#this whole thing still has me by the whole heart it is GRIPPING WITH FORCE

[shierak-inavva]

The writers may change this in later seasons…but….

I was so thoroughly unprepared for how deep Erik’s feelings for Rogue ran in X-Men ‘97.

The fact that it was HER voice that helped him regain his awareness while his ‘bestie who loved him best’ was hijacking his mind (these two are the simultaneous best and worst friends for each other good gravy) despite having his heart broken by her after who knows how long since Genosha.

My heart breaks so much for them.

oh man anon, me. too.

as a note, here: i came into this show blind—like i haven’t seen any of the movies, i hadn’t read any of the comics, i hadn’t seen the original show, the only xmen content i’d ever consumed was SOME of evolution back when it was airing, so i DEFINITELY had no idea about any of this going in

i got into the show—and rogue/magneto’s relationship in the show—and got ultra lucky about finding other shippers who were willing to help me navigate the comics and various storylines, and finding out how deep their relationship goes and how it’s played out over the years has been so….like oh my gosh.

rogue’s voice breaking through to erik while charles was so deep in his subconscious with him, her being portrayed as part of the group of people one has to assume he holds dearest….like i have so many feelings about that scene with the boat it’s crazy.

charles talking about how everyone has their own storm inside but rogue being shown in erik’s mind as being ready to leap over the side of that boat and try to get to him—her still calling out to him and him sounding so hopeful when he says her name and then so heartbroken when he says ‘she left me’, her there with his children, who are shown only in shadow, unmoving, like the boat represents these people he loves so much but feels like he’s lost, or that have drifted away from him but again: rogue’s still actively calling out to him and looks like she’s seeking a way to get to him….oh i am so unwell over them and how in love with her magneto is. 🥺

[dykedvonte]

If Ulysses has a million haters, then I'm one of them. If Ulysses has one hater, then I'm THAT ONE. If Ulysses has no haters, that means I'm dead. If the world is with Ulysses than I’m against the world.

[animamii]

even while locked up, Toji will make Valentine's day special for you. He already has a letter sent to you every day leading up to the 14th. Some of them sweet, romantic. Others just straight up dirty. He also has Shiu get you some things, spending the money he has in an offshore bank account.

February 1st

There's a ring at your doorbell, and you sleepily open the door.

"Shiu!" You happily greet before you realize he's holding one of those giant ass bouquets of roses. One of those ramos buchones with the pretty gemstones and your initial spelled out with baby's breath. Flashy as hell. "What's all this?"

"Jus' read the damn letter," he nods to a red envelope, a cigarette dangling out his mouth but away from your precious gift. Toji would kill him even from the inside if he were to find out Shiu got even the slightest of ashes on his girl's gifts. You take the envelope, tracing your name written in Toji’s bold, messy scrawl. You barely close the door before sliding your finger under the seal.

Didn’t forget, baby. I never do. First day, first gift. You better love it. Had Shiu pick out the biggest, most ridiculous thing I could find. My princess only deserves the best, right?

February 2nd

The letter today is simple. Too simple.

Baby, I hope you didn’t think I’d only spoil you with flowers.

Your stomach twists in anticipation. Later that day, you hear a knock. This time, it’s a delivery service. You sign for a package, confusion written all over your face—until you open it. Inside is a velvet box. You slowly open it, and it catches the light, casting rays of color—a necklace, a gold figaro chain with a diamond pendant. Looking closer at the pendant makes your breath hitch.

His initials.

You press your lips together, heart thudding. The note beneath it is shorter this time.

Wear it. Every day. I’ll know if you don’t.

February 3rd

On your front porch it a tiny pink box with another letter perched on top. You open the box first, the whole collection of a lip gloss you wear, one Toji said was his favorite because he loves the scent and the taste when he kisses it off your lips.

I was gonna wait, but fuck it. You know I don’t have patience. I’ve been thinking about you too much, baby. Can’t sleep. Can’t focus. All I can think about is that pretty mouth of yours.

You don’t even finish reading before you slam the letter shut. Your face is on fire. He’s ridiculous. But your fingers linger on the page, gripping it tight. You’re not going to reread it. You’re not.

February 4th

Another gift. This time, it’s a designer perfume. You spray it on your wrist out of curiosity, inhaling the scent—rich, warm, deep. A little spicy yet still sweet. Just like you. A folded note is stuck in the packaging.

This is how I want you to smell when I have you under me.

You hate the way your breath catches. The way you tighten your grip on the bottle, as if that’ll stop the way his words sink under your skin.

February 5th

Shiu hands you the next letter without a word. You expect something dirty again, but instead—

You been eating, baby? Sleeping? You better be taking care of yourself. I’ll be real pissed if I find out you’re not.

You blink at the paper, stomach twisting. You don’t even like that he makes you feel this way. Cared for. Wanted. As soon as you look up, Shiu hands you the bags from behind his back. It's takeout from the place you always went to with Toji. Your favorites are inside, every single thing down to the drink. You knew Toji meticulously picked out each menu item. In the other bag Shiu hands you is self care items. Your creams and serums and even the face masks you force Toji to wear with you.

February 6th

You shouldn’t be looking forward to these letters as much as you do. But you do. This one is short.

You dream about me? Bet you do. Wonder if you wake up wet, missing my hands.

You rip it up, toss it in the trash.

Then, minutes later, you dig it back out, smoothing out the pieces.

You hate him.

February 7th

Another knock at the door. Another gift. This time, it's a dress—silky, short, scandalous.

The note?

Wear this when you come see me.

Your breath catches. He hasn’t mentioned seeing you yet, hasn’t even implied it. But now, it lingers in the air.

February 8th

A different kind of letter today.

If I was there right now, what would you do?

You should throw it away.

Instead, that night, you sit on your bed, staring at it in the dim glow of your bedside lamp, heart pounding in your chest.

February 9th

A small box sits outside your door in the morning. This time it's a velvet pouch. You pull the string, letting the contents slide onto your palm—an anklet, delicate gold with a tiny charm dangling off the chain. This one matches your necklace, his initials are on this one too. You don’t even hesitate this time. You clasp it around your ankle immediately.

This one's gonna be dangling over my shoulder soon.

February 10th

Shiu shows up again. Another box.

Inside? Lingerie.

Red. Lace.

The note is just one line.

Think about me when you put it on.

February 11th

You better be missing me, baby. I know you are.

This time the gift is a whole outfit. One of those flowy white maiden-style off the shoulder dresses, pretty sandals, and even an innocent enough white bra and panty set with cute little bows.

It doesn't go with the letter, which leaves you a tad bit confused.

February 12th

This letter is filthy.

Explicit enough that you don’t even know how he got it past whoever checks his mail.

You have to sit down after reading it.

And take a very cold shower.

February 13th

Another envelope. You open it, expecting a letter. But nope. Just a single ticket to Italy for February 15th. Weird.

February 14th

A single rose sits outside your door, a final letter tucked beneath it.

You should know by now to lock your windows, ma. Don't know what kind of scary men could climb through your window.

What the?? Slowly you turn around, and there he is, in the flesh. All smug and cute like he knows he did a damn good job at surprising you.

"Happy Valentine's Day princess."

[hoshifighting]

"helloooo lyla!! ive been reading your fics for a long time and I love them sooo much your such a great writer!

I was wondering if I could request jeonghan saying “marry me” in the middle of a rough sex?? ive been thinking about it for ages omg😭😭 (if your comfortable I’m not forcing!! <3)”

jeonghan saying “marry me” in the middle of a rough sex

warnings: smut, penetrative sex, cockriding, crying, needy moans

it wasn’t like you ever imagined that jeonghan, of all people, would let that slip. not when he’s got you riding him like you’re racing to some invisible finish line, his hands gripping your hips so tight it’s like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. you barely register the words at first, too caught up in the rhythm, in the filthy sounds coming out of both of your mouths, but then it hits you—

“marry me,” he breathes out, like a fucking confession, strangled and wrecked.

you freeze, body tensing. “wait, what?”

the room goes dead silent. the only sound left is your labored breathing. and his. and the stupid creaking bed under you both. you choke on your own spit, damn near swallow your tongue trying to process it, and jeonghan’s eyes are wide now, just as shocked as you. his face is this violent shade of red, cheeks flaming, and you swear you can hear his brain short-circuiting.

“i—” he stammers, looking away like that’ll save him from the mess he just made. “shit. i um—fuck.”

your brain’s doing cartwheels trying to catch up, but it doesn’t take long for the absurdity to hit you. you start laughing, like actual laughing, trying to hold it in but completely failing. you double over, one hand resting on his chest as he groans, embarrassment swallowing him whole.

“what the fuck did you just say?” you tease. “riding you so good you gotta wife me up, huh?”

“oh, shut up,” he groans, slapping your back in retaliation, though it’s more out of embarrassment than anything. his face is still red as hell, lips pressed together like he’s praying the earth’ll open up and swallow him whole. but the way he’s looking at you... that little crack in his usual cocky, rough persona has your heart doing this weird, fluttery thing in your chest.

“nah, nah, hold on,” you mock, starting to move your hips again, slow and teasing, feeling the way he twitches underneath you. “you really just—fuck—asked me to marry you?”

his hands snap back to your waist, that grip turning punishing. “i swear to god, don’t start.”

“why not?” you grin, feeling bold. “you mean it, hannie?”

“you want me to stop?” he asks, threatening, but you can hear the edge of it, the desperation he’s not quite able to mask. his hips buck up into you, almost instinctively, and you moan, losing some of your playful edge as your body melts back into his rhythm.

you bite your lip, trying to hold back another laugh. “didn’t say that.”

“good,” he hisses, grinding up into you harder, making sure you feel him. “then don’t fuckin’ tease me.”

but now, all you can think about is how real it feels, how intense his gaze is, and suddenly, his usual roughness feels... different. more desperate. he’s not just trying to make you moan, not just focused on his own pleasure—he’s unraveling, for you. “you didn’t answer me,” he mutters, words slurring together as you pick up speed again, each bounce making the bedframe shake. his hands are gripping your thighs now, pulling you down harder onto him, like he’s chasing something.

“huh?” you barely manage, mind spinning, trying to focus on anything besides the overwhelming feeling of him deep inside you.

he bites his lip, eyes glued to where you’re connected, his voice dropping to a low, shaky whisper. “say yes.”

you blink down at him, heart skipping a beat. he’s serious. fuck.

you’re not even thinking when you say it. “yes. i-i do.”

it’s like a switch flips. he lets out this sound—this needy, broken moan, and fuck, you’ve never heard him sound like that before. he sits up, practically yanking you down to meet his thrusts, arms wrapped tight around your waist, face buried in your neck. the pace is brutal, desperate, and you’re a mess of gasps and moans, every single one drawn out by the intensity of it all.

you don’t realize he’s crying until you feel it, those warm tears soaking your skin as he buries his face deeper against your shoulder. he’s shaking, breath hitching, but he doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop giving it to you exactly how you need it.

“fuck, you’re mine,” he whispers, voice wrecked, wet, needy. “all mine.”

you can barely respond, every nerve in your body on fire, but you clutch him tighter, fingers digging into his back, matching his rhythm with everything you’ve got. “yours,” you choke out, and that’s all it takes for him to fall apart completely. he’s holding you so close it’s like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, fucking you like he’s staking a claim, making sure you never forget this moment.

and then he cums, hard, dragging you over the edge with him, the two of you tangled in each other, breathless and whiny. jeonghan pulls back just enough to look at you, tears still clinging to his lashes, but he’s smiling now—the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“married to me, hm?” you tease heartily caressing his hair, panting, but your chest is warm, full.

“baby.” he groans, face contorting ready to cry again, making you chuckle, he pouts, burying his face in your neck again.

but you don’t miss the way his arms tighten around you. you don’t miss the way he holds you like he’s never letting go.

[parfaitblogs]

fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you.��

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni) tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end.  word count: 5.7k a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!

Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be. 

Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all. 

Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.

You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not. 

However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide. 

And then he was free. 

From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished. 

But he was free.

And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened. 

Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break. 

"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.

"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.

Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met. 

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again. 

"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"

"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit. 

"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"

"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"

"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."

"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."

To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was. 

Right now, you learned you wouldn't be. 

There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry. 

Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming. 

"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened. 

"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."

"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."

"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped. 

"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."

"Oh."

Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.

"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."

"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."

"I think I want to."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."

"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."

"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed. 

"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

"No."

"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."

"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."

"Not funny."

"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again. 

"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more. 

"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."

"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him. 

"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"

You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more. 

You couldn't complain. 

It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch. 

"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body. 

"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later. 

"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind. 

"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you. 

"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin. 

"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered. 

"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."

"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."

"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.

You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.

Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously. 

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face. 

"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."

"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up. 

"Nope. Forget I said anything."

"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."

"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away. 

"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."

"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."

"Yes, but how?" 

"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."

"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again. 

"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up. 

"Lots of people say oral," he defended. 

"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."

"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head." 

Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping. 

Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."

"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping. 

"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so. 

He nipped at your nose. "It is."

"Can we compromise?" 

"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose. 

In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests. 

"Head," you corrected. "And no."

He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"

"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter. 

"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."

You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."

"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"

"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him. 

"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him. 

Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.

Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have. 

Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded. 

A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone. 

The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat. 

He liked to hear you. 

Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).

"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either. 

"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"

"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"

"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face. 

"What? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest. 

"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"

"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."

"I know," you replied.

"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."

You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."

"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."

Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."

"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?" 

Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body. 

"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.

"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.

You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time. 

And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make. 

Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.

Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit. 

"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin. 

"Touch myself?" 

"Mhm."

"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."

"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"

"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."

"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"

You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again. 

"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head. 

He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again. 

"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you. 

"Hm?"

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.

"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you. 

In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could. 

So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more. 

Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it. 

"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin. 

A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.

Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't. 

Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling. 

Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome. 

"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were. 

"Please don't stop."

"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to. 

Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating. 

His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered. 

The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after. 

His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after. 

"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck. 

"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter. 

"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again. 

"Yes."

"Good."

Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there. 

"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips. 

"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking. 

A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here. 

"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more. 

"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move. 

"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move). 

His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second. 

A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled. 

"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."

"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little. 

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."

"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."

"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again. 

A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).

Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure. 

"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were. 

"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."

"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."

Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots. 

Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever. 

His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that. 

There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever. 

"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly. 

"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared. 

"Good."

"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely. 

"Help?"

Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone. 

Thankfully, you didn't have to. 

He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee. 

"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub. 

"Do you want me to?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."

He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt. 

"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless. 

You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways. 

"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach. 

Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh. 

"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression. 

"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."

You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"

"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."

"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face. 

"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."

"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."

"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."

"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."

"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."

Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort. 

"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes. 

"Okay."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[kjhbsies]

Multo

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James Potter x reader

synopsis: After weeks of silence and emotional distance, Y/N is forced to confront the feelings she’s tried so hard to bury— feelings for her best friend, James Potter. But when James shows up drunk at her doorstep, broken and desperate for answers, the truth finally comes to light.

wordcount: 2, 876

note: Part II of Cool About It. Angst to fluff.

Y/n had been avoiding James for three weeks now. At first, it wasn't obvious. The kind of thing that barely scratches the surface and could be brushed off as coincidence. Too subtle to raise alarms.

Like how she'd swiftly turn the opposite way the moment she caught a glimpse of his messy dark curls in the distance, or how she suddenly always had something to do— like an essay to finish, a meeting to attend— whenever James was near her. Her once-predictable presence at group hangouts had become a rarity, and somehow, every time James showed up, she just happened to be unavailable.

And maybe James didn't notice it at first. Maybe he was too caught up with Lily— her sudden shift of attitude towards him was too hard to ignore. He was in bliss— floating in a dream he had been chasing for years, too up high to see the way Y/n had started falling from his orbit.

