.

“You look nervous,” Nika murmured beside you, bumping her shoulder into yours as you both stood near the entrance, taking it all in.

You huffed, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets. “I don’t know if nervous is the right word.”

She gave you a knowing look. “Yeah, okay. What, you think they’re gonna put you back in a jersey the second they see you?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “I think that would actually be illegal.”

“Exactly,” she grinned. “So relax. We’re just here to watch.”

It had been her idea to come tonight, though you’d like to believe she knew you wanted to just as much as she did. Neither of you had been back for a game since graduation, too caught up in your own next steps to really return in any real way. But the second she brought it up—“We should go to the game. Like, actually go. Sit in the stands like normal people.”—you found yourself agreeing before she even finished the sentence.

Nika nudged your side, tilting her head toward the court. “Think they can tell we miss it?”

You let out a breathy laugh, glancing down at the way your foot was bouncing against the floor, the way her fingers twitched like she was itching to hold a ball again. “Probably.”

“Think we could still give them buckets?”

You snorted. “We definitely could.”

She grinned. “Good. As long as we’re on the same page.”

The crowd started filling in more, and a few students in the front row spotted the two of you, pointing and whispering before working up the nerve to yell: "NIKA! Y/N! WE LOVE YOU!"

Nika turned, putting a hand to her chest like she was deeply moved. “Aww, my fans.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

She threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in like she had a hundred times before, the scent of her familiar—clean laundry, vanilla, and just a hint of her perfume. “Too late,” she said, smirking.

And just like that, the game itself wasn’t the most important part of being back.

[florencebirdsong]

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I just saw you’ve opened your requests for this day, so I have a request ;)

Witch!agatha x innocent!human!fem!reader, after AAA, Agatha falls in love with an ordinary human and for the first time in her life she is clumsy when flirting and approaching reader - that's how special her crush on this human is-

I ADORE your writing

Happy Valentine's Day! Thank you so much for the request!!

This is less clumsy and more awkward and stiff but I hope you still enjoy. She's just a silly billy who doesn't know how to handle her emotions :)

And thank you!!! That means so much <3

Valentine’s Day Event 2025

Tags: very slight angst, hint of dominating Agatha, ficlet

Agatha’s presence fills a room. Her eyes see through everyone she meets. She skilfully navigates everyone that’s thrown at her. There isn’t a person who’s properly met her who hasn’t been left with a strong impression. Except you. She barely looks at you. You’ve only ever managed to catch her in the corner of your eye, but even then it could just be in your direction.

You can’t figure out why and any one you’ve been brave enough to ask hasn’t either. Some have even said that it’s a good thing. You don’t understand how. You ache with longing every time you see her sharp smile directed at someone else.

It takes the sixth social gathering in a row where she has interacted with every one but you to find the courage to ask. It’s one of the rare occasions where it’s held at her place and you take advantage of the fact that everyone seems to leave all at once.

It feels strange to linger when the host doesn’t acknowledge you but you draw on every bit of courage you have to stay.

“Not rushing out?” Agatha says from behind you.

You jump in surprise and whirl around. Her face is emotionless. Not even the usual amusement from scaring someone displayed.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you say, gaze stuck firmly on the floor.

There’s a very long pause before she says,

“Alright,” and gestures at the purple lounge.

Instead of choosing another chair she sits next to you. You sit ramrod straight in your nervousness and you can’t help casting a quick glance at her every few seconds. She’s so close. 

She has been before, technically. When talking in or group or accidentally brushing up against you but that never lasts long and it’s never been just the two of you.

Her gaze has wandered over to the window. A curtain has curled back just enough for a peak at the moon.

“Agatha?” you ask, valiantly trying to hide how nervous you are. She hums vaguely, eyes still looking out the window. Swallowing hard, you make yourself continue. “Why don’t you like me?”

Her head snaps towards you. “Excuse me?”

You try not to cringe. You knew it had been a stupid question and yet you asked anyway. Now you have to try and survive her sharp words. One of the few times she looks directly at you and you can’t even meet her eyes. It’s a major loss, especially with what’s about to happen, but you don’t think you’d be able to survive seeing the annoyance or hate in her eyes when she insults you.

You flinch in surprise when she grips your chin and forces your gaze to meet hers.

“Me liking you isn’t the problem,” she says. Her voice is low and you try to brace yourself. “The problem is that I like you too much.”

Her nails dig slightly into your skin and your eyes widen in surprise. You don’t even get a chance to think of a response before her lips are against yours. It’s not a feeling you’re familiar with but you lean into her warmth eagerly. Agatha makes an encouraging sound that has you melting. It’s not long until her hands go from supporting to pushing and you find yourself being slowly lowered to lay down on the couch. You follow happily until you realise where this is going. You put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She pulls back with a raised eyebrows.

“Have a different position in mind?” she asks with the hint of a smirk.

“Yes- I mean no- I- ,” you force yourself to take breath. She’s overwhelming enough from across the room. Having her so intensely focused on you is disorientating. “I haven’t…done anything like that before.”

You swear her eyes darken.

“That’s alright,” she murmurs as she leans closer. Your eyes drop to her lips. “I’ve waited this long for you. I can wait a bit longer.” She moves her hands again but instead of pushing you to lay down she pulls you into her. “I’ll take of you,” she promises.

[scoutofmymind]

Momma I request a prompt inspired by a song of your choosing (: I L Y

Couldn’t Make It Any Harder — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: mental health issues, mentions of past trauma, TorturedArtist!Reader, Empath!Luigi, Luigi says “go birds” after flipping off a woman, confused feelings, situationship, reader is just Very Confused in general, angst, eventual romance.

Wc: 5,107

I couldn't make it

Any harder to love me

Oh, one day, believe me

You’ll want someone who makes it easy

This has been floating around in my asks for awhile, and I wasn’t feeling practically inspired by any songs lately until Sabrina released Couldn’t Make It Any Harder and I couldn’t stop thinking about writing it.

This work was done quickly between my other ongoing Luigi projects, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or skipped backstory (you know I’m a backstory bitch) but I simply needed to get this out of my system, and remembered that an anon had asked me to write something based off of a song quite awhile ago!

Also, how could I leave you hanging on Valentine’s Day? Even if I’m posting this at 2 AM….

It's 8:30 AM at your usual coffee spot — that tiny café two blocks from Luigi's apartment where the barista always draws terrible attempts at latte art, and you’re still wearing yesterday's mascara, not because you've been crying, but because you spent the night in your studio, channeling your frustration into a new piece that's all sharp edges and bold strokes.

"I mean, we had a great time!" You're gesturing with your coffee cup, nearly spilling it. "We went to that new gallery opening, and he actually understood my rant about contemporary minimalism. Then dinner, drinks, great conversation — and now? Radio silence. Three days of nothing."

Luigi, sitting across from you, is trying not to smile at how animated you are, his laptop open beside him — he's probably got a Slack channel blowing up with messages from his dev team, but he rushed to meet you for this emergency coffee session, anyway.

The startup's dress code might be casual, but he always manages to look put-together in that effortless way that makes other tech bros look like they're not trying hard enough.

"Maybe I'm just-“ you pause, stirring your coffee aggressively, "too much, you know? Too loud, too passionate, too-"

"Stop," Luigi cuts in, closing his laptop and fixing his gaze on you again, "You're not too anything. You're exactly enough. So don’t even go there with me.” He massages his temples, “Too early for it.”

"I know that," you say firmly, because you do. "That's the thing — I like who I am. I like that I can talk about art for hours. I like that I get excited about things. I like that I feel everything so intensely. I'm not going to make myself smaller just because some guy can't handle it."

"Then don't," Luigi says, and there's something in his voice that makes you look up from the foam disappearing from your cappuccino. "The right person won't want you to."

"Exactly! And you know what? If Jake can't handle a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to say it-“ you trail off, reaching for your sketchbook. You start absent-mindedly drawing on a corner of the page.

“Ugh,” Luigi’s face screws in mock disgust, “His name was Jake?”

Putting down your pen, you lean back in your chair with a frustrated sigh. "But then again, if I'm so great, why does this keep happening? Three first dates in two months, Lu. Three. And they all end the same way."

"You mean with guys who can't handle someone who actually has opinions?" Luigi takes a sip of his coffee, his fingers tapping absently on his closed laptop. A notification buzzes on his phone — probably his team wondering where he is — but he doesn't even glance at it.

"No, see, that's just it," you lean forward, your hands moving expressively as you talk. "They love it at first. They think it's so fascinating and refreshing that I'm 'not like other girls', or whatever." You roll your eyes at the phrase, hating the taste of the words in your mouth. "But then it's like they realize I'm actually serious. That I'm not just putting on some manic pixie dream girl act for their entertainment."

Luigi's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Heaven forbid you be a real person with actual thoughts and feelings."

"Right? And I know — I know I'm not too much," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. You start fidgeting with your rings, a habit Luigi's seen a thousand times when you're wrestling with something in your head. "But sometimes I wonder if-"

"If what?"

"If maybe I should just- you know.. tone it down? Just a little? Just at first?" The words sound wrong coming out of your mouth, and you can see from Luigi's expression that he knows it, too. "No, you're right, forget I said that. That's stupid."

"It is stupid," he agrees, but gently. His eyes catch yours across the table again, his gaze steady and genuine. "Remember that installation you did last month? The one about authenticity?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you tell that bag of bones professor who said it was 'overwhelmingly honest'?"

A smile starts to spread across your face. "I told him that was the whole damn point."

"Exactly." Luigi checks his watch and starts gathering his things — he's definitely late now. "So maybe the problem isn't that you're too overwhelming,” he pats the top of your head, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “maybe they're just underwhelming."

•

You're standing in front of your last piece, forcing a smile that feels like it's splitting your face in half, as another guest explains to you what your own art means.

Behind you, you can hear snippets of conversations that make your skin crawl.

It's a bit... aggressive, isn't it?

Not quite gallery standard... these nepo kids..

Experimental, but perhaps too experimental..

Your hands are shaking, so you clasp them behind your back. You've been doing this grim waltz for two hours — nodding, smiling, explaining yourself over and over to people who look through you rather than at you, and the gallery owner keeps shooting you these looks, these little disappointed glances that make you feel about two inches tall.

You catch Luigi's eye across the room.

He's been watching, you realize, while pretending to be deeply invested in a conversation with some tech entrepreneur who probably thinks art is a good investment opportunity, and he tilts his head slightly — a question.

You shake yours — you’re not okay.

"The brushstrokes here," the current patron is saying, pointing at your most vulnerable piece, "they're rather — well, chaotic. Unorganized. Muddy. It’s strange to see. Was that intentional?"

