#to do what he can to keep those he cares for safe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starrynights-sunnyskies · 2 days ago

Text

as the flowers bloom, my heart does too ⋆*·ﾟmisa x putellas!femreader, social media au, (the honeymoon diaries)

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

when your relationship ends and all you want to do is hide and cry, flowers suddenly start to appear on your doorstep.

or; misa hating to see a pretty girl cry and suffer and going out of her way to cheer her up while staying anonymous

fic: see my masterlist

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

3,688 likes yourusername: honeymoon era incoming

○○○○○○○

sofie.svava 💞💗💘

alexiaputellas Have the best time ever, you two!

bff1 do it safe xoxoxo

albaps9 THOSE HEELS 🤩 ↳ yourusername wanna borrow them some time? ↳ albaps9 YES ↳ yourusername done deal!

bff2 💅🏽

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

29,013 likes marisabel_rguez: Together.

○○○○○○○

albaps9 cute tush @/yourusername on fourth slide 👀 ↳ bff1 boom chicka wow wow ↳ yourusername perverts

salmaparalluelo omg 😍

ingrid_engen all the best you two!

username4 goals

bff1 they're a little fruity

alexiaputellas Did they have chicken nuggets and french fries on the menu? ↳ yourusername no 😔

jennihermoso Enjoy your honeymoon, you might only get one! 😉 ↳ yourusername obviously!!!

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

Text Messages

you: soooo… we live together

you: we’ve gotten married

you: are almost together for 5 years

wifey 💞: Yes…

wifey 💞: Where are you going with this?

you: and we’re really settling down now

wifey 💞: Go on

you: i think it’s time for the next step

wifey 💞: Next step? 😅😳

you: i kind of might have maybe highly likely lowkey went somewhere today

wifey 💞: Oh god what did you do

you: iiiii went to the animal shelter

wifey 💞: Y/N Rodriguez-Putellas, there better not be a dog sitting on my side of the couch when I get back

you: omg no i would never adopt or make such a decision without you knowing

wifey 💞: Phew

you: however…

wifey 💞: How about an aquarium first?

you: ugh no

you: can i talk to a fish?

wifey 💞: You can sure try

you: can i cuddle a fish?

wifey 💞: Better not try that

you: can it keep me company when you’re away?

wifey 💞: Maybe not, but they're fun to look at?

wifey 💞: And they’re easier to take care of than a dog. A dog would be really dependable on us.

you: was i talking about a dog? 🧐

wifey 💞: 😱

you: because i saw THE cutest cat there!!! a little ginger one

wifey 💞: Ginger cats are known to be evil spawns

you: that was the nickname my fam had for me when i was a teenager so i’m the living proof to not judge a book by its cover 😇

wifey 💞: I mean…

you: rude!

wifey 💞: Hahaha tell me about the cat, babe

you: they found him a few weeks ago dumped on the side of a road and he was really malnourished and sick, but he’s been a fighter.

wifey 💞: And he took to you?

you: yeah immediately ):

you: he’s like, my soulmate

wifey 💞: Who’s rude now? Ouch 😂

you: but he's still struggling and is still taking lots of meds. he's weak but getting stronger each week, and i just want to give him a proper chance. the shelter can't afford all of his meds etc bc they're not being funded, but we can afford it. if we didn't adopt him, i'd forever keep wondering if he went to a warm home and a good family or if he even made it.

wifey 💞: Ugh I love how much you always care too much

wifey 💞: Listen, I’m not making ANY promises, but I do agree that adding a sweet fluffy friend to our family could be great, and that I've been thinking about it too.

wifey 💞: When I’m home, we can go to the shelter to visit him again, how’s that sound?

you: no way

you: are you serious

you: misa don't fuck with me now

wifey 💞: Yes way, and I am.

you: aaaaaaaah i’m so excited!!! this is going to be the best thing ever for him!!!!!!

you: and for us ofc

you: i’m going to ask my friend on some tips on having a cat so we can be sure to make a decision

you: outweigh the pros and cons

you: no matter how much i already love that little one, i want to be sure we can properly take care of him and give him the best home ever.

wifey 💞: That’d be perfect. Keep me updated?

wifey 💞: And I’m sure we can

wifey 💞: I love you

you: i love you toooo (even if you had said no)

wifey 💞: Really? 🤔

you: YES REALLY 😪

wifey 💞: Just promise me you won't start loving him more than me.

you: hmmkay 😁😁😁😁

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

tagged: marisabel_rguez 9,618 likes yourusername: still on cloud nine

○○○○○○○

alexiaputellas ❤️

bff3 You both deserve the world.

patri8guijarro Favourite wives!

kika.nazareth Aaah ☺️💗

fridolinarolfo 😍😘

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

tagged: bff3, bff2, bff1, albaps9 7,014 likes yourusername: throwback to the best weekend ever

○○○○○○○

bff1 best sleepover i've had since elementary

username2 oh WOW!

bff2 Didn't get a wink of sleep but it was SO FUN

albaps9 definitely cherished my time being part of the fab 4 ↳ bff3 I didn't know we had a name! ↳ yourusername yea no i'm vetoing that one

bff3 My girls 😍 And god, you were radiating that day!!

username1 gosh you're gorgeous y/n!!

marisabel_rguez Oh how absolutely beautifully happy you looked. I love you. I'm the luckiest. 45 likes ↳ yourusername no i am 🥺

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

Text Messages

albaquerque 🌼: hello my sweet sweet sisters by birth and by law

albaquerque 🌼: mami and i thought it would be sweet to spend saturday the 21st of the next month with as much family we can gather

albaquerque 🌼: and plus ones (hi misa, hi olga)

wifey 💞: Hi Alba 😌

olga 🌸: Hiiii

you: gonna catch ‘em all.

wifey 💞: Uhhh, let me check, but sounds fun!

ale🐻: What do you have in mind? I’m glad Y/N isn’t picking this time because i’m not going to another pottery class

you: hey!! everyone liked that but you!! you just hated it because yours came out like a demolished turd

olga 🌸: 🤣

ale🐻: That's such an exaggeration

olga 🌸: no, babe, she's right. it looked horrible

albaquerque 🌼: AnYwAy, we want to go go-karting

you: MAMI wants to go GO-KARTING?

albaquerque 🌼: and maybe go to a winery/outside dining in some fancy shmancy vineyard

you: okay in what order? bc i’m not going onto the track after you’ve had a few drinks. you’re already a terrible driver as is

albaquerque 🌼: ok so y/n is no longer invited

wifey 💞: Can I still come?

you: fuck u 😒

albaquerque 🌼: always

olga 🌸: sounds perfect!! i can make it, ale’s still checking her schedule

ale🐻: What about the little ones, though?

albaquerque 🌼: they have an indoor playground or trampoline park thingy there and tia's gonna look after them

you: what the hell, i’d much rather go there than go-karting

albaquerque 🌼: it’s ages 5-12 only on a saturday afternoon

ale🐻: So Y/N will fit right in

olga 🌸: 🤭

you: you're so hilarious

albaquerque 🌼: guys focus, we need to know how many are coming so that we can put in a reservation. they need to prep all the karts beforehand

ale🐻: I should be free on the 21st by the way, so count us in!

wifey 💞: Us too! We'll drive to you guys on Friday already so prepare a room! 😎

you: i'm soooo gonna kick all your asses

olga 🌸: we'll see about that 😌

ale🐻: I'm the best driver on paper, no accidents and no speeding tickets

albaquerque 🌼: that's exactly why you'll be last. you need to be a menace to win go-karting

wifey 💞: Okay, so how dangerous is it exactly....

albaquerque 🌼: as dangerous as we dare to make it mwuahaha

albaquerque 🌼: but you're right, my colleague once got a broken rib lmao so we should probably set some ground rules first like, no intentional bumping or whatever

you: pussy

olga 🌸: pussy

you: jinx

ale🐻: Dios mio, here we go, this looks promising 🤨

you: why did bff1 just text me 'wanna bet on me winning?🏎😈'

albaquerque 🌼: oh yeah

albaquerque 🌼: i invited her

you: 😱

you: as YOUR plus one?!

albaquerque 🌼: oh shut your mouth

albaquerque 🌼: i thought you'd wanted her there since it's been so long, so i invited her. don't act like she's never tagged along to a putellas day before

you: but never as YOUR date ooOoOOoH 😍 smoochie smooch

albaquerque 🌼: y/n shut up before i punch your fucking teeth out

ale🐻: Hey, hey, hey, calma

ale🐻: None of that

ale🐻: The more the merrier. We'll have a fun day ☺️

albaquerque 🌼: exactly!! ale gets it

you: i mean, it's kind of awkward to have your family third-wheel on your date but whatever rocks your boat

albaquerque 🌼: you're mami's least favourite daughter

you: waaahhh waahhh 😪

ale🐻: On second thought, maybe Y/N won't be let in during the 5-12 afternoon, babies don't get to go on the trampolines.

olga 🌸: This is why I love you three

wifey 💞: ⬆️

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

Text Messages

bff1👅: wanna bet on me winning?🏎😈

you: ARE YOU COMING TOO??

bff1👅: yes yes alba asked me

you: ○○○

you: are you smooching my sister

bff1👅: ew that's like smooching you

bff1👅: 🤢

you: wtf, why are you saying 'ew' to smooching me? i'm a catch

bff1👅: you wanna smooch me?

bff1👅: 😉

you: i regret using the word smooch now

bff1👅: 😏

you: 🤢

you: and you just totally changed the subject

bff1👅: no, you did

you: oh you're right oopsie🧐

you: ok but.... if you WERE smooching my sister, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?

bff1👅: duh, you know i can't keep a secret from you even if i wanted to. i promise. but i'm not into alba

bff1👅: tbh, she has been nicer lately

bff1👅: which is weird

bff1👅: because she's never been that soft with me usually

bff1👅: maybe she's finally warming up to me after all these years 🤣

you: tbh i feel like she's been feeling really lonely lately

you: everyone around her is in relationships or marriages and settling down

you: i think she's been gravitating towards you bc of that

bff1👅: because i'm also single and pathetic? gee thanks

bff1👅: kidding, i know what you mean

bff1👅: we should set her up with someone

you: ok so long as you organise my funeral after that, because she'd kill me if we did that

bff1👅: oh, don't be so dramatic, what could go wrong?

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

↳ 12h ago: marisabel_rguez added to their story

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

18,814 likes marisabel_rguez: Slow living with my WIFE. 😇☺️😎

○○○○○○○

ona.battle Absolute goals, you two

albaps9 since when did you become a passenger princess ↳ marisabel_rguez Since I got a cute personal chauffeur!

bff1 confirmed: misa likes watching her lover sleep. creep ↳ marisabel_rguez hey!!! 🤣 and she's my wife! 😤

yourusername hello wife. how are you wife? i love you wife. ↳ marisabel_rguez Hello wife!!! 😘😘😘

yourusername takeout runs are the only type of running i like.

bff1 my mothers

alexiaputellas Did you just capture the moment Misa realised she wanted to get a dog next? ↳ yourusername well, mr peanut won't like that ↳ alexiaputellas Did you really name your cat, mr peanut?? ↳ yourusername you're his auntie!!! you should know! ↳ alexiaputellas I'm a dog person, I don't care about that cat. ↳ yourusername you'll warm up to him, he'll wrap you around his claw 😌 ↳ yourusername but no, that's his nickname ↳ alexiaputellas Why? ↳ yourusername just because ↳ alexiaputellas Just because why? ↳ yourusername because it sounded funny ↳ alexiaputellas I swear you're still five.

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

↳ 5h ago: yourusername added to their story ↳ 59min ago: yourusername added to their story

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

Text Messages

you: love love love

you: the girls just left 😔

you: i miss you

you: when do you land again?

wifey 💞: Hi my everything, I miss you too

wifey 💞: Did you have a good time together? ❤️

wifey 💞: Umm probably around 1am-ish?

wifey 💞: But don’t stay up until I’m home, that might take another 2-3 hours

you: dooooon’t tell me what to do

you: and yes, the bestest best best time ever

you: you act like i can sleep without knowing if you got home safely.

you: i saved you some dinner if you’re hungry

wifey 💞: Haha, it was worth a try. But thank you, baby

wifey 💞: Will probably be in the air soon, so talk later!

you: see you tonight! stay safe and i love you

wifey 💞: I love you

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

tagged: bff1, marisabel_rguez 4,948 likes yourusername: oh, and we became mummies 🐈

○○○○○○○

jennihermoso Welcome to the world, peanut pute-rodri.

bff1 long labour? ↳ yourusername very, whew!

bff2 Aw, your son's just like his mama! (a menace!!) ↳ yourusername 😇

marisabel_rguez Look at our son 😍

albaps9 finally an auntie, i can't believe it. never thought you'd be the first with a kid. you're still a kid yourself. ↳ yourusername soooo you had all your money on ale, an athlete with a busy life? or on yourself, a doof who's single? ↳ albaps9 🤬😤

bff3 The cutest baby ever. ↳ bff1 ikr no diapers, no crying

alexiaputellas RIP to the couch he used as a scratching post. Dogs don't do that 🐶 ↳ yourusername at least he'll never destroy a really expensive set of cleats ahum ↳ alexiaputellas Nala was still young then 🤨

sofie.svava How did you convince misa to finally adopt a pet 😂 ↳ yourusername i asked reeeeeeeeally nicely ↳ bff1 read: she begged on her hands and knees ↳ yourusername 😧 ↳ bff1 get your mind out of the gutter, you dipshit ↳ marisabel_rguez She did ask really nicely, actually 😌

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

Text Messages

albaquerque 🌼: mami, ale and i figured it all out

mama 😊: What did you figure out, mija?

you: alba is secretly adopted all along? 😱 i KNEW it

albaquerque 🌼: i figured out the cause of your high blood pressure and your stress

ale🐻: I'm not sure I want to be involved in this 🤨

mama 😊: What is it?

albaquerque 🌼: [photo]

you: 😑

you: i knew it would be something stupid like this

mama 😊: Haha, tell me something I don't know!

ale🐻: Mami 😂😂😂

you: oh wow 🙂

albaquerque 🌼: see? 😇

mama 😊: I love you all to pieces and equally, but Y/N honey, you did almost cost me my heart. Multiple times.

mama 😊: But that's all in the past, and we're all going through good times now. I'm proud of you and how you overcame your obstacles. You're my strong little girl, mijita.

mama 😊: I'm proud of all three of you and the life you're building for yourselves. I love you.

mama 😊: My beautiful girls!! 😍

ale🐻: Thanks mama 😘

you: your plan backfired, alba, i got complimented instead hehehe 💁‍♀️🕺

albaquerque 🌼: lalalala 😒

mama 😊: 😛

mama 😊: Some things never change.

ale🐻: Forever one step away from annoying each other 🤪

mama 😊: 🤭🤗

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

tagged: alexiaputellas, yourusername 205 likes username1: alexia and her sister with fans after the gala. eli was there too.