But everyone in his friend group did. Remus, Sirius, and even Peter, who never picked up on these things, had made an offhand comment. "Have you lot seen Y/n lately?"

Still, James didn't piece it together. Or maybe he didn't want to. Maybe he was scared of what it could mean if he did.

Because once you notice someone pulling away from you, it's impossible not to wonder why.

The library was quiet during the late hours. It was almost empty, dim, and, somehow, Y/n found this place comfortable. This area has given her a small amount of peace, offering her some sort of sanity as she can busy herself with the books stacked in there, not really reading it— but just... hiding.

It had become a routine lately. Ducking into corners, finding solitude, telling herself she wasn't avoiding James. She was just... protecting herself. But, of course, the universe won't let her have her peace.

"Y/n!" James called her from behind, panting slightly as if he had run— because he had. His tie was slightly askew, his hair more of a mess than usual, and his eyes were blown wide with something she couldn't really place. Worry? Relief?

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out.

"I've been trying to catch you for weeks." James tried to laugh it off, stepping forward like he didn't know how to stop. "You— you've been ghosting me."

"I've just been busy," She answered, too quickly. Too quietly.

James gave a short, breathy laugh. "Right. Of course. Busiest girl in the whole world. Too busy for after-school meetups, for Hogsmeade strolls, for movie nights, for me."

Y/n's heart stung, but she didn't let it show.

"I was just about to head out," She insisted, gripping the strap of her bag tightly. "Long night."

"I'll drive you home," James said quickly. Already walking towards the exit like the decision has been made. "It's late."

"James, it's fine—"

"I insist." James smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You seriously think I'd let you go home alone, especially at this hour?"

And she knew, even though her heart was screaming for her to just keep the distance she had so carefully built, arguing would make things worse. So she just nodded and followed him to his car.

The car ride was quiet— at least on her end. James, true to his form, filled the space between them with his usual charm.

"So, what are you even working in there?" He asked, glancing at her. "Don't tell me you've been burying your face in Calculus. That's just sick."

Y/n just chuckled. "No, no. It's a different subject."

James smiled. "Of course. Classic."

And then he went on to tell the latest happenings that had happened when she wasn't around. Sirius had managed to get in trouble again for the third time this month. Remus has been tutoring a freshman who mistook him for a professor. And Lily— Lily made a cheesecake, and James had declared her a goddess.

Y/n nodded and hummed, casually commenting a few sentences from time to time. Her face was polite, yet it felt robotic. And James noticed it.

From time to time, he subtly glanced at her through the rearview mirror. He wasn't the most emotionally intuitive guy, but he could tell something was wrong. Her laughter didn't come as easily. Her eyes didn't linger on him like before.

She wasn't really there— not in a way she used to be.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning pale. His words kept coming, but his mind was somewhere else. Because no matter how hard he tried to act normal, no matter how casual he played it— this wasn't normal.

Y/n was slipping away. And he doesn't know why.

When they pulled up in front of Y/n's house, the car slowed to a soft halt. The engine hummed between them, the only real sound in the heavy silence. James tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his nerves betraying him.

"Thanks for the ride," She murmured.

James bit the insides of his cheek, then turned to look at her with a forced smile. "Hey— are you free tomorrow? Thought we could grab a coffee or something. Just us."

Y/n hesitated. "I got a study date with Remus."

His smile faltered for a second. "Remus?"

She nodded, pulling her bag over her shoulder. "Yeah. He was supposed to help me with my essay."

James scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "Since when do you study with Remus and not me?"

Y/n blinked at him, slightly thrown. "I— I don't know. It just... happened."

A pause stretched between them. James looked away, his jaw clenching slightly. "Right. Cool. I guess he's your go-to now."

There was something laced in his voice, something uncharacteristically sharp. Possessiveness wasn't a shade James often wore— he didn't need to. He had it all. The money, the talent, the looks. People gravitated towards him. That's just how it always been.

He didn't do jealousy. Especially with Remus.

"James..." Y/n said softly, not wanting to stir this into a fight.

"Well, tell Moony not to melt your brain too much. He goes on full professor when he's serious."

Y/n's gaze lingered on him for a bit, weighing him. But she didn't say anything else. She just smiled politely and slipped from the car.

And James watched her walk up to the front door, a small ache in his chest growing heavier with each step he took away from him.

The next day, the diner was buzzing with warmth and chatter; the golden afternoon sun was streaming through the windows and casting a perfect light across the table Lily and James shared.

She looked beautiful— like she always did— effortless in the way she talked, sit, and laughed. Everything he had ever wanted.

But he wasn't really looking at her. He was looking past her— toward the back booth, where Y/n and Remus were seated. And she was laughing. Like, really laughing.

The kind of laugh he hadn't seen from her in the past month. The kind that lit up her face, tipped her head back, made her eyes crinkle at the corners. She slapped her thigh as Remus finished his story like he was the most hilarious person in the world.

James scowled. He didn't even register what Lily was saying. Didn't even pay attention to the food in front of him. His eyes were just trained on them.

The way she leaned in when Remus talked, the way she rested her chin on her hand and looked at him like he was the most interesting person. Like she used to look at him.

And now— now he was noticing everything. The way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. The softness in her voice. He saw it. All of it.

"You okay?" Lily asked, suddenly pulling him out of his thoughts.

James blinked at her. "What?"

"You've been zoning out."

He gave a weak laugh. "Yeah. Sorry, just tired."

Lily raised a brow but let it go.

James looked back at the booth, his heart thudding uncomfortably. Y/n was laughing again, and Remus was now awfully sitting close beside her.

James wasn't used to doing this. The second guessing. The silence. The way his jokes no longer earned a laugh, how his texts were left on read, or worse— replied to nothing, but a cold, distant, courtesy.

It was his fifth attempt this week.

"Hey, there's a new art exhibit in town," He said casually, acting as if his heart wasn't pounding against his chest. "Thought you'd like the surrealist stuff. You know, the one with melting clocks and faceless people? I figured we could check it out together."

"I wish I could, but I got this paper due... and my cat's appointment with the vet later. I'm sorry, James." She smiled apologetically.

She always said sorry. Always with that small, polite smile. The kind of smile you give to a stranger.

And James felt he was slowly becoming one.

The truth was, it was never the art exhibit, or the cafe he invited her over to the day before that, or the time he showed up at her house with her favorite bubble tea and that novel she mentioned in passing months ago. He just missed her.

He missed the way she used to greet him with a smile that warmed his heart. The way she'd bump shoulders with him as he walked her to her class, the little inside jokes they used to whisper under their breaths, the sound of her laugh— God, her laugh.

He missed being her person.

And with each failed attempt, with every gentle excuse, his confidence chipped away. The great James Potter— charmer, golden boy, team captain— was suddenly unsure. Awkward. Tongue tied.

Because he realized that he was losing something he didn't even realize he had been holding on so tightly. Maybe it had always been her.

So right now, he was slouched in one of the couches in a loud club. The lights were too bright, everyone was chaotic, and the air was thick with sweat, perfume, and alcohol. But he didn't care.

His third drink sat in front of him, and he was already slowly getting drunk. Sirius lounged beside him, watching him with a silent concern as he did not see his best friend spiral like this— not even from Lily.

"You alright, mate?" Peter asked.

James didn't answer at first. He kept staring ahead, eyes unfocused, mouth pressed into a thin line. Then, finally, answered a bitter, "Peachy."

Peter frowned, but Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder and subtly shook his head— don't push it.

Remus, however, didn't bite his tongue.

"Is this about Y/n?"

The second her name left his mouth, James immediately glared at him, eyes bloodshot and glassy.

"What, d'you know something I don't?" James snapped, voice rising above the music. "Since you're always with her now?"

"She's my friend, James."

"Oh, friend, right. You two study together, hang out alone, laugh like idiots— hell, you even know everything about her, don't you?" James slammed his glass down, the drink sloshing to his sleeve. "She doesn't look at me the way she used to. Doesn't see me. She makes excuses to avoid me. Says she's busy. Tired. Got plans. But then I see her with you."

"Prongs—" Sirius interjected, but James wasn't finished.

He laughed, but it was hollow. Broken. "What did I even do, huh? Why the hell won't she just talk to me?"

"Alright, Prongs. Let's take a breath, yeah?" Sirius place a firm hand on James's shoulder.

But James shrugged it off. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't get it. She was my best friend. Mine." His shoulders slumped as the tears came rolling in. "I just— I just want her back. I miss her."

He sank into the couch, wiping his face the back off his hand like a child. "Call her." He whispered. Then louder, more desperate. "Please. Just call her. Ask her to come. I don't care if she's mad at me or if she hates me. I need to talk to her. Please. Please, please, please." He begged.

Sirius exchanged a look with Remus.

"Alright, I'll call her."

"Hello?" Y/n answered from the other line. The background was filled with a mix of loud music, clinking glasses, and chaos— but none of it made her go still. James. He wasn't speaking coherently. Just broken words, cries, and soft pitiful pleas. "Is that—"

Remus sighed softly. "Yeah. He's... not doing well."

She could hear James's voice in the background— his voice was wrecked and cracking as he said her name over and over.

"What's going on?"

"He's begging for you, actually."

Y/n's heart clenched. "Tell him... I'm glad he's surrounded by people who care about him tonight. But I— I can't come."

Remus didn't respond immediately. "Y/n, he's not himself." He said softly, not to pressure her— never that— but to simply let her know the truth.

"I know," She whispered. "But I can't do it, Remus. For the sake of my sanity, I can't. It's not that I don't care about him. God, I do. But if I go there, I'm scared it'll hurt us even more."

Remus exhaled softly on the other end of the line. "Okay, I understand."

"Please just... make sure he gets home safe?"

"We will. You did the right thing."

Y/n ended the call, and she couldn't help but sit as her legs buckled. The night was dead silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner at the corner of Y/n's room.

She had been staring at nowhere. Thinking. Pondering. She wondered if she even made the right decision of ignoring James. Of falling in love with him.

She hadn't noticed the clock had already struck midnight. Hadn't noticed that it had been an hour since she declined James's request. The guilt was eating her alive, and she couldn't do anything about it.

But then, the doorbell rang.

She didn't move for a moment. Praying it was just the neighbor or maybe a delivery to the wrong address. But somehow, deep down, she knew. Her stomach twisted painfully as she stood up, making her way through the door.

And when she swung the door open, her breath caught in her throat. James stood there. His hair was a damp mess, with sweat clinging on his forehead, and his chest rising and falling as if he had run all the way to here. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and his eyes— oh, his eyes— were bloodshot and glassy, rimmed with tears that hadn't yet fallen.

"James," She whispered softly.

"You didn't care about me at all, did you?" He asked, voice hoarse and quiet. "You just let me spiral."

"What? No! James, I—"

"You ignored me." He stepped inside the house without waiting for her permission. His eyes never left hers. "You stopped talking to me. Pretend I didn't exist. You— you just cut me off like I'm nothing."

"That's not true." She stepped forward, reaching at his hand, but he stepped back, shaking his head.

"I waited. Every day, I waited for you to call back. And you didn't. You just... let me go."

Y/n's throat burned, her hands trembling by her sides.

"I had to." She choked. "James, I had to—"

"Why?" He asked, stepping closer now. His anger melted into confusion and pain. "What did I do so wrong, Y/n?"

"Because I like you." She said, barely a whisper. "I liked you so much it hurts, James. And I couldn't take it anymore. Watching you love someone else while I stand in the corner, pretending it doesn't rip me apart."

James stared at her. Stunned and silent.

She laughed bitterly through the tears. "I was doing it for me. I had to distance myself."

James opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"I didn't mean to fall for you. It just happened. And by the time I realized it, it was too late." She wiped at her face and stepped back, motioning at the door. "You should go. Please. Just go."

She turned around, ready to walk away, when James grabbed her wrist gently. And before she could react, his lips were on hers in a deep, desperate, and passionate kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.

When they finally pulled away, breathless, James cupped her face with trembling hands.

"I was stubborn," He whispered, forehead pressing against hers. "I kept telling myself I didn't feel anything for you. That Lily was all I wanted. And God, I was so wrong."

"James..."

"I love you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to see it. For being blind. But please— let me start over. Let me fix things between us." He kissed her again, almost reverent. "Don't give up on me yet."

"Just don't break me again, James."

And in the silence that followed, he held her like a promise he never planned to let go of.

©kjhbsies

taglist: @lotsostrawberrybear @sweetstrawberrianne

[dragoneyelashart]

WE HUG NOW 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

authors note: this song has been stuck in my head for weeks

warnings: angst, divorce/breakup

you never wanted the money.

not the cars. not the spotlight. not the gated houses or the sold-out arenas. you would’ve lived in a tiny apartment, eating cereal on the floor every night if it meant waking up next to her—billie, the way she was before everything got loud.

she used to fall asleep with her head on your chest, murmuring lyrics into your skin like secrets. used to light up when she saw you walk into a room, like the whole world paused just long enough for her to memorize you again.

but somewhere along the way, the world stopped slowing down.

and she stopped looking up.

you started counting the days between her phone calls. between the nights she came home. between the moments you still felt like hers. you told yourself it was temporary. that fame came with distance, and distance didn’t mean detachment. you told yourself she’d remember.

but then came the fight.

you were sitting in the nursery, holding your daughter while she clung to your arm, the weight of the world pressing down on your chest. billie paced in front of you, her voice sharp, accusing.

“do you love me,” she asked, “or just the life i gave you?”

you didn’t have words. it hit you like a slap in the face, and all the breath left your lungs. you would’ve given everything up for her.

but in that moment, you realized she didn’t believe you. maybe she never did.

so you let her go.

the divorce was quiet. clinical. the kind where nothing catches fire but everything still burns.

she left the house. she left the crib. she left one thing behind—a beat-up old phone, screen cracked, tucked beneath the baby blanket in the rocker.

a single voice memo, labeled:

halley’s comet. for her.

you sat in the dim light of the nursery that night, holding your daughter to your chest, listening to billie’s voice crackle through the speaker.

“hi, baby girl. this is your song. i’ll always love you, even when i’m not there.”

she sang like she was still trying to hold on. and you cried like you already knew she wouldn’t.

your daughter is four now.

she runs everywhere instead of walking. she’s all questions and scraped knees and big, open-hearted feelings. she asks about the stars when she can’t sleep, says she feels safest when you hold her.

she knows the song by heart. you’ve played it for her every night since she was born. she calls it her song, like it was written by the universe just for her. and maybe, in a way, it was.

you’re driving her home from preschool one afternoon, the air warm, the sun soft on your arm, and the radio starts playing a song that makes your heart skip.

it’s halley’s comet.

not the voice memo. the full version. studio-polished. stripped-down and haunting and beautiful. billie’s voice, older now, but still her. still yours, somehow.

from the backseat, your daughter perks up, her voice sharp with recognition.

“mama… my song.”

you grip the steering wheel, the pressure of her words making your chest tighten.

she’s staring out the window, her small hand pressed to her chest like she’s holding something fragile, something sacred. and it is.

you force a smile, blinking back the tightness in your throat. “yeah, baby,” you whisper. “that’s your song.”

a week later, your phone buzzes.

someone sends you a clip from billie’s latest interview—she’s on a late-night talk show, radiant, untouchable. the interviewer brings you up like a distant memory, something forgotten.

“so, you and y/n. what happened there?”

billie laughs easily, like it’s nothing. like it’s a joke.

“oh, that. yeah. we ended it on mutual terms. it’s all good now.”

mutual.

like you didn’t stay awake for months, waiting for her to come home, waiting for her to see you again. like you didn’t rock your daughter to sleep, night after night, with the sound of billie’s voice in the dark, your heart breaking quietly every time. like you didn’t love her with every piece of yourself. like you still don’t, a little.

you pause the video.

the house is quiet. the laundry hums softly in the next room. your daughter’s asleep upstairs, her tiny body curled around a stuffed bunny, the old phone still tucked under her pillow.

you sit there, the glow of the screen fading to black.

and you think—

god, she really believes it was nothing.

you’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened.the world ended when it happened to me.