Something inside you splinters.

"Excuse me," you manage, your voice surprisingly steady for how the room is tunneling, how your fingers begin to tingle, how your lungs have lost the ability to draw in a full breath. "I need some air."

You make it through the gallery, past the whispers and the stares, past the owner who starts to say something about maintaining appearances, past the front desk and around the corner to the back alley.

Then your legs give out.

You're gasping, trying to remember how breathing works, your back against the cold brick wall. The dress — that stupid yellow dress that Luigi said was his favorite — feels too tight. Everything feels too tight.

You tear at your collar, needing air, needing space, needing- "Hey." Luigi's voice, close but not too close. "I'm here."

"I can't-" you choke out. "I can't breathe, I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He moves slowly into your space, hands hovering but not touching. "Look at me. Just look at me. I’m right here. It’s all good.”

You shake your head violently, sliding down the wall. "They're right. They're all right. I'm not- this- This isn't-" Each word feels like it's being ripped from your throat, bloody and raw and dishonest and horrific. They aren’t right. You know they aren’t.

"Bullshit." The sharpness in his voice makes you look up. He's crouched in front of you now, his tie completely undone, his eyes fierce. "They're not right. They're not even close to right. They're looking at fireworks and complaining about the noise. Old fuckin’ bunch’a assholes.”

A sob catches in your throat, half laugh, half cry. "That's a terrible metaphor."

"Made you look at me, though." His voice softens, his hands resting on your clammy shoulders. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

You try to match his exaggerated breathing, your hands still shaking. "I put everything into this show," you whisper after your second deep breath. "Everything."

"I know."

"And they just- they- they just-“

"I know." He shifts, sitting beside you against the wall, careful to leave space, but still your shoulders bump together. "But. Want to know what I think?"

You turn your head to look at him, makeup probably ruined, dress definitely stained from the alley ground, but you’ve already abandoned ship, you’ve waved your white flag — there’s no use in pretending you haven’t crumbled in a New York alleyway now. "What?"

"I think they're terrified of you."

That startles a real laugh out of you, “What?"

"You heard me." He's looking straight ahead, but there's something fierce in his profile. "You walked in there with your soul on full display, unapologetic and raw and real, and they don't know what to do with that. People like that, they're comfortable with art they can hang in their dining rooms and forget about.” You watch him blink, gathering the words, “Your shit doesn't let them forget. It makes them feel things they don't want to feel."

You nudge him gently, a laugh flaring your nostrils. "That's a lot better than the fireworks metaphor."

Now he does look at you, a small smile playing at his lips, his cheeks blushed crimson from the wine he’d gulped down just to make himself a bit more sociable. "Yeah, well, I've had three glasses of their overpriced wine. I'm feeling poetic."

Another laugh bubbles up, watery but real. You let your head fall against his shoulder, just for a moment. "I don't want to go back in there."

"So we won’t." He doesn't move, letting you lean on him, his head leaning atop yours. "Let's go get real drinks instead. You can tell me all the things you wanted to say to that guy who tried to explain color theory to you."

"God, he was the worst." You straighten up slowly, wiping at your eyes. "Did you see his socks?"

"I was trying not to."

•

You're standing at the open bar, counting the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave, when Madison — a college friend you haven't seen in years, who always seemed to help herself to open bars beyond her means — sways over.

Her champagne sloshes dangerously close to your dress, but for some reason, you don’t step back.

"Oh my god, it really is you!" Her voice carries just a bit too loud, and you can feel a few heads turning in your direction. "I almost didn't recognize you without, you know-“ she gestures vaguely at all of you, that sick smile still on her blush pink lips. "All the paint and shit all over you.”

You take a long sip of your drink, hoping it would wash away the rising tide of anxiety in your core. "Good to see you too, Mads.”

"So,” She leans in conspiratorially, her breath smelling of booze and mid-tier champagne. “I heard about your gallery show last month. The one at The Maxwell? God, that must have been-“ She trails off, eyes wide with what looks like concern but feels like something else entirely.

Your hand tightens around your glass. "Must have been what?" Your lips tighten into a line, “It was an- an honor to have the opportunity.”

Words your father had always said to you growing up echo in the far depths of your mind; Honor and Integrity.

There’s a humility in it, in accepting such a nightmare as privilege.

"Well, I mean — I saw that article that was going around Instagram. About how you just up and left? In the middle of opening night?" She takes another sip of champagne, watching you over the rim with her big, stupid brown eyes. "Is that true? That you didn't even come back to collect your pieces? God, that's crazy!"

The word crazy hits like a slap, and you can still feel the panic from that night, the walls closing in as people whispered, pointed, discussed your work like it was a car crash they couldn't look away from and did nothing to aid.

"It's not exactly-"

"And after everything with Matt, and then Jason- ugh,” She shakes her head. "I mean, I get it. Using art as therapy. But maybe actual therapy would be — I dunno — you know, beneficial?”

"Madison-"

"I'm just worried about you," she continues, reaching for your arm and her fingers feel like serpents, coiling around your skin, suffocating you. "We all are. First the whole thing with your poor father — god, remember how he used to say you were just too-"

"Don't." Your voice comes out sharper than intended, your brows furrowed at her like she’d backhanded you. “Don’t you fucking say another word.”

Madison almost gasps, clutching her necklace. “See? This is what I mean. All this reactionary stuff. The anger. The intensity. Have you thought about getting help? My therapist says sometimes when we've been through things-"

The garden somehow feels too small, the fairy lights too bright, the music too loud. Across the room, Luigi is trapped in conversation with the bride's uncle, but somehow he must sense something because his eyes find yours, his head tilted at you, his usual question.

Everything okay?

This time, you look away from him.

"I’m going to leave this conversation before-“

"No, wait, listen." Madison's grip on your arm tightens, slithering, sneering, hissing. Fangs, poison. “That show — people were talking about it for weeks. How raw it was. How fucking uncomfortable it made everyone. One of the pieces — the one with all the broken mirrors? Someone said it looked like a cry for help."

You can feel your pulse in your throat. "It wasn't a fucking-“

"And then you just disappeared! Like, who does that, girl? Just leaves their own show? The curator had to pack up your pieces himself. That's what the article said. Is that true?" She may as well have a microphone beneath your trembling lips, taking on the role of some cheap reporter for a local shittalking magazine.

Of course she read the article.

Everyone read the article.

The one that called your work a disturbing glimpse into a clearly troubled mind. The one that suggested your artistic breakdown was inevitable given your history of emotional instability.

It was laughable, truly, and anyone that knew you well enough had known so much to be so very far from the truth.

"I had my reasons," you manage, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself. “I had reason for leaving the way I did.”

"Obviously you did. That's what I'm saying. Maybe if you got some help, you know, dealt with all this and found ways to properly cope-“ She waves her hand vaguely again, like swatting away a pesky fly. "Then maybe you could make art that's more you know.. accessible. Enjoyable. Less-“

"Less me?" The words come out before you can stop them. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t know, Madison. You haven’t seen a single one of my shows, haven’t shown yourself at any of my gallery openings-“ your cheeks burn red hot, your glass of wine discarded and your hands balled into fists. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking pop that smirk right off your-“

"That's not what I-"

“It is exactly what you fucking-“

“No, it’s not! Look at yourself!”

"Hey!” Luigi's voice cuts through the rising panic. He's suddenly there, solid and real. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have that thing that we have to get to-“ he loops his arm around yours, and he swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you, hot and quivering like a volcano deciding if it’s time to erupt just yet or not.

Madison blinks at him, her nostrils flared at the sudden interruption. It seems as though this is exactly the reaction she wanted, and was pissed the show had called curtains so quickly. "What thing?"

"That very important thing," Luigi says firmly, already guiding you away. "Great catching up. Green is not your color. Go Birds.” As he turns you both, he raises his middle finger behind your back — not because you needed defending, but because that's who Luigi is; all sharp edges and fierce loyalty, a guard dog with his teeth bared in your honor, though, you catch the gesture in a reflection, and something warm unfurls in your chest.

Not because you needed saving, but because he'd always take your side, no matter the circumstances. He didn’t need to know why you were barking at this girl he’d never met before — he already knew you had good reason to do it.

You make it to the venue's back garden before your legs give out, and the fairy lights blur through tears you refuse to let fall. "Did you— fuck,” Your voice shakes as you reach to wipe away the tears before they even get the chance to glide down your cheeks. "Did you actually hear what she was saying or just see it?”

"Caught the greatest hits." His jaw is tight, his hand resting on your lower back as he hunches forward, clearly concerned but approaching all of it carefully.

You can’t help but wonder then how many times you’ll find yourselves like this — Luigi rescuing you from yet another mishap, and that alone could become a new reason to feel sorry for yourself.

And him.

"The article." You wrap your arms around yourself. "She read the fucking article."

Ironically, you had originally taken the article well.

Too well, in fact.

You'd invited them all over — Luigi, Anna, Theo — for what you called A Reading of My Professional Obituary. You'd spent all day in the kitchen, channeling your grandmother's stress-cooking legacy; bouillabaisse simmering for hours, Tarte Tatin caramelizing to golden perfection.

The good wine came out, the kind you'd been saving for a real occasion.

Perched in your chair like it was a throne, wine glass dangling from your fingers, you'd performed dramatic readings of the choicest quotes. "Sources close to the artist describe a history of emotional instability," you'd intoned, affecting a pompous art critic voice that had Luigi choking on his wine. "An unsettling collection that seemed less like art and more like a cry for help.”

The evening devolved into a tipsy game of "Guess the Snitch" — everyone taking turns suggesting increasingly ridiculous candidates for the mysterious source. "It was Gabby, in the gallery, with the emotional manipulation!" Theo had declared, wielding his bouillabaisse spoon like a gavel.

But Luigi had watched you through it all — the way your hand shook slightly when pouring wine, how your laugh got a little too loud to be genuine, and how you'd spent three hours making a perfect French dessert like your life depended on proving you weren't falling apart.

"We all did." Luigi reminds you, his voice gentle but firm. "Christ, we turned it into dinner theater. Remember how Anna did that dramatic interpretation of ' the unsettling collection'?" His hand finds your knee, squeezing. "And it was shit. Not only was it shit — it was cowardly. Didn't even have the spine to name you."

You tilt your head back, using the stars as gravity's help against the tears threatening to spill. The fairy lights from the wedding garden blur into little halos. "I know, but — these people, Lu." Your voice catches, and you hate how it betrays you. "They believe it. They're all walking around thinking I'm some unhinged artist who needs to be sedated and locked away from sharp objects." A laugh escapes, but it's wet and hollow. "God, I wish I'd understood what that article would do. I wish-"

But there's no point in wishing.