○○○○○○○

username4 we were there!!!!! it was so cold but they still stayed and talked and took photos with us. yn felt very weird people wanted a photo with her too and got VERY shy, alexia just laughed at that ↳ username6 girly still doesn't seem to grasp her popularity within the woso fandom 🤣

username9 Ahh no, we just missed them 😭

username3 Eli raised beautiful, gracious women! She must be proud 🖤

username18 imagine having Ale as a big sis

username5 NO BUT LISTEN- i met her a looong while ago with my gf on the streets in madrid when she told us she'd get our message through to misa and tonight she recognised us and said she told misa back then!!! she's a literal angel!!

username35 no but why am I so obsessed with the putellas sisters? I need more of them

username10 Alexia was so sweet with Y/N, making sure she stayed close and was feeling okay. She seems like such a great big sister. ↳ username4 fr! i noticed that too! yn was getting the baby of the fam treatment! also from eli, it was rlly cute to see. eli was taking pictures for herself of ale and yn too ahaha.

username15 they really look alike here ↳ username18 Yeah, that happens with siblings 🤭

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

Text Messages

you: hahaha your sister sent me a photo of you in high school

wifey 💞: Which one?

you: [photo]

you: as if i couldn’t love you more

wifey 💞: Oh my god, I’ll kill her. She's sabotaging my marriage by sending that photo to you

you: you're so dramatic ahahaha

wifey 💞: Pfff, you and I would not have been dating if we met in high school

you: WHY NOT

wifey 💞: Have you seen high school me? and have you seen high school you????

you: aw but you were so young and adorable and you were cool and already so gorgeous. we all look silly in our old photos with the trends from back then. but i love it.

wifey 💞: No, I look disgusting!!

you: you were already beautiful, and i’m pretty sure teenage-me’s heart would’ve leaped in her chest whenever you would have looked at her

you: you'd probably even be my sweet gay awakening ☺️

wifey 💞: I thought it was that actress

you: which one? there were so many 😂

wifey 💞: If we'd dated then, I'd constantly have to fight off the competition

you: yea? you would've blasted 'steal your girl' by 1D in your room after school? 😂

you: i would've only had eyes for you, let's be real

you: and high school misa already had my misa in her, so i'll adore young misa even more. protect her and carry her around like a tiny pokemon. pika pika.

wifey 💞: I've never seen a girl as pretty as you

wifey 💞: You're really weird though

you: 🙃

wifey 💞: ....👀 Kidding. I love you.

you: and i love every version of you. young, old and wrinkly, grumpy, hangry, ....horny...,frustrated after a loss.... hangry (again)

wifey 💞: Flattery will get you everywhere, Mrs Rodriguez

you: you’re making me feel like a sexy teacher, mrs putellas

wifey 💞: Is this your way of trying to get us to roleplay?

you: NO.

you: unless...

wifey 💞: You're crazy

you: about you? always. 😁

wifey 💞: I love you to pieces, you know that, right?

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

tagged: bff3, marisabel_rguez 2,378 likes yourusername: we finish each other's sandwhiches

○○○○○○○

marisabel_rguez Jinx, jinx again.

bff2 Our biggest tiny friend <3

bff1 it's the 'you're really weird though' for me

albaps9 your breakfast looks like it came straight from the trash ↳ yourusername you're straight from the trash ↳ albaps9 that's no way to talk about our mother ↳ yourusername 😯 ↳ albaps9 we shared a womb, and since i came before you, there are parts of me in you ↳ yourusername ew ew ew ew why phrase it all like that ↳ alexiaputellas Did you read that somewhere online? 😂 ↳ albaps9 yup. and we can even have cells from our tio in us bc he was in abuela's womb before mama ↳ yourusername eeeeewwww ew ew ew stop. i'm good not knowing.

bff3 He absolutely loved the sleepover! But did you and Alba teach him to flip people off? ↳ bff1 gasp.... ↳ bff2 Omg you did what, yn? ↳ yourusername wait what??? ↳ yourusername no no no definitely not!! ↳ bff3 He keeps raising his middle finger to everyone and then laughs 😥😅 ↳ albaps9 it's not a middle finger, it's a unicorn fist 🖕 ↳ yourusername alba i'm going to kill you

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

28,014 likes marisabel_rguez: I don't exist if I don't have her, the sun doesn't shine, the world doesn't turn, alright? 🎶❤️

○○○○○○○

albaps9 YN OMG YOU CUTIE

alexiaputellas Hey you got her to puzzle with you, she must really love you ↳ alexiaputellas Kidding, I love how happy you make her ↳ marisabel_rguez ☺️

username8 She's so adorable omg

janafernandez3 sweeeeeet like candy 🍭

username3 she's radiating 🥺

yourusername but i knoooooow, i knoooooow for suuuuure. ↳ marisabel_rguez Everybody wanna steal my giiiiirl, everybody wanna take her heart away ↳ yourusername couple billion in the whole wide wooooorld ↳ marisabel_rguez Find another one 😤 ↳ yourusername cause sheeeee belongs to meeee 😇

ingrid.engen That first one!!!! Sooo cute, yn!!

sofie.svava prettiest girl ever

username6 aw she looks so happy ↳ yourusername bc i was looking at mah wife 😊 12 likes

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

tagged: marisabel_rguez 2,658 likes yourusername: happy valentine's 💌

○○○○○○○

bff3 Happy Valentine's Day, beauties!

username9 Happy valentine's!

marisabel_rguez Thank you for being my valentine 😉😘 ↳ marisabel_rguez And thank you for all the sweet gestures, I love you.

alexiaputellas ❤️

username3 love is in the air <3

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

↳ 1h ago: yourusername added to their story

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

tagged: marisabel_rguez 5,018 likes yourusername: holding space with my wife.

○○○○○○○

Bff2 love that for you 👉👌 ↳ bff1 ahahahaha those emojis ↳ bff2 what? ↳ bff2 wait no!!! it's like the meme!!! holding onto the finger! omfg

jennihermoso Look at that rock still shining 💍

username8 ma'am... your aesthetic and feed- 💅🏽

marisabel_rguez What a woman 😍

username1 HOT TO GO 🕺

bff1 listen, misa? uh, misa? i've got something to confisa ↳ albaps9 you deserve each other, you and BOQQQQ ↳ yourusername 🤦‍♀️🤭

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

↳ 12h ago: marisabel_rguez added to their story

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

Text Messages

you: happy 5 years together, my love. i'm easily the happiest i've ever been. i never in my wildest dreams would've imagined this. thank you for all your healing love, your support, your care and for choosing me.

wifey 💞: Happy five years, beautiful. I'll always choose you, every second of every day. You're my entire world, now and always. I love you

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

a/n: happy valentine's day, my loves!

#woso x reader #misa rodriguez x reader #woso social media au #woso imagine #misa rodriguez social media au

170 notes · View notes

intimidating-fettuccine · 2 days ago

Text

Dearest friend and companion,

Happy Valentine’s Day. Those of us in the mansion are wishing you a particularly sweet day, filled with love and joy, and plenty of chocolate. I am sending you this letter on behalf of all of my employees to invite you to be our Valentine.

We’ve already spent so many Valentine’s days together, and we would be absolutely overjoyed if you would do us the honor of spending another with us this year. When you arrive at the mansion, you will find many things waiting for you. The bakers in the mansion have spent the last week toiling away, trying to perfect the best chocolates possible for you, whether in cake form or a snack sized morsel, they’ve given it their all to make you a variety of desserts to your liking, myself included. Even little Sally decided to participate this year, in an attempt to make you the most delicious cupcake she could. It is… Quite a unique cupcake, especially in size and decoration, though she assured me that it’s very delicious, and safe for consumption.

Events have been put together, tailored just for you, including your favorite games and movies, organized in the perfect order by BEN himself to get the maximum flow and joy out of them for you. Toby has insisted upon making the largest blanket fort possible for everyone to relax in, so I do hope you’ll find some comfort here. All of the blankets and pillows in the entirety of the mansion have been moved to this location, although Toby assured me cleanup would be taken care of. Please do mind your step so as not to slip.

All of us residents have also put together gifts for you as well, and we hope you’ll find just what you’ve been looking for amongst the bouquets and cards accompanying them. Whether you seek to find a partner or a friend amongst the many hearts offering themselves to you this year, we simply hope you’ll find the perfect match for you on this lovely day. Please be aware that there is apparently a bet going on spurred on by some of our rowdier residents based on who could be the best Valentine for you, so keep that in mind whether you wish to view them all the same, or choose your favorite special someone this year. Jeff requested I add a note that while he did make a remark that he obviously had the best gift for you, he did not incite the arguments nor suggest the betting, although he thinks he should receive first place. I will avoid stating my own personal opinion on this matter, though it would be the world’s greatest honor should you choose my own gift as your favorite.

Regardless of how you choose to spend this Valentine’s Day with us, we all simply hope that you may enjoy yourself to the fullest extent amidst our company. We’ve all put in many hours of work and thought into planning this event for you, so it would mean the world to us all should you choose to attend and spend the day with us. You are always our most treasured guest, and we will do all that we can to insure maximum joy and comfort for you, so please, feel free to request anything you might need from us upon arrival.

We hope that this letter finds you well, with all of our love and thoughts of you.

Yours truly,

Slender M.

111 notes · View notes

ivysprophecy · 2 days ago

Text

Satisfaction

warnings; hehe finally SOME smut!! fingering, dirty banter, slight degradation, cocky benedict

word count; 1431

summary; Benedict comes to prove that there is curiosity inside of you, and he has every intention of bringing it out to play. after all curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

Sat in your library, the quiet keeping your peace safe, you read a book Penelope had recommended you at your last meeting. Except your peace was no longer safe once your lady maid entered saying you've got a visitor.

Letting your head fall back with a groan as he enters, you decide if he is going to interrupt your peace it's only fair to yourself to speak without filtration.

"Lady Y/L/N, you look stunning as always," He greets you with flattery. How shallow.

"Enough with the pleasantries. Say what you really want so I can ask you to leave."

How that comment brings a smirk to his face you will never understand, but you still find yourself trying to.

"I called upon you to inquire if you'd put any thought into our discussion from the other night. Have you?"

Yes. The simplest answer is yes you have. Unwanted thoughts of your husband and him in your bed beside you had plagued your mind for the past three nights.

He can never know. "I haven't, I try not to think about you ever."

"I can't say I'm surprised you have to try, how much effort does it take Y/N?" You could scream with frustration, at his smug face.

"Very little, and when I do I think of how you are nothing but a liar, a con even," Had you taken a step closer or had he? If you weren't sure before, you're sure now as he takes a step towards you, sealing the space.

"I know you want to know what it feels like Y/N. Let us show you."

A shiver ran up your spine. You weren't cold in the least bit. Nothing about this is helping your decision not to give in.

"Just think of it," He swiftly moved behind you, not enough to have your bodies touching, but you could feel the proximity. His fingers sweep the hair over your shoulder before leaning in close to your ear, "Henry in front of you, taking such good care of you... and myself behind you, just like this, giving you everything you didn't know you could have."

The breath from his mouth hot on your neck had your chest rising up and down rapidly, desperate for air, possibly for more. You just couldn't let yourself give in..

But what if you didn't have to?

"You want to show me you can handle this?" Your head turns towards his ever so slightly, enough so you still can't look in his eyes. "Sit on the sofa."

"Is this how you are with Henry? Telling him how to please you?" He does as you say, sitting where you were moments ago.

"Remove your coat," Again, simple and effective. He was eager like those puppies you hear about from the palace, doing so quickly. "Good," you stand between his legs, lifting his chin to see your face, "Change my mind."

The directions were clear, all he had to do was give her a reason to give in, this way it wasn't all on her own accord.

His hands found your thighs down underneath your skirt, slowing caressing each with a gentle touch.

"How far am I allowed to take this?"

"Plan on taking advantage of me once more?"

"More like seizing the opportunities given to me."

"I'll tell if and when to stop."

And with that his lips find yours and he is not gentle. With one hand resting on the inside of your thigh, another is brought up to grasp your neck pulling you down to meet him. To keep you there.

You didn't want to admit the fact you couldn't pull away if you tried. He was absolutely delicious, Julia hadn't a clue.

The hand on your thigh slides up to rest on your hip, but his hands are so large, his thumb finds your bundle of nerves, the cloth covering it growing damper by the second. There was no hiding your curiosities now.

"Look how wet you are for me. Someone besides your husband, such a good little whore for me aren't you?" Your cheeks were red hot, his lips making their way down the pulse on your throat. "Say it for me sweetheart."

"P-Pardon?"

"Oh, always so polite. Say your a good little whore for me Y/N, you can do it, use your words," between his lips moving down your collar bone to your decolletage, and with his thumb creating friction beneath your skirt you weren't sure if you could.

Stutters leave your tongue before you can gather enough air to try, "I'm a- s-such a good wh-" a gasp interrupts you as he applies more pressure to your clit, "whore! such a good whore for you-"

"Fantastic sweetheart, very good," leaving kisses across your chest he looks up at you with a mischievous glimmer. His thumb holds steady pressure and pace against your core, you can't fight the urge to roll against him, a moan escaping you.