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @eloiseluvsbillie @bxllxebxtch | send me an ask, or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[defmaybe]

Excel

aespa's Ning Yizhuo/Ningning x Male Reader

1.4k words

Prequel to [AER-698] My Boss(?) Loves My Ass So Much She Puts Her Tongue on It, Then She Fucks Me in the Ass Like I’m Her Cockslut and Make Me Cum!

A/N: Dubious consent y’all, proceed with caution. You know who’s going to be the receiving end of this. Also, this is pretty much a bfh lol. A bit rushed towards the end, sorry. Thanks for reading!!!

—

“Tsk, slut.”

The words leave Yizhuo’s lips as she locks her tongue with yours. Her hands wander on your body—chest, the flat abs, waist. She’s frisky.

“Do you really think–hmph–you can just walk around for years–mmm–with that—” says Yizhuo muffled, as she grabs your firm ass, forcing some submission into you that you let out as a moan “—every single fucking day and–mmh–expect to just get away with it!”

You aren’t quite sure how it happened, really. One second, you were merely strolling in the SM building’s hallway, papers and such in your hand. And another, a tug on your collar dragged you into the files room, with the sounds of the door shutting and a lock clicking.

You can’t, you can’t just let go right now, with the storm of pleasure raging within.

“M–Miss Ning, I–I don’t think–mmmph–this is appropriate!” you grasp onto any bit of your inhibition that hasn’t been scared away by Yizhuo yet. You fail, and you fail.

Back leaning against the cold wall.

“Shut up, will ya?” Her hands tug the collar of your shirt, creasing it. “If you aren’t going to say those witty shits, then just be a good boy, and let me do whatever the fuck I want with you, alright?”

You whimper in her grip and her stern stare, trying to catch those stolen breaths at the same time. But isn’t she an impatient figure, as she seals your tired mouth with hers once again? 

Sweet.

Strawberry.

Her tongue easily defeats yours and explores your mouth. You are struggling to find your rhythm under her aggression. “You taste good, baby–mmph. Hope it’s like this for the whole package.”

“T–Thanks, Miss Ning. I–I still don’t think we should do it h–here,” you stammer.

She pulls back from the fiery kiss. “And fucking leave me to my vibrator at the dorm? No, you’re my slut today, baby,” she wags her finger.

She then continues, “You know, me and Aeri have been doing this little ranking for the male staffs at the end of every single year, in fucking Excel like those Reddit perverts do. Do you know who has been holding the number one spot for best ass, four years straight?” Ningning asks, staring into your eyes with blazing determination.

You know that it’s you—the question being asked in such a situation. But you just don’t have the heart to be a cocky cunt in front of this ethereal idol. 

“Wh–Who, who?” you stutter out, shaken. Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead.

Yizhuo gives your ass a smack, leaving you tensed under her touch. It’s quick, but it stings hard. She sneers, “Hoo? Hoo? Are you a fucking owl or something, dumbass,” as she crashes her lips back onto yours again. 

She grips onto your ass, and her grip keeps getting tighter and tighter. “Good thing they are soft to touch,” whispers Yizhuo.

She keeps squeezing your cheeks, the softness of them spilling off her fingers through your tight jeans made just to—well, without your willingness—show off your supple rear.

“I mean, there’s the factor of, mmph–” 

She keeps her wordy assertions sheathed in between the kisses. 

“–you staying here since your intern days, proximity stuff, you know? But god–”

It works—well, to be fair, you’ve never been quite a dominant person yourself.

“–too bad I forgot my strap at the dorm, or you’d be moaning like a slut right now.”

A moan leaves your lips—a loss of control.

“Take your pants off.”

You comply on a whim, nodding profusely. There’s nothing you can do to resist her burning desire right now. You slide your pants and boxers down to your ankles, and your erection springs out for her in full glory.

“Hmm, hmm, good boy~” she says with a smirk, examining your cock as she reveals the bare skin behind the black shorts as well. And upon the sight, you fall to your knees, tongue falling out of your needy mouth.

And that’s just her panties, not talking about her heavenly cunt yet, so—just her thighs.

“Me and Aeri have talked so many times on how submissive you’d be for me. Guess I was on point,” Yizhuo says, as your flesh gets closer and closer to her covered folds, before she tips your chin up.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

“You can do it later, baby. I didn’t have her find the perfect position just for nothing.”

“P–Perfect position? Miss Ning?”

“Yes, baby, I guess sluts like you would love… Amazon.”

Without another word, she nudges your chin away, leaving your back against the cold hard ground, feet up in the air. Shivers rush through your lithe body. You figure that she’d reveal her pussy just for you next.

And she does.

“Like the sight, baby?” she asks, biting her finger, resting another hand on her waist, body leaning just ever so slightly.

“Yes, Miss Ning.”

Yizhuo giggles as she lowers herself onto her knees. Her hands run down the length of your legs, lighting trails of fire in its wake. It starts to be sore now—dangling your feet up like this.

“M–Miss Ning, can I–”

“No, you’re just my slut, remember?” she commands.

“Y–Yes, miss–ngh.” You’ll have to bear the pain for now.

Yizhuo peppers kisses and licks on your toned legs, sending an unbearable pleasure through you. She slowly squats down until her lips reach the back of your knees.

“Ready?” she asks.

You sheepishly nod.

Hastily, she positions herself to where your length teases her slit. It’s so close. Fuck.

And she descends.

It’s warm. That’s your first feeling upon entry. Yizhuo lets out a stuttered moan with each inch. “F–Fuck!”

The pain in your thighs is worth it. Seeing her eyes closed, mouth agape in this position.

She adjusts herself with your cock, creeping down to the hilt.

“Yes, yes, yes, fill me up like that, slut!” she shouts.

“Ngh–y–you feel so good, Yizhuo.”

She keeps her pace slow, not wanting to have her slut cum too fast to her liking. “Y–Yizhuo? Really? You think you c–can call me by–fuck it,” she sneers, smacking your ass along with the words.

“Ah! Thanks, Yizhuo,” is what you’re able to muster out.

She’s tight. Her walls welcome you with perfection—the wet sensation around your cock, the warmth, and her empyrean moans, god, her moans. She’s fucking hypnotic. Your skin clashing into each other lights up the missing spark.

The smell of your sex permeates the file room—musky, raw, arousing. It’s your body together, just the two of you. You’ll need a spray after this.

With little effort, she grabs onto your thighs for a hold to up her ante. Her luscious thighs tenses up by seconds. Her moans grow shorter. She’s going faster now, and you don’t feel that you can hold out for this tryst for much longer.

“Y–Yizhuo–”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Really?”

“O–Oh, like you aren’t close, s–slut,” she bickers.

Her hold on your thighs grows tighter with the shorter moans. 

“I–I’m gonna cum, baby,” Yizhuo says. “C–Cum when I say so, alright?”

“Y–Yes, Yizhuo.”

And without another word, her cunt gushes out the torrent of her sweet juice. She pools on your crotch. Her body arches back, stretching her toned tummy into display just for you.

“Ah, fuck!”

Along with her torrent, or perhaps it’s the sight, the familiar feeling builds up inside your stomach. You need to release it.

“Y–Yizhuo, I–I’m gonna cum.”

“Yes, yes, yes, cum inside me, baby,” she orders.

And you break, you release spurts of essence inside her to the brim. You paint her insides white with your cum, desperately gasping for air. Your legs shake as she holds them tight.

“Fuck, yes!” Yizhuo screams. You are too busy having your eyes fluttered to say a thing.

It’s quick, as you finally come down from your high. Both of you are so desperate to catch your breaths in the afterglow. You can see Yizhuo smiling above you.

“I–I’m fucking this–” she slaps your rear once more. “–ass next time, baby.”

“Ah a–alright,” you say, as she lifts herself up from your used cock. She then recollects herself. Cum can be seen dripping down her thighs as she puts her shorts and panties back on.

“Yizhuo, you–”

“Ah, let’s leave it like this, shall we?” she playfully asks, biting her finger, before throwing your jeans back at you.

“Until next time, baby” She bids farewell, before leaving the room, leaving you behind under a lump of your discarded garments.

You sit there in silence, the smell of the debauchery still fills the room, hanging, waiting to be displaced. Your brain replays the misdeeds earlier—her domination, your submission.

And you realize,

You need her again.

—

[xotaemintol]

MARK.LEE x F BLACK READER - SO ANXIOUS

“We can’t just keep talking ‘bout the last time…you were here, what we did…”

//This fictional oneshot includes the following: unprotected sex, fem pet names (good girl, pretty girl.) mentions of masturbation, oral sex, nipple play, tongue kissing, and mentions of getting caught. If you are a minor GO AWAY! But if you are triggered by any of these things please look away kindly, thank you.//

|5.4k wc| feedback is much appreciated>^< |

  You sat on Donghyuck's couch feeling frustrated. He invited you over but went to bed in the middle of the movie, and because it was so late he recommended that you stay the night. So you sat on the couch sulking as you continued the movie you were supposed to finish with Hyuck. 

"Y/N?" You flinched hearing Mark's voice in the darkness, immediately you grabbed the remote, nervously fumbling it around before pausing the movie and turning your head to him. 

"I didn't know you were here, why are you sitting there by yourself?" He asked. You shifted around nervously and laughed a little. 

"Uhm, Hyuck went to bed early." You responded, "We were supposed to be watching a movie but he kept dozing off." You explained. 

Mark nodded, in the dimly lit living room you could just barely make out him stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants. Standing there awkwardly.

"I didn't know you were here either, he didn't uhm..." You cleared your throat and sat up straight, "He didn't tell me." Mark nodded again and looked at the tv, then back at you.

“So uhm, what’re you watching?” He asked, you turned back to the tv and raised your eyebrows. “Oh!” You exclaimed, “Uh, Don’t Buy The Seller. It’s about this woman who buys a used dryer or something from this guy but it doesn’t work…” 

You paused for a moment. It’s been so long since you’ve been alone with Mark. Ever since a slight mishap four months ago, you’ve been so awkward around him. Although he seems to be mostly comfortable, it’s obvious that your reaction to what happened still has him on eggshells. 

With a slight hesitation you looked back at him and asked; “Do you wanna…watch it with me?” In an anxious manner he responded: “Yeah, that’d be nice.” 

Now as Mark sat beside you with his hands sweating and his heart pounding, you both sat facing forward—watching the movie in complete silence. It was like you were both afraid to move. The remnants of that night still fresh in your mind. 

You can still see it so clearly in your head. The way he held you against his body, ignoring the sounds of your friends playfully cheering as they egged you both on—he slowly leaned in and you followed. Sat on his lap with your hands pressed softly against his chest, and gripping his shirt when your lips finally touched. 

It was just a short kiss. It only lasted about seven seconds, no more and no less. But, it was so intimate, and intense, and passionate. Your mind felt so clouded afterwards and you couldn’t even continue playing the game. 

“Awww! Are you really forfeiting?!” Chenle teased. If not for their teasing, that kiss wouldn’t have happened—a good and a bad thing. When you looked at Mark you felt like your whole body was going to burst into flames. Of course you went home early that night.

In Marks mind, as he sits beside you all he can think about is how much you must regret that day. Watching you frantically put on your jacket and shoes as you ordered a cab home made him feel so stupid. It was his fault for accepting the dare. If he’d just said no then he would have only had to take a shot. But when you looked at him and laughed as you teased him about being scared, he felt like he was finally winning. 

If only he could go back in time and force himself to say no or deny Chenle’s insane dare. Then he wouldn’t be sitting next to you feeling so anxious. 

Neither of you had moved an inch or said a word, it only made the tension worse. You couldn’t tell if it was hot or if you were only imaging things. You couldn’t stay like this, you felt like you were going to suffocate. 

You opened your mouth to speak, slowly turning to him—but Mark was going the same thing. Before you could get a word out he spoke. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Huh?” 

You looked at Mark with a confused expression. What did he have to be sorry about? The tension? The silence? The heat? The kiss? Why would he apologize? It’s not even like him, he always goes completely silent before apologizing first. That’s not his thing.

“For kissing you…I shouldn’t have, I should’ve said no.” Slowly, the confused expression on your face turned into a look of amusement. 

You grinned a little and cocked your head to the side.

“Why would you be sorry about that?” 

He had no reason to feel that way. You wanted to kiss him, you made it known the moment Chenle gave him the dare. You were literally shaking in your seat waiting for Mark to say yes, if anything—you felt it was your fault for teasing him when he looked like he was going to back out. 

“I mean, for making you uncomfortable. If I knew you didn’t feel that way then I wouldn’t have-“ You stopped him, snickering as you asked; “Uncomfortable? Did I look uncomfortable?” 

He paused, now looking at you with a blank expression. It’s obvious Mark remembers that night differently from you, so you ask him.

“Do you remember how that night went?” Slowly shaking his head he licks his lips and says; “I’ll be honest, it’s kinda like, not a blur but like patchy? Like I can remember it, but I can only remember you leaving and then you being super nervous around me afterwards.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully, the movie still playing in the background. 

“I told you to kiss me, I even made fun of you for almost saying no to the dare. If anything, I should be saying sorry.” 

Realization hit him like a bus. His eyes slowly widened and he let out a nervous laugh, covering his mouth as he said; “Really?” With a smile on his face. 

“I mean, I just can’t remember you saying that. Like I remember you teasing me about it, but I don’t remember you telling me to you know, kiss you.” 

The awkward tension had finally fallen off your shoulders, but it was quickly replaced with one much more intense—enjoyable, but heavy and sexual. 

Even like this Mark is so charming. His anxious stammering and his facial expressions are just as swaying as always. How could you not want him? 

“How could you forget that? What were you thinking about while I was on your lap?” You asked, Mark immediately looked away from you and shook his head. Chuckling to himself. 

“Nothing…” You raised your eyebrows at his suspicion response and asked again. “Pfft. I’m not telling you.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because…” 

“Because what?” You pressed. 

Mark paused. His thoughts were getting the better of him. How could he admit his filthy thoughts out loud? How can he possibly tell you how in that single moment every fantasy he’d had, every time he’d shamefully touched himself, fucked his fist, and said your name—played in his mind and drowned out the sound of your voice? 

“I uhm…I don’t remember.” He lied. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, for some reason, you wanted to know what it was that turned that night into a jigsaw puzzle in his mind. So, you mustered up all the courage you had and channeled your most confident self. 

But with a shaky voice you asked; “Should we recreate it then?” Mark laughed, his voice cracking as he said loudly; “What?!” So unbelievably anxious. 

“To jog your memory, obviously there’s a lot you don’t remember. Should we refresh your mind?” 

He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Sitting beside you with his tongue pressed against his cheek and his legs spread, he leaned his head back against the couch and let out a short puff of air. Trying to regulate his body.

“Y-Yeah…” Mark looked at you, his head resting on the couch as he said in a soft and slightly desperate tone: “Help me remember it…” 

You felt like you were going to melt. Slowly, you stood up knocking the soft blanket that covered your legs onto the floor. You stood in front of him, preparing yourself mentally for what was about to happen. You wouldn’t dream of backing out now. 

“Are you sure you want to do this though?” Mark wrapped his hand around the back of your thigh, pulling your body between his legs as he looked up at you with his eyebrows knotted together and his face red. 

“If I weren’t I wouldn’t have asked.” 

You tried to seem confident, but as you inhale deeply and placed your knee on the couch beside his waist you felt your whole body begin to tremble in excitement. 

“Let me help you…” Mark grabbed your hand and sat back further on the couch. Allowing your legs to fold on the sides of his hips as you slowly sat down. 