The damage was done with surgical precision.

They hadn't needed to use your name — everyone knew exactly whose exhibition had opened at Maxwell Gallery on August fifteenth.

Yours.

•

The hotel room feels smaller with each passing hour.

You've mastered a careful choreography — sliding past each other in the narrow spaces, maintaining precise distances on the king bed as you both pretend to watch some mindless cooking show. But sometimes, despite your best efforts, you slip. His hand brushes yours as you both reach for the room service menu, your feet touch under the shared blanket; each accidental contact sends you recoiling like a startled cat, though you used to fall asleep during movie nights without a second thought.

When your knee accidentally bumps his as you shift position, you jerk away so violently you nearly fall off the bed.

"Okay." Luigi mutes the TV, turning to face you. "We need to talk about this."

"About what?" But you know exactly what, can feel heat creeping up your neck and it makes you want to run.

"About how we used to share my twin bed during college when you crashed at my place, but now you act like my skin is fucking toxic." His voice is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of hurt that makes your core ache. "Remember that road trip to Detroit? You slept on my chest the whole way back because the car heater was broken.“ he looks desperate, grasping at the last straws of you. “I feel like we hardly look each other in the eyes now.”

You stare hard at the geometric pattern on the duvet, picking at a loose thread. "Things were different then."

"Were they?" He shifts closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Or are you just scared they weren't?"

You get up abruptly, needing to put physical space between you and that question, the Chicago night spreading out beyond the window, a constellation of lights blurring through unshed tears; each one feels like a witness to this moment, to your cowardice.

"You know what changed," you say finally, arms crossed tight against your chest like armor. "After Maxwell, after the article, after everything became public consumption — I can't be that person anymore.”

"Why not?" His voice is closer now — he's moved to the edge of the bed, but he doesn't approach further. Giving you space while refusing to let you run.

Very classic Luigi.

A laugh escapes you, bitter and dry. "Because now everyone's watching. Waiting for the next shoe to drop. And you-“ You turn just enough to catch his reflection in the window, superimposed over the city lights. "You're too important to me, Lu.”

"So you'd rather just — what? Keep pretending?" There's frustration in his voice now, raw and real. "We both know that's not sustainable. Not when we used to-“ He trails off, and you recall the many countless nights on his cramped couch, your head on his chest, his heartbeat your lullaby to the most restful sleep you’d ever known.

"Maybe not," you admit quietly. "But it's safer than the alternative."

"Safer for who?"

The question almost knocks you off your feet.

Because he's right — this careful distance isn't protecting him. It's protecting you. From vulnerability. From the possibility of loss. From the terrifying reality that despite everything, despite all your jagged edges and dark corners, he's still here.

Still looking at you like you're something precious instead of precarious.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with all the things you're afraid to say, all the ways you're afraid to need him, and even more terrified of the way he needs you.

Eventually, you turn from the window, facing him. "It can't be simple. I won't let it be." Your voice catches. "I push and I pull and I keep everyone at arm's length until they prove me right by leaving."

Luigi stands slowly, like he's approaching a wild animal. "You've been trying so hard to make it impossible," he says softly. "Creating distance, convincing yourself I'll give up." He takes another step closer. "But loving you has always been the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Don't." The word comes out choked, your hand pressing against his chest in hopes that he’ll back away. "Don't say that when you know how complicated — how- how difficult-"

"Difficult?" He's close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, stood firm but not inching any closer. "You want to talk about difficult? Try watching you date other people. Try sitting across from you at coffee shops for years and watching you cry over them. Try fucking loving you quietly through every gallery opening, every crisis,“ his brows furrow, his nostrils flare, “you don’t get to tell me what loving you is like.”

Your breath catches as he reaches for you.

"You think you're pushing me away?" His voice is barely above a whisper, his hands finally cradling your face, tears dampening your cheeks that blaze with warmth. "I've been yours since that first night you fell asleep on my shoulder during finals week. Everything since then — it's just been waiting."

You clench your jaw, your heart a wild thing against your ribs. This tightrope you and Luigi have been walking for years — this delicate balance of almost-but-not-quite, of maybe-someday-but-not-now — has finally frayed beneath your feet. All those careful steps, those perfectly maintained distances, those nights of pretending your skin didn't burn where he almost touched you.

They’ve led you here, to this hotel room in Chicago, where the fantasy of staying safely suspended between friendship and something more has finally given way to gravity.

And what, you wonder, has Luigi seen in you to make him want to dive deeper into your chaos?

He's already witnessed the 3 AM phone calls when your mind won't quiet, the obsessive cleaning episodes that leave your hands raw and your apartment sterile. He's held you through the tears that come without warning, weathered the anger that burns hot and fast like summer lightning.

You're no manic pixie dream girl — you're the real thing, messy and unpredictable, with a heart that bleeds all over everything it touches.

He's either a storm chaser or a fool, you think.

Some hopeless beast tamer who hasn't realized that some creatures aren't meant to be gentled, that some storms leave nothing but wreckage in their wake.

But that's the thing — to Luigi, you've never been a storm to weather or a beast to tame. He doesn't look at you like you're broken machinery in need of repair, doesn't treat your edges like something to be smoothed away.

Instead, he's spent years matching your pace, stepping back when you needed space, stepping forward when you needed anchor. And now, finally, the weight of all that careful patience has brought him here — raw and honest in this dim hotel room, asking you to either meet him in this space between what you are and what you could be, or lay him to rest.

"Touch me," he says, the words falling soft but heavy in the space between you. His eyes hold yours, steady and sure, "Or let me go.”

The city lights paint his silhouette in gold and shadow, and you realize you've never seen him look so vulnerable, so stripped of the careful composure he always maintains. Your Luigi laid bare — not the patient friend, not the steady shoulder, but a man who's finally reached the end of his endurance.

"What if we break?" The question slips from your lips, small and honest, carrying all the weight of your fears that kept you at such a distance all these years — shattering to pieces, left broken by the man you’d loved the most.

Luigi's eyes soften, and something like a smile — sad and sweet and knowing — tugs at the corner of his lips. "Then we break," he says simply, his thumbs swiping away the tears that slide down your cheeks. "But I'd rather that than spend the rest of my life whole and wondering."

His hands haven’t moved. Patient, steady Luigi, who has never pushed but never fully retreated, either. Who has somehow found this perfect middle ground between staying and going, between asking and waiting.

And maybe that's what finally does it — the realization that he's offering you both beginning and end in the same breath. That he's standing here saying yes to all of it; the possibility of breaking, of shattering, of ending up with nothing but deadly carnage between you.

That he knows exactly what he's asking for, and he's asking anyway.

Your hand moves before you can think yourself out of it again, crossing the space between you like a prayer finally answered. When you cup his face, the scrape of stubble against your palm is both foreign and achingly familiar — like a song you used to know by heart, now half-remembered.

His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and you feel the slight tremor in his jaw, the way he leans into your hand like he's been starving for it.

His breath catches, shaky and soft, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "There you are," he whispers against your palm, like he's greeting someone long lost, like you've finally come home after years away. "There you are."

His lips brush your palm once more before he lifts his gaze to yours, eyes dark with something between hope and heartache. "Tell me to pull away," he whispers, voice rough. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll go. I'll understand."

But his body betrays him — the slight tremor still present in his jaw under your touch, the way he's still leaning into your hand like he can't help himself. He's offering you an exit, even now. Steady, selfless Luigi, always making sure you have a way out, even when it's killing him to do so.

And that's what breaks you finally — not his touch or his words, but this endless capacity of his to put your needs first.

To stand here offering everything he has left and the chance to walk away from it.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. That small sound seems to undo something in him — his control fractures, and suddenly he's pulling you down to him with a urgency that matches your own, your hands bracing against his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath your palms.

"I've thought about this," he confesses roughly, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes heat pool low in your stomach, his thumb tracing a burning path along your hip bone. "Having you like this.”

You can feel the tension coiled in him, the way he's still holding back despite everything. Even now, he's giving you the chance to set the pace, to decide how far this goes. But you're done with hesitation, done with the careful distance you've maintained for so long.

You lean down, letting your lips brush against his ear. "Show me," you whisper, and feel him shudder beneath you. "Show me how you wanted me."

He moves with a swiftness that steals your breath, flipping your positions in one fluid motion. Now he's the one hovering above you, his forearm braced beside your head, other hand still at your waist.

The weight of him, the heat of him so close — it makes your head spin.

"Like this," he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. "Just like this." He holds you like you’ll run from him — just like he’s watched you run from everything before that doesn’t run from you first.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way he's trembling slightly despite his strength. "I'm here," you whisper back, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

[prapaiwife]

If the thame po episode 10 made u mad then that's a good thing it's supposed to be infuriating that in this year 2025 this behavior is still happening. I've seen some say this is overdone but it's not this conversation will always be had over and over cause it's not simply reaching some ppl at all which is sad truly. Alot of "fans" intrude into these idols lives and make speculations on speculations about them over every little thing on who they're dating or seeing potentially! Just spreading misinformation even going as far to prove their sexuality is actually this when it's not the other which is another conversation to unpack. Fern is a grown woman working her own job who has this love for Mars running their fanclub and her reaction didn't shock me one bit. The way they handled that scene with her and po had alot of compassion to hear her out to an extent! Cause someone watching this who can relate to her or a her can not be so quick to be argumentative and defensive. And fern isn't even on the extreme side of what we typically see from "fans" it just goes to show it effects everyone which we all know. Also the company or companies are also the ones working behind the scenes of it all and will manipulate and plant stories to derial us. That is very important not everything is the idol the lables move in secret and use the fans even. But to end this william went Iive yesterday on his bday and said this to end the live and i think we all need to hear it even if u already know it, it doesn't hurt.