"Yes that's it, let yourself go... you're going to use my hand to please yourself and finish, do you understand? Look at me," His gaze is so intense it draws more sounds out of you, "Do you understand Y/N?"

All you could do is nod with your words being greedily stolen from you. You whine as he pulls his thumb away, only momentarily so he can slide his hand under your garments.

"Would you like to come on my hand darling?"

"Yes- Benedict please, I need more," The plea felt unnatural coming from your lips but you meant every word.

"Has Henry ever used his fingers inside of you?"

"Benedict please-"

"Answer the question sweetheart."

You nod hurriedly trying desperately to get his hand back to your needy, throbbing core. "A few times, it hasn't felt quite right..."

The sound that comes from Benedict surprises you, it's deep, guttural.

"I promise if you don't enjoy it I will cease to, but I'd like to try and please you with my fingers, please sweetheart."

"I suppose-" You where cut off by Benedict standing with you in his hold before lowering you onto the couch.

"Your tense... let me fix that for you Y/N, relax your mind and body. I'll take care of you well, I swear."

He didn't disappoint, he teased your entrance for a few moments but the second his first digit entered you it immediately felt different than every time with Henry. Better. Infinitely better.

The teasingly slow pace at which he thrusted his finger into you was the perfect adjustment, hitting spots Henry couldn't have, you'd never felt this much pleasure before.

If this is how his fingers feel...

He added a second digit stretching you out slightly, pulling more noise out of you without your consent. And you could feel satisfaction closing in on you.

Your hips meet his hand over, and over, and over again, dastardly sounds fill the air of where your bodies connect, all you needed was one more push over the edge, something to get you there.

"I can feel you Y/N, you feel the wave of pleasure, I can feel it in the way you squeeze my fingers. Go on then, let it go, I'll take good care of you don't you worry, that's it. Good girl."

His words were more than enough to finish the job.

The scream you let out was carnal, primal, new. But you couldn't control yourself. Everything Benedict Bridgerton made you feel tonight was completely brand new.

He has changed your mind most definitely.

Gently pulling his hand away from your regions, he lowers your skirt again before cleaning the mess on his hand with his own tongue.

"Delicious, I'll remember your taste until my days end... fascinating."

"Benedict..." He looks at you with something you can't quite name, "Thank you."

"I can't say it was all my pleasure," he playfully winks in your direction, "I hope I have succeeded in showing you what you deserve."

You nod, still a bit breathless, "Yes... Yes I'd say you did a fine job," You clear your throat quickly, "I will speak to Henry when he's home from business in two days time."

You swear you hear him chuckle under his breath.

"I suppose that is when I will see you again.. until then Lady Y/L/N."

There on your couch, seated where you were before all of this began, you were stunned. Speechless, maybe Benedict was rather insane to propose what he had, did that make you further gone than he was to accept?

#benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton moodboard #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x y/n #my stuff!#my writing <3 #fic recs <3 #dic recs <3

51 notes · View notes

waynes-multiverse · 7 hours ago

Text

Oh, I'm so giddy to read this chapter, I'm squealing 😆😆😆

Dean had kissed you back. And not in some startled, accidental way. No, he kissed you like he meant it. Like one of those cocky heroes in the guilty pleasure romance novels you kept hidden on your bookshelf. Hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go. Like he wanted to devour you. Your stomach flipped. For a second—just a second—you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt, the roughness of his stubble, the way he had pulled you closer, like— Nope. Absolutely not.

I loved this entire inner monologue and her reliving everything (plus that nasty hangover lol)! I'm glad she realized Dean kissed her back, though. Wondering if their first meeting will be awkward as hell or if they get over it quickly. Since there's smut in this chapter, I'm guessing the latter 😂🫶

You’d had too much to drink. You were disappointed, frustrated, and let’s be real—desperately overdue for a good lay. And Dean? Well, he was there. Familiar. Safe. Willing.

Yes, but what were his motivations, you fool!!! I yell at the screen, into the void where these idiots will never hear me...

It wasn’t some deep, long-suppressed thing.

Uh... Yeah, it is!!! I swear, Abbie, I will not survive this series. The amount of times I wanted to slap her in this scene... 😂🤌

Dean was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, his gaze unfocused.

Oh, homeboy's been brooding, I see 😆

I absolutely love this little tidbits about their past and their friendship and their families. You can feel the familiarity and love between them 🩵

Your eyes lit up when you pulled out a tub of rocky road ice cream.

Always rocky road! That's the hill I die on! 🫶

And just then, as if on cue, the TV blared Joey Tribbiani’s infamous line: "Joey doesn’t share food!"

10/10 for Friends references 😆⭐️ (And I saw your gif at the end – this scene has been living rent-free in my head since it first aired lmao)

His expression was raw, wrecked—like you had all the answers, and he was desperate for them.

Loved this line!

“I don’t want to think about politics right now,” you confessed breathlessly against his lips.

This wasn’t about feelings or what-ifs. This was heat and need, two people chasing a high neither of them was willing to resist.

Oooof, that smut was deliciously hot, friend 😮‍💨🔥 And still so sweet and loving and caring in between 🥹 Their connection and chemistry is undeniable. Get married and have kids already lol

“The way I see it, neither of us wants the hassle of a relationship,” you continued, keeping your tone light, matter-of-fact. “I mean, you’ve said it yourself—you don’t do relationships. And I’ve kind of… given up on the idea.” You gestured vaguely between you. “So why not just—enjoy this? No strings, no expectations. Just… fun.”

I knew it was going there obviously from the title of this story, but Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I wanna kill these sweet little idiots 😂😂😂

I'm done (for now lol). It's been a great pleasure yelling at you this week, Abbie! Can't wait to do it next week all over again 😆🩵🩵🩵

The Arrangement - Part Two

Pairing: Dean x reader

Summary: It's the morning after, you and Dean are both reeling, respectively, from the previous night. Can you both overcome the incident, or is more trouble awaiting?

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT!!! (18+ONLY!!!) The usual angsty thoughts, will these two ever get it? Swearing

AN: Happy hump day! 🐫 We're still only just brushing the surface with these two, but I hope you enjoy ☺️.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here!

The next morning, you woke with a painful groan, the pounding in your skull like a jackhammer. Even with your eyes still shut, you could feel the dull, relentless ache radiating through your entire head. When you finally pried them open, you grimaced at the sticky sensation of last night’s makeup clinging to your lashes.

Rolling onto your back, you immediately regretted it—your stomach lurched in protest, reminding you exactly why you were never drinking again. Not this time. Not after this hangover. The night felt like a blur, fragments slipping through your fingers as you struggled to piece them together.

The first thing that came back was your awful date. Monday was going to be awkward as hell at work, but you didn’t regret a damn thing. The look on his face after you ruined his expensive white dress shirt with that tasteless glass of rosé— the one he ordered for you—was worth it. A smirk tugged at your lips at the memory.

Then you remembered heading to the bar to see Jo and Ellen. Like always, you and Jo went one drink too far.

Something nudged at the back of your mind, a strange pulse in your chest as you reached for the rest of the night. The fog lifted slightly as your phone buzzed on your nightstand, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your attention. It was the bottle of Tylenol and the glass of water sitting beside it.

And just like that, everything came crashing back.

Oh God.

You kissed Dean.

Your headache surged as if your body was punishing you for your stupidity. You kissed your best friend. Were you really that desperate? That starved for affection that you had to go and make a move on Dean of all people?

But then—amidst the spiral of regret and sheer mortification—another thought surfaced.

Dean had kissed you back.

And not in some startled, accidental way. No, he kissed you like he meant it. Like one of those cocky heroes in the guilty pleasure romance novels you kept hidden on your bookshelf. Hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go. Like he wanted to devour you.

Your stomach flipped. For a second—just a second—you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt, the roughness of his stubble, the way he had pulled you closer, like—

Nope. Absolutely not.

You shook your head, pushing the thought away. It wasn’t a big deal. It couldn’t be.

You’d had too much to drink. You were disappointed, frustrated, and let’s be real—desperately overdue for a good lay. And Dean? Well, he was there. Familiar. Safe. Willing.

That was all.

It wasn’t some deep, long-suppressed thing. It wasn’t because you’d been secretly wondering about him for years, how the way he touched you, kissed you, made every single rumour you’d heard about him feel a hell of a lot more believable.

The whispers. Those hushed conversations in the school hallways. The restroom stalls where Karen Jones once gushed about your best friend’s talented mouth and fingers.

How on the rare occasion Dean had brought someone home, well�� you weren’t proud to admit that the muffled sounds through the walls had left you pressing your thighs together, wondering just what he was doing in there to make them moan like that.

No. Nope. Dean was your best friend. That was sacred.

The idea of being anything more? Terrifying.

And besides, he’d been drinking, too.

That’s all it could be.

Dean didn’t look at you like that. Not really. He would’ve done the same with any other girl, right? It wasn’t special. It didn’t mean anything.

And the best thing to do now? Pretend it never happened. If Dean brought it up, you had the perfect excuse—"I was drunk, I had no idea what I was doing."

Yeah. That would work.

You sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face before reaching for the Tylenol. The mirror across the room reflected the mess you’d become—wrinkled dress, tangled hair, smudged makeup making you look half-raccoon.

First things first. A hot shower.

Then, you’d figure out how to face Dean without losing your goddamn mind.

Stepping out of the shower, you felt marginally more human—though your headache still throbbed behind your eyes, and the exhaustion clung to your bones. You wrapped yourself in a towel, rubbing at your damp hair with another as you padded into your room. Every movement felt sluggish, like you were wading through molasses.

Maybe coffee would help.

You threw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, too drained to care about much else. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted into your room as you cracked open the door, coaxing you toward the kitchen like a siren’s call.

Dean was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, his gaze unfocused. The sunlight filtering through the blinds cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the faint crease between his brows. He looked deep in thought, his fingers curled around the ceramic like he needed something to hold onto.

Then he spotted you, and just like that, the quiet weight in the air lifted. A slow smile tugged at his lips, easy, familiar—but there was something behind it. Something you couldn’t quite place. Uncertainty? Hesitation?

"She’s alive," he teased, breaking the silence.

You rolled your eyes, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. See? This is fine. It’s normal. We can handle this.

"Barely," you muttered, shuffling toward the kitchen island.

Dean pushed off the counter, already reaching for another mug. "Figured you’d need this."

He poured you a cup and slid it toward you as you climbed onto one of the barstools, elbows resting on the counter, head in your hands. You let out a low groan, still feeling like death warmed over.

"I swear to God, I’m gonna kill Jo for encouraging my alcoholism," you grumbled.

Dean huffed out a chuckle. "Yeah, good luck with that. She’d take you down first.”

"That’s fair," you sighed dramatically, taking a careful sip of coffee. The warmth seeped through you, dulling the sharpest edges of your hangover.

Dean leaned his hip against the counter, watching you over the rim of his mug. “Sam messaged me this morning, reminding me. Is Ellen still making her famous stuffing for Christmas next week?"

You perked up slightly, grateful for the normalcy of the conversation. Okay, good. This is good. Normal.

"Yeah, of course. She said she’s already prepping. Swore up and down she’s gonna outdo last year."

Dean smirked. "Doubt it. That was peak stuffing."

"You say that every year."

"And I mean it every year." He took another sip of coffee before tilting his head. "Bobby still threatening to deep-fry the turkey?"

You snorted. "Always. But Ellen put her foot down after the ‘grease fire incident of 1999.’"

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "Man, that was a hell of a year."

"It was a hell of a mess," you corrected. "We were still finding soot in the kitchen in February."

"Yeah, but it was worth it. Best damn turkey I ever had."

"You say that every year, too."

"And I mean it every year," he shot back, grinning.

For as long as you and Dean had been friends, your families had celebrated Christmas together. It started when you were kids, when Bobby and Ellen realised how much easier it was to combine everything into one big gathering.

Every year, you’d alternate whose house hosted—one year at the Winchesters’, the next at your place. It became tradition, something that felt as much a part of the holiday as presents under the tree.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. The back-and-forth was easy, natural—like it always was. The conversation wrapped around you like a familiar blanket, momentarily pushing away the lingering awkwardness from last night.

See? This is fine. It’s fine.

Then the silence settled.

And suddenly, you were aware of everything.

The space between you—too small, too charged. The way his fingers curled around his coffee mug, his knuckles flexing just slightly. The way his shirt stretched over his shoulders, like you hadn’t already memorised the broad shape of him years ago.

Your eyes met his, and the second they did, your stomach twisted.

Dean didn’t look away.

And neither did you.

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still. No sudden movements, no giving anything away. But then your gaze betrayed you—just for a second, barely a flicker—dipping down to his mouth.

Shit.

Because now you could feel it again.

The way he kissed you, rough but deliberate, like he had wanted it. The taste of whiskey, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had curled into your hips like he was holding on for dear life.

Dean cleared his throat. Stepped back.

"I’m gonna head to the store," he said, too casual.

It took a second for the words to register. "Oh. Yeah, okay."

He hesitated—like he might ask you to come with him—but then he smirked instead, lips twitching. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… You kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.”

Your head shot up, glare locked and loaded. "Ass."

Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone."

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow, staring at the door like it might offer some kind of answer.

Yeah. You were so screwed.

By the time Dean strolled back in through the front door, the afternoon sun was already dipping beyond the horizon, casting the sky in deep hues of amber and violet—a telltale sign of the short winter days.

In his absence, you'd done your best not to dwell on the events of last night. Dean hadn’t brought it up, and you figured it was best you didn’t either. Did that stop your mind from running through every why, how, and what if on repeat? No. But for now, distraction would do.

So here you were, sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching reruns of Friends while feeling sorry for yourself in more ways than one.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, kicking the door shut behind him, hands full with grocery bags. He dropped them on the island, his keys clinking against the counter. “Sorry I took so long. Had to deal with a work emergency before I could hit the store.”