The second you were seated on his lap you both felt flashes of heat wash over your bodies. You could feel the heat from his thighs through both of your thin pajama pants, and you were praying he couldn’t feel the heat radiating from your pussy. 

“So…we were just like this…” You spoke slowly and licked your lips. Your brain felt so scattered as you spoke. 

“Mhm, yeah?” 

Marks voice was so smooth and soft, you almost rolled your eyes in pleasure at the sound of his soft hum. 

“And…your hands…” You grabbed his hands and carefully placed one on your hip and the other on your back. 

You shuddered as he adjusted them a little, moving one to your lower back and the other to the middle—right in the little curve. 

“…Your hands were right there.” He nodded and licked his lips, moving his hips back just a little; trying to create space between your butt and his crotch. 

Before you’d even sat on his lap he felt himself getting hard, but now with his hands on your body and you on his lap he knew it was only a matter of milliseconds before you felt his dick pressing against you. 

“And my hands were here.” You placed your hands on his chest and lightly gripped his shirt. 

You both freeze. Looking at each other as that kiss replayed in both your minds, just like before he slowly leaned in and you followed. Forgetting the purpose of all of this as your nose bumped against his. 

“I think I remember now…” He said in a low and gentle tone. You felt like you could hardly speak, breathlessly you ask him what. 

“I was thinking…” There was no need for him to hide it now. He was fully erect and the heat from between your legs was so noticeable, you couldn’t hide it if you tried. His brain was on autopilot and the only thing working was the part that thought of you. 

“You look so pretty on my lap.” Your stomach felt like it was doing flips, between your legs there was a strong pulsating feeling accompanied by a warm wetness that was beginning to spread. 

There was nothing left to say. Finally, Mark closed the space between you. Settling the aching desire to feel his lips on yours. 

Just like last time he kisses you slowly, his soft lips melting into yours before his tongue slips into your mouth. The feeling of it against your own makes you feel so dizzy. You could kiss him forever and eight years. 

He held you closer and moved his hands to your hips, pressing them down into his own. It doesn’t take a sign for you to get the hint. Pressed down onto his erection you begin slowly moving your hips, moaning quietly into his mouth as the friction causes you to feel more needy and sensitive than before. 

“You’re so fucking pretty…” Mark muttered against your lips as he pulled away. Your body felt weak, your hands just barely grip his shirt as you move your hips in a circular motion. 

Mark pulled away but only to move onto your neck and shoulders, kissing them through your thin shirt. He was so excited. He’d dreamt about this for so long now. 

“Can I take it off?” You looked down at him and he looked back up at you, the fire in his eyes and the feeling between your legs paired perfectly. 

You nodded your head and relaxed your body a little, letting him bunch your shirt up and throw it to the side, revealing your bra. Oh how he’d pictured you on his lap, in nothing but a bra. He couldn’t believe that it was coming to fruition. 

“Fuck, you’re so damn gorgeous.” He kissed the middle of your chest, then your shoulders, and then the top of your breasts. His hands slipping to your back and poking at the clasp of your bra. He didn’t even had to ask. 

“Take it off.” And you didn’t have to tell him twice. 

Mark fumbled with the clasp of your bra for a second or two, struggling to get it off he laughed nervously and looked at you. 

“Sorry, I uhm, I’m so nervous...” You giggled and stopped him. “You’re nervous?” He nodded. 

“But, I’m ready. I’ve been waiting for you for so long, you don’t know how badly I’ve wanted this.” You offered him a comforting smile and kissed him passionately. 

“Take your time…there’s no need to rush.” He exhaled deeply, his chest filed with excitement as he nodded his head and slowly unhooked your bra. 

Mark waited. Holding his breath as the straps loosened and fell from your shoulders just a little. He thought he’d evaporate if he moved too quickly, so he slowly peeled them away. Moving them down to your arms slowly as his eyes focused on your breasts. 

Fully exposed you sat on his lap trembling in excitement, pure greed and desire clouding your mind as he groped one of your breasts, rolling one nipple between his finger and thumb while slowly and carefully sucking the other. 

Your back arched and you closed your eyes. Cursing softly as your hips shuttered. 

“Fuck…Mark…” 

He’d been waiting longer than you could ever imagine to hear you moan his name like that. His dick was throbbing, aching to be touched but all he wanted to do was touch you. Please you, make your body react, hear your voice and do all the things he’s imagined. 

As he switched his mouth to the other nipple you shivered as his saliva dried on the other, creating a cooling sensation as he gave the other the same treatment. Groping the other with his full hand as he looked up at you to watch your expressions. Wanting to see your face scrunched up in pleasure just like he did in his dreams. 

Although it felt good, you wanted more. The feeling of grinding against him wasn’t enough anymore. 

“W-Wait…” You placed your hand on his shoulder and Mark stopped, letting go of your breasts as he breathlessly waited for you to say what you wanted. 

“Can I touch you?” 

“Touch me?” 

You moved back just a little, sitting more on his thighs as you placed your hand on the bulge in his grey pajama pants. Mark shuddered and bit his lip. 

“Can I suck it?” He let out a short laugh, in pure disbelief as he nodded his head. “I-I mean, if you want to, do anything you want.” 

You got off his lap and onto your knees in front of him. The sight of you in front of him like this made his whole body feel like it was static. 

Helping you remove his pants he lifted his hips and placed his hands beside yours as you tugged on them. As they drop to his ankles you look at him with hungry eyes and he returned it. He wanted to eat you alive. 

You raised up more and he helped you remove his boxers. The air hitting his dick made him quietly whimper. Laying against his stomach it leaked a small puddle of sticky precum, the clear substance leaving a small trail behind as you take it in your hands and bring it up to your mouth. 

He had nothing to say, watching with full eyes as you got closer. 

Your soft lip place a kiss on the head of his dick, kissing the slightly enlarged and pink slit as you watched his face. 

Mark’s nose scrunched up as he licked his drying lips and tried to relax. 

“Why do you look so nervous?” You teased. Mark could hardly make the words out, saying simply; “You’re just so…you make me feel so excited.” He admitted. 

“Do I?” Just as he opened his mouth to respond you swiped your tongue across the slit of his cock. Causing him to let out a choked moan. “F-Fuck.” His voice cracked as you laughed softly in a teasing manner. 

You repeated this action, collecting the mostly flavorless substance on your tongue. When you finally felt ready you took just the head into your mouth. 

Mark stiffened up. Holding his breath he sat tongue tied and on edge, his whole body overcome with pleasure. 

“T-Take you…oh my god.” He threw his head back and fell silent as you swirled your tongue around and took his dick just a little deeper. His stomach felt tight and tingly, his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows and tries his hardest not to break so fast. 

“Take-Take your time…please.” He said, more for his sake than your own at this point. 

You closed your eyes and relaxed your jaw, placing your tongue on top of your bottom teeth as you took him even deeper, the feeling his the tip of his dick hitting the roof of your mouth made you feel so horny. 

You’d imagined this for so long. The feeling his the vein of his cock rubbing against your tongue, how heavy it felt in your mouth as you slowly bobbed your head—stroking what you couldn’t get into your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re doing so good baby…so fucking good.” Placing his hand on the back of your head, avoiding pushing your head down Mark’s hips buckled unintentionally. “L-Look at me baby, let me look at your pretty eyes.” 

With drool dripping from your mouth and pooling around the base of his cock you opened your eyes and looked into his. He melted right away and closed his eyes. 

“So fucking pretty…such a good job…such a good…good job.” 

As good as it felt this wasn’t Mark’s plan. Sure he’s imagined you sucking his dick before, but that could wait. What he really wanted was to please you. 

“W-Wait wait wait…wait baby, wait.” 

You stop completely, his cock coming out of your mouth with a soft popping sound—a line of your saliva and his precum connecting between your mouth and his dick. 

“Let me touch you, I wanna make you feel good.” 

Kicking his pants and underwear off his feet he helped you up to your feet and stood up, giving you a short peck on the lips before helping you lay down on the couch. 

“Just like that, good girl.” You bit your lip and smiled uncontrollably at his praise. 

Mark joined you on the couch, mounting you carefully to kiss you again. This felt so much different than it did on his lap, you felt more exposed but it felt so good. 

“Can I taste you baby?” Your mind felt like it was buffering. With hazy eyes you nodded your head. “Yeah? You want me to make you feel good?” 

Kissing his way down to the band of your pants, Mark kept his eyes on you. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.” Slowly, he pushed your pants down, your underwear caught underneath the bunched up hand of your pants come down with them. “How many times…” He kissed your thigh, “I imagined the pretty faces youd make while I’m eating you out.” 

Mark littered your thighs in kisses, leaving your pants and underwear at your calf’s. 

“I wanna make you feel so good, you deserve it so much baby.” Your body was trembling. Even in a moment like this Mark can’t wait a second to vocalize his emotions. 

Finally, he removes the last bit of your clothes completely. Feeling shy you looked away and closed your eyes, but this wasn’t going to fly with Mark so he reached up and grabbed your hand. 

“It’s okay baby, look at me.” He waited before doing anything else. Letting you get a good look at his face, allowing you to look into his eyes for a second and relax before he proceeded. “Just relax, okay?” You nodded your head slowly and inhaled deeply. 

“I promise, I’ll take care of you, okay? I’m gonna make sure you feel good.” 

After making sure you were comfortable Mark raised legs and instructed you to place them on his shoulders, leaving him in between your thighs and face to face with your pussy. 

“You’re just so beautiful baby.” Mark started with a few kisses, testing the waters to make sure you were fully comfortable before dragging his tongue up your slit. 

Your body tensed and your toes curled. 

“Relax for me, just lay back.” 

Mark’s tongue glides up your pussy one more time, collecting your love on his tastebuds before he closes his eyes and begins focusing his tongue on your clit. His mouth practically clings to you as he moves from your clit for just a second, licking up the juices that drip from you as he moves his hand down to his dick. 

He couldn’t help himself. The taste of you and the sound of your voice made him feel so desperate. As he slowly stroked his cock he went back to your clit and traced small hearts onto it. 

Your legs shook beside his head, fueling his desire to please you even more than before. He moved his hand from his dick and used his elbow to prop himself up as he slipped his other hand between your bodies. 

Slowly and carefully he stroked your entrance with his middle finger, using your love as lubricant so he wouldn’t hurt you as he slipped it inside. 

“Oh my god! M-Mark!” He grinned against your pussy, chuckling softly as a wet sound comes from his mouth. He pulled away for just a second, saying; “You sound so good like this.” 

Mark curled his finger upward, rocking his wrist back and forth as he drew small circles on your clip—applying just a little pressure on the bundle of nerves.

His hand was already getting soaked, dripping down his wrist and onto the couch; it would definitely leave a stain that Hyuck would likely ask about later but Mark couldn’t care less. 

“N-No…oh fuck…I-I, I’m gonna…I fuck.” You strung together whatever words you could manage out, trying to warn Mark about the feeling in your stomach. But he didn’t stop for a second. 

Instead, he slipped another finger inside and went a little faster. Drawing out a loud moan from you that he was sure his sleeping roommate would hear. He could feel your velvety walls convulsing around his two digits, making him put more focus into stimulating your clit. 

“Mark! Mark! Mark I-I- fuck! Feels so g-good!” He looked up at you, watching you writher around as he went a little faster. 

Your voice broke before you went completely silent. The only thing to be heard was a small build up of liquid that began gushing out, wetting the lower half of his face, his arm, and even his bicep. 

The knot in your stomach had tightened and snapped before you could even warn him. Your body jerked as you pushed his head away, but instead of stopping he kept going for a second longer. Enjoying the sound of your whimpers as you told him it was too much. 

Chuckling, he finally let up and sat on his knees between your legs as your body jerked and shook from the orgasm ripping through you. 

“Breathe for me baby,” Mark said, he placed his hand in your stomach and watched you with a smirk on his wet face. “In…and out…” You followed and closed your eyes. “Just like that, good girl. You’re so good at listening.” 

He leaned down and kissed you, the taste of yourself on his tongue as he slips it inside of your mouth. You weren’t even close to being done yet, not without feeling him inside of you. 

“Mark,” You whined as you pushed your hips towards his. “Fuck me, please?” 

Mark bit his lip and sat up, cursing softly as he looked around. He didn’t have a condom. Of course he wouldn’t, he’s in the living room. 

“Let me go grab-“ You stopped him as he started to get up, placing your hand on his forearm you looked up at him with glittering eyes as you said in a coaxing tone he couldn’t deny; “It’s okay, please just fuck me.” 

He never thought he’d be doing this. But here he is, denying what he knows is right as he lined his dick up with your entrance. Allowing you to brace yourself as he began to grind against your already sensitive pussy. 

“You sure baby? I don’t think I’ll be able to pull out…” You nodded and opened your arms, wanting to wrap them around his shoulders. You looked so damn pretty. 

“Shit…” Mark cursed and slowly pushed himself inside of you, slipping inside so easily. 

Your wet heat pulls him inside, engulfing him with a softness that he could only dream of. Your walls pulse around his dick as he whimpered, eyes almost watering as he bit his bottom lip so hard it might bleed. The feeling was almost too intense. 

The way you called out his name and dug your nails into his shoulders made him want to cry. He’s never felt so good. His hand could never, ever compare to the feeling of you. 

“I-I’m gonna put it all the way in…” Mark spoke slowly, but his words were still messy. All you could offer as a response was a nod. 

Laying underneath him as his dick stretched you out, filling you up so deliciously as he began panting above you. 

Mark was so careful. Being as slow as he possibly could, letting you feel every inch, every vein, and every throb of his cock. And when you looked and felt ready, he began moving. He pulled his hips back just a little and then moved them forward again. 

“S-So deep…” Your voice faded out as his slow and long strokes turned your brain off. 

“Does…Does it feel good baby?” He asked, sounding so lewd and smug. “You feel how deep I am?” You nodded your head, arching your back as you gasped for air. 

The feeling was so passionate, you were already sensitive but with him pressed against every spot inside of you it felt like you were going to float away and he had just barely gotten started. 

“F-Faster…”You looked up at Mark, you didn’t have to beg. His broken expression told you that. “Please, go faster.” 

“Faster,” Mark changed his pace, stroking a little longer and a little faster. “Like this baby? Hm?” Your eyes rolled back and you slapped your hand against the arm of the couch. “You want…fuck…you want me to go faster? Huh?” 

As Mark sped up you grew louder. Gripping the armrest as your body went weak. You felt like you were chasing after your every breathe. It was like that one request pushed him to the edge. 

“J-Just like that!” You yelled out. Moaning so loud as if Donghyuck wasn’t just one room over.

 “Just like that just like that fuck Mark! Mark! Mark! fuck yes like yes like that like that right there.” Your words jumbled together as he began fucking you a little harder. 

Your praise and broken sentence made Mark feel like he was going crazy. Letting out a mixture between a croak and a whine he pushed your legs back and placed his hand over your mouth, knowing that if he didn’t Donghyuck would catch you before you could finish. 

“You feel so fucking so so so fucking good you’re so so so so pretty so fucking pretty, such a pretty pussy, is it mine? Hm? Is this pretty pussy all mine?” 

You cried out into the palm of his hand and threw your head back, shaking your head as you shouted yes into his hand. Chanting that it was his as he muffled your screams. 

“I knoooww, I know baby, it’s so good? Huh? It’s good? Just nod your head for me, just nod that pretty head for me baby.” 

Mark slowed just, allowing you to savor every stroke. 

“M’gonna uncover your mouth…b-but…you gotta stay quiet, ‘Kay? Just for a second, you can do that…r-right? You’re a good girl, such a good girl…you can stay quiet for me, right?” 

You shake your head, looking up at him with your eyebrows knotted. Mark chuckled and stopped completely. His dick throbs and his body jerks, feeling increasingly horny as he kissed you. 