"i just want to wish everyone lots of happiness. no matter what happens, don’t stress too much. i just want everyone to love me. if you love me, i want you to love the people around me too. i want you to love a lot. i want you to love everyone. whoever i love, i want everyone to love them too. this is a request from a kid who just turned 20"

Trans

[aestheticpearl]

“ BUT I HATE TO THINK ABOUT YOU WITH SOMEBODY ELSE ”

synopsis. leigh isn’t jealous. he doesn’t get jealous.

featuring. leigh (sakuverse)

a/n. if you’re reading this in the future and it’s inaccurate to his character, keep that to yourself i’m going off of a single episode and a prayer here

leigh has honestly confused himself at this point in this stunt of a relationship he has with you. it’s just a normal company picnic with your software company. they wanted their employees to be able to get some fresh air on the job or something like that. regardless, leigh watched for under a shaded tree as you grab some snacks for the both of you from the table they’ve set up on the field.

he’s watching your body language more than anything as you speak to one of the guys in the sales department who clearly doesn’t know how to take a hint. he keeps moving forward as you step back at each advancement, even glancing over to leigh himself to communicate ‘are you seeing this?’ with your eyes. he is unfortunately.

he remains planted under the tree, knowing full well you can very much handle yourself and if you needed help you would ask, but after a certain point it’s not just about how he’s getting impatient with the guy blabbing his whole life story to you, it’s about how he’s trying to make moves on his fake partner. that’s when he knows he has to intervene for appearance sake. at least that’s what he’s telling himself. he ignores the feelings that it stirs out in the pit of his stomach as he stands up and starts walking over to you.

you feel leigh before you see him as he wraps his arm around your waist, a wave of comfort washes over you at the feeling; finally someone that can get you out of this uncomfortable situation without being rude—

“quit hitting on them. they’re my partner.”

nevermind.

you watch the poor guy sputter out a few apologies before stumbling away from the two of you.

“that wasn’t very nice.” you mumble as you place a few veggies on your plate.

“i wasn’t trying to be, mate clearly couldn’t take a hint.” leigh responds, picking a carrot off your plate and munching on it. “you should tell HR about that.”

“what? that my fake boyfriend scared off an employee for trying to shoot his shot?”

“hey what are fake boyfriends for?”

something pulls at both of your heartstrings when you say the word fake, but you both similarly opt to brush it off.

you both walk back to the shaded tree area that leigh has practically claimed for his own and sit down with the snacks in hand.

“so have any bets?”

“sorry?” you look at leigh puzzled.

“any bets on who’s gonna win capture the flag?”

“oh.” you follow his eyes to the scene that unfolds on the field. your coworkers in some kind of team building exercise that they are definitely too old for.

“i’m honestly not too sure.” you enjoy your snacks as you watch the game, absentmindedly offering leigh the same snacks by holding the plate in front of him. he is also is locked on to what you are watching unaware of how couple like you both look right now.

“do you think this is going to effect the weekend project?” you ask, looking back at him.

“yes, but i don’t know if it’ll be in a good way or a bad way. depends on how this ends.” he smiles back at you.

you laugh and lean on him, not evening thinking.

you only realize the mistake when you feeling leigh tense under you and you quickly pull away.

“s-sorry!”

“you don’t have you act like i am hot lava.” you chuckles a bit at you reaction.

“i didn’t want to overstep—”

“i didn’t think you were overstepping.” his eyes flicker over you facial features to try and read your emotions a bit better. you’re panicked and… flustered?

“relax okay? i just wasn’t expecting it, i don’t mind though, it is pretty chilly today.” he opens his arm for you to move into, which you do eventually with some hesitation.

he’s warm and somehow comforting. you remind yourself that this isn’t something that’s real, it’s just an act that you both have to keep up with and he seems to be better at remembering that appearances need to be maintained. you secretly pray that he doesn’t notice the flustered state he as been putting you in by doing this.

“you’re warm.”

oops.

he chuckles.

“thank you.”

“i d-didn’t mean to say that.”

“but you did.” he smiles. “which means you meant it~”

you roll your eyes at him and genuinely reconsider your feels for a spilt second in that moment.

new character rahhhhhh. i’m just hoping to get pulled out of this writing slump cause i’m lowkey starting to lose interest in this. the hyperfixation isn’t fixating. happy valentine’s day btw 🤍

.love always<3 pearl

.masterlist

[lo1k-diamonds]

A woman's best friend 💜 Part 2

PAIRING: Taehyung x (f)reader

SUMMARY: After falling into temptation once, you and Taehyung tried to navigate the aftermath as best as possible. It turns out none of you can handle it, so your friendship is bound to end one way or another.

WORD COUNT: 7,127 

GENRE: f2l, smut (uni AU setting)

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: mutual pining, angst, dirty talk, body worship, nipple play, oral (m receiving), fingering, protected sex

A.N. I know part 1 was bittersweet, and I am a sucker for happy endings, so here is part 2 with a shiny new ending for this couple 😚 I think it has the right vibe for Valentine's Day, enjoy! (Thank you to @eerieedits again for the awesome banner 💜)

Masterlist | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs | AO3 | Wattpad

The rhythmic thud thud on the window made you pull the curtain and look out the window. It was storming outside, and the night lights glistened as cars passed in the roads below and people enjoyed their Saturday night. 

Not you, though. Once, you had two types of Saturdays: the ones you’d go out with all your friends and the ones you’d stay home hanging out with Taehyung. Lately, you had neither, and it was all your fault.

You still remembered a night like this one. Turning away from the window, you let your gaze wander your living room. Back then, Physical: 100 kept playing on the TV screen for a long time, serving as background noise as you stayed in Taehyung’s arms. You lost track of time, then, staying awake and worrying about what that night would change.

You never discussed it further with Taehyung. He had fallen asleep, breathing gently with his arms around you, and you stayed perfectly still, aware of every ticking second. The conflict inside your chest was paralyzing — you didn’t want that night to end, but you also feared it continuing. The more you touched or interacted with him intimately, the harder everything would get. 

Those thoughts kept you awake, staring at the ceiling. So you recalled when the TV timed out and switched off, prompting you to go to the bathroom and come back only to find Taehyung exactly where you left him, naked with a blanket partially covering him as he slept. You didn’t regret slipping back into his embrace; you’d never get another chance. He wouldn’t know you had decided to return to his arms or how much you needed his warmth to calm down and fall asleep.

When you woke up, you found out a summer storm had broken out. It rained so much, then, but the same thud thud from the windows was unable to draw you away from his arms. All you could do was linger in his warmth for one second longer while you worried. Dreading and fearing how you’d ever look at him and not remember. How you’d brush each other and fake not having butterflies in your stomach. What if you saw him with someone else? How were you supposed to be his wing-woman again?

Of course, Taehyung had reacted the way you expected him to when he woke up. He chuckled at the pouring rain outside, happy that he had his leather jacket with him, and smiled dazzlingly when he saw you in a robe with your morning hair.

Then, before he left, he reassured you again, “Don’t worry about it.”

But you were yourself, and you had been right to worry. The problem wasn’t that you had slept together but that it had changed something inside your heart. Those feelings you once thought buried refused to vanish, the hope you once thought dead was alive and kicking, and to make things worse, you couldn’t forget.

Taehyung invited you for an ice cream, and you remembered what his eating you out felt like. He told you about this movie he wanted to see, and you knew what his baritone voice teasing you would sound like in the dark. He was excited about the new classes he was taking, even more so because you were there, too, and you shuddered at the memory of him kissing you as he came deep inside you, holding you so close you felt like a treasure. He promised to take you home when your group of friends decided to check out a new club, and you dreaded the whole night, both because he could choose to hook up with someone and because you wished that person could be you. Finally, he invited you to work on a group assignment together, and as you listened to him passionately go on about the topic, you wondered if you’d ever be able to reel your feelings back in.

You screwed yourself up over that one single weak moment. That yes had turned your life upside down, and while Taehyung kept his promise of being your best friend, you couldn’t.

So you did the only logical thing — you started avoiding him. It was inevitable — if his proximity made it impossible for you to get over him, then the only natural solution was not to have him close.

You weren’t sure he noticed, but you knew he was understanding. He never mentioned the situation and treated you like nothing happened. He never pushed to know why you started saying no to night outs or confronted you about being tired every time he invited you over. You were never able to invite him to come over and be alone again in that very same living room, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why, so it didn’t surprise you never asked about it.

In the end, it hurt you more than anyone. You were frustrated with yourself; you asked for this, it was all your doing. But you were helpless. Sometimes, you could act normal, and your interactions were playful and warm, as always. He poked you under the table? You knew there was a joke coming. Or he’d lean into your ear to whisper something, and your heart wouldn’t somersault and expect a caress. However, other times, you couldn’t help but withdraw your hand or avoid sitting next to him and letting such interactions bloom. Because you’d read into them or remember or wish for things to be different, and you hated it. Hated it all.

You were about to turn on the TV and search for something that could take your mind off him when the doorbell rang. You wondered if the neighbor had put the wrong door number on the food delivery again, but Taehyung was outside your door like an apparition. 

Despite his black leather jacket, he looked drenched and dejected. He raised his dark eyes to yours. “Hi, can I come in?”

You didn’t hesitate to reach out to pull him inside. “Of course, let me grab a towel!”

You let him enter your place first and close the door behind him, then rushed to your bathroom to get a towel. Only when you came back to the living room did you realize it was odd that he was there.

“Weren’t you supposed to go out with the others tonight?” you asked as you threw the towel over his head to dry his dripping hair. “How come you’re here?”

He grabbed your hands and pulled the towel away so he could face you. “I can’t take this anymore. We need to talk.”

“Alright! Who wants to drink what?”

Taehyung barely heard Jimin's question as your group of friends sat around on the couches and loveseats. That was their corner; they always sat there, and as he waited for everyone to settle down, his heart dropped. The loveseat you always shared with him was empty. You weren’t there again.

Taehyung asked about you quietly, trying to conceal the way his heart was squeezing inside his chest.

“She’s not coming,” Jimin answered, then shrugged. “Something about being tired.”

“She’s always tired lately!” Hoseok huffed as he sat next to Jungkook, who hummed.

“Maybe she’s sick?”

“When’s the last time we’ve seen her?” Jin wondered, and Namjoon sat on a beige pouf.

“Couple of weeks? Anyway, why are you asking?”

“You would know better than us,” Yoongi croaked with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Don’t you have classes with her?”

“Aren’t you best friends?”

Taehyung nodded absentmindedly as they resumed choosing their drinks, and the weight inside his chest didn’t relent. Yes, he saw you; he should know about you. He should be able to understand, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t. You were slipping between his fingers, and he just couldn’t sit idly by and watch it happen anymore.

“I gotta go.”

He rushed outside without hearing their protests, and the pouring rain greeted him. It wasn’t enough to dissuade him; he raised his leather jacket’s lapel to cover his neck and made his way in between the people trying to reach the nightbars and get cover from the rain. You lived fifteen minutes away; you were just within reach.