You peered over the back of the couch, blinking sluggishly. “S’all good. I crashed for a bit after you left anyway.” You stretched, groaning. “I am starving, though.”

After Dean had left, for a much-needed grocery run - as you too discovered the disastrously emptiness of your fridge, all you’d eaten were two pop tarts you’d found in the back of the cupboard.

“Well, if you’re up for it, how about I whip us up some burgers?” Dean smirked, already putting things away. Your stomach growled at the suggestion. You practically salivated at the thought. Dean could grill a mean burger, and he damn well knew it.

“Oh My God, yes.” You practically moaned. Dean chuckled as you hopped up and shuffled to the kitchen, immediately snooping through the bags. Your eyes lit up when you pulled out a tub of rocky road ice cream.

“Ohh, heck yes!” Dean turned just in time to see you clutch it to your chest like treasure. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shrugged it off.

“Yeah, well… figured you’d want it. Hangover ritual and all.”

It was such a simple thing—something so Dean. But it made your chest squeeze a little tighter. Maybe it was in light of recent events, but for some reason it touched you more than it should have. And in that moment, you realised just how much Dean had always taken care of you.

Whether it was remembering your favourite ice cream, patching up your scraped knee when you fell off your bike as a kid, or offering you a shoulder when you needed one.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Thank you,” you murmured, and you meant it.

Dean just smiled.

You cleared your throat, shaking off the sudden wave of emotions. “Need any help? I may be half a step into the land of the dead, but I am still good with my hands.” You wiggled your fingers in his face, only for Dean to swat them away with a laugh.

“Nah, I got it. But in exchange, you could give me a scoop of that.” He nodded toward the ice cream.

Your grip on the tub tightened. “But—”

Dean arched an amused brow.

And just then, as if on cue, the TV blared Joey Tribbiani’s infamous line: "Joey doesn’t share food!"

You pointed blindly in the direction of the TV. “What he said.”

For a second, there was silence—then both of you burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright,” you relented, wiping at your eyes. “You can have one tiny scoop.” You winked and left him to it.

Dean rolled his eyes, but his grin never faded as he got to work on dinner.

“Seriously, dude, you should open your own burger bar or something,” you groaned, sinking into the couch as you took another blissful bite.

Dean snorted around his own large mouthful, shaking his head. He watched as you practically melted into your seat, eyes fluttering shut, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. It was equally parts disgusting and endearing.

You had no shame when it came to food. Talking with your mouth full, letting sauce smear your chin, completely oblivious to how you looked to others. It warmed him at how comfortable you must be in his presence to not care about such things.

Like right now, you sat cross legged on the couch, your hair thrown up in a messy bun, a worn-out, oversized t-shirt, that looked vaguely familiar, hung off your figure, and you had on a pair of sweats one size too big. Your face was makeup less but even so, you were beautiful.

After devouring your burgers, you moved on to dessert, despite claiming minutes earlier that you were “way too full.”

“Theres always extra room for something sweet.” You’d claimed, giving Dean a proper bowl of ice cream instead of the pathetic spoonful you'd originally offered.

You sat side by side watching some comedy, he didn’t remember the name of. But it was all the same, a storyline he’d seen a million times but, even so, there was the odd chuckle-worthy moment.

Not long after, you reached over, setting your now-empty bowl down beside his on the coffee table and as you sat back, he noticed it.

“Hey, you got a little—” He gestured to the corner of his mouth.

“Hm?” You wiped at the wrong side.

“No, here.” He pointed again. You missed it.

Dean huffed before leaning in, swiping his thumb against the chocolate smudge himself.

You stilled.

Your wide eyes flicked up to meet his, and suddenly, he realised just how close he was. His hand still cupped your cheek, thumb lingering at the corner of your lips.

The air thickened. Your breath mingled with his.

Dean’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips out of habit. Your gaze flickered down to the motion, and his stomach clenched.

And then—he wasn’t sure who leaned in first but suddenly, your lips were pressed to his, soft and warm, more confident than last time.

Dean didn’t think—he just reacted.

One of his arms wrapped around your back, the other tilting your chin as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest at the sensation. You tasted like chocolate and marshmallows, sweet and sinful, and fuck—he was already addicted.

Then, as if kissing you wasn’t enough, you shifted, climbing into his lap, pressing yourself against him like you had no idea what you were doing to him. Had he died? Was this some fever dream?

Before he could fully process what was happening, before he could stop you, before he could stop himself, you settled in his lap completely. And there was no hiding what you’d stirred beneath his jeans.

But you didn’t pull away.

Instead, a soft moan escaped your lips, vibrating against his own, and fuck.

He was done for.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly close, and then you moved. A slow, testing rock of your hips, then another, then a third—more confident, more deliberate. Dean groaned, eyes dark and hazy with lust.

Alarm bells blared in his head, warning him to stop, to think—to rationalise what was happening, why it was happening again. But how the hell was he supposed to think straight when you were rubbing against him like that?

Fuck.

His hands slid down your back, gripping your hips like he was holding onto his last thread of restraint. And then you did it again. A shudder ran through him at the friction, his head tipping back against the couch as he looked up at you. His expression was raw, wrecked—like you had all the answers, and he was desperate for them.

Your movements slowed as you leaned in, your lips grazing his jaw, then his ear.

“Are you down for some fun, Winchester?” you husked, your voice dripping with temptation. You nipped at his earlobe, making his eyes snap shut, his grip tightening on your hips.

“What kind of fun?” he asked, playing dumb, but mostly because he needed to hear you say it.

“The naked kind.”

Dean exhaled sharply, fingers flexing against your hips, his cock aching beneath you.

“I’ve always been curious about you,” you murmured, your lips trailing back to his, teasing, just brushing.

“You have?” His voice was rough, uneven. His heart pounded, not just with lust but something deeper—something dangerously close to hope.

“I grew up with the rumours,” you admitted, pressing a slow, torturous kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ve heard the women you’ve brought home… wondered.” Another kiss. “I’m curious.”

Dean nearly groaned. The idea of you—you—wondering about him that way, thinking about what it would be like between you… Jesus.

And then you kissed him, slow and deep, and Dean was gone.

“I don’t want to think about politics right now,” you confessed breathlessly against his lips. “I don’t want to think about consequences, or what’s right or wrong. I just want you—right now. If you want me too?”

Dean knew there should be a pause, a moment to reconsider, but the second the words left your lips—combined with the way you were looking at him like he was something to be devoured—every logical thought went out the window.

Fuck it.

Instead of answering, he kissed you—hard. And when you moaned appreciatively against his mouth, all bets were off. This wasn’t about feelings or what-ifs. This was heat and need, two people chasing a high neither of them was willing to resist.

With a firm arm around your back and the other gripping your thigh, Dean stood effortlessly, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You gasped, clinging to him, arms around his neck, legs wrapped tight around his waist. He felt everything—every inch of you pressed against him, driving him insane.

Your lips never broke apart as he carried you toward your room—the closest out of the two.

And maybe, deep down, there was a nagging voice whispering about consequences. About what this meant. But right now?

Right now, he wasn’t listening.

And neither were you.

Your mind was screaming at you.

What are you doing?

This is Dean.

But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. You were too wound up, too sexually deprived, too drawn to the way he looked at you—like you were something sacred, something he had to taste, to touch, to have. And he was right here. Willing. Eager. His hands gripping you tight as he carried you into your bedroom, lips never leaving yours.

The door barely clicked shut before he was lowering you onto the bed, his weight settling between your legs, pressing you down into the mattress. His mouth moved over yours with aching precision, slow but deep, savouring, like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to take his time.

It was intoxicating.

Dean groaned as you arched up into him, his hands skimming down your sides, exploring, memorising. His lips broke from yours just long enough to kiss a trail down your jaw, your throat, sucking lightly where your pulse pounded against your skin. It made your head spin.

And then lower.

He lifted your shirt inch by inch, his calloused fingers dragging over your heated skin as he peeled it up and over your head. His breath hitched.

“Jesus.”

Dean’s eyes darkened as he took you in—bare from the waist up, nipples hardened from both the cool air and the sheer intensity of his gaze.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d be perfect,” he murmured, running his hands over your stomach, thumbs grazing just beneath your ribs.

Then his mouth was on you again.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, a flick of his tongue just above the waistband of your sweatpants, then back up. Slow, torturous. His lips followed the curve of your ribs, his nose brushing against the underside of your breast.

Your pussy throbbed, desperate and aching, as he finally took one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking lightly, swirling his tongue around your hardened peak. Your back arched, a needy sound escaping you. He took his time, learning every sensitive spot, making you squirm, making you need.

And then he was moving again.

Dean took his time undressing you completely, peeling away your sweatpants, your panties, his hands exploring each new inch of bare skin like he was memorising a damn map.

He wanted to remember this, wanted to carve the image of you into his mind—the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled under his touch.

He shoved down any nagging thoughts, anything that whispered about how this might mean something. Not tonight. Tonight, all he cared about was this.

You.

Dean settled between your legs, kissing his way down again, teasing at your hip bone, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You gasped as he nipped at the sensitive flesh, as he breathed against your aching core, so close yet so cruelly far.

“Dean,” you whimpered, hands threading through his hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp.

He groaned at that, and then—

His mouth was on you.

Your whole body jerked as his tongue flicked against your clit, hot and wet and perfect. He took his time, using slow, deliberate strokes before sucking you into his mouth, making your thighs twitch, your fingers tightening in his hair.

You had never felt anything like this.

But now you understood.

Now you knew exactly what all those women had meant, why they couldn’t stop coming back for more.

Dean Winchester could ruin a girl.

And right now, you were happy to be wrecked.

Your thighs threatened to squeeze around his head, but his hands gripped your hips, keeping you open, keeping you at his mercy. He worked you relentlessly, alternating between slow, teasing licks and firm, dizzying pressure. The coil in your stomach tightened, higher, hotter—

“Dean—”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he muttered, voice husky against your slick folds. “Let me taste it.”

That was all it took.

Pleasure crashed over you in waves, stealing the air from your lungs. You cried out, arching off the bed as your climax ripped through you, your entire body shaking. Dean groaned against you, drinking in every last bit, licking and sucking you through the aftershocks until you were trembling beneath him, completely undone.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were slick, his pupils blown wide.

And then he was kissing you again, deep and desperate, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he pressed you back into the mattress.

All too soon he pulled back, shifting onto his knees. You blinked up at him, dazed, still trembling from your release, but your breath hitched when he removed his t-shirt in one fluid, over the head motion. And then you watched in anticipation as his hands move to his belt.

He made quick work of it, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room before he popped the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down. He didn’t look away from you as he shoved them down his hips, along with his boxers.

Your mouth went dry.

Dean Winchester was beautiful.

Broad shoulders, toned stomach, strong arms lined with freckles and old scars. And lower—your thighs instinctively pressed together at the sight of him, long and thick, already so hard, flushed, the tip glistening.

Heat surged through your body, desire burning anew.

Your hands moved on their own, reaching for him, fingers wrapping around his length, feeling the weight of him in your palm.

“Jesus,” you breathed, stroking him experimentally, watching how his abs tensed, how his jaw clenched.

Dean groaned, low and guttural, but his hand shot out, gripping your wrist and stilling your movements.

“Don’t,” he gritted, his eyes almost wild as they locked onto yours. “Not now. I—” He swallowed thickly, exhaling a shaky breath. “I won’t last.”

The admission sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, and the way he was looking at you—so desperate, so wrecked—made you dizzy.

Dean inhaled sharply, trying to compose himself, then rasped, “You got a condom?”

You nodded, reaching for the drawer in your nightstand. Your hands fumbled slightly as you pulled one out, but before you could tear it open, Dean’s fingers brushed yours.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice like gravel.

You swallowed hard, watching as he ripped the foil, rolling the condom down over his length with practiced ease.

The sight alone had you clenching around nothing.

And then he was over you again, bracing himself on his forearms, his lips hovering just above yours. His eyes searched your face, softer now, less frantic.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice quieter, rough with restraint.

Your heart thundered.

But there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his.

Dean didn’t hesitate.

The first push was slow, stretching, filling, overwhelming. A deep, strangled groan rumbled from his chest as he sank into you completely, his forehead pressing against yours, his arms trembling as he held himself still.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel so good.”

You clung to him, breathless, nails digging into his back.

He gave you a moment, then started to move—slow, steady rolls of his hips, pulling out just to push back in, his cock dragging against all the right places. The pleasure was immediate, sharp and electric.

Dean’s lips ghosted over yours, his hands gripping your hips, his movements deepening.

You could feel everything.

Every inch of him, every shuddered breath, every lingering trace of restraint slipping away with every thrust.

Your body arched into his, overwhelmed by the way he filled you, stretched you. The heat coiling in your stomach wound tighter and tighter, your nails digging into his shoulders as he drove into you at just the right angle.

“Oh, God—” you gasped, head tipping back against the pillow, eyes screwing shut.

Dean groaned, dipping his head to press his lips to your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, his breath ragged against your neck. “You feel so fucking good. You—” His sentence cut off with a sharp inhale when you clenched around him.

Your whole body was alight, buzzing, your mind a mess of sensation as he thrust deep, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Dean—” His name tumbled from your lips, needy, desperate, and that was all it took.

Like a snapped tether, pleasure crashed over you, stealing the air from your lungs. You clenched around him, back arching, hands fisting the sheets as wave after wave of ecstasy ripped through you.

Dean groaned at the feel of you squeezing him so tightly, his rhythm faltering.

And then he was right behind you.

His movements turned erratic, rough, as he buried himself deep with a strangled curse, his muscles going rigid. His breath stuttered, and then he was gone, undone, spilling into the condom with a deep, shuddering groan.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breaths, your hammering hearts.

Then, Dean collapsed on top of you, panting hard, his body heavy and warm, his face buried against your neck.

You felt like you were floating. Like something inside you had fundamentally changed, but you shoved the thought away, fingers absently trailing through his damp hair as you both struggled to come back down to earth.