“Donghyuck is gonna catch us.” He said breathlessly, you tried to regulate your breathing—responding in slurred words: “Let him.” Mark grinned and kissed your forehead, as he leaned back on his legs and ran his hand through his sweaty hair he shook his head at you. 

“You’re so cute like this, be as loud as you want then. Don’t worry about anything but feeling good for me, okay? All you have to do is enjoy yourself.” You nodded your head and weakly smiled at him. 

Mark gave you just one more second before starting again, this time instead of starting off slow, he started off with quick and sharp thrusts. Slamming his hips into yours harshly. You couldn’t even make a sound, one small yelp of pleasure forcing its way out of your throat before you went silent once again. 

Melting into the couch as your toes curled and your eyes rolled back. 

“Ooouuu, there it is…like that baby?” You couldn’t even nod your head, laying there helplessly as Mark fucked your every thought away. 

“I know…I know…” You let out a quiet sob, trying your hardest to find something to grab onto. “Shit…I’m so close…” 

As Mark’s stomach tightened he reached down and began rubbing your clit. Trying his hardest to make you finish before he did. 

“Ma-Mark!” You gasped for air and dropped your legs, reaching down to grab his hand. You tried to beg, pleading with him to slow down as an intense feeling washed over you. Your whole body tensed up and your eyes closed tightly. 

You felt like you were going to explode. 

Mark could feel your walls tighten around him, clamping down on him uncontrollably. He tried to hold back, his fingers moving messily as he began panting. Moaning loudly as he let out strings of curses. 

“F-Fuck fuck fuck…” Feeling the pressure in his stomach build he considered pulling out early, but the risk was so worth the feeling of you finishing around him. 

“I-I…I- oh my god!” You lightly hit his chest as you came for the second time. 

“S-Shit…” Hurriedly Mark pulled out and began stroking his cock, his face twisted with pleasure as he pleased himself above your body. 

“So pretty s’pretty fuck…” He whined. Mark held his breath, tensing up as his cum spurted out onto your stomach. The thick, white and slightly creamy substance dripping down your sides, pooling on your sweaty skin. 

Mark sat back and you laid there, both of you take a second to collect yourselves. Just looking at each other before laughing. 

“Uhm, I guess my memory is refreshed now.” You rolled your eyes playfully and laughed at Mark’s corny joke. “Sorry, let me get you a towe-oh!” He paused as you swiped your finger through his cum and licked it up. 

“Let’s get cleaned up before Hyuck catches us.” 

[ynsbarbbb]

love me harder | m. verstappen

hypothesis - max is on the brink of losing you. however, after a fatal accident…

pairing - max verstappen x fem!driver!reader

[fic is inspired by “love me harder” by ariana grande ft. the weeknd

“baby, in the moment, you’ll know this is, something bigger than us and beyond bliss”

“could you just look at me?” you yelled as max just kept walking a few steps ahead of you.

“can’t. race is about to start.”

stepping into a quicker pace you place yourself in front of max and the garage door, “when was the last time you told me you loved me?”

your eyes searched his face, desperately trying to find a glimpse of the max that you knew, the max you fell in love with, the max you married. the hand you placed on his chest, you could feel the steady rhythmic thump of his heart.

“you really want to do this now?”

“yes! i never see you anymore!”

max scoffed, eyes rolling as he looked back down at his phone, “sorry that i’m busy.”

your hand fell back to your side, “i’m busy too max, yet i still try.”

he nodded his head, eyes not lifting from the rectangular square. you sighed, your hands landing on your hips. is this what you’ve become now?

“is our marriage still worth fighting for, max?”

he looked up. eyes piercing through yours. you cannot believe the words just left your mouth, but it felt relieving to finally utter the words that has been haunting you for weeks.

“i’m not doing this with you right now, y/n,” max steps around you, “good luck with your race.”

~~

it was a millisecond.

you missed the turn by a millisecond and hamilton came crashing into you, sending your right wing and two tires flying. the car skidding across the track and landed upside down.

the force of the impact shoved your head against the steering wheel, hard, bouncing back against the seat.

damage had been done. to you and your car.

to lewis’ as well.

unbeknownst to max, who was in the lead, adrenaline coursing though his veins at the thought of his fourth podium for the season.

he was thriving, the car succumbing to his every command. the engine roaring sending shivers throughout his whole body.

the grin on his face turned devilish. he’s so close.

“max,” christians voice in his ears broke his train of thought, but his eyes never once lost sight of the track in front of him.

“the car’s doing great, no need to worry. podium is secure,” max declared excitingly. he took the turn, groaning at the strain it took on his body.

“though, sainz is on my tail the whole fucking time.”

christian sighed, not at all what max had expected, but he couldn’t be bothered by his team principal’s pms at the moment.

“max, there was a crash.”

another turn, another groan.

sainz could be spotted in max’ peripheral vision. he pushed the car harder, engine roaring, sending max flying away from carlos.

“who crashed?” he asked as he fiddled with the buttons on the wheel, checking if everything is still steady. he has at least seven more laps to go.

“y/n.”

dead silent.

heavy thick as your name registered in his mind. the grin that has been on his face had been wiped down. his lips sticking to his teeth.

“max?” christian asked, waiting a few moments. there was no response from the dutch.

he felt as if his body went numb, limb for limb. his arms felt wonky - not like the grip he had on the wheel mere moments ago. his breathing became shallow, his lungs struggling to capture enough oxygen, his brain malfunctioning.

next thing he knew he was crashing into sandbags.

the impact knocking sense back into him. sand dust flying everywhere.

“max!” christian exclaimed, “are you injured?”

“how’s she? is she alive?” max frantically asked. you didn’t have a choice - you had to be alright. you couldn’t be hurt, max would loose his head if you where. who crashed into you? how hard was the impact?

max got out of the car, “christian, fucking answer me!”

the line was silent for a couple of moments, “she’s stable. unconscious, but stable. no further news yet. she has been rushed to the ER.”

cars blasted past him, deafening noise drumming his ears.

“i need to get to her.”

“max, the race -“

“fuck the race, that’s my fucking wife!”

~

the doors of the ER bursted open, a very sweaty, and breathless max stood there, his eyes frantically looking around for anyone who could assist him.

he still had his suit on, christian hot on his trail.

“y/n, i need to know where y/n verstappen is,” he asked, accent thick as he slapped his hands on the receptionist desk.

she looked up at him, “any relation?”

max scoffed, “my wife.”

her fingers made quick work on the keyboard, “your wife is in surgery.”

max’ shoulders slumped and christian took hold of it, shooting a quick thanks to the nurse and led him in another direction. he swiped his hands though his hair, pulling at it, feeling his frustration grow and bubble at the bottom of his throat.

he could scream.

max paced the hallway, up and down. maybe minutes - maybe hours. he didn’t know. all he did know was that he’s staying.

why didn’t he tell you he loved you. with every fibre of his being he loved you. he craved you, constantly. the thought of you was all that he needed to survive - but knowing that you were his wife, made him whole.

you were the person who stood by him whilst he was working through his troubles with his father. on the nights when fear surrounded him, the comforting hand of you, his wife, brought him peace. on the days when he was on his happiest, it was on the days he spent with you.

you made him. you showed him to be max verstappen.

his wife.

~~

news spread around the paddock, like a wild fire. sky sport tv airing out to fans and viewers to keep you in their prayers and thoughts.

some of your and max’ closest friends took off straight away to the hospital, supporting max even though he didn’t even acknowledge them.

they were still there.

an apology from lewis was sent out world wide, and he even made an appearance to max, but the dutch only glared at him, taking hold of his collar, making his friends jump and take hold of max.

“if she doesn’t make it out of here, you’ll regret ever setting foot on a paddock again. i’ll kill you.”

his voice was icy as he spat the words at lewis, baring his teeth. daniel stepped in between the two and pushed max back by his chest.

max’ eyes never left lewis’ retreating from.

~~

“verstappen, y/n.”

max was in front of the doctor in a second, his eyes pleading his for good news. the doctor smiled at him and gave him what he was searching for.

“she’s asleep, but she’s an extreme fighter. you’ve got no worries, mr verstappen.”

he swore he could cry.

the doctor told him the room you were in and max wasted no time rushing towards it.

he searched the numbers above the doors for room one-o-one. his number. a bit of pride bursting in his chest, fate really had put you two together.

max stepped into the room and his heart broke.

machines connected to your heart, the beeping sound being the only indication that you are in fact alive. various cuts and bruises formed along your face. a neck brace adorned. oxygen mask on your beautiful face.

max stifled a sob as he crashed into a seat near your bed, scooting closer and taking hold of your hand. his thumb drawing patterns on your knuckles.

even in your unconscious mind your body still knew that it was your max, the heart monitor speeding up slightly.

it caused him to chuckle, “mijn schatje, mijn alles, i am so sorry. this should’ve never happened to you.”

he squeezed your palm, pressing a tender kiss to the flesh, “fight, stay strong for me, yeah? so that i can love you right this time.”

~~

a gentle knock at the door roused max from his sleep. his hand was still tucked in yours.

max turned towards the door, lando stood there.

a soft smile on his face with a gym bag in his hand, “mate, i brought you some clothes - the suit can not be comfortable.”

he chuckled and motioned for his muppet friend to come in. lando placed the bag by the door and walked closer to stand next to max. he placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“how’s the missus?”

max looked at you, a lump the size of a bull frog lodged itself in his throat, “she’s good, doc said she’s a real fighter.”

“she is a verstappen, ey?” lando nudged max’ shoulder who just chuckled in response. he felt guilty, ashamed, contrast to who he was. he shouldn’t have had to treat his wife like shit. you just wanted to know he loves you.

“look, mate, don’t beat yourself up about what happend, see this as a new beginning.”

max nodded, “she just wanted me to say that i love her. shit, i should’ve just said it to her. the crash-“

“is not your fault, you couldn’t have possibly predicted an accident to happen.”

he shook his head and looked at the bag by the door, “i’m going to change, would you mind maybe staying here. i don’t want to leave her alone.”

“yeah, of course mate.”

~~

two weeks later

“don’t strain yourself so much, schat,” max’ voice was gentle as he looked at your from his seat on the couch. within mere moments he stood in front of you, large palms pressed to your hips to help you walk the last few remaining steps.

this last couple of weeks changed. your marriage changed. max changed.

he was waiting on you hand and foot, even though you have told him multiple times that certain things you can do on your own, he still insisted.

the one noticeable change for yourself and everyone surrounding you was the fact that max openly, whenever he got the chance told you he loved you.

whether it be when you’re making dinner, doing dishes, walking beside him on the paddock - he’d say he loves you with a kiss pressed to your temple. it was and still is absolute bliss.

your recovery went by fast, splendid as your doctor had put it. with time and patience, he said, you’d be back on the track in no time.

when your socked feet took the last step, max couldn’t help the face splitting grin that adorned his face.

“look at you go, speedy,” he smiled as he took hold of your head and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. speedy. the nickname max had dubbed you the moment you overtook him when you first met.

speedy. the nickname max had dubbed you the moment you stole his heart.

speedy. the nickname max had used in his vows the moment you took his last name.

max made sure that you didn’t strain yourself too much in the recovery process, he treated you like you were his fine china, bubble wrapping your heart and by God, swearing that he’d never let his actions and words ever hurt you again.

he poured so much love into you. you practically glowed in comparison to when the argument had occurred.

his love.

his wife.

max made sure you knew how much he adored you, loved you, craved you.

“ik hou van je, mijn schat.”

and you knew he did.

fin.

[crunchystarz]

"Nightmare"

Leona Kingscholar x GN!Reader

Summary: In which Leona has a terrible nightmare regarding you but no worries you're there to comfort him

Cw- mentions of death in nightmare, angst, fluff, established relationship, One shot

Word count: 887

A.N: Wowza first non creepypasta work on this acc spare me (I'm still figuring this whole Tumblr thing out lol), also this is imported from my Google docs so the spacing might be a little weird

His heart pounded in his chest, like the crash of waves. The sound of blood rushing through his veins loud in his ears, drowning out all else. His body refused to move, as if something rooted him to the ground.

He stared at your lifeless body, his breath hitching in uneven gasps. Helplessness consumed him. He wanted to scream until he couldn't anymore , but the cry caught in his throat. He was frozen ,completely immobilized like a statue.

He had failed you. The thought tore through him sharp. Why hadn’t he been faster? Stronger? Smarter? His mind replayed every moment, every decision, desperately searching for the one that would have ended differently.

If only he’d been better, you’d still be here. You’d still be breathing, your chest rising and falling with life, those eyes he loved so dearly looking back at him.

His hands trembled as he reached for you, cradling your cold, unresponsive body. He hadn’t even realized he’d moved. Tears blurred his vision,throat tightened. It didn’t matter anymore not the pain in his knees, not the ache in his arms from holding you so tightly. Nothing mattered.

Why hadn’t it been him instead? He’d trade everything, it didn't matter what as long as he could hear your laugh one more time, to feel your warmth, to see you smile.

Leona jolted awake with a sharp gasp, his blankets tangled. Green eyes wide and darting around the room. His heart was racing. A hand dragged over his face, trying to ground himself as reality slowly bled back in.

It was a dream. Only a dream.

Just a dream Leona…

Yet the vividness of it lingered. He turned his gaze to the empty space beside him on the bed, and his breath hitched again.

“[Name]?” His voice, rough and strained, cracked as he called out. His ears twitched, and relief washed over him as he heard the soft sound of approaching footsteps.

Your footsteps

The door creaked open, and there you were, bathed in the faint morning light spilling through the window. "You're finally awake, morning sleepyhead," you said with a smile. Your voice was warm and laced with affection as you walked over to him.

Sevens did he love your voice.

Leona exhaled shakily, the weight on his chest easing slightly. But his body remained tense, his hands gripping the sheets.

You noticed how off he was immediately. “Leona?” Concern filled your voice as you sat down on the edge of the bed, your hands resting gently on his shoulders grounding him.

Before you could even say anything else, Leona moved. His arms shot out, wrapping around you and pulling you down onto the mattress with a forceful yet desperate urgency. You let out a yelp in surprise.

His grip was firm, almost crushing, as though he feared you’d disappear if he let go. You could feel the faint tremble in his frame, it made your heart ache.

“Leona?” you repeated softly, tilting your head to look at him. He didn’t answer, only burying his face in the crook of your neck. The steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his ear was the only thing he could focus on.

You were alive.

"What's going on?" you asked gently, your fingers threading through his hair and brushing behind his ears in a soothing gesture. "This isn't like you."

“Bad dream,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. But the unease in his tone betrayed him. You frowned, concern deepening as you pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head.

"I'm here now," you whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

You lay back against the pillow, letting him cling to you. Slowly, you matched your breathing to his, your chest rising and falling in a rhythm until his ragged breaths began to even out. Your hand moved in slow, comforting strokes along his back, and eventually, he calmed

You felt a vibration against your chest, followed by a deep, purring. It brought a small smile to your face. "You know," you teased lightly, "purring like that? Not very nonchalant housewarden of you."

"Shuddup," he muttered, his voice muffled as he pressed himself closer to you. You giggled softly, the sound making his heart leap. This time, the pounding in his chest wasn’t fear, it was just love.

He nuzzled his face deeper into the crook of your neck, inhaling the comforting scent of you. The memory of the nightmare still lingered, but it was dulled now, by your presence. You were here, alive and breathing, and that was enough for him.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His green eyes, usually half-lidded, were wide and searching, drinking in every detail of your face. He couldn't get enough.

Everything you. He loved each of your features,

everything. Because it was yours.

“I love you,” he said, the words escaping him before he could even registr what he was saying.

You smiled, the kind of smile that he'd do anything for just to see.

“I love you too.”

Leona pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you as his tail snaked in between your legs. For now, that was all he needed, just you, safe in his arms, your warmth calming him.