It was all his fault. He should have thought twice about crossing the line with you, even when you said yes. Not just for you, but for his own sake. That night was branded in his memory, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move on from it. And he tried. He tried doing everything right. He tried pretending nothing happened, that he didn’t want anything more than friendship with you, that it wasn’t a big deal. He tried looking at you as purely as a friend would, and he tried looking at other people the way he knew he shouldn’t look at you. Yet, even in the few moments he was able to entertain the thought of someone else or get engrossed in a conversation with them, it was always the same. The moment you crossed his mind, he was reminded why it wouldn’t work. He’d be talking with someone clearly interested in him and instantly thinking about your kiss, your smile, your gaze as you kneeled before him, your teases. The person in front of him would touch his thigh, hinting at something more, and he’d instantly raise a wall. You were on his mind, and even if being friends was the only thing you wanted, it didn’t mean his heart or body wanted anyone else.

He craved you. That night wasn't just a dream or a type of heaven he wished had become permanent. It was a risk in every sense. He knew he wasn't just fucking you. He didn’t want just to leave you a slobbering mess, he wanted more. He wanted to look into your eyes and see it — the moment you'd realize how good you felt together. How perfect it was and could be. He wanted to look into your eyes and see the moment you'd fall in love with him.

And that was his biggest mistake. That one moment of pure greed — it wouldn't happen, he knew that. Even if you were curious about him, that wouldn't just happen. Best case scenario, you'd scratch the itch, be it for sex or curiosity, and move on. Worst case scenario, you'd regret it and never look at him the same way again.

He suspected the latter was happening despite his efforts. The whole night he had you in his arms, he struggled to enjoy it after the way you revealed your worries. His heart burned with a discomfort he couldn’t voice while he prayed that he wouldn’t lose you. That, no matter what happened, you'd stay in his life.

But he should have known. It was worse than a drunk one-night stand with someone from your friend group. You were best friends; of course, it was hard for you.

You started pulling away, and he instantly noticed. At first, it was the little things. You'd withdraw your hand from his or flinch ever so slightly when he leaned in closer. You didn’t invite him to spend time or the night in your apartment, just the two of you, and he understood why. The worst was that you withdrew from your typical antics and cut your smiles short. You’d be sitting next to him and not even look his way, and it withered his heart. Of course, when you did turn to him, he always had a smile for you. He wanted to be a comforting presence no matter how fleeting your interactions were, but still, it only got worse. 

It hurt when you avoided sitting next to him or dancing, and then you started disappearing. You didn't show up to all classes anymore, and you didn't hang out with your group of friends, at least not when he showed up. Then he'd text you to ask about it and notice that even through messages, things had changed. You texted less and less, and the distance was breaking his heart. 

He kept running through the stormy weather with his hair dripping down his forehead. He didn't care; nothing mattered at this point. It had been two weeks since he last saw you, and there were only three or four texts in between. What he feared was happening, it was undeniable, but he wouldn't go down without a fight. He needed to see you and try one last time. It would be his dying breath, but at least he'd try. For once, he'd bare his soul and hope you'd do the same and forgive him. He just didn't want to lose you. He loved you so much.

He crossed a delivery boy at your apartment building entrance and ran upstairs to consume some of that nervous energy. Then, he rang the doorbell, and you opened the door for him, and his heart convulsed. God, he missed you so desperately.

“Hi, can I come in?” he mumbled, lost in the sight of you in your robe that brought him such bittersweet memories. 

You pulled him inside without hesitating. “Of course, let me grab a towel!”

You closed the door behind him, and he took his shoes off so he wouldn’t make a puddle in your living room. Yet that was the last thought he had before where he was hit. That couch, that place. His heart ached again as he turned to you, and you threw a towel over his head.

“Weren’t you supposed to go out with the others tonight?” you asked as you patted the towel to dry his dripping hair. “How come you’re here?”

He grabbed your hands and pulled the towel away to face you. “I can’t take this anymore. We need to talk.”

He saw the second you tensed as the towel fell to the floor, but you didn't withdraw your hands, and he was not holding back.

“You said you didn't want things to change, and I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to hold onto you,” he said, pain lacing his voice. “But I can't if you keep pushing me away like this.”

He paused, looking at your startled and tense expression, waiting for you to say something, but you were frozen.

He lowered his hands but kept holding onto yours. “I'm sorry if I ever hurt you. If I pushed you to do something that made you uncomfortable with me. It's my fault, I got carried away with my own selfish feelings,” he confessed, tearing up with a sad smile. “I promise I won't ever touch you again or bring up anything inappropriate, so please.” He let go of your hands gently. “Please forgive me. Please say we can still do something about this because I can't— I don't want to lose you.”

His voice wobbled, and you frowned, shaking your head. 

“I’m the one who is sorry,” you managed to say despite the tears pushing to get out. “Because it’s my fault. My selfish feelings, not yours. I'm the one who said yes and then couldn’t handle it. I'm so sorry, I— I should have told you, but I— I’m so sorry—”

You stammered, rubbing your face in embarrassment, distraught. You needed to tell him; you couldn’t let him think he did something wrong. But what if he thought staying friends would worsen things and decided to end everything?

“Told me what?” he asked, anxiously stepping closer to you. “Please, tell me,” he requested softly, but you kept hiding your face. “Please.”

Your hands started shaking over your face, and he suddenly realized you were holding back your cry as you trembled.

His heart sank. “Did I hurt you? Fuck, I’m so sorry!”

You uncovered your face to look at him. “No, you didn't.”

He held his breath as he observed you cleaning your cheeks. “But you’re crying,” he pointed out, desolation tearing his chest. “I'm so sorry! I promise I won’t ever do it again!”

You wiped your cheek annoyedly and reached to grab his jacket. “Stop!”

“I never wanted to hurt you, I—”

“Stop it!”

“I won't ever touch you again, I just—”

“Stop saying that!”

He stayed put, no matter how angrily you held onto his jacket. “I’ll never forgive myself if—”

“STOP!” You had to shout and pull him to you so firmly that he stumbled in your direction. Desperation was taking hold of you as sobs shook you, but his disheartened eyes kept you focused. “You never hurt me, I don't want you to think that for a second!”

“But… you've distanced yourself from me.”

“I know,” you croaked, looking down at his lips curved sadly.

“You said you didn't want things to change.”

“I know…”

“You said you didn't want it to ruin our friendship.”

“I did…”

Taehyung waited for you to say something or look into his eyes again, but you didn't.

So he asked, “Did it?”

“Yes.” Your eyes finally rose from his lips, and you had to be truthful. “I can't be your friend anymore.”

Taehyung paled and stared at you, speechless, livid. His heart broke; his worst nightmare was—

“I look at you, and friendship doesn't begin to cover how I feel.”

“What?” He blinked, befuddled as his thought process stumbled on itself.

“I should have told you, but I never thought you’d— I knew it would be risky, but—” You licked your lips, having a hard time ordering your thoughts. “At that moment, when you asked, I just— Of course, I said yes, I— I’ve wanted you for so long, I— I should have known it would mess me up— I begged you not to let things change because I knew— I knew they would change for me, and—”

You were struggling to breathe and say everything you wanted, and he supported your arms as you held onto his jacket.

“You wanted me?” he asked softly, and you nodded. “What changed? Please… Please tell me.”

His gentle expression and supporting hands gave you the courage you needed. “Everything— everything changed,” you confessed. “I can’t look at you the same way. I can’t look at you without wanting to touch you or kiss you. I’m sorry, I—”

He cradled your cheeks suddenly and crashed his mouth to yours, and you whimpered ever so softly. You gripped him closer by his leather jacket and kissed him back, not hesitating for a second to meet his tongue with yours. You wanted to lick that taste back into your life, that warmth, that comfort you missed terribly.

You thought he felt the same way when he halted your kiss to a simple press of your mouths as though he needed to feel it. When he pulled away, his eyes were red and glistening, eying you with such emotion your heart trembled.

“You wanted to kiss me?” he asked, still cradling your cheeks.

“Yes.”

“To touch me?”

You nodded anxiously. “Yes.”

“That's what changed?”

“No.” You looked at his lips again before facing him. “I've always wanted to, but we were friends. Now, I just can't pretend anymore.”

“You mean… you don't see me as a friend?”

You shook your head still in his grasp.

“So you don't regret it?”

You could see him relaxing, his features soothing as you two talked, so you shook your head again. “I don't. Do you?”

“No,” he replied instantly, smiling. “I did when I thought you pulled away from me because I hurt you, but—”

“You didn't,” you assured again, pulling him closer. “Do you… Could you see us as more than friends?”

“Fuck yes,” he rasped, brushing your cheeks gently. “I want to be yours. I’ve wanted it for so long. There’s nothing else I want.”

“Really?”

Your eyes watered as you looked into his. Was this a dream?

He smirked. “Really. You better start believing it because if you let me into your bed again, I’m not leaving. Like ever.”

You chuckled and bit your lip. “If I invite you, I expect you to never leave. We cross the line and get rid of it. We say things that make us feel like more than just friends because we are more than—”

He crashed his lips into yours again, letting go of your jaw to pull you closer by the waist until your chests were glued. His leather jacket was still dripping from the rain, but you didn't care. If he kept kissing you like that, he wouldn't have it on for much longer anyway.

“Say it, then,” he mumbled between kisses. “You know the drill.”

You chuckled. “Do I?”

He hummed, chasing your lips.

“I only know the one to give you the green light to fuck me into a slobbering mess—”

His groan as he dragged his lips to your neck made you clench around nothing, and you bit your lip.

“But what if I don't want just to fuck?”

He pulled away to face you, with blown pupils and wet lips, held in check.

“What if I want to be yours?”

“I'll make you mine,” he promised, grabbing your hair on the back of your head so you'd face his dark eyes. “I'll make you forget ever not being mine.”

“In one of those five ways you thought of?”

Your whisper was not simply a tease, and you suspected he knew it when he groaned and leaned in to peck your lips.

“I've since thought of many more.”

He licked and nibbled your lips, and you had to close your eyes with the shudders.

“You thought about fucking me?”

“I haven't thought of fucking anyone else ever since I met you.”

Your cheeks burned as you snapped your eyes open. “What?”

“You heard me,” he murmured against your chin.

“But— I helped you— with that other guy—”

He shrugged. “Nothing happened. We got outside the bar and went our separate ways.”

“You never told me that!”

“Well, what could I say?” he said, speaking close enough to you that you could feel his breath on your lips. “That I wasn't really interested and went home to fuck my fist while I thought of you? I didn't think you'd appreciate that—”

It was your turn to grab his hair and pull him down to kiss you again, consuming just a little bit more. Your tongue darted out to lick, tease, and take, and he fought you with a low groan. Whatever you wanted, he wanted it too if it meant you were going to kiss him like that.