Dean let out a breath, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. After a moment, he shifted, bracing a hand on the mattress and rolling onto his back beside you.

A beat of silence.

And then you exhaled a breathless laugh.

“Wow.”

Dean chuckled, running a hand down his face. “Yeah.”

You turned your head to look at him, still gloriously naked, his chest rising and falling steadily, his skin flushed, his hair thoroughly mussed.

There was a something beginning to bubble in your chest, something unwanted, as you looked at him and so you forced yourself to push it down. And then a thought came to mind, a very reckless, possibly disastrous, thought, but you went with it.

“So…” you started, rolling onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow.

Dean turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. His hair was still a mess from your fingers, his skin warm where it brushed against yours. Too close. Too easy to want more.

“What now?” he asked, his voice rough, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

You swallowed. Don’t think about how it made you feel. Don’t think about what it meant.

“Well,” you said carefully, forcing a smirk, “that was… really fucking good.”

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, mirroring your smirk. “Not gonna argue there.”

You hesitated, fingers tracing idle patterns against the sheet beneath you. Then, before you could lose your nerve, you pushed forward.

“I have a thought,” you murmured, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “A proposition, if you will.”

Dean’s expression didn’t shift, but he hummed in acknowledgment, silently urging you to continue.

You bit your lip, playing it off like it was nothing. “We’re obviously… good at this,” you said, your voice light, teasing—though the weight in your chest begged to be acknowledged. “And we��re friends. We trust each other, right?”

Dean frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Yeah?” he drawled, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

You shrugged, forcing yourself to sound casual. “I was thinking… maybe we don’t have to stop.”

His brows lifted in surprise. That was not what he was expecting. Hell, what was he expecting? This whole situation was... He didn’t even know at this point.

Dean didn’t say anything at first, and the silence made your stomach twist. You felt the need to fill it—to justify.

The words felt wrong in your mouth, but you ignored it.

Dean’s fingers flexed where they rested against the mattress. His gaze stayed on you, unreadable, and for a second, you thought he might laugh in your face. Call you crazy. Tell you this was a terrible idea.

Instead, he exhaled softly, nodding.

“Yeah. Okay.”

You let out a breath, relieved. Ignoring the tiny voice in your head screaming this is a mistake.

Dean didn’t want more.

And if you pretended you didn’t either, you could have some part of him, at least.

Better than nothing.

You had no idea he was thinking the same damn thing.

AN: I hoped you guys enjoyed this part, things are really stating to get moving 😅, there is a lot more of this story to come, more of these two idiots not realising what is so obvious! 🥲 As always I'd love to hear what you all think? ❤️

Side note: The scene I had in mind 😂 👇🏻

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @fangirlingfromdownunder @cevansbaby-dove @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224

Next time...

Slowly, you padded across the floor, stopping just outside the shower door. With one last exhale of doubt, you pulled it open and stepped inside. Dean startled, his head whipping toward you, eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and surprise. “What the—” Before he could finish, his expression twisted in pain, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit.” He hissed, rubbing furiously at them as soap trickled down into his lashes. Biting back a laugh, you reached for his arm and guided him under the spray, watching as the water rinsed the suds away. Okay, maybe this wasn’t quite as sexy as you had planned. When he finally blinked his eyes open, he turned to you, first in disbelief—then in something far more dangerous. His gaze darkened, sweeping over you from head to toe, and fuck. He could never get used to this. To you. Perfect. “Well, this is somethin’,” he smirked...

#wayne reads #fic rec #amazing writers 🤍#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #idiots in fucking love

90 notes · View notes

numberonetacostan · 23 hours ago

Note

Me and my friends joke about this all the time, like, if the II contestants aren't immortal anymore, there are a few people on the list who need constant care to not die. First, obviously, Balloon. He can so easily be popped. It seems like most people have gotten over his season 1 attitude, so I don't think anyone would do it on purpose. But all it takes is someone to be a little too forgetful or careless, and he's gone forever. Two, OJ. He can shatter from stress. And he's glass, so I imagine he's pretty fragile. Three, taco. Oh, she's dead so fast, I fear. She's one anxiety attack away. I feel like now that she knows she can die from stress, she'd be a lot more willing to go and look for help if she feels stressed or scared, against her pride. Four, Test Tube. I think it's more likely that she has some sort of reinforced glass, though, considering she holds literal acid. And oh my god lightbulb. She shatters SO MANY times. All it takes is for someone to not look where they're throwing things for her glass to shatter. As a more minor one, Box seems very accident-prone. She keeps getting caught in water and falling down high places; I seriously doubt it won't happen again.

(this is assuming what ever the Prime Shimmers gave them ISN'T a recovery center. I know that's a pretty popular theory)

Hi Moldy!!^^ Welcome back, and thank you for sending in an ask!! :]

Yeah some of the contestants are kind of fucked? Like when Suitcase was telling Balloon that they weren't helpless, I was sitting in the cinema like "I love your girlboss attitude and confidence but he is a balloon" and then I cried some more but that's not relevant to this ask.

But speaking of Balloon!!! He can never go outside again. I have a Balloon that's months old, but that is because it has been in a closet for months. Balloon will have to go back in the closet to survive :( </3. But yeah!!! He's so very vulnerable to literally everything.

I'm putting OJ and Taco in the same spot here, because I'd (in a biased manner, of course) argue that they're the two in some of the most danger because they don't really need anything external to die!! If they spiral too hard, it's over for those gay bitches!! Balloon could at least stay nice and safe in a closet, but at literally any moment OJ or Taco could just fucking snap. At least OJ has his boyfriend, Mepad just fucking died. Taco has earned a couple crash outs after all the bullshit she's been through, I just hope they're not fatal for her.

Testy, I think will be okay, since whatever she's made up is strong enough to hold whatever wacky science liquid is in her, like you said. And she can probably invent something to keep her glass from cracking. Maybe OJ could even get in on that action too!!

Lightbulb... oh dear sweet lightbulb... yeah she's definitely at risk too. Though Painty would certainly be keeping a very close eye on her after having watched her die and all that. Lightbulb is well protected!! And since she's made of glass, Testy could help reinforce her too :)

We have already seen Box eat shit time and time again both alive and as a corpse. She is so accident prone and must avoid all bodies of water and steep hills at all costs. Though, with all that's happened I'm sure she'll be very careful.

(As for what the Shimmers gave them!! Yeah, it could be a recovery center, but as for my thoughts at least, that seems a bit... boring? Obvious, maybe? The crew has mentioned that they're probably not gonna bring Mepad back because it would take away from the emotion and depth of his original sacrifice, and it feels like it would be a similar case for the Shimmer machine. Yeah, it could be a recovery center, and it's not as though I'll be disappointed if it is, but it would negate some of the depth of the sacrifice Mephone4 and the contestants made, yeah?)

26 notes · View notes

that-hazbin · 4 hours ago

Note

Media Demon AU

Imagine Alastor giving off raw theatre kid energy as he tells Charlie about his current hyperfixation the production, the books, the actors ect.

And Lucifer and Lilith realise The Media Demon does have a ulterior motive, a captive audience to gossip with. I imagine he leaves them with a business card for his Radio Studio, praising Charlie's enthusiasm for the arts and telling her if she ever wants to sing or act professionally she can audition any time when she's older.

Unlikely but a funny possibility: Years later Alastor being approached by his Radio Studio's headline imp singer/actress/gossip bestie who reveals herself as the Princess of Hell. He did not expect that.

Funnier possibility: Alastor offers to sponsor the The Princess of Hells project, not knowing she's his headline singer(maybe Lucifer made it a condition that Charlie keeps her identity secret if she chooses to work with him, so Charlie's the one with a secret deal instead of Alastor). He tells his headline singer (and you can bet he's hammed up and perfected the daughter stealer act, he adores this little imp who reminds him of Charlie) the Princesses project has potential and he believes in it being possible while telling Charlie he's merely there for entertainment. She's nodding along with the warm fuzzies because Alastor her third parental figure genuinely believes in her project and she wants to hug him like she could as his headline singer and can't because of that blasted contract!!

Lmao it's really funny that Lucifer, Lilith, and Charlie would continue building a relationship with Alastor in their imp/succubus personas. It makes it 100% more adorable that he'd be talking about how much he believes in Princess Morningstar's redemption project to his favorite musical starlet.

He wouldn't even be the one to bring it up, disguised Charlie (maybe she calls herself Chelsea or Charlene) would be testing the waters like "Heyyy, I heard a rumor that the princess of hell is starting a... redemption hotel? What do you think—" And Alastor immediately gets INTO the conversation, full attention, practically vibrating with energy. He thinks it's a GREAT idea and Princess Charlotte Morningstar seems to have a BRILLIANT mind, isn't it GREAT that she cares so much about her subjects, and you know what, what do you say we go visit her daring hotel project and offer some advertisement services, let's go RIGHT NOW and—

and Charlie is holding onto her tears for dear LIFE.

She definitely wouldn't have the will to keep the secret from him when he meets her as the princess, though. Especially when he goes into his whole "I'm a scary overlord, fear me" persona, pretending he's not ACTUALLY that invested in this hotel project beyond the entertainment value. Alastor's all "HAHA, I don't believe in your silly redemption nonsense, no!" and Charlie's cracking up on the inside because SURE, Alastor, SURE you don't. It's not as though you were gossiping over tea earlier about the necessity of professional therapy for true redemption, and it's not like you already half-way redeemed half of Hell on your own just by turning it into a safe space for one's passions and talents.

Real talk though Alastor will be MORTIFIED when he finds out Charlie's identity, not just because he apparently already ruined his Grand Plan For Getting The Hazbin Hotel Back Together, but also because he's been in a sort of weird MAYBE relationship with her parents, and that means he's been ALMOST-DATING THE QUEEN AND KING THIS ENTIRE TIME. IT'S BEEN YEARS.

Wait is that why Hell's political scene has been improving every time he complained about something to them? Those little shits, they've been stealing his ideas and using him as their royal counsel! Hey, he should be PAYED for that shit!

Meanwhile Charlie's glad the secret's out because her parents no longer have an excuse to not ask Alastor, who is pretty much her third parent, out. Like, officially, instead of giving him weird heart eyes whenever he's not looking.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #lucifer morningstar #charlie morningstar #lilith morningstar #lucilith #media demon au #hellradio

35 notes · View notes

respectfulrebel · 2 days ago

Text

I wish I was better at expressing my feelings with words so I could write you a love letter telling you how much I appreciate you sharing your writing with us. The emotions that you weave into every line?? The little pieces of you in every story?? That's what makes them feel soooo alive and makes me care about those characters so much that my little heart swells with love 😭😭😭

Let me start by saying that I appreciate you dividing it in 2 parts because, girl, I needed a break to process some stuff 🫠

Soooooo, I'm just gonna go ahead and scream about my favourite moments now, if you don't mind.

The way she moves, so gracefully and entirely unselfconscious. The way she leans into her friends when she speaks. The dimple that appears in her left cheek each time she laughs, the way her shoulders shake, the way her hair ripples with her movements. She keeps tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, but it refuses to be tamed.

Okay, I think I'M in love with her. Noah's great and all but I wanna know more about heeeer.

She's out of sight. But he can smell her.

🫠🫠🫠

It's the quiet patience in his expression, the almost tender way he waits, that has her putty in his hands. She knows she'll always be safe with him. It doesn't matter that they haven't spent more than five minutes alone together. She feels it in her bones, in the space between them, in the way he looks at her like she's the only thing that matters.

😭😭😭😭😭😭 he just adores her so much i wanna cryyyyy

She laughs, watching his frantic search with amusement. She has no idea that, at this very moment, Noah is contemplating death if he doesn't find it.

that made me chuckle, okay drama king lol 🤭

He waits, letting her adjust. When she shifts, just the smallest tilt of her hips, it's all the encouragement he needs. He moves, achingly slow, each stroke a deliberate act of worship, so careful it almost makes her go mad. A tight, desperate sensation builds in her chest, and for a moment, she thinks she might cry.

🫠🫠🫠🫠 I am so in love with the way you write sex scenes OH MY GOD

His thrusts grow harder, faster. Her thighs cling to his hips. Her feet hoover just above the mattress. Her nails sink into the inked skin of his back as the pressure builds, and he hisses through his teeth. His reaction is instant. He catches her wrists, gathers them in one of his large hands, and pins them to the pillow above her head. Her breath stutters. Then, without warning, he thrusts deep. Take me. A strangled cry tears from her throat.

I was reading that part when my boyfriend asked me what I was reading so I showed him and he nodded approvingly saying "HOT"

Without thinking twice, he lifts a hand and brushes his fingers along the curve of her cheek, soft and reverent in his touch. This moment-the after-, this touch, it feels like a greater intimacy than anything they have just done.

I'm SOBBING at how soft he isssss 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Noah falls asleep with a hand resting on the small of her back, fingers curled over the curve of her ass, the other cradling the back of her neck, keeping her close as if afraid to let go, and his nose buried in her hair, just like he's dreamed so many times.

I'm gonna cry, this is just asdjfjdsksdkjshfkshfhshse AAAAAAA

"Really?" Folio leans forward, elbows resting on the chair armrests. "And why do you look like that? Don't tell me Noah isn't well-equipped down there."

OKAY, Folio has got me DYING. Literally the whole conversation and everything he says is just so funny. Honourable mentions:

"You really thought Noah had a whole-ass daughter?"

"Nothing a blowjob can't fix. Knowing Noah..."

"Hey, Sebastian! Say hi to your daughter!"

What a goof

🥺🤭🤭🤭🤭

"Got a little... distracted last night," he continues, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "Saw this girl, and, well... just had to follow her. I suppose I got carried away inevitably."

okay I saw that ;););)

She watches the horizon, the endless stretch of blue where the sea meets the sky, and the way the light dances on the water. Noah watches her. Her profile is beautiful, so soft. A picture of tranquility as she takes in the view, lost in the beauty of the landscape. There's something about the way she looks right now that makes everything else fade into the background.