He was at peace. Calm and tangled in one another.

MASTERLIST

[eclipixels]

Bitter Sweets

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Content: You and your daughter learn to live without Gojo

Wanings: angst

[2,457 words]

      You've been numb for days. The world moves around you in a haze, colors muted, sounds distant, as if you are watching everything unfold from behind a thick veil of glass. The weight in your chest is unbearable, pressing down on you with every breath. It’s not just grief, it’s emptiness, a void that has swallowed you whole.

      Your daughter keeps asking when her dad will come back home. Her voice is small, hopeful, full of innocence you wish you could protect forever. But you can’t. You can barely protect yourself from the truth.

      You haven't slept in your shared bedroom for days. In fact, you haven't slept much at all. The bed feels too big now, the air too cold, the scent of him still clinging to the sheets like a ghost. You lie awake on the couch, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint sounds of the night, waiting for a peace that never comes.

      "Mommy, you not gonna eat?" Her voice pulls you back to reality. You blink, realizing you've been sitting at the table, untouched food in front of you, lost in thought. Her wide cerulean blue eyes, so much like his, gaze up at you expectantly, full of concern that a child her age shouldn’t have to carry.

      You force a smile, shaking your head. "No, sweetie. You eat up, okay? So you can be big and strong."

      "Like daddy?" she asks, tilting her head, rosy cheeks puffed out slightly.

      Your heart aches, twisting painfully in your chest.

      "Yes, baby. Just like daddy."

      She beams, shoveling food into her mouth with an enthusiasm you can barely comprehend. She’s too young to understand, too young to grasp the finality of it all. You envy her innocence, her ability to still find joy in the simplest things.

      Days blend together, indistinguishable from one another. You go through the motions, tending to your daughter, making sure she’s fed, bathed, and safe. But you? You are running on autopilot, existing but not living. The house feels empty without his presence, the silence deafening.

      Then, one morning, you wake up and she is gone.

      Panic surges through you, an icy grip around your heart. No. No, where could she be? You stumble to your feet, calling her name, your voice trembling.

      She couldn’t have left the house. The doors were locked.

      You search frantically, tearing through the rooms, checking the closets, looking under tables, behind furniture. Your breathing becomes ragged, your vision blurring as terror sets in.

      And then you find her.

      She’s in your bedroom, curled up on the bed, her tiny legs dangling off the side.

      She’s holding something in her small hands. A crinkled wrapper.

      A piece of candy.

      From Gojo’s box of sweets.

      You freeze, staring at her. Your heart clenches, a thousand emotions crashing over you at once. Anger, sadness, heartbreak, love, each one more suffocating than the last.

      "No–no no no no. Sweetie, what are you—are those—?" Your voice catches, throat tightening.

      She looks up at you, wide-eyed, mouth slightly full. "I'm sorry, Mama. Was I no eat?"

      Her voice wobbles, her lower lip quivering, and it shatters whatever fragile composure you had left. You swallow down the lump in your throat, forcing a smile through your tears.

      "No, baby, no. It’s just… these are Daddy’s, okay? Let’s not touch them."

      She frowns, her small fingers gripping the wrapper tighter. "But Daddy always give me him candy."

      Her words are a dagger to your already bleeding heart. You close your eyes, trying to steady your breath.

      "I know, sweetheart. But just not these. These are… special. Different." You exhale slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, hoping she doesn’t see how much you’re breaking.

      She stares at the candy in her hand before looking back at you.

      "Mama?" she whispers.

      "Yes, baby?"

      She hesitates for a moment, then asks the question that you knew would come but never wanted to hear.

      "Daddy no coming home?"

      The room falls silent.

      Your chest tightens, your breath catching as you look at her, so small, so innocent, waiting for an answer you wish you didn’t have to give.

      Your throat burns as you try to find the words, try to summon the strength to say what you’ve been avoiding. But there is no easy way to break a heart. No gentle way to explain the permanence of loss to a child who still believes in bedtime stories and magic.

      Tears spill down your cheeks before you can stop them, and you pull her close, pressing your lips to the top of her head.

      "No, baby," you whisper, the words barely audible. "Daddy’s not coming home."

      The sobs come uncontrollably now, wracking your body as you hold her tight, as if she is the only thing anchoring you to this world. And maybe she is.

      She sniffles, small arms wrapping around you, her warmth the only thing piercing through the cold emptiness inside you. Tufts of her white hair ruffle against your shoulder. You don’t know how long you sit there, rocking back and forth, mourning not just what you lost, but the future that will never be. The father your daughter will never have. The husband you were robbed of growing old with.

      Time passed, though it never truly erased the ache in your chest. The days turned into months, then years, and with them, the weight of loss shifted, not gone, but settled into a part of you, like a scar that no longer bleeds but never fades. You learned, slowly, that grief was not something you conquered. It was something you carried. A shadow that followed you, sometimes silent, sometimes heavy, but always there.

      You had to come to terms with the fact that pain would never leave, but neither would the love. You had to live, not just for yourself, but for your daughter, for him. After everything he had fought for, after everything he had believed in, you knew you couldn't let your sorrow consume you. You couldn't let it fester into something dark, something cursed. He wouldn't have wanted that. He had given his life to protect others, to protect you both. The least you could do was honor him by living, by making memories that weren’t just soaked in loss.

      And so, you did. You pushed through. You smiled more, even when it hurt. You held your daughter a little tighter at night, whispering stories of her father when she asked, letting his memory be one of warmth instead of only pain. You taught her to laugh, to grow, to fight, not just in battle, but in life.

      Now, here you were, years later, sitting among familiar faces, watching the young girl who once clung to you, now standing tall, adorned in Jujutsu Tech’s graduation uniform. She had followed in her father’s footsteps, stepping into the legacy of the Gojo clan, determined, strong, and full of the same spark that made him unforgettable.

      The crowd was filled with familiar voices, old students, old friends, those who had known and loved him just as you had. The past and present intertwined in a bittersweet symphony, but today, there was more pride than sorrow.

      The doors burst open with a sudden commotion. "Are we late?" Itadori's voice rang out, slightly frantic as he stumbled forward, adjusting his tie with fumbling hands.

      You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head. "Nope, right on time."

      Megumi let out a sigh, stepping in after him with his usual air of quiet exasperation. He took the seat next to you, nodding in greeting. You met his gaze, offering a small smile. Out of everyone, Megumi had remained the closest to you and your daughter. You remembered raising him alongside Gojo, back when you were barely adults yourselves, navigating a world that demanded too much from those too young. You used to call him your ‘practice baby’ back then, a joke that had stuck even as he grew into a formidable sorcerer in his own right.

      And when your daughter came along, he had stepped into the role of an older brother without hesitation, protective, steady, always watching over her.

      The moment felt frozen in time. You watched as she stepped forward, accepting her certificate with a graceful bow, her movements poised yet full of excitement. She looked radiant, strong, confident, and breathtakingly beautiful, a reflection of both her heritage and the future she was forging for herself.

      As she descended the steps, her cerulean blue eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on you. For a split second, the world around you blurred, and all you could see was her, your little girl, all grown up. Then, with a beaming smile, she took off running, her short white hair swirling in the wind, catching the light like strands of silver silk.

      "Aw, look at that little face! She looks just like her pretty mama," Gojo cooed, his voice dripping with adoration as he grinned down at the tiny bundle in his arms. Your daughter’s tiny fingers had wrapped around his much larger one, gripping it with all the strength her little body could muster.

      "As if," you scoffed, rolling your eyes with a smirk. "She looks like you gave birth to her instead of me."

      Gojo gasped dramatically, feigning offense. "Excuse you, I’m flattered, but last I checked, you were the one in labor for hours while I almost passed out watching."

      You snorted, shaking your head as you folded the last of the baby clothes. "Exactly my point. All that effort, and she comes out looking like your tiny twin."

      Gojo beamed, leaning in closer to your baby, his snowy white hair nearly brushing her soft skin. "Look, I know she got my eyes and my hair, but if you really look at her, she’s got your face. Your cheeks, your smile, your nose."

      You walked over, peering down at the little miracle in his arms. "A perfect mix of us, huh?"

      Gojo nodded, his usually playful expression softening as he pressed a gentle kiss to your daughter’s forehead. "Yeah. Can’t believe she’s ours. Our little girl."

      She cooed in response, laughing in that pure, uninhibited way that only babies could, her tiny limbs flailing in excitement.

      Gojo chuckled, lifting her slightly. "You gonna be a sorcerer like Mama and Dada, huh?"

      The baby let out another happy squeal, her tiny hands reaching for him.

      You smiled at the sight, at the sheer joy radiating from him, from her, from the life you had built together.

      "Can you imagine her going to Jujutsu Tech?" Gojo mused, his tone drifting into something almost wistful. "Watching her graduate? I wonder what she’ll look like when she’s older."

      You leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you watched your daughter babble away, completely unaware of the love surrounding her.

      "I don’t know," you murmured, smiling softly. "But I bet she’ll be amazing."

      And now, years later, standing at her graduation, you realized just how right you had been. If only he knew he wouldn’t make it to see this day.

      The thought weighed heavy in your chest as you wiped at your eyes, surprised to find them wet with tears you didn’t remember shedding. It was bittersweet, watching your daughter stand tall, strong, and radiant, everything he had ever dreamed she would be. He should have been here, standing beside you, grinning ear to ear with that boyish excitement he never outgrew.

      But he wasn’t.

      And yet, in so many ways, he was.

      His presence lived on in her, the way she carried herself, the glint of mischief in her eyes, the way she beamed when all eyes were on her. She had inherited so much from him. Including his complete lack of humility.

      "So, what’s my gift?" she asked, raising a brow, a smirk playing on her lips.

      You scoffed. "Not even five minutes out of graduation, and you’re already expecting rewards?"

      She shrugged. "It’s a big day."

      Before you could respond, Nobara’s voice cut through the moment. "Congratulations!!"

      Your daughter barely had time to react before she was engulfed in a bear hug, Nobara squeezing the life out of her. You laughed as she struggled to breathe, waving dramatically at Itadori and Megumi for help. They ignored her. Instead, Itadori grinned as he handed over a handful of gifts wrapped in bright, clashing colors, undoubtedly chosen by him. Megumi gave a small nod, his own gift tucked into the pile, subtle, but meaningful, just like him.

      You stood back for a moment, watching them all laugh and joke, teasing each other the way they always had. The way Gojo used to with them.

      It was a beautiful sight.

      Finally, when the chaos settled, you stepped forward, holding out a carefully put-together basket, filled with teddy bears, balloons, and a gift bag.

      "Here," you said with a smile.

      Your daughter grinned, eagerly accepting it. But before she could dig through the contents, you pulled out one last gift, a small, carefully wrapped box.

      Her brows furrowed as she took it from your hands. There was something about the weight of it, the way you looked at her, that made her pause. Cautiously, she unwrapped it, fingers trembling slightly as she lifted the lid.

      She gasped.

      Inside sat a familiar, neatly arranged collection of sweets.

      Gojo’s sweets.

      She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide as she looked from the box to you. "Mom? Are these…?"

      You smiled, warmth filling your chest despite the lump in your throat. "Dad’s? Not exactly. I was able to find the old man who would always make these and sold them out his stall. I asked him to make some in your and your dad’s favorite flavors."

      Her lips parted in shock before she let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, thank god. I don’t think I could’ve eaten the ones from all those years ago without getting food poisoning."

      You rolled your eyes. So much like her father.

      "Smartass," you muttered, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips.

      She grinned, cradling the box as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Then, looking up at you, her expression softened. "Thank you, Mom. Really. I love it."

      "No problem, baby," you said, voice thick with emotion. You reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear like you had so many times when she was little. "I’m so proud of you."

      She didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you, holding on tight.

      "I love you."

      You closed your eyes, holding her just as tightly.

      "I love you too."

[23victoria]

𝔡𝔞𝔡𝔡𝔶'𝔰 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢!

*☾⋆･ﾟ pairings:𝔰𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯!𝔡𝔞𝔡𝔡𝔶 𝔧𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔲𝔱𝔱𝔬𝔫 𝔵 𝔣𝔢𝔪!𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

word count: 3𝓀

*☾⋆･ﾟ synopsis: jenson loves fucking his sweatpea 𝒸𝓌! pet names, praise kink, rough, fingering, degradation, body worship, overstimulation, size kink, dacryphilia, somnophilia, creampie, face sitting, cockwarming, daddy kink

authors note: porn without a plot basically, it’s been a week since I updated and I didn’t even notice, Kinktober will be finished by the end of this week so i can start spooktober! i’m so excited, send in ideas and characters you think the f1 drivers would be!! i hope you enjoy! likes, asks, and reblogs are appreciated!!

𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔟𝔢 𝔞𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱?! CLICK HERE!

*☾⋆･ﾟ f1 MASTERLIST KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

“Ohh, fuck!” Jenson groans, his hands gripping your waist with a possessiveness that sends a thrill down your spine, and his thrusts are hard and deep, filling you in a way that makes you gasp with every movement. He’s relentless, the sound of his waist hitting your ass filling the room, the tension thick and palpable. Each snap of his hips sends shockwaves through your body, the pleasure intense, overwhelming.

Jenson's gaze is locked onto yours, darkened with desire as he takes in every inch of your expression—your parted lips, your flushed cheeks, the way your body arches in response to his dick hitting your cervix. His grip tightens, pulling you impossibly closer as he picks up the pace, the force of his thrusts making the headboard shake behind you.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, voice hoarse and filled with need. “You’re so fucking perfect. Look at you. Taking me so well. My little sweetpea, aren’t you?”

His words make your head spin, each syllable dripping with praise and possession, only adding to the fire coursing through your veins. He shifts his angle, driving deeper, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl, and you cry out, unable to hold back. Jenson smirks at your reaction, pride flickering in his eyes as he watches you unravel beneath him.

“You love this, don’t you? Love it when I fuck you like this,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear as he leans down, lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. “You’re mine. All mine.”

You can barely nod, the pleasure too intense, too consuming for coherent thoughts. All you can do is moan his name, your nails digging into his back as your body trembles with every thrust. His lips trail down your neck, over your collarbone, until his mouth finds your breasts, his tongue flicking over your hardened nipples in a way that has you gasping for air. He pulls one into his mouth, sucking gently before his teeth graze the sensitive skin, making you shudder beneath him.

“You still want that waist chain, don’t you?” he breathes, his voice thick with lust as his hand moves to grip your hips, holding you firmly as he continues to thurst in and out of you. “Something custom, just for you. I’ll spoil you, baby. Anything you want.”

His words send a shiver through you, the thought of him adorning your body with something so delicate, so personal, making your heart race. Jenson’s always loved spoiling you, treating you like you’re the most precious thing in the world, and tonight is no different.

In one smooth motion, he hooks your legs over his shoulders, sinking even deeper into you. The new angle pulls a gasp from your lips as he presses a kiss to your ankle, his eyes dark with lust.“And how about another anklet?” Jenson whispers, his voice thick with desire as his lips trail down your leg. "Something delicate, to match these pretty feet of yours," he murmurs, his lips lingering on your skin as he fucks into you harder, making your whole body tremble. “Something to match this perfect body of yours.” He reaches your ankle, pressing a soft kiss there before looking up at you with a grin. “God, I love spoiling you.”

His words are intoxicating, but it’s the way he looks at you that makes your heart pound—the way his eyes are filled with adoration, hunger, and something so much deeper. It makes you feel cherished, adored, as if you’re the only thing that matters in the world to him.

The rhythm of Jenson’s hips is relentless, every thrust deeper and harder than the last, driving you closer and closer to the edge. Your back arches, your fingers gripping the sheets as your body moves with his, every nerve on fire. His hands grip your waist firmly, pulling you closer to him as he pounds into you, the room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the breathless gasps escaping your lips.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” Jenson groans, his voice ragged with pleasure. His pace doesn’t slow, his body moving with precision and force, his desire for you consuming every movement. You can feel the heat building between you both, the tension winding tighter with every thrust until it feels like you’re going to break.