“You have— no idea— how much— that drives me crazy,” you managed to say between kisses. “The thought of you— thinking of me— fuck—”

He seemed to get an idea because his hands lowered to your ass to squeeze it, catching you when you jumped into his arms. You never stopped kissing, even as he walked with you in his hands, until your back hit a wall.

You didn't care how or where he fucked you as long as he did. Of course, your mouth was busy as you opened it more so he could deepen the kiss, so you couldn’t tell him. But you could show him in the way your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him close. Your heavy breathing matched his as your hands explored and tried touching him everywhere you could, but his jacket was in the way. He likely felt the same, seeing the way he fought to open your robe and tried getting it out of the way so he could kiss down your neck into the cleavage of your pajama top.

You chuckled; the two of you were making things harder by trying to undress each other at the same time. His eyes crinkled as he matched your smile and gave you the lead. His lips trailed your jaw as you pulled your robe open and shrugged it back to give him access to your neck and collarbone. Your skin instantly drew his lips, allowing you to push his jacket off him while he was happily distracted. 

You tried to get rid of his sweater, too, but couldn't. As soon as his jacket hit the floor, he wrapped his arms around you again and buried his face between your tits, squeezing you to him so firmly you couldn’t breathe. However, you could feel the way he was rutting into you and it drew a quiet moan as you fisted his hair. 

Goosebumps ran over you as he licked your cleavage, dragging his tongue over every inch of skin he could reach, and you needed more. You released one hand to reach in between your bodies with the single goal of touching him, and it wasn't easy. His ruts were unpredictable, not leaving any space between you, but you needed to grasp his desire for you, feel it in the palm of your hand.

When he raised his lips to kiss you again, it gave you the opportunity to unbutton his jeans. His tongue pushed through your lips, deepening his kiss so much you moaned quietly, muffled. Yet it just complemented and amplified your urge to grab him, and you did.

Your hand finally reached inside his boxers to grab his dick and pull it out, and he groaned. Your hand clamped shut around him, fisting him unapologetically, and he had to break your lips apart to moan softly. You adored the way he held his breath, letting his forehead fall to yours as he closed his eyes, taking in everything you gave him. His sweet expression sparked your desire even further, so you kept pumping him, delighted with the precum dripping around your fingers and his knitted eyebrows.

You'd go to the last consequences of this with pleasure, but he suddenly grabbed your hand away and pressed himself to you. You were squished between the wall and his body, but you had zero reservations about it, especially when he kissed you like that. His mouth crushed yours as his hips thrust into you, jumpstarting a carnal hunger that consumed you. His hand dug under your pajama top, scratching your skin up to squeeze your tits, and you moaned, bucking your hips to match his. His tongue was so deep in your mouth that you were drooling, both desperate to moan and feel the tip of his cock rubbing against your unfortunately still-covered cunt. You were fucking desperate to have him, and you'd gladly cum right here and now if he filled you up.

“Tae,” you tried, barely able to part your lips from his. “I need you inside me, please.”

He moved in a flash, checking his pants were open enough to give him space before letting you stand to pull your pants down your legs.

You gripped his shoulders for support, then sighed when he leaned in to nip just under your ear. His fingers skimmed your wet folds before pushing two fingers in roughly, unleashing your moans as he touched all the right spots inside you.

You were so ready to blow you could feel the enthralling pleasure tingling in your nerve ends.

But somehow, you had a discerning thought. “Condom… Tae… Grab a condom.”

He stopped suckling on the skin of your neck to eye you with a lustful gaze.

“I'm not on the pill,” you whispered, brushing his luscious hair off his eyes. He looked absolutely dazzling, and you wanted him to fuck you till you couldn’t even stand, but you did not want accidents. Not yet, anyway.

He blinked, his hand pulling out of you to feel his pockets. “I… I don't have one. The last time… I never got another one.”

You chuckled and he pouted, and you could read his thoughts.

“Not like I planned for this to—”

You kissed him, then pushed him back to have space to move away from his hold. “I know, I'll get one.” He tried to catch you, but you jumped over your clothes gracefully, only turning back to tell him, “Bed. In my bed.’

You got to your roommate's room to search for condoms. Hopefully, she had some, even though she spent more time at her boyfriend’s than there.

It wasn't hard to find them on her nightstand, and you took the whole box with you. It was not like she'd need them tonight.

You wondered how Taehyung would greet you but still staggered at your bedroom's entrance. He was lying on his back, arms spread over your bed sheets as he stared at the ceiling. Having heard you come in, he raised his head and promptly sat up. 

Even though his pants were unbuttoned and his clothes drenched, nothing would have given away what you were doing just minutes before. Except perhaps his dark glistening eyes running up and down your figure before they set back on yours.

You were naked from the waist down, yet suddenly, it wasn't enough. His eyes were curious and electrifying, and you wanted to keep going. Your heart was thumping loudly inside your chest, the thrill of that moment making you tremble, but you waited.

He raised his hand for you to grab, and your heart finally settled as you took it. Your fingers fit in his perfectly, and as he hugged you to him, resting his head on your chest, you finally stopped trembling. On the contrary, you caressed his head calmly as he held you. It felt like reaching home at long last. It was the first time you were touching each other like that, with such vulnerability and with all the cards on the table, and yet it was the best type of feeling.

He pulled away to look up at you, and you caressed his face gently, letting that ease echo between the two of you. It was real — his hands on your waist, his sparkling eyes, and the adoration in them. You knew then that it was as validating and fulfilling for him as it was for you that you were finally in each other's arms.

“Did you find one?” he asked hoarsely, and you nodded. “Do you want to stop?”

“Hell no.”

You frowned, and he wetted his lips. “I don't want to move too fast and mess this up. I care so much about you.”

You brushed the back of your fingers down his cheeks sweetly. “Me too. But we're not moving too fast. Right? We've been friends forever, and we want to be more than that.”

He nodded, his eyelashes fluttering as he enjoyed your touch. “Please.”

“Then let's,” you whispered, leaning in to nuzzle him. “I don't want to wait.”

“Then we don't.”

He was ready to get up and touch you, but you simply smiled and pecked him before getting on your knees. You could see how his lips parted expectingly as his eyes transfixed on you, making you giddy. You gave him an excited smile and reached for the hem of his pants, and he helped you get them off. Then you bit your lip as you reached and grabbed his erection again.

His head dropped back at the softness of your touch as he mumbled your name, and you nodded. “I want to suck you off.”

You never thought you'd get another chance to grab that juicy cock, let alone delight yourself in its smoothness and taste. You would have admitted to Taehyung how much you thought and fantasized about a moment like that one, but the words evaporated from your mouth. Your only thought was his taste, and as soon as a precum drop glistened over his slit, you dove in.

You sighed as he groaned above your head, instantly grabbing your hair out of the way as you sucked. You didn't even realize how intensely you were doing it, bobbing your head so he'd touch the back of your throat, because you were out. His cock pushing inside your mouth made you anticipate how he'd feel inside your tight walls, and his moans made your mind soar high, elated. Taehyung, only the one you had wanted and had feelings for forever, was right there, losing his mind with you. Because of you. Because he wasn't indifferent to you. He actually wanted you just the same, had feelings for you, thought of you, longed for you—

“Fuck— Wait—”

His voice was strangled, but you weren't listening. You here so dazed, clenching around nothing and high on your desire, that you only realized the reason for his warning too late.

His warm taste invaded your mouth, and you moaned, gushing between your legs at the thought of him losing control. Yet, in a split second, his hand wrapped over yours around the base of his cock so tightly it was almost painful for you.

Only then did you stop blowing him and pulled away, confused, and looked between him and his delicious cock. You had tasted cum for sure, and yet despite the way his dick twitched in front of you, there was no more coming out. He was groaning harshly, almost frustratingly, but you knew by his expression that pleasure was assaulting his nerve ends.

When he finally stopped groaning, his dark eyes opened. “What do you think you're doing?”

His voice was quiet, almost annoyed, and you just blinked up at him.

“You didn't tell me to stop.”

“I told you to wait.”

You simply shrugged. “You did say something like that, I just… I told you I wanted to suck you off.”

“And I told you I'd make you mine.”

“You still can,” you argued as he grabbed your hands to pull you up and get you on the bed.

“Not if I came fully.”

You shrugged and let him pull your legs around him as you leaned back on the sheets. “We have all night.”

“We have forever,” he underlined, making you chuckle as he got on top of you in between your legs. “Starting right now.”

You could only be amused and giddy with his assertiveness about making you his, and he smiled too. He brushed his hands along your naked legs, then leaned in to kiss your neck as his fingers got tantalizingly close. You tensed under him, gripping his shoulders. You waited impatiently, expecting to feel his touch any second and wondering how he'd react when he found out how ready you were. 

“Holy shit,” he almost whined when his fingers slid along your slit. You moaned back, shuddering with his touch. You knew you were slippery and dripping, and now he did too. If the pool between your legs wasn't obvious, the sounds surely gave you away. “You're so ready for me.”

You moaned your agreement as you gripped the sheets. His fingers weren't eager like before; this time, he patiently dragged his digits along your folds, pressing gentle circles on your clit now and then. Your whole body trembled every time he did, letting his kisses and nibbles on your neck build you up so intensely that you didn't know what to do anymore. You were hot and trembling, and moaning just wasn't enough.

You gripped his hair in search of something, and his answer was to crash his lips to yours. The kiss turned consuming instantly, and you moaned into his mouth, completely overwhelmed. His fingers entered you and hooked, pressing into your sensitive flesh with lewd sounds, and you couldn’t hold on anymore. You tried whimpering his name in between kisses, and if anything, he firmly kept going with his fingers, both inside and out, over your clit. It drove you to pull his hair harshly back, parting your mouths with strings of saliva between you, yet you didn't notice. Your orgasm burst through you, and you lost sight of yourself, moaning desperately in his hold, gripping his hair so tightly, you surely pulled it painfully.

You noticed this when you came to, blinking at him sluggishly. Your fingers instantly relented their hold, yet absolutely nothing in his expression indicated any pain. On the contrary, he was enticed. He was looking at you as though you had bewitched him.

He raised his hand to brush the hair out of your face, careful not to use the fingers still covered in your slick. “You're so beautiful.”

You would have blushed if you weren't already hot and bothered. Instead, you met his lips with yours, kissing him more calmly than he was able to. You melted a bit more with how he matched your gentleness, careful not to push or impose. He was adorable, and you were not done yet.

“Too hot,” you whined when the kisses picked up steam. “Get rid of it,” you asked, pulling on his sweater.