Ok I love her :/ She has my heart :/

The book eventually ends in Noah's hands. He starts reading the novel, for real, and lets her explore the tattoos on his chest, stomach and arms, answering distractedly every question she has about them.

This is soooo cuuuuuuteeeeeee stooopp ittttt 😭😭😭😭 The whole beach thing with the sunscreen and the shoulder kisses and the freckles and the book was just AAAAAAAAHHHHH 🥺🥺😭😭🥺🥺😭🥺🥺😭😭

"It's hard to believe in anything that's not this moment, right now," he murmurs into her hair.

IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE IN ANYTHING THAT'S NOT THIS MOMENT, RIGHT NOW????????????????????? SOBBING!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭

years of sleep — n.s. one shot

"She has always chalked up his teasing and looks to his naturally charming nature. Noah has always been boyfriend material—but never her boyfriend."

Noah and Reader have been drawn to each other for years, but have never dared to act on it—until a wedding and a one-night stand, in which their buried feelings are brought to the surface, along with some misunderstandings.

one shot ✨ noah sebastian x fem. reader words: 11.6k (it's a mini fic, let's be honest) reading time: about an hour it's divided in 2 parts so you can "bookmark it" at part 2 if you don't have time to read the whole thing in one go.

tags & trigger warnings: pure self-indulgence. two attractive idiots in love that don't know how to break the ice—until they do. misunderstandings. Noah has almost shoulder-length hair in this one. manbun!noah. angsty fluff, dirty talk, sexual content (implied masturbation, oral sex with both receiving, p in v protected). mentions of reader having a scar but no further explanation (implied past abuse but no more references to it). fluff, beach setting, noah applying sunscreen on reader, reader having a kink for noah's hair. let me know if sth else needs to be added. - Work inspired by this post by @defuckingthrone-dot-com - Honorable mention to @somebodyels3 for letting me use her butterflyclip-thoughts on this one 🦋

years of sleep — part 1 ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It’s not the first time they’ve seen each other, but it’s the first time they’ve looked at one another from opposite ends of the room as if nothing else exists.

They have known each other for two, maybe three years. Her friends are Noah’s friends, and by extension, they have become part of the same circle. Yet, despite the shared acquaintances, despite the countless gatherings and parties and concerts, they have never really spoken—never dared to exchange more than a handful of pleasantries, a few polite questions, and the passing comment about how great the show’d been before drifting away.

But there’s obviously something there. Something that’s always been.

And tonight, they can’t escape what it’s meant to be.

The wedding takes place at a seaside resort, where lush gardens stretch toward the shore, with palm trees everywhere swaying in the breeze, and a stone path that leads to an extensive beach.

She first sees Noah in the hotel lobby. The space is crowded, buzzing with conversation and laughter. The moment their eyes meet, the world shrinks. A pull—subtle but magnetic—draws them in. And then, as if fate conspires to close the distance, Nicholas the groom, appears beside her and steers her toward Noah.

Their greeting is brief, restrained. A formal hug. Fleeting contact. Her hello stays in his mind. Her voice is soft and sweet. Confident, too. And that smile? That pretty smile has him struggling for words.

He wants to tell her she looks beautiful. He doubts he’ll have eyes for anyone else that night, not even for the two getting married.

She wears a slate-gray dress, short and form-fitting, adorned with delicate rhinestones that catch the light. The thin straps expose her shoulders, her collarbone. There’s a necklace around her neck that could easily pass for a choker. The thought makes something in Noah twitch. Her earrings match the glimmer of it beneath the cascading waves of her hair. Her perfume, her scent… It unsettles him in a way he doesn’t fully understand. But, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to.

He could say all of this to her, or he could keep it simple: You look beautiful. But he says nothing. Instead, he pretends to be interested in whatever Nicholas is saying to Matt, though he’s acutely aware of her gaze on him.

She’s just as aware of him—because, for all his efforts, he’s terrible at being subtle.

Noah looks devastatingly handsome today. A black double-breasted suit accentuates his lean frame, and for the first time, his brunette hair is pulled back into a low bun. It’s the first time she’s seen him with his hair up and there’s something about it that’s very attractive. So attractive that she has to turn around to avoid Noah seeing her nibble on her lower lip.

As she looks away, so does he, letting Matt claim his attention. Alana claims hers, arriving in a stunning purple gown, effervescent with excitement. Her joy is infectious, so much so that, for a moment, she can pretend she hasn’t just spent the last few seconds lost in thoughts of Noah.

The venue is bathed in soft, ivory hues. Rows of elegantly arranged chairs line the aisle, their white cushions pristine beneath the glow of the sun. Sheer white drapery frames the altar, where tall glass vases filled with delicate baby’s breath and white orchids stand on either side.

Noah stands on one side of the venue, positioned between Matt and Jolly. She is on the opposite side of the main path, nestled among the bride’s family and friends. She’s never thought much about marriage, but for the first time, the idea doesn’t seem so distant. She wouldn’t mind standing where the bride is now, as long as the man beside her is N—

She doesn’t have time to shake herself from the absurdity of that thought because, at that moment, the bride and groom seal their promises with a kiss. The room erupts in applause and cheers.

She dares to glance to her right. And as if drawn by an invisible thread, Noah looks her way, catching her eyes.

He’s clapping, like everyone else, but he stands out. He’s taller than most, impossible to miss. And then, he winks at her—a wink accompanied by a smile so effortlessly confident, so devastatingly attractive, that her knees nearly give way beneath her.

She’s in deep trouble.

God, she just hopes the makeup conceals the flush creeping up her cheeks.

The celebration continues. The air is filled with laughter and clinking glasses. Music swells through the venue. The food is exquisite, the drinks abundant, and the guests are entertained.

Despite the social nature of his job, Noah isn’t someone particularly outgoing and social. Rather, he prefers to keep to himself.

But tonight is different. Tonight, he’s at ease, caught in the warmth of celebration, happy for his best friend. The air hums with good vibes, and for once, he isn’t the center of attention. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Not just because his friend is getting married, but because this day has given him something he’d never had before—an entire day and night in her presence.

The hours slip by, and frustration coils inside him. She’s right there, close enough to touch, yet he can’t seem to break the fucking ice. It’s maddening. He’s trapped in a dance of restraint. He knows it must be obvious, the way he looks at her, the way his body betrays every thought he tries to suppress. She’s the girl he’s barely spoken to, the one he’s only seen in fleeting occasions—yet he’s consumed by her. He’s been thinking of her for weeks, months. Even years, for fuck’s sake. She’s in his dreams.

He’s dying to know her, to be near her, to hear the cadence of her voice as she talks about the things she loves and the ones she hates. He wants to learn her—her flaws, her habits, the little things.

But more than anything, he wants to know the taste of her lips, the sounds she makes when she’s touched in the right places, the way she will moan when his hands and lips press on her skin and when his cock is buried deep inside her.

He has to do something about it, and even though it’s been almost the whole day already, he’s willing to do it tonight.

As the others drink and the minutes slip away, Noah watches her. Discreetly. Intently.

And he watches the way she blushes every time she catches him looking.

When the clock strikes midnight, the dance floor overflows with guests, lost in the music. Neckties have been loosened, hairpins discarded. Jolly has long since abandoned his suit jacket. Matt sits at the table with a girl on his lap, whispering something in her ear that’s making her laugh so hard that even Noah is tempted to walk over and find out what the hell he’s saying. Nicholas and his bride have disappeared, and Noah smiles at the realization, exhaling a quiet laugh as he finishes the last sip of his champagne. Then, he’s back to looking for her.

And he finds her.

This time near the exit that leads to the garden, which is so dark and only dimmed by beautifully decorated lampposts with vine and white flowers wrapping around them.

She stands at the threshold of the stone path, the soft glow from the lanterns casting a golden halo around her. The distance between them is vast—he’s at the other end of the room. But it doesn’t matter. They don’t need words to communicate.

She blinks. A glance over her shoulder.

And then she’s gone.

Noah sets down his glass without a thought as he rises from his seat. His jacket is left behind—he likely won’t see it again, much like Jolly’s.

He weaves through the throng of dancing bodies, mutters apologies, sidesteps laughter and swaying limbs, people kissing. The pulse of the music fades as he steps outside, swallowed by the stillness of the night and the back noise of waves crashing.

She’s out of sight.

But he can smell her.

Burberry. Vanilla, rich and warm, laced with something darker, something almost sinful.

He follows the scent.

The stone path leads to a fork—one trail winds toward the beach, the other into the garden.

He hesitates, pulse thrumming. Instinct takes over. He veers into the garden.

Minutes later, he moves parallel to a stretch of resort rooms, their arched balconies overlooking the grounds. Streetlamps line the pathway. A sea breeze stirs the palm fronds, the leaves whispering secrets into the night.

And somewhere ahead, she waits.

It has been almost five minutes since she slipped out of the wedding hall. She leans against the wall of one of the buildings closest to the beach, the stoney surface pressing against her bare shoulders. Noah still hasn’t appeared.

Maybe she misread everything—his looks, his winks, the tenderness of his smiles. Maybe she wasn’t obvious enough. Maybe the pull between them was only in her head, a trick of longing and circumstance. Or maybe it’s just the wedding, the romance in the air making her see things that aren’t really there.

Exhaling, she pushes off the wall and steps into the garden, rounding the corner of the small building.

And collides with a solid chest.

The impact is sudden, stealing her breath. Instinctively, her hands fly to the masculine chest for balance, fingers splaying over the firm muscle beneath the black shirt. His hands find her waist, steadying her, holding her in place.

For a moment, neither of them moves.

She looks up, and Noah’s almond-shaped eyes pierce trough her, dark but soft. The scent of his cologne—woodsy, expensive—wraps around her, muddling her thoughts.

Under her palms, she feels the taut ridges of his abdomen.

Under his hands, he feels the softness of her curves, the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her dress.

It takes everything in him not to let his hands drift lower—to her ass.

Then, as if the absurdity of the moment catches up with them, they grin—two idiots completely and utterly lost in each other.

A second later, Noah lifts a hand to her cheek, fingers featherlight as he tilts her face up to his.

And he kisses her.

His lips capture hers, slow at first, testing, savoring. She melts instantly, arms winding around his neck, her fingers slipping into his hair. Even in heels, she must rise onto her toes to reach him properly. And this mouth—warm and insistent— tastes of champagne, a sweetness that only makes her hungrier for more.

She barely notices when he presses her against the wall, steading himself with a palm on the wall next to her head.

By the time she comes to, she’s breathless, her lips are swollen, and Noah’s body is caging hers, his hands cradling her face now, his thumb stroking her skin. He watches her for a moment before his mouth trails from her jawline to the sensitive column of her neck, and when his lips graze that one spot—that spot—heat coils deep in her belly.

She would have collapsed if not for the hand he slides to her waist, anchoring her, keeping her exactly where he wants her.

“Let me take you to my room,” he murmurs against her skin. His voice is husky and his breath hot.

He pauses just long enough, searching her eyes, making sure she knows that this is entirely up to her. Whatever she wants. Whatever she desires.

It’s the quiet patience in his expression, the almost tender way he waits, that has her putty in his hands. She knows she’ll always be safe with him. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t spent more than five minutes alone together. She feels it in her bones, in the space between them, in the way he looks at her like she’s the only thing that matters.

Her answer is effortless.

“Lead the way,” she says with a smile.

Noah’s grin widens. He steals another kiss—because he can’t help himself—before lacing his long, tattooed fingers through hers.

Without another word, he leads her away. Away from the music, away from the voices, from prying eyes.

The walk to the room is hurried. Adrenaline and hunger run through their veins. Noah grips her hand, glancing over his shoulder every few moments, his smile impossibly wide, as if he already knows that there’s nothing that’ll change how the night will end.

He barely makes it to the door without stopping midway to press her against the nearest wall, to claim her lips again, to let his hands roam freely over the curves he has only imagined.

By the time they reach the secluded corridor where their rooms are, they are almost running.

A strap of her dress has fallen, slipping down the smooth expanse of her shoulder, and just as Noah swipes his keycard against the door reader, he notices.

“Wait.”

Two fingers graze skin as he lifts the strap, restoring it to its place.

The mere brush of his fingers on her skin gives him such a sensation that goosebumps rise on his skin. Noah holds her gaze for a moment. As he gets ready to open the door, her hands curl into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to her. Her mouth meets his in a kiss so deep, so hungry, that Noah nearly forgets himself, nearly forgets where they are, forgets that anyone could walk by and see him stripping her bare against the cool marble hallway floor and making love to her.

Somehow, through sheer willpower, he manages to open the door and push her inside, barely breaking contact with her lips.

Inside, he fumbles for the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a light cozy glow.

She’s already pulling the hairband from his hair, letting the strands fall loose around his face. She threads her fingers through them. She doesn’t know what shampoo he uses but his hair smells like paradise.

Everything is messy. Desperate. A little awkward.

And yet, within seconds, they are standing at the center of the room, facing the untouched bed.

She pauses, chest rising and falling, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other resting lightly on his chest.

She looks around. His belongings are neatly arranged, each item in its proper place. The small details confirm everything she already suspected about him—Noah is meticulous. Even in chaos, he is composed. He’s perfect, and the hand on his hip, delicate and supportive, adoring but never crossing the line, confirms it too.

He’s waiting for her to say something, so his heart almost skips a beat when she slides to her knees on the floor. Heels still on. Her hands on his belt.

Noah lets her unbuckle it. Fingers move with precision, making quick work of the button and zipper of his slacks. His shirt is next—he unbuttons it, but leaves it open, exposing tattooed skin, muscle, inked lines she clearly wasn’t prepared for.

She inhales sharply.

A near-moan escapes her lips at the sight of him, and Noah smirks.

He would have teased her for it—would have taken his time letting her explore—but then she tugs down his pants.

Her breath catches.

The outline straining against his black Calvin Klein boxers is… larger than she expected.

He watches the moment she processes it, sees the way her pupils dilate, the way her tongue peeks out to wet her lips.

She flicks her gaze up at him, seeking confirmation, blinking once—twice—before curling her fingers around the waistband of his boxers.