Then, with one last, deep thrust, Jenson buries himself inside you, groaning low in his throat as he cums. The warmth floods through you, and the sensation of him filling you sends a final wave of pleasure crashing over your body. You shudder, completely spent, collapsing against the bed as your body trembles in the aftermath.

Jenson doesn’t move immediately, staying buried deep within you, savoring the moment. His hands roam over your body, possessive and tender at the same time. When he finally pulls back slightly, his gaze drops down between your legs, and a satisfied grin spreads across his face.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, his voice soft, filled with pride. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby. Full of me like that.”

His thumb brushes over the wetness between your legs, his eyes filled with awe as if he’s savoring the moment, the sight of you so completely claimed by him. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your belly, then your thigh, his lips lingering as if he can’t get enough.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice low and possessive as he nuzzles into your skin. “Every inch of you. And I’ll never get tired of this. Never get tired of you.”

You can barely respond, your body still trembling from the aftermath, your mind a haze of pleasure and satisfaction. All you can do is cling to him, your hands gripping his shoulders as he pulls you closer, holding you tight against him.

“Let me take care of you, baby,” Jenson murmurs, his voice soft now, almost tender as he kisses the side of your neck.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jenson’s breathing is heavy, still ragged from the intensity of the moment, but his eyes are far from done. You can see it in the way he looks at you—still hungry, still obsessed. His hands never leave your body, and his lips keep brushing over your skin, as if he can’t get enough.

“Come here, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with desire. “I’m not finished with you yet. I need more… I want to taste that sweet peach of yours.”

You’re still trembling, body aching with overstimulation, but the way Jenson’s hands trail down your waist, fingers digging gently into your hips, makes you shiver with anticipation. His eyes are dark, filled with a dangerous kind of devotion that makes your pulse quicken.

Before you can even fully process what he’s asking, he’s guiding you, pulling you toward him as he shifts down on the bed. “Sit on my face, baby,” he commands softly, but there’s an intensity behind his words that sends a thrill down your spine. “Let me taste that’s sweet pussy of yours.”

You hesitate for only a moment, your body still reeling from the last wave of pleasure, but Jenson’s hands are already gripping your thighs, pulling you closer. His strength is undeniable, and he moves you with ease until you’re hovering above him, his face inches from your most sensitive spot.

The anticipation is maddening, and before you can even catch your breath, he pulls you down, burying his face between your thighs. His tongue is relentless, his lips pressing hot kisses against you as he devours you with an intensity that steals your breath.

“God, you taste so good,” he groans, the vibration of his voice against you making your legs quiver. He’s holding you up, strong hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you even closer, his mouth working you over with a fervor that has your head spinning. You lean back against the headboard, trying to brace yourself, but it’s no use. The pleasure is overwhelming, each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, sending shockwaves through your already overstimulated body.

“Jenson,” you gasp, your hands gripping the headboard for support as your legs shake uncontrollably. But he doesn’t let up. His grip tightens on your thighs, holding you in place as his tongue delves deeper, his hunger for you insatiable.

“Yes, baby,” he groans, voice muffled but clear in its desire. “Let me taste you. Let me take care of you.”

You can barely think, let alone speak. Your body is shaking, pleasure coursing through you in waves as he continues to eat you out with a devotion that has you on the edge of losing control. Your thighs quiver in his hands, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, but Jenson holds you steady, refusing to let go.

He looks up at you from between your legs, eyes dark and wild with obsession. “I love seeing you like this,” he murmurs, pausing only long enough to speak before diving back in. “Falling apart just for me. That’s my good girl.”

His words push you even closer to the edge, and you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as the overstimulation takes hold. It’s too much, too good, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on. But Jenson doesn’t stop. If anything, he becomes more intense, his mouth working you over with an urgency that leaves you breathless, his hands gripping your thighs like he’s never letting you go.

Your body trembles, legs shaking as you lean harder against the headboard, your vision blurring with the sheer force of the pleasure coursing through you. “I can feel how close you are,” he growls, his voice sending vibrations through your core. “Let go for me, baby. Give it to me.”

You can’t hold back any longer. With a final, desperate moan, you fall apart completely, your entire body shaking as the pleasure overtakes you. Jenson doesn’t stop, his mouth still working you through it as you cry out, your hands clutching the headboard for dear life.

He finally slows, his kisses becoming softer, more tender as you come down from the high. But even then, he doesn’t let go, his hands still gripping your thighs as he presses one final kiss to your sensitive core.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he whispers, pulling you down into his arms as you collapse against him, legs still trembling. “You taste like heaven.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your body feels completely spent, every muscle heavy and relaxed as you lie there, limbs tangled with the sheets, barely able to move. Jenson’s arms are wrapped around you, his warm breath ghosting over your neck as he nuzzles closer, pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder.

He hasn’t let go of you, and you can feel his fingers trailing over your skin, gentle and possessive. The weight of his touch is comforting, a reminder that he’s still here, still very much wanting you.

“Aww, is my sweetpea tired?” Jenson’s voice is teasing, soft in your ear, but it carries a note of affection that sends warmth flooding through your already exhausted body. “My baby’s all worn out, huh?”

Your lips curve into a weak smile, but your body refuses to cooperate further. You feel utterly spent, every nerve ending tingling from the pleasure he’s already pulled from you. But despite the fatigue, a shiver of anticipation runs down your spine when his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles on your skin.

He shifts slightly, moving behind you, and the heat of his body presses against yours. You can feel the weight of him, solid and grounding, his presence taking up every inch of space around you. Jenson’s hand slides down to your hip, fingers gripping you gently as his lips brush against your neck, trailing kisses along your skin. Each touch is deliberate, filled with intent, as if he’s savoring the moment, taking his time with you.

“You want me to fuck you to sleep, baby?” he murmurs against your ear, his voice low and teasing, sending a wave of heat through your exhausted body. There’s a smirk in his tone, and you can feel his lips twitch against your skin. Even though you’re tired, the promise in his words makes your breath hitch, and a soft whimper escapes your lips.

“Y-yes,” you manage to whisper, though your voice is barely audible. You’re so tired, so overwhelmed, but the need is still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

Jenson chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and against your back, and he kisses your shoulder, his lips warm and soft. “Of course you do,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a kind of dark affection that makes your heart skip a beat. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s going to take care of you.”

You barely have time to process his words before his hand slides between your thighs, fingers moving slowly, teasingly. His touch is gentle but firm, and the sensation makes you gasp, even though you’re so sensitive it borders on overwhelming. You squirm slightly, but Jenson’s other hand presses against your hip, keeping you still.

“Shh, just relax,” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck. His fingers move in slow, tantalizing circles, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through your already overstimulated body. “Let daddy take care of you, baby.”

You can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as his fingers work you over, the pleasure building again despite your exhaustion. His lips never leave your skin, kissing along the curve of your neck, his stubble grazing you in a way that has you shivering. His free hand moves to cup your breast, fingers rubbing your tit as he teases you mercilessly, driving you to the edge of pleasure once more.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice filled with satisfaction. “I love how you react to me. My perfect girl.”

You want to respond, but the words get caught in your throat as his fingers slide deeper, hitting that spot that makes your entire body tremble. His touch is slow, deliberate, and the tension in your body begins to coil once again, despite the exhaustion weighing you down.

Jenson’s lips move up to your ear, his breath hot and teasing. “Just a little more, baby,” he whispers, his voice dripping with control. “You can take it.”

Before you can even brace yourself, he thrusts into you hard, the sudden stretch and intense pressure makes you gasp. You can feel his hand gripping your hip, holding you steady as he fucks you, his thrusts deep and demanding. The sensation is overwhelming, your body still so sensitive from before, but you can’t stop the way your muscles clench around him, the pleasure building too quickly.

You feel yourself coming undone before you even realize it, the wave of pleasure crashing over you so suddenly that it steals your breath. You come, hard, and the intensity of it leaves you shaking, your body trembling against him as you moan weakly.

Jenson’s hand tightens on your hip, and he lets out a low, irritated groan. “You came without me, baby,” he mutters, his voice edged with frustration. But then he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, his tone softening as he nuzzles against your neck. “I know, I know… you’re just overstimulated and tired. It’s okay.”

His words are tender, understanding, and it makes your chest tighten with warmth. Despite his irritation, he never stops moving, thrusting into you with a steady, deliberate pace that has you quivering beneath him. His breath is ragged, and you can tell he’s close, his movements becoming more urgent.

“I’m almost there, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need. “Help me out a little, yeah? Just give me a little more.”

Your body feels like it’s on the verge of collapse, but you nod weakly, biting your lip as you push back against him, trying to meet his thrusts. The movement is small, your body too exhausted to do much more, but Jenson’s groan of approval lets you know it’s enough.

“That’s it, good girl,” he groans, his grip on your hip tightening as he thrusts harder, deeper. “You feel so good, baby.”

You can feel the tension in his body, the way his breath comes in short gasps, and you know he’s right on the edge. The pleasure builds between you both, a shared intensity that makes your head spin, and before you know it, you’re both tumbling over the edge together.

Jenson’s hand tightens on your hip as he comes, his body trembling against yours as he groans your name. “Ohh fu-ck..Y/N. Ugh..yes.” The sound of his pleasure, the way his body moves with yours, sends a final wave of satisfaction through you, and you collapse against the sheets, utterly spent.

“That’s my baby,” he breathes, his voice soft and full of affection as he kisses your shoulder, his hands still gently running over your skin. “You’re perfect.”

You feel his weight shift behind you, and just as he’s about to pull away, you weakly reach back, your fingers brushing against his arm. “No… stay,” you whisper, your voice so quiet it’s almost inaudible, but Jenson hears it.

He pauses, his body still pressed against yours, and then he lets out a soft chuckle. “Aww, you still want daddy in you, huh?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a tenderness behind it that makes your heart flutter.

You nod weakly, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure, and Jenson presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck. “Okay, baby,” he murmurs, his voice filled with warmth. “Daddy’s not going anywhere.”

He pulls you close again, his body curling around yours as he wraps you in his arms. His lips find your neck, kissing you gently as his hands stroke your skin, soothing and tender.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he whispers, his voice soft and comforting. You feel your body relaxing even more, the exhaustion finally taking over. But before sleep can fully claim you, Jenson turns your head gently, his lips brushing against yours.

He kisses you deeply, a slow, wet, and messy kiss that leaves you breathless. His tongue teases yours, the affection in his kiss making your heart swell. When he finally pulls back, he presses one last kiss to your lips, his voice a soft whisper in the quiet room.

“Sleep well, my love.”

*☾⋆･ﾟ taglist: @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @Formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @blakesbearblog @cel-b @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality @eternoange1 @pear-1206 @oliviah-25 @bbwzrld @szalovebot

copy right: © 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[rhyrhy]

it's my time to shine, ayy 🫶🏼 'm on a whole mission, (you can see it on my blog), reader is cocky, smug, little-shit femme, her and Abby are friends with "benefits" (as: Abby and reader take care of each other, share a bed, kisses "as friends" using it as a stress relief, etc) yet every single time reader try to, like, DTR (define the relationship, duh!), Abby straight up ghosts reader on that convo, (she has major comphet vibes, but that's just a lil' headcanon, don't come for me) now, reader? she ain't no doormat, she's PETTY. Capital P-E-T-T-Y. so when they're both forced (forced proximity? oops...) for a mission, reader looks at Abby dead in the eyes when they're aline and hit her with: "girl, i've been wantin' to kick your ass all week"

OOOOOO THIS IS GOOD! I did my best, mini Drabble

Dodge, duck, ghost - A.A

Abby Run-Like-a-Bitch Anderson,

Manny cried laughing the first time he heard you call her that. But you weren’t joking.

Not when the last time you saw Abby, she was bolting out of your room like the WLF had just declared war. And before that? Her tongue was down your throat, hands gripping your waist like she never planned on letting go. That’s how it felt every-time.

That was how she always was touchy, needy, all over you behind closed doors. But you weren’t some secret, something to be ashamed of. Not when there were plenty of other people who’d proudly parade you around. But unfortunately for you, the heart wants what it wants. And unlike Abby, you actually listen to yours. So when the moans and cries had stopped bouncing off your walls, she said something that caught you off guard.

Abby’s breathing was still uneven, her fingers lazily tracing circles against your hip like she wasn’t ready to let go just yet. The room was quiet, save for the sound of your heart still thudding in your chest. And then, she said it. soft, almost like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“It’s— this, is different with you…you feel like home”

You blinked, turning your head to look at her. Her gaze was on the ceiling, brows slightly furrowed, like she was already regretting the words.

“Home..?” A slow smile crept onto your lips. “…Sounds long term,” you teased, nudging her side.

That made her freeze. The lazy circles against your hip stopped. Then, before you could react, she was pulling away, sitting up and reaching for her clothes like she’d just been caught doing something wrong. Afterglow or not, she meant it. And you had to push. You’d let her dance around the obvious for too long. For God’s sake, you were there when she broke up with Owen. Listened to her go on and on about how much of a bitch Mel was, how wrong it all felt. So the least she could do was be honest. not just with you, but with herself.

And like clockwork, she stiffened. Sat up. Started getting dressed like she hadn’t just spent the last hour tangled up with you, her face buried against your neck.

“Uht-uht. Hey. Where are you going?” you asked, watching her yank on her shirt.

Abby didn’t look at you. Just laced up her boots and muttered, “I gotta be up early.”

You sat up too, arms resting on your knees. The only thing keeping your sheets warm now was the disappointment. This couldnt keep going on. “Abby, can you stop for two—”

Thud

But the door was already closed behind her.

”—seconds,” you finished, to the empty room.

That was weeks ago.

And wasn’t the first time she’s done that. You never pushed her to label herself, bi, lesbian, it didn’t matter to you. But with her, it went in one ear and out the other. At first, you tried to play it cool. If she needed time to sort through whatever that was, fine. But then she started dodging you. Switched up her gym schedule. Took shifts at different hours. Disappeared from the mess hall when you walked in. She was practically a ghost.

“Yeah, she definitely avoiding you chica” manny said turning back to his plate

“Wow Thanks manny” you huffed. Yeah, That much was obvious.

The Abby you knew wouldn’t just run off. Or at least, the Abby you thought you knew. So when Isaac briefed you on your next mission and didn’t mention her name, you almost bought it. Almost. Until you showed up at the post and caught Abby mid-change, swapping out a sweat-stained shirt for a clean one.

She paused when she saw you, shoulders stiff like she’d already knew where this was going. You cocked your head, waiting for her to say something.

She didn’t. Of course she didn’t.

“You know what—” you sighed, setting your pack down. Then, dead serious, you looked her right in the eyes and said—

“Girl, I’ve been wantin’ to kick your ass all week.”

Abby exhaled through her nose, shaking her head like she knew this was coming. “Jesus.”

“Jesus? Oh no, don’t bring him into this now,” you scoffed, stepping closer. “He ain’t the one who ghosted me after weeks of—what did you call it? ‘Taking care of each other?’” You even threw up air quotes, just to be a little shit about it.

Abby’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t ghost you.”

You blinked. Then laughed at her, like she was doing stand up on stage. “Oh, right. So what do you call changing your gym schedule, eating at different times, avoiding me like I got the damn plague?”

Abby dragged a hand down her face, resting it on her hip. “I just—”

You held a hand up before she could choke something out. “Say some bullshit, I dare you,” you cut in, tilting your head.

She clenched her jaw. Looked away. “I just needed space.”

You stared at her. “Space? Call NASA for that shit. You were in my bed two weeks ago. Two.”

Abby shifted, muttering, “That was different.”

“Oh yeah?” You crossed your arms. “How?”

Silence.

You let it hang there, watching her fingers flex at her sides like she wanted to ball them into fists but knew that wouldn’t fix this. Like she knew you were right but refused to say it. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “See, this is exactly why I said what I said. You know what you want, Abby. You’re just too chickenshit to admit it.”

Abby’s head snapped up. “That’s not true.”

“Then prove it.” You stepped closer, tilting your chin up. “Tell me you don’t want me. Right here, right now.”

Abby just stared at you, jaw tight, breath a little unsteady.

The tension was thick. You could see it in the way her fists clenched, in the way her eyes flickered over your face like she was searching for something. some way out, some way forward. Anything.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

But then, someone called both of your names, signaling it was time to move out. Abby exhaled sharply, grabbed her pack, and brushed past you without another word.

You just sighed , slinging your bag over your shoulder. Three days.

She’d have to deal with you for three whole days.

The mission was simple: track and clear a small group of Scars camping out near the old radio tower. It should’ve been easy. Would’ve been, if not for the unspoken thing crackling in the air between you and Abby. She was doing her best to ignore it, kept her distance, kept her eyes forward, barely said a word unless it was mission-related.

You? You were having the time of your life.

Every chance you got, you brushed past her, just close enough to graze her arm. Threw her smug little looks when she glared at you. Smiled real pretty when she clenched her jaw and looked away. Petty? Yeah. But so was avoiding someone just because they called you out on your own bullshit. Your own feelings that were right in front of her.

By the time the mission was over and you’d made it back to the safe house for the night, you could feel the tension rolling off her. Everyone else had turned in for the night, sprawled out across old mattresses and sleeping bags. But you weren’t done with her yet.

She was sitting near the window, legs stretched out, back against the wall. She had her arms crossed, fingers tapping against her bicep like she was still wound up, still caught up in whatever thought, feelings words even, she refused to let out.

So you moved over to her. You crouched in front of her, hands on your knees, and grinned. “Y’know,” you said, voice just low enough that no one else could hear, “if you keep runnin’ from your feelings like this, you’re gonna pull something.”

Abby’s fingers stopped tapping. Her eyes flicked to you, sharp and tired. “Not now.”

“Oh, so later then?” Your smile grew. “I’ll pen you in.” “How’s Friday? That work for you?”

Abby exhaled through her nose. “Jesus, do you ever shut up?

You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice even lower. “Mm, You used to like when I ran my mouth. What happened to that?”

Abby’s jaw tightened.

You tilted your head. “What, nothing to say? No pissy comeback? No ‘shut the fuck up’ ,” You reached out, lightly tapping her knee. “C’mon, Abs. Say something.”

And that’s when it happened.

Abby moved fast. One second, she was sitting against the wall, and the next, she was grabbing you by the front of your shirt and yanking you up until your back hit the opposite wall. The breath caught in your throat, but before you could recover, she was right there, her face inches from yours, eyes dark, chest rising and falling like she’d finally had enough. You’d finally pissed her off enough.

You could feel the frustration flowing off of her. And man, did you love it.

“You think this” she gestured between you two “is a game?” Abby hissed, voice low, rough.

Your pulse spiked, but you kept your cool, rolling your eyes at her. “I think you’re mad ‘cause you know I’m right.”

Abby’s grip on your shirt tightened. “You make everything so fucking difficult ” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Oh yeah?” Your voice was barely a whisper now.

Abby’s eyes flickered to your mouth. Then, finally. finally. she broke. “Yeah.”

Her mouth crashed into yours, rough and frustrated, her hands sliding down to grab your waist, pressing you firmly against the wall. You gasped into it, hands flying to her arms, gripping her tight as she kissed you like she was trying to shut you up for good.

Like she was trying to prove something, to you, to herself maybe.

But she’d already lost. Because when she pulled back, breathing hard, you just smiled before speaking again. “Atta girl. Knew you’d crack.”

Abby groaned, dropping her head against your shoulder. “I hate you.”

“Mmn, no you don’t.” You grinned, running a hand through her hair. “But keep tellin’ yourself that, baby.” Her hands tightened on your waist.

Yeah, you’d won this round. But she still had a long way to go.

@/enchanthings for boarders

[pokesturns]

STURNIOLO FANFIC ⇢ the word that broke and built him

sum. matt comforts liv after a rough daycare day, treating her to ice cream and park playtime. as they bond over swings and dandelions, she calls him “dad,” a heart-shattering moment that cements his role, leaving him teary with overwhelming love.

feat. matt sturniolo

cw. fluff. heartwarming. family dynamics. slice of life. no warnings. sfw.

wc. 1325.

ㅤ⊂⊃ ( mak.says ) ﹐⇅ quick psa: @55sturn has a really good storyline with chris as a dad (you can find one of her works here). it was posted before mine, and funnily enough, both our stories have kids with pretty similar names. if you're into the whole "triplets as parents" thing, you should 100% check it out.

matt’s hands gripped the steering wheel of his beat-up sedan, his knuckles white as he pulled into the daycare parking lot in los angeles, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows, the sky a bruised orange that mirrored the ache in his chest.

he was still navigating the weight of being y/n’s partner and step-dad to her three-year-old daughter, liv—a role he’d embraced with fierce love but gnawing self-doubt. y/n’s text from earlier replayed in his mind:

liv had a bad day at daycare. some kid upset her, made her cry. i’m stuck at the hospital, can you get her?

his heart had twisted at the thought of liv’s tears, and now, as he parked, his black hoodie rumpled from a day of errands, he steeled himself to be her rock.

inside, the daycare buzzed with the chaos of pickup time—kids shrieking, parents chatting, the smell of crayons and apple juice thick in the air. matt’s sneakers squeaked on the tiled floor as he signed in, his eyes scanning for liv. her teacher, ms. clara, met him with a gentle frown.

“she’s been off since lunchtime,” she said softly. “a boy teased her about her bunny. she’s over there.” she pointed to a corner where liv sat, her curls a tangled halo, her stuffed bunny clutched to her chest. her little face was splotchy, her big eyes—carbon copies of y/n’s—glossy with hurt.

matt’s throat tightened, a protective ache blooming in his chest. “thanks,” he murmured, crouching a few feet from liv, his voice as soft as he could make it. “hey, livvy. it’s me, sweetheart. ready to go home?”

liv looked up, her lips trembling, and something in matt cracked at the sight of her pain. she nodded, barely a whisper of movement, and shuffled over, her tiny hand reaching for his. her fingers, sticky from some forgotten snack, curled into his palm, and the trust in that touch nearly undid him. he lifted her into his arms, her bunny pressed between them, and grabbed her backpack, his heart pounding with the need to make her world right again.

in the car, he buckled her into her car seat, brushing a curl from her face. “rough day, huh?” he said, keeping his tone light, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror. “wanna tell me about it?”

liv hugged her bunny tighter, her voice small. “tommy said my bunny’s ugly. he said it’s old and i’m dumb for liking it.” her words wobbled, and a fresh tear rolled down her cheek, glinting in the fading light.

matt’s hands tightened on the wheel, a flash of anger swallowed by the need to comfort her. “livvy, listen to me,” he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “your bunny’s not ugly. it’s special because it’s yours, because it’s been with you through everything. tommy doesn’t get that, and that’s his loss. you’re not dumb—you’re the smartest, coolest kid i know.”

she sniffled, her eyes searching his in the mirror. “really?”

“really,” he said, forcing a smile past the lump in his throat. “how about we ditch this sad stuff? let’s get ice cream and hit the park. you and me, kiddo. sound good?”

her face brightened, just a flicker, but it was enough. “chocolate ice cream?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

“you got it,” matt said, his heart lifting. “chocolate for my favorite girl.”

they stopped at an ice cream truck near liv’s favorite park, the one with the yellow slide she could climb for hours. matt ordered her a small chocolate cone, the kind that always left her chin a mess, and got himself a vanilla soft serve, something simple to keep his hands busy. they sat on a bench, liv’s legs swinging, her bunny propped beside her as she licked her cone, chocolate smudging her cheeks. matt wiped it with a napkin, his touch gentle, his eyes tracing her face like he could memorize every freckle, every fleeting expression.

“better?” he asked, taking a bite of his own cone, the cold sweetness grounding him.

liv nodded, her smile shy but real. “yummy,” she said, then leaned her head against his arm, her warmth a quiet anchor. matt’s chest ached with love, with the weight of being her safe place, even if he still wondered if he was enough.

“wanna tell me more about tommy?” he asked, his voice soft, giving her space. “or we can just eat and forget him.”

she sighed, a big, dramatic toddler sigh. “he was mean. but you’re not mean. you’re nice, matt.” her words were so earnest, so pure, they hit him like a wave, stealing his breath.

“you’re nice, too, livvy,” he said, his voice rough. “the nicest. don’t let anyone make you feel less, okay? you’re my superstar.”

she grinned, chocolate smudged on her nose, and matt laughed, the sound shaky with emotion. they finished their cones, and he carried her to the playground, her bunny tucked under his arm.

he pushed her on the swing, her laughter ringing out as she soared, her curls flying in the breeze. “higher!” she squealed, and matt pushed harder, his hands steady, his heart full. they raced to the slide, matt pretending to lose as she scrambled up the ladder, her giggles echoing as he caught her at the bottom, spinning her until she was dizzy with joy.

as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the park in a soft twilight, they collapsed onto the grass, liv nestled between his legs, picking at dandelions. matt wove a flower crown, his fingers clumsy but careful, and placed it on her head, the yellow blooms glowing against her curls. she beamed, her earlier hurt forgotten, and leaned back against his chest, her bunny in her lap.

“you’re the best, matt,” she said, her voice sleepy, content. then, so quiet it could’ve been a dream, she looked up, her eyes wide and trusting. “dad, can you hold my bunny for me?”

the word—dad—landed like a thunderbolt, shattering matt’s heart and piecing it back together in the same breath. his breath hitched, his eyes flooding with tears he couldn’t stop, his throat so tight he could barely breathe. dad. she’d never called him that, not in all the months of bedtime stories, scraped knees, and tea parties. he was matt, her protector, her playmate, but dad? that was a gift he’d never dared to hope for, a word so big it felt like it could swallow him whole.

he blinked hard, trying to keep his voice steady, but it came out raw, trembling. “yeah, livvy,” he said, taking the bunny with shaking hands, holding it like it was sacred. “i’ll hold it for you, sweetheart.”

she smiled, oblivious to the earthquake she’d caused, and snuggled closer, her flower crown slipping, her breathing soft and even. “i love you, dad,” she mumbled, her words slurring with sleep, and matt’s tears fell then, silent and unstoppable, streaking his cheeks as he wrapped his arms around her.

“i love you, too, livvy,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his heart a beautiful, gut-wrenching mess of joy and awe. he wasn’t her dad by blood, but in that moment, with her warmth against him and her bunny in his hands, he was hers in every way that mattered. the doubts he’d carried—was he enough? could he be what y/n and liv needed?—crumbled under the weight of their trust, their love, that single, perfect word from liv.

the park was quiet, the sky deepening to dusk, but matt didn’t move, holding liv as she drifted off, her flower crown askew, her bunny safe in his grip. y/n would be home soon, and he’d try to tell her, his voice thick with wonder, about the moment their little girl made him whole. for now, he sat there, his daughter in his arms, and let the overwhelming, heart-shattering love of being dad carve itself into his soul.

©pokesturns any and all forms of modifications, reposts, and translation of my work are prohibited.

[bakug0uzb1thc]

If Bakugou had a girlfriend it’d be the same equivalent to Inuyasha and Kagome’s relationship .

Bakugou x fem! Reader

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

You and him go back and forth all the time but you still have an unconditional love for each other.

That’s how it was in middle school, you knew who he was and he knew who you were but you guys never hung out. That was until you both ended up at UA.

Besides Izuku, you were the only two that knew eachother. So it was natural you guys became ‘the power duo’ of class 1-A, but what came from it was a WHOLE lot of bickering and yelling.. and some of it was over stupid things.

“Here iida, for helping me on my test!” You gave the broad formal classmate the last of your chips as you passed him at lunch.

“Thanks Y/N-“ he tried to give his thanks but before he could a figure crept behind you and yanked the bag right out of his hands. “Now what do you think you’re doing giving four eyes MY chips.” Bakugou said gripping the bag of spicy turtle chips making a crumpling sound.

“Bakugou-kun you’re breaking the chips, plus you were the one who denied to help me in the first place.” You said giving him a glare as you try and get the bag of chips back, but failing as he held them above his head. “No, these are the chips you get from the Korean store, I’m not giving these up.” He said walking away casually still holding the bag above his head.

“Uh- sorry iida.” You bow your head down as an act of apology and he waves it off. “No need to thank me, I’m just glad you passed.” He said, “rumor has it you and Bakugou have been friends for awhile.” He said trying to start conversation but also wanting to know what history you and Bakugou had.

“Uh, I guess. We kinda just know each other.” You shrug like it was nothing; but it wasn’t nothing.

You and Bakugou had a complicated relationship, to a point where you didn’t know if you guys were going out or just friends. Friends. The word tugged at your heart as your smile faded. “Well.. I’ll see you in class then Y/N- San.” He waved his stiff hand and caught up with the rest of the ‘Deku-squad.’

as you made your way back to your dorm you felt your phone vibrate in the coat pocket of your uniform to see a text from Bakugou.

Katsuki !!:

Meet me in front of the dorms.

You were confused by the random text but figured it was only him returning the charger he burrowed from you. I know shocking.

You:

okay !

You changed out of your uniform and walked outside to see a bundle of fluffy blonde hair and a set of angry eyes watching the door like a hawk waiting for you.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked sincerely. “I wanted to give this back.” He out stretched his arm that held the same bag of chips from earlier. “Uh, it’s okay..” you said softly as you pushed the bag into his chest. “I know how much you like them, I’ll just give Iida something else for my thanks!” He tensed at the name. “Tch.”

Both of you stood there for a while, looking at anything but eachother before you spoke up.

“Katsuki. What are we?” He stood there wide-eyed, trying to gather his thoughts. “Uh-“ he tried to talk but stopped. “I mean, we hang out all the time and when we’re not we’re either texting or calling which is unlike you. You never talked to me in middle school unless you needed to but once we both came to UA you shifted completely and now I’m the only person you seem to hang out with and I’m not forcing you too..I just..” you sighed, picking at your nails as you tried to come up with the right words but he spoke up.

“Y/n.. I- fuck. I’m no good at words. I started hanging out with you Because I knew you from middle school, but I never really knew who you were until I started hanging out with you.” He grabbed the back of his neck with his unoccupied hand. “I never knew.. how cool you were.” His cheeks lit up with a light pink. “I never knew..” he looked at you in the eyes, but this time his eyes were soft. They said something words couldn’t and it made your breath hitch.

“I- just forget it-“ he tried to walk away but was stopped by your gentle grip on his forearm. “Dont.. don’t walk away.” Your heart now beating heavy with anticipation. “Just confess you idiot.” You let out a soft chuckle.

He grabbed the hand that grabbed his forearm and held it in his own and put it to his heart. “Y/n.. I like you.” He gave a serious look, but the seriousness was wiped from his face as the blush on his cheeks turned a darker shade of pink.

You laughed at him. Which turned the pink blush into an embarrassed red. “I like you too Katsuki.” You continued to giggle. “You suck woman.” He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “ and you swallow” you teased grabbing his hand and tugging him in the direction of the dorms.

After that, going back and forth was pretty much eachother’s way of flirting. Oh and that bag of chips, you ended up just giving them to Iida in the end telling Katsuki it could be a date you guys have to go visit the local Korean store.

(Sorry for the long fic, I just had to jot down the idea before I forgot about it completely. Honestly got the idea from when Kagome was giving koga her chips and Inuyasha freaked out. 😭😭)