He firmly pressed his lips to yours before rising to his knees and pulling the sweater off. Then, he saw you struggling with your robe and helped you. Your pajama top met the same fate as his clothes on the floor, and you giggled because before it could even happen, he was already grabbing your tits and licking a nipple wildly. 

Moans interrupted your laughter as he licked and pinched, slurping your hardened nipples inside his mouth one at a time. You squirmed under him, trying to both grab him close and escape the onslaught. The more you writhed, the more you felt his hard dick pressed to your thigh, leaking against it as he rutted.

It drove you fucking wild because no matter how much you enjoyed having him eat your chest, you craved him inside you so much more right now. “Make me yours,” you begged, locking your glistening eyes with his when he looked up from the drooling mess he was making on your chest. “Don’t wanna wait, I need you.”

You noticed the red spots his lips were leaving behind on your chest, but you didn’t care because, in an instant, he was kissing you again. He stole your breath, diving in while you relished his hands tracing your curves until they caught your legs, spreading them so he could press his dripping cock and grind against your soaked cunt.

You groaned, unable to control your bucking hips to match him. The quiet moans out of his mouth burned you from the inside out, setting you on a path that could only end in you both consuming that passion sizzling between you.

But he pulled away from your lips, hiding in your neck and panting heavily as you moaned. 

“Tell me where the condom is, or I’ll fuck you without it.”

You whimpered, feeling the way he slid across your folds length and rubbed your clit deliciously. “I’m so close.”

He uttered your name in a scold, the warning lingering as you kept bucking your hips. You opened your eyes to face him and bit your lip, so fucking close you could see it. You were tempted to throw all caution out the window and have him raw. To raise your hips so he’d get inside you right as you came around his thick cock, creaming him from tip to base. The very thought was risky; his current expression was already pure lust, holding on by a single thread. If you pushed him, he’d fuck you raw and right, just like you craved.

But you let your hips fall to the mattress and relented. “Right pocket of my robe.”

He felt the robe still under you and ended up raising his hips away from you before you’d both lose it. It made you sigh and feel beneath you as well, finally finding the crumpled part of the robe that had the pocket you both needed.

He tore the wrapper open with his teeth and got the condom on as fast as he could. When his eyes raised back to yours, and he grabbed your legs, pushing them to your sides, you clenched. His expression was dark and unreserved, as though the brakes had come off, and it made you shudder.

Yet when he aligned his dick with your entrance and sank in, he was nothing but respectful and careful, almost solemn. The way your tight embrace left him adrift was evident in the way his eyebrows knitted and his jaw hardened, but he didn’t ram inside you or let that feeling overcome his control. He waited for you to adjust to his size, but you kept clenching around him, prompting him to look at you. 

You had felt him before, but it was just as earth-shattering as the first time. You simply shook your head as you sighed. “You feel so good— Don’t hold back!”

He almost growled as he let his hips snap to yours, and you let your head fall back. Your hips matched his, increasing the intensity of each thrust, and it was wild. You got lost in the sounds of skin slapping and moans and the heat overwhelming you from the inside out. He adjusted your legs to bend further, perfecting his angle to one that simply unleashed your voice with every slam and let him guide you to the finish line. 

He knew you were close by the way your pussy sucked him in, tightening like a vice that barely let him move away. It made him tremble from head to toe as he groaned in your neck. “Just like last time— I've dreamed of this for so long,” he confessed, trying to kiss you, even as you both heaved and tried keeping that hallucinated rhythm.

“Me too,” you whimpered, searching for his eyes in the midst of it all. His hand wrapped around your hair, keeping your eyes on his as though he needed to look at you, too, and you squirmed with watering eyes. This time, you didn’t need to hide. This time, you could lose yourself because he was yours. “Please.” 

You mumbled his name between moans as you begged, and he listened. He was lost in the pleasure, but he was attentive to you, noticing all the little cues he was only once privy to. You moved with him as your eyes rolled back closed and your nails dug into his shoulders, and he felt the shattering orgasm start around his cock before he heard your moans.

Your orgasm started his out of nowhere, but as he grunted and trembled in your arms, he had only exhilaration radiating from every pore. He spilled his cum as deeply as your quivering heat allowed it but quickly and eagerly opened his eyes to look at you. You were still trembling and moaning breathily with your lip between your teeth, but then you looked at him, and he knew.

He’d never catch the moment you fell in love with him, because the truth was, you already had.

[blitziwitchwrites]

pairing: older bf!ryomen sukuna x reader

content warnings/tags: domestic fluff, cursing/language, age gap (sukuna in his 40s and reader in her 20s), size difference, brief mention of family conflict (jin and sukuna), suggestive but no smut

author’s note: little bit of a long imagine, but i saw fanart of sukuna in glasses yesterday and then again earlier today and had to write this. happy valentine's day!

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imagining older boyfriend!sukuna’s eyes are wearing out with his increasing age, and he has to get glasses that he absolutely fucking hates.

“tch.”

you know that song all too well. after being with your older boyfriend, ryomen sukuna, for as long as you have, now going on living together for over a year now, that was the sound he always made whenever something was bothering him and he didn’t want to just tell you about it, rather wanting you to go on and ask him about it.

it’s late at night, and after having to wake up early and accompany your boyfriend to the eye doctor to pick out a pair of frames and order contact lenses, you were quite ready for bed. sitting beneath your warm satin covers, you glance over as your boyfriend moves over to the bed and lifts the cover, climbing in next to you, his frames still perched neatly over his eyes.

“what’s the matter, ryo?” you hum softly, leaning over to be closer to him. you lean your chin on his large biceps, as he is so ridiculously tall that you cannot even comfortably rest it on his shoulder when you are sitting next to each other, his large and muscular body half-sunken into his side of the mattress.

“flimsy pieces of plastic. shit’s ridiculous.”

“you’re seriously still beefin’ with your glasses?” you giggle, batting your eyelashes up at him, your eyes trailing over the thin black metal perched over his nose and boxing around his eyes, sliding back his cheeks and sharp jaw and tucking behind his ears.

sukuna scoffs, looking over at you, furrowing his eyebrows and letting another ‘tch’ sound click from his mouth, before he looks away from you. he clasps his fingers around the black metal piece resting on the bridge of his nose, beginning to pull the glasses from his face with a roll of his eyes. “fuck kinda language are you using brat? beefin’? fuck that even supposed to mean?”

gently, you brush your hand up, gently placing it over his large and thick fingers that are attempting to take off the glasses without breaking them- again. thank god for the warranty on the glasses, because when you two had initially picked up the frames, he hadn’t even made it out of the office yet before he looked at the frames and squeezed them just a little too hard and broke them, resulting in him having to walk into walls and struggle to drive for another three days before you two could pick up the repaired ones.

you gently push his fingers back towards his face, placing the glasses right back onto his nose. “i think they look sexy.”

sukuna furrows his eyebrows at you, minding himself to resist the natural urge to swipe your hand away from his face like he would anyone or anything else, minus his tattoo artist who’d inked his face all those years ago, long before he met you. sukuna was not used to being gentle. he’d never been a gentle man with anyone before you, and even with you, sometimes he had to mind himself because you were so much smaller and more fragile than anything he’d ever handled before. he simply turns his hand, lightly clasping it over yours, his entire hand enveloping yours as he pulls your hand away from his face. “don’t be ridiculous. they look absurd.”

“no, ryo.” you giggle, leaning up, batting your thick, soft eyelashes up at the man as he scowls down at you, your fingers gently bunching up while trapped under his own. nobody else ever referred to sukuna by his first name and lived to tell the tall, except you. nobody had ever even given him a nickname for his last name, much less his first name. “they make you look distinguished.”

“don’t patronize me, brat. there is not a thing about me that gives off what you are alluding to, so if anything, this stupid plastic just looks out of place.” sukuna responds to you, though his voice is a little gentler this time. a little softer. there’s a hint of vulnerability to his voice that nobody else but you had ever witnessed before.

you giggle, feeling his hand squeeze yours before he drops it, leaving both of your hands to rest in his lap. without warning, you shift from your side of the bed, climbing into your older boyfriend’s lap and straddling him, your knees resting on his outer thighs as you do so. instinctively, his large hands move to your waist and just gently rest there, keeping you secure so you do not fall off his lap and off the bed like you have in the past. once you are secure on his lap, you lean forward, having to let your knees sink into the mattress a bit as you move. you place your hand on his chest this time, leaning on him for stability as you pucker your lips, softly kissing the bridge of his nose between his eyes, your lips softly pressing against the frames and his sore flesh from holding them for a whole day for the first time ever.

sukuna shuts his eyes, melting into your loving gesture. his large hands squeeze your waist, his calloused fingers pressing against your back tenderly as he does so. you hold your lips for a moment there, your hand gently twitching on his chest, before you pull away, resting yourself to sit back on his lap. “i think the contrast looks nice.” you say softly up to him, your voice just above a soft whisper. sukuna opens his eyes, causing you to giggle, the frames of his glasses lightly fogged from the breath that had left your lips after your kiss. sukuna rolls his eyes, but can’t seem to retract the gentle begrudging smile that rests on his lips and the light flush of pink that brushes the tips of his ears. 

“you speak such nonsense.”

“you know i’m right,” your counter, a playful smile plastered over your face as you watch the older man, who is always so poised and kept together and cold in the presence of others practically melt from your simple words. “you look even better in them than jin does.”

sukuna’s face falters, whatever resemblance of restraint he had been using now crumbling. he looks at you, his breath hitching slightly as he looks down at you, squeezing your waist. ah, yes. the man’s younger twin brother. the golden child, you always teasingly called him. the husband, the father, the one who was always better in every way. sukuna had never gotten along with him, and after a while, stopped trying to compete and had lived his life in every way opposite to his brother, sick of the comparisons their lives had always lived. hell, sukuna hadn’t even touched a woman until you came along and were too sweet to resist, not wanting to have to face any bad husband allegations, unlike his brother who was always considered the perfect man to his wife, kaori.

even though sukuna had never intended to love another, he couldn’t ever have managed to stay away from you. and he was glad he didn’t. you were the first person in his whole life, in all of the years he carried, who never compared him or made him feel lesser. sukuna had been tempted to even tell you he was an only child, but he didn’t want to be dishonest with you, and he was glad he wasn’t when you exceeded all expectations and never once put him down in comparison of the man who carried an identical face to him, yet polar personality.

you hum softly, gently laying a kiss on sukuna’s lips. his hand slowly slides up, cupping your cheek tenderly, his other hand slowly rubbing up and down your side. you both melt into the affectionate kiss, sukuna’s shut eyes keeping him unaware of the way his glasses had significantly fogged up more from the passion of the intimate moment, until you gently pull back and look up at him as he opens his eyes.