And when she pulls them down, Noah is the one exhaling sharply.

She doesn’t break eye contact.

And when she finally moves forward, Noah knows—he’s done for.

She licks him from the base to the tip. She takes her time, savoring him and entertaining herself just enough to make him shudder. She revels in his reaction before enveloping him in the warm, wet heat of her mouth and taking him on the ride of his life.

For the first few moments, Noah doesn’t know what to do with himself. He throws his head back and lets out a guttural sound as she takes him deeper, the suction sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. His muscles tense, his hands flex at his sides, his breath starts coming in in ragged gasps.

His fingers twitch before finding their way into her hair, threading through the silky strands as he cradles her head and looks down at her. Such a good girl.

She looks so focused. He strokes her scalp gently, then guides her back and forth, his control unraveling with every flick of her tongue, every hollow of her cheeks. That’s it. Keep going. A vein bulges at his neck as he struggles to keep himself in check.

“That’s... Yes. God, sweetheart.”

The sight of her, those lips stretched around him, eyes flickering up to watch his reaction…

With a sharp breath, he forces himself to pull away, already mourning the loss of her warmth. He runs a thumb over her lower lip, and she catches it between her teeth, nibbling at it. The action makes him laugh—a deep, throaty sound.

He offers his hand, and she takes it, rising to her feet. Without hesitation, she slides the straps of her dress down her shoulders, letting the fabric slip past her curves and pool at her feet.

She’s not wearing a bra, and the thong she wears is nothing more than a whisper of lace, a mere suggestion of modesty.

Noah eats her up with his eyes.

Before he can reach for her, she turns, climbing onto the bed, moving like a kitten. She pauses on all fours to look at him over her shoulder with a coy smile that makes his stomach clench.

Noah swallows hard. He’s about to lose it.

When she shifts to sit back, reaching for her heels, he stops her with a touch.

“Let me.”

He pulls his underwear and pants back up before kneeling at the edge of the bed. His grip tender as he slides her shoes off, pressing a kiss to the skin of her ankle. The care in his touch makes her pulse race. It’s so gentlemanly. She’s never felt so cherished. So lucky.

Her underwear comes off next. The weight of Noah’s eyes on her feels heavy, but it makes her feel safe anyway. She wants him.

She reclines against the pillows, stretching out languidly. She parts her legs. Noah stands there for a breath, taking her in. Her confidence only deepens his hunger.

He sheds his clothing and shoes and joins her, covering her body with his without yet touching. His fingers trail up her cheeks, his eyes searching hers.

“Where do you want me?” he murmurs.

“Anywhere you wish to be.”

He laughs and she trembles under him, loving the sound.

That’s easy, he thinks. I’m already in bed, with you.

Still, he takes his time, kissing his way down her body, savoring every inch. Loving how the necklace wraps around her neck. He spends needed time on her breasts, playing with her nipples, his tongue circling, lapping. He looks up to see her lips parted and her eyes intently on him. She still not making any sound. Not yet.

When his hand slides down her ribcage, he notices an old, ugly scar, just beneath her left breast. He also notices the way she stills. He takes one look at her, then kisses the scar without saying anything else and moves on.

He worships her belly, dips his tongue into her navel, nibbles at her hip bones.

He leaves the bed only to sit back on his heels on the carpeted floor. He searches for his hairband discarded earlier. When he finds it, he ties his hair up again, the sight alone enough to make wetness pool between her legs.

Without warning, he pulls her toward him by the ankles.

A gasp escapes her as he buries himself between her thighs.

There it is.

His tongue parts her, teasing. He tastes her like a man starved, and it’s the truth—he’s been starving for her for years. His hands grip her hips, holding her in place as she starts to writhe beneath him.

She makes another sound. A soft, breathy moan. Then another. And another.

It’s the sweetest, most erotic music he’s ever heard, and it only makes him more relentless. He keeps on sucking. He doesn’t stop, not until she’s trembling under him, clutching the sheets, her thighs quivering around his head.

“Beautiful,” he says.

She’s still catching her breath when she peeks up at him from beneath heavy lids, her cheeks flushed and lips dry and slightly parted. The sight makes him chuckle, the sound so laced with affection that it envelops her as if the sound of it alone was a comforting blanket.

“Condom?” she asks when she regains some stability in her breathing.

Noah blinks, nodding as he starts looking around and rummaging through his things.

“I’ve got one… just give me a—” He curses under his breath, shoving aside his clothes. She watches him move around the room naked, cock hard. “Fuck. I know I have one… somewhere.”

She laughs, watching his frantic search with amusement. She has no idea that, at this very moment, Noah is contemplating death if he doesn’t find it. But then he spots it. He tears open the packet and rolls it onto him. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his still tied hair but pushing a lose strand back. “Sorted,” he mutters, positioning himself over her on the bed.

She slides a hand behind his neck, drawing him closer.

“Come here,” she demands softly.

And God help him, he does.

She unties his hair, again, freeing the brunette strands to cascade over his forehead. Her fingers slide through the locks, and at the same moment, he pushes into her, slow and deep.

A gasp catches in her throat as she stretches around him, heat and wetness engulfing every inch of him.

He feels fuzzy. It’s unbearable, exquisite. His eyes are locked onto hers, and for a breathless second, they simply exist. A moan spills from his lips at the exact moment one escapes her, their voices melding in perfect synchrony.

It’s better than he ever imagined.

It’s better than she ever imagined.

He waits, letting her adjust. When she shifts, just the smallest tilt of her hips, it’s all the encouragement he needs. He moves, achingly slow, each stroke a deliberate act of worship, so careful it almost makes her go mad. A tight, desperate sensation builds in her chest, and for a moment, she thinks she might cry.

She has imagined herself under his body many times. Too many to admit. She has touched herself in the quiet of night, fingers slipping between her thighs, wondering what it would feel like to take him this way, to feel his hardness inside her, the delicious weight of him pressing her into the mattress. To experience the solid heat of his body, his pubic bone against hers, the muscles of his stomach flexing against her own, his breath coming in broken gasps against her lips as he steals kisses whenever he can.

Reality is nothing like she imagined.

It’s a thousand times better.

Noah is heavy and much bigger than she is, but instead of feeling smothered by his weight, she feels enveloped in a delicious embrace that promises to take her all the way to paradise, if she’s not already in it.

His pace is controlled. The way he moves over her, the way he looks at her, with a little wrinkle between his eyebrows that says he’s being a victim of this delicious torture too, the way his hands touch her body, cling to her...

Her breath stutters.

Then, without warning, he thrusts deep.

Take me.

A strangled cry tears from her throat.

Noah’s rhythm shifts, urgency overtaking restraint. His movements become frantic, driven by something raw and insatiable, and she matches him, meeting every thrust, begging for more. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. She can feel the heat of him everywhere—his sweaty skin against hers, his breath hot and labored against her lips, his body relentless in its pursuit of ecstasy.

If she thought he was handsome before, it’s clear she hadn’t seen him fucking her, covered in sweat and lost in the decadent dance his body is dancing with hers.

“I’m going to come,” he warns when he knows his release is imminent, voice rough and desperate.

She feels a rush of satisfaction so intense it nearly tips her over the edge. She wants to prolong this, stretch it into eternity, but she also wants to see him break. She wants to watch him fall apart. See his expression when it happens.

Noah is holding on by a thread. He thinks about how once he comes, he’s going to get her to follow him, and then he wants to hold her and have her fall asleep in his arms. In the morning, he wants to see her wake up, blink up at him through sleepy eyes, wants to see her make up-free, in the first light of dawn.

Fuck, he’s in so deep. And not just physically.

As he teeters at the edge, he refuses to go alone. He slides a hand between them, finding the swollen bundle of nerves that will send her spiraling with him. His fingers work, and within seconds, she is there, climbing, soaring, shattering. The orgasm is scorching. Noah practically roars against her shoulder, biting her without intending to, but she seems to like it, because the moment his teeth sink into her shoulder, she tenses around him. He is still spasming, releasing himself into the condom, when she trembles, arches, and suddenly moans loudly and prolonged.

She is coming and squeezing him, every last drop.

His arms hold her against him, crushing her to him as they both tremble through the aftershocks. She can feel the erratic thump of his heart against her chest. He can feel the sweat of her skin clinging to his.

They feel...at home.

Noah tilts his head to look at her, catching on the red marks he’s left on her skin. On her shoulder. Clavicle. Breasts. Suddenly, there’s uncertainty flickering behind his eyes.

He’s never done this—whatever this is. He knows it’s not just sex. It’s something more. Something that’s been brewing, growing beneath the surface for some time.

She opens her eyes, lips parted, still catching her breath. The sight of her like this, so flushed and disheveled, so swollen from his kisses, hair tangled in wild waves around her face… She could easily fall for a nymph, ethereal and untamed, as if she belongs to the wild.

“Are you okay?”

Noah is surprised, for it is not him asking the question, but her. He almost laughs.

“I’m fine,” he assures her.

Without thinking twice, he lifts a hand and brushes his fingers along the curve of her cheek, soft and reverent in his touch. This moment—the after—, this touch, it feels like a greater intimacy than anything they have just done.

Her lips touch the line of his jaw, nuzzling against the faint stubble that has already begun to shadow his skin. He shaved that morning, but the roughness is there, and she loves it.

His kisses are different now—ghostly, soft and quiet. They make her heart grow wings and flutter.

Noah pulls away with obvious reluctance, murmuring something about taking care of them. She watches as he slips from the bed, and the moment he is gone, she feels the loss of him like a physical ache. Still, she gathers herself enough to ask him to open the sliding doors to the ground-floor balcony. Noah obliges, and when he does, the distant murmur of laughter and music drifts from the garden, a reminder that the rest of the world still exists beyond this room.

When he returns, he is utterly, shamelessly naked. He moves with the confidence of someone at home, still just as devastating and delicious as he was that morning, when he was wrapped in a tux and his hair was pulled into a perfect man bun.

She wants to keep Noah for herself. Forever.

He holds a damp hand towel, hesitating only a moment as he approaches the mattress and murmurs, “May I?”

She nods.

The first touch of warm cloth against her oversensitive skin makes her shudder. He is careful, tender in a way nobody has ever been with her. She holds her breath. She’s never been cared for like this.

Minutes later, he stands beside the bed, still naked, hesitating.

She watches him, her knees drawn up, an arm draped loosely over her chest. A cool breeze filters through the open door, rustling the curtains. Salt and water.

“Stay,” Noah says, his voice almost tentative. “Please? I promise I don’t snore.”

She has to laugh. He’s so adorable. She nods.

Relief floods his face as he climbs in beside her, tugging the sheets over them. She curls against him instinctively, pressing her face into the warm space between his shoulder and neck.

Noah smells of sex and that masculine stench that is every man’s own. If only she knew that he is inhaling her too... And that, deep inside, he wants to wake up with his nose in her hair and her naked body clinging to him all the mornings he has left.

They talk for a while in hushed voices, the adrenaline still pulsing through them. He asks about her favorite food and her favorite flowers. She asks about his hobbies. About his job—what’s the best and worst of it. He mentions martial arts, and she hums, intrigued, and not-so-subtly lets her hands explore his biceps, his thighs, all tattooed, confirming what she already knew. He is strong, but beneath all that muscle, there is softness too.

She falls asleep half on top of him.

When she wakes up, her cheek is pressed against something firm yet solid and comfortable. It takes a few seconds for reality to settle around her, her mind still tangled in the haze of sleep. The first thing she registers is the faint soreness between her legs. For a moment, her heart leaps in her chest in surprise, but then she becomes aware of the calm that envelops her, of the warmth and security she feels. Of the arm around her, pressing her tenderly against the male body lying on the bed.

She lifts her head, and there he is. Noah fast asleep. His breathing slow and steady, lips slightly parted revealing just a hint of his teeth. A stray lock of hair has fallen over his cheek, and before she can think better of it, she reaches out and brushes it aside.

Noah is a handsome man, but like this, with his guard down, his face relaxed, his body molded against her—he’s breathtakingly beautiful.

Surrendering to temptation again, she’s about to kiss him and wake him up, steal the first drowsy moments of his morning, when a vibration hums from the nightstand on his side.

The screen of his phone lights up, and her eyes are instinctively drawn to it. Half draped over his chest, she reaches out just to check the time, but the moment she picks it up, a notification banner flashes across the screen.

LILIPUTH 👶🏼 "Hey! Mom wants to know if you can pick me up Friday instead of Saturday. She’s busy Saturday morning, so she’d rather drop me at the airport Friday. She says to hurry up because we’re already late, and flights are super expensive! Also, she kinda thinks you should pay for them... but don’t tell her I said that! See you soon!

She frowns. She processes the message. What it means, or what it could mean.

“Mom says”?

Liliputh and a baby emoticon?

“Pick me up”?

He should’ve paid for flight tickets?

Her stomach twists.

The phone nearly slips from her grasp as the words sink in.

Fuck.

Is Noah married?

Divorced?

Does he have...a child? Because that sure as hell sounds like a whole lot of parental responsibilities.

She’s holding her breath. Her mind scrambles to piece together a puzzle she wasn’t expecting, one she wasn’t even aware existed.

And it’s not that he’s done anything wrong. It’s not that he’s lied.

But she hadn’t thought about Noah having a life before her. A life this big.

Panic swells in her throat. She realizes she’s laying on top of him sideways, her breasts pressing against his tatted chest. She’s panicking. She no longer feels comfortable or safe in his arms. The sheets feel more like a trap rather than a cocoon of safety. She needs air. She needs space. She needs to get out.

It takes her less than two minutes to slip out from his arms, gather her clothes, and make it to the door in last night’s dress, barefoot, heels in hand. She doesn’t look back. Her bare feet move silently against the floor. Once she reaches the hallway, she presses her back against the door, heart slamming wildly against her ribs.

She doesn’t want to leave.

She wants to stay.

To crawl back into bed, to wake up tangled in his limbs, to feel the weight of his body over hers, his scent. She wants to hear his voice in the morning—sleep-rough and drowsy, whispering the same sinful things he murmured to her in the dead of night when she had been sleeping with her head on his bicep and he’d made love to her again, slow and deep, from behind her. He had first teased her with the tip, kissing her shoulders and neck. A minute later, they were slowly making love, his hand entwining her fingers over her breasts, his hot breath on the back of her neck.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve touched myself thinking of you—of this.”

He’d been so attentive and hot the entire night, guiding her as he told her to fuck him, to rock herself against him, to use him… so tuned in with her as he talked her through her orgasm, encouraging her to make a mess on his cock…

She feels... confused and disoriented. In her head, she’s spent years with this perfect idea of Noah, of who he is, of how wonderful it would be to be with him... and suddenly, a simple message destroys all of that.

It’s not a message.

It’s reality.

The rest was her fantasy. Her fault.

The things he had said to her during the night echo in her head. The perfect Noah and the perfect life she had created around him was nothing but an illusion, and now it had shattered, and with it her heart.

years of sleep — part 2 ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Three hours later, late summer morning, the resort is buzzing with life. Most of the guests, primarily wedding attendees, have slept in, recovering from a celebration that lasted into the early hours. Others have been up since dawn, making the most of their vacation.

She sits at one of the poolside lounge tables, fingers idly tracing the rim of a half-empty glass of orange juice. Sunglasses shield her eyes, and though she’s showered and changed into a simple pastel blue sundress, she still feels the weight of the night lingering in her bones.

Nicholas and his new wife must already be enroute to their honeymoon destination. Meanwhile, she’s stranded at this oceanside resort, three hours from Los Angeles, until tomorrow.

And she has no idea how she’s going to spend the next twenty-four hours.

In her mind, last night should have led to something different—a different chain of events, a different morning, a different future. She had pictured waking up in Noah’s arms, spending the day tangled up in him, stealing kisses between lazy moments and sunlit swims, and ending the night with slow walks along the beach under the stars…

But now, it’s painfully clear that none of that is going to happen.

“And that long face on such a sunny morning?”

Davis’s voice cuts through her thoughts, drawing her attention to the walkway leading toward the parasol-covered tables.

She forces a smile, slouching slightly in her chair in an attempt to appear more relaxed. She doesn’t want to bring anyone else down. This is supposed to be a happy day. Everyone else is happy. She refuses to ruin that.

“Hungover?” Davis tilts his head, eyeing her.

The way he asks makes her laugh, though the sound feels hollow. He’s swapped last night’s suit for white Bermuda shorts and a floral short-sleeve button-up. He’s really embracing the beach resort vibes.

“Something like that,” she replies. Though the truth is that, despite sleeping late and being woken up at 4am for another round of sex, she slept soundly.

“That makes two of us,” another voice chimes in.

Folio drops into the chair beside her, a beer already in hand. She refrains from commenting on it. He’s dressed similarly to Davis, a backward cap covering his messy hair.

“Well, you don’t look like it,” Davis notes.

“That’s because I never hit the bed in the first place,” Folio grins.

“You didn’t sleep?” Davis guesses.

“Nope. Figured I’d just keep the party going. Took a swim at sunrise. Man, that’s an experience.”

The two launch into a conversation about his early-morning adventures and order some fruit and pancakes to be brought to the table. Eventually, they notice how quiet she is.

“What’s with you?” Davis asks through a mouthful of blueberries. “Haven’t slept either?”

Folio smirks. “Or did someone keep you up all night?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his gaze dropping pointedly to the red blotches on her skin. Noah’s lovebites.

She barely reacts. She simply lowers her sunglasses and shoots Folio a pointed look. His grin falters immediately.

“Oh, it’s definitely that. Who—?”

Before Folio can finish the question, Davis has already put the pieces together.

“You slept with Noah.”

Hearing someone say it aloud makes it even more real. Her mind floods with images—Noah’s touch, the sweet and filthy things he said to her, the way he held her, the way he felt. Honeyed and intense.

She wraps both hands around the glass, lips pressing together.

“Really?” Folio leans forward, elbows resting on the chair armrests. “And why do you look like that? Don’t tell me Noah isn’t well-equipped down there.”

She clicks her tongue, annoyed. “It’s not that.”

“So, he is. Is his performance not up to—”

“Nick,” Davis sighs.

“Okay, okay…” he puts his hands up. “Do we need to kick his ass?”

She hesitates, her fingers twitching, before finally voicing the question that has been gnawing at her insides since dawn.

“Noah has a daughter?”

Folio’s grin vanishes. His brows furrow in confusion, then lift in something close to horror.

“What?”

She looks between them. “Is he married? Divorced?”

Davis just stares at her, as if trying to understand where this is coming from.

“You know Noah is single.”

“No. Actually, I don’t. I don’t know anything about Noah. Not really,” she snaps. “I only know what everyone else knows—what you guys tell me. He’s always the quiet one. I don’t know more than what I’ve put together from—from the way he behaves around me and with you guys. And none of you ever mentioned a wife. Or a daughter. Or—”

“Because he’s not married. And he doesn’t have a daughter,” Folios interrupts with a laugh. “At least not that I know of. Can you even imagine Noah married and with a baby?” He looks over at Davis, but Davis just shoots him a warning glance.

Davis turns back to her with a soft expression. “Come on. You know exactly who Noah is. I know everyone acts like he’s this mysterious, unreadable guy just because he’s private, but the truth is, he’s exactly what you see. He’s quiet, yeah, but he doesn’t need to say much to show you who he is. He writes, he makes music, he lets go on stage… He’s the deep, poetic guy who likes to meditate in the morning and never really raises his voice. He’s thoughtful, maybe too much, and he appreciates life in that annoyingly profound way.” Davis huffs a small laugh. “Even if you haven’t spent much time with him, you know he’s single. The real question is how you two went so long without saying a word to each other when it’s obvious you’ve been pining for one another for years.”

Her heart stutters. “Years? What are you talking about?”

Folio rolls his eyes.

“What are you talking about? Everyone knows you and Noah have been into each other for ages, but because you’re both equally clueless or shy or whatever, you waited until Ruffilo’s wedding to finally do something about it. And now you’re coming in here all ‘Noah is a dad?!’ What the hell did you drink last night? Or more like, what did Noah do to you in bed?”

She groans. Before they can derail the conversation any further, she drops her eyes and mutters, “I saw a message on his phone.”

“A message?”

“From someone named Lily. Liliputh,” she specifies.

Folio and Davis exchange a glance, and she immediately realizes that yes, there are things about Noah she doesn’t know, and they do.

Folio cuts into his pancakes, spears a piece with his fork, and pops it into his mouth.

“Lily is Noah’s niece,” Davis explains. “His sister’s daughter. She’s twelve.”

She blinks.

Once.

Twice.

“Noah has a sister?”

Since when?

“Yeah. Older. She lives in New York. They only see each other a couple of times a year, that’s why he’s probably never mentioned her. He barely does to us, anyway. But they’re close, and I’m guessing Lily asked to come spend a few days in L.A. before school starts again, and Noah’s offered to take care of her.”

A wave of heat rushes to her cheeks. “Oh my God.”

Folio bursts out laughing, struggling to keep the food in his mouth. “You really thought Noah had a whole-ass daughter? And you thought he was divorced, too?”

She sinks in her seat. “It’s not funny.”

“No, but your reaction is. How many Hallmark movies have you watched?”

Davis, however, looks more thoughtful. “So… you freaked out.”

She sighs. “Yeah…”

“And Noah wasn’t awake when you saw the message, was he?”

“No.”

“So, you got up and left. Without saying a word.”

Her silence and the guilt written all over her face are answer enough.

After a beat, Folio deadpans, “You banged Noah,” he states. “And then you disappeared.”

She shoots him another glare, tempted to kick his shin under the table. “I didn’t disappear. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but not in his bed,” Davis points out. “How would you feel if the roles were reversed? If you woke up after sleeping with him, and he was gone?

A knot tightens in her chest.

Terrible. Used. Heartbroken.

Guilt crashes over her, so heavy it makes her stomach churn. Good thing she hasn’t eaten anything… She bites her lip so hard she nearly draws blood. She needs to fix this.

“Will he… be mad?”

David considers the question at the same time he savors a piece of mango. “Knowing Noah and how much he’s into you… he’ll understand. You just need to talk to him. Tell him why you freaked out. He’ll have a good laugh and later he’ll probably get you back into his bed. Problem sorted.”

How much he’s into me? The way Davis talks about Noah’s feelings is unsettling, like he knows something she doesn’t. Has it always been there, in front of her, and she hasn’t been able to see it until last night?

For years, she has lived off stolen glances and fleeting moments—content with fantasies rather than the courage to actually approach Noah like a normal person would. She always chalked up his teasing and looks to his naturally charming nature. Noah has always been boyfriend material—but never her boyfriend.

Had she known earlier that Noah was pining for her, butterflies would have erupted in her stomach sooner. She might have finally gathered the nerve to walk up to him, to flirt back in a way that was more obvious to him about her feelings. But now, after abandoning him in that hotel room, she just feels awful. If she can’t fix this, she might as well walk straight into the ocean and let the waves take her.

“Hey,” Folio squeezed her shoulder, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. His voice is suddenly surprisingly gentle. “It’s okay. This is not some huge, unforgivable thing. Nothing a blowjob can’t fix. Knowing Noah…”

Davis makes a disgusted noise, pushing his plate away. “Jesus Christ, man. How well do you know Noah?”

Folio throws his hands up again. “It’s a figure of speech, for fuck’s sake. What I mean is, Noah’s not the type to hold a grudge. And if there’s someone who can sweeten him up, that’s you. Talk to him. And if talking doesn’t do the trick… well, give him the look, get down on your knees, and boom—problem solved.”

She debates whether to smack him, but the absurdity of it all makes her laugh instead. Did she really think Noah had a teenage daughter? That he was divorced? She laughs at herself and internally thanks Folio, who always has a way of dragging her out of her head, whether she wants him or not.

And much to her own frustration… she can’t stop thinking about what he said.

If talking doesn’t get Noah to forgive her, she’ll do it on her knees and blinking up at him with her big puppy eyes.

An hour later, after wandering alone by the sea for a while and going over the things she’ll say to Noah when she sees him again, she makes her way back to the hotel. Her sandals dangle from her fingers, her bare feet still damp from where the waves had lapped at her skin. She’s hungry, her body demanding a late breakfast or an early lunch.

But more than anything, it’s her heart which is demanding. Demanding Noah, to find him, talk to him and—

She sees him before he sees her.

He’s at the reception desk, leaning on the counter, dressed in black jeans—in this heat, seriously?— and a white t-shirt. His hair is pulled into the same bun as last night, and he’s wearing black sunglasses. He’s chatting with the receptionist, a woman who smiles at him as she listens intently to whatever he’s saying. Before jealousy can settle in, the receptionist nods and disappears into the back room.

That’s when Noah turns, reaching into his pocket for his phone, only to freeze the moment his eyes land on her.

She doesn’t know what to expect. A flicker of irritation? Confusion? Anger?

But not this.

Not the way his entire face lights up. Not the way his lips stretch into a slow, easy grin, like seeing her is the best thing that’s happened to him all day. All week.

“Hey,” he says.

Her stomach does that thing.

Hey?

She approaches cautiously, hyper-aware of his almond-shaped eyes sweeping over her behind those black sunglasses.

“Hi,” she greets.

Silence stretches between them. For her, it’s suffocating. But Noah? He seems completely at ease, looking at her like she’s the goddamn sun.

“Noah,” her voice betrays her a little. She fidgets with her fingers, taking a small step closer. “About this morning, I—”

The receptionist returns, holding a black tuxedo jacket.

“Here it is, sir.”

Noah turns to her.

“Oh, thank God.” He exhales, taking the jacket and shaking it out. “Thought I’d lost it for good. Or that someone walked off with it.”

“Not at all,” the female behind the counter replies with a polite smile. “Anything else I can help with?”

Her eyes flick between Noah and her before Noah tells her “no, thank you” and she heads back to her desk. Noah drapes the expensive jacket over his arm.

“Guess I shouldn’t be so careless next time,” he muses.

She frowns slightly.

“Got a little… distracted last night,” he continues, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Saw this girl, and, well… just had to follow her. I suppose I got carried away inevitably.” His eyes darken slightly, teasing. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Can’t get her out of my head.”

She’s blushing, of course.

And that’s exactly what he wanted—to make her blush.

“Prettiest?”

“Prettiest,” he repeats. He takes his hand to his sunglasses and moves them up to his head. When his brown eyes fall on her, she feels that tingling sensation coursing through her again. “Sweetest. Couldn’t keep my hands off her,” he continues, knowing very well what he’s doing. “Guess everything else just… slipped my mind.”

Heat flares up her neck. Why isn’t he upset? Why isn’t he at least a little annoyed that she slipped out of his bed after hours of making love? Why does he have to be so charming to her when she deserves none of that?

“Do you… regret it?” she blurts.

His brows lift slightly. “Regret it?” he echoes. He glances down at the jacket draped over his arm. Then he smirks. “I’d lose ten of these if it meant spending another night like that with her.”

She bites her lip, grinning like an idiot. Like the idiot she is for assuming he was a divorced dad.Jesus Christ. She pinches the bridge of her nose, ducking her head to hide her flushed cheeks.

After a beat, he adds, “but preferably if she’s there in the morning.”

Oh.

“What about you?” he asks. “Anything you regret?”

She draws in a slow breath.

“One thing, yeah,” she admits.

“Yeah?”

By the way his face changes, she can tell he’s suddenly feeling uncertain. Does he think she regrets being with him? That she regrets letting him touch her, letting him fuck her?

“I… want to make up for it,” she says. “So that I don’t carry this regret with me any longer.”

He watches her carefully. “Sounds like one you’ve carried for quite some time.”

She scoffs. If only he knew…

“Long enough to make a fool of myself,” she says. “But I’d like to fix it.”

His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “You would?