“tch. flimsy lenses tryna keep me from lookin’ at my wife.”

your face softens, but you barely have time to register his words when he suddenly reaches up and pinches the corner of the frames, pulling them off his face… only the frames to snap! right where the arm of the glasses meets the corner, the long thin wire falling down into your laps and resting on your thigh.

“ryo!” you whine, picking up the arm, only to drop it again when your boyfriend’s hands both swiftly slide underneath your thighs and push them up after he tosses the remnants of his glasses that had been in his hands away. sukuna roughly pushes you onto your back, his hands gripping your thighs, your knees behind your head and into the mattress as he roughly kisses you. the frames become next to nothing as you quickly slide your hands up his face, locking your fingers in his hair, returning the hungry and passionate kiss as your knees bend, your legs hooking over his shoulders. your fingers remain locked in his hair, even as he suddenly bites down on your lip and then proceeds to pull away, his eyes narrowing as his nose brushes against yours, his hands gripping your thighs harder. he grunts slightly, before turning his head, beginning to slather kisses down your neck.

you two can replace them tomorrow. right now, his biggest priority was making sure he made his beloved feel just as good as she always made him feel.

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not proofread. please do not steal, copy, repost, and/or translate. copyright protected by blitziwitchwrites.

[00valentina-writes00]

Oh goshhh mirror sex with sevika, sevika is sitting behind reader while reader has her legs spread in front of the mirror… sevika forcing us to look in the mirror and not look away using her fingers and a vibrator on reader and made her cum so many times up until a point where reader squirts like a fountain that it hits the mirror🤤

♡♥︎Reflections of Ruin♥︎♡

Warnings: Heavy smut, mirror play, orgasm control, overstimulation, squirting, rough handling, degradation, praise, strong language, use of a vibrator, Sevika being a controlling menace.

Sevika sits behind you, legs spread wide, her body a solid wall of muscle caging you in. Her arms rest lazily over your thighs, keeping them forced apart, making sure you’re completely exposed to the mirror in front of you. The reflection is obscene—your flushed skin, the way your cunt glistens under the dim light, how her hands are the only thing keeping you from collapsing into a trembling mess.

“You see that?” Her voice is low, dark, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as she drags two fingers through your slick folds, collecting the mess you’ve already made. “So fuckin’ messy, and I haven’t even really started yet.”

You try to look away, try to find solace in the way her breath ghosts over your shoulder, but the moment your gaze flickers from the mirror, she’s gripping your jaw, forcing your head forward.

“Eyes on the mirror,” she commands, voice carrying that sharp edge of authority that makes your body tense, makes your cunt clench around nothing. “You don’t look away. You watch what I do to you.”

Your breath stutters as she slides her fingers inside, slow and deep, curling against that spot that makes your toes curl. The stretch burns just right, your walls clinging to her knuckles as she fucks you open with measured thrusts.

The wet, obscene sound of it fills the room, mixing with your shaky breaths.

“Look at yourself,” she murmurs, watching your reflection through hooded eyes. Her smirk deepens as you stare, as you see the way your body arches into her touch, how your thighs tremble. “You’re fucking beautiful like this—needy, desperate, taking everything I give you.”

The vibrator hums to life in her other hand, the sound alone making your stomach tighten with anticipation.

“Let’s see how long you last.”

She presses it against your clit without warning, the vibrations sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. Your body jerks, hips bucking instinctively, but her arm locks around your waist, keeping you exactly where she wants you.

“Ah, ah,” she chides, pressing the toy harder against your swollen clit. “Take it.”

Your hands fly to her thighs, gripping at the fabric of her pants, searching for something—anything—to anchor yourself, but there’s no relief from the relentless stimulation.

The pleasure is unbearable. Too much. Too good.

“Sevika—fuck—”

“That’s it,” she coos, voice laced with amusement as she watches your reflection, eyes trained on the way your cunt flutters around her fingers. “Gonna cum already? So fuckin’ weak.”

You try to hold back, try to breathe through it, but she knows your body too well, knows exactly how to push you over the edge. Her fingers curl inside you just right, her grip on the vibrator unwavering, pressing against your clit with ruthless precision.

It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything.

Your orgasm slams into you, a sharp, blinding heat that leaves you gasping. Your body shudders, thighs trying to snap shut, but she doesn’t let up—not even for a second.

“That’s one,” she murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. “Let’s see how many you can take before you break.”

The overstimulation has you writhing, trying to twist away from the relentless buzzing against your oversensitive clit, but her grip is unyielding.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Her teeth graze your earlobe, voice dripping with amusement. “Thought you could handle this.”

You can’t. You really can’t. But you don’t say it. You can only whimper, moan, fall apart in her arms as another orgasm rips through you, stronger than the last.

Your vision blurs. Your body shakes. The pleasure is mind-numbing, overwhelming, and yet she doesn’t stop.

Her fingers move faster, her thrusts rougher, the vibrator never relenting.

Your reflection is a mess—lips parted in silent cries, eyes glassy, cheeks streaked with tears, your cunt soaked, dripping, clenching around her merciless fingers.

“Look at yourself,” she demands again, her free hand gripping your chin, forcing your teary-eyed gaze back to the mirror. “Watch what I do to you. Watch yourself cum all over my fingers.”

Your body convulses, your cries turning into desperate, broken sounds. Another orgasm crashes over you, and another, and another—until the pleasure morphs into something unbearable, something that has your body locking up, thighs trembling, back arching.

It builds, pressure coiling so tightly in your core that you can’t breathe, can’t think.

And then it snaps.

You cum with a sharp, strangled cry, body jerking so violently that your slick sprays out in a sudden, forceful gush, hitting the mirror in front of you. The wet splatter is obscene, dripping down the glass in messy streaks.

Sevika groans, low and guttural, watching the way your body spasms, how you twitch and gasp, completely wrecked.

“Fuck,” she mutters, her fingers finally slowing, the vibrator clicking off, though your body still shudders with aftershocks.

You slump against her, chest heaving, every limb trembling uncontrollably.

She chuckles, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your shoulder.

“Made such a mess,” she muses, fingers dragging through the slick dripping down your inner thighs. “Look at that mirror—soaked. You’re fuckin’ filthy.”

You can barely keep your eyes open, let alone respond, but she isn’t done with you yet.

“Guess we’ll have to go again,” she murmurs, her fingers teasing at your entrance once more. “Until you learn how to clean up after yourself.”

[prettygirl-gabi]

My Heart Beats For You

Pairing: Jana El Alfy x Reader

Fandom: UConn’s women’s basketball

POV: First-person

Word Count: 1,400+

Summary: Your turn to do the planning

Valentine’s Day is supposed to be a day full of love, cute surprises, and quality time with your person.

But when your person is a D1 basketball player at UConn—who also happens to have a brutal practice schedule—it means adjusting expectations.

Jana and I had been dating for almost a year now, and this was our first Valentine’s Day together. I knew she wanted to do something special, but with practice running late and a game coming up, she hadn’t been able to plan much.

She had apologized at least five times over FaceTime last night.

“Habibti, I promise I’ll make it up to you,” she had said, her accent thick with sleep as she lay in bed, eyes barely open. “Next weekend, I’ll plan something perfect.”

I had laughed, shaking my head. “Babe, it’s fine. We can just spend time together.”

Jana had pouted. “But I want to do something special for you.”

She was adorable when she was frustrated, and I knew she was genuinely upset about it.

So, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

If Jana couldn’t plan something for Valentine’s Day, I would do it for her.

The plan was simple but thoughtful.

After checking her schedule, I realized she had a rare free evening after practice. So, I set up a small picnic in her dorm—candles (fake ones, because I wasn’t trying to get us kicked out), a blanket on the floor, her favorite takeout from the Mediterranean spot she loved, and a playlist of all the slow R&B songs we played when we cuddled.

I even got her a small gift—a silver chain with a basketball pendant, engraved with our initials on the back.

Now, all I had to do was wait.

By the time Jana finally walked through the door, she looked exhausted, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, hair still damp from her post-practice shower.

The second she saw the setup, though, she froze.

Her eyes widened as she took in the candles, the food, the cozy setup on the floor.

“Y/N…” she breathed, dropping her bag.

I grinned. “Happy Valentine’s Day, habibti.”

She blinked a few times, as if making sure she wasn’t imagining it. “You did all this… for me?”

I laughed, standing up and walking over to her. “Of course, I did. You’ve been so stressed about not having time to plan anything, so I figured I’d handle it this year.”

Jana shook her head in disbelief, her arms wrapping tightly around my waist. “You’re amazing.”

I pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I know.”

She laughed, finally relaxing into my arms.

Once she changed into comfy clothes, we sat on the floor, eating and talking about our days.

“I swear, practice was a nightmare,” Jana groaned, taking a bite of her food. “Coach had us running full-court sprints for what felt like an hour straight.”

I winced. “That sounds awful.”

She nodded, rubbing her sore shoulders. “I was literally ready to collapse.”

I reached over, massaging her arm. “Poor baby.”

She hummed in approval. “Keep doing that, and I might propose right now.”

I smirked. “Oh? Is that all it takes?”

She grinned, leaning in closer. “That, and the fact that you’re literally the best girlfriend ever.”

I rolled my eyes but felt warmth spread through me. “I try.”

Jana’s gaze softened as she looked around the room again. “Seriously, Y/N. This is the best surprise ever. I don’t deserve you.”

I nudged her. “Don’t be ridiculous. You deserve everything and more.”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “How did I get so lucky?”

I smirked. “Must be my charm.”

Jana laughed, then suddenly perked up. “Wait. I actually have something for you, too.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She got up, rushing over to her duffel bag. When she came back, she was holding a small, neatly wrapped box.

I blinked in surprise. “Jana… when did you—?”

“I’ve had this for weeks,” she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “I just didn’t plan anything big because I didn’t think I’d have time.”

I carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a delicate silver bracelet with a small charm in the shape of a heart. On the inside, there was an engraving:

“My heart beats for you.”

I stared at it, my throat tightening.

“Jana…”

She shifted nervously. “Do you like it?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I lunged at her, wrapping my arms around her neck and kissing her deeply.

She made a surprised noise before melting into it, her hands finding my waist.

When we finally pulled back, I rested my forehead against hers, grinning. “I love it. And I love you.”

Jana smiled, her hands gently holding my face. “I love you too, habibti.”

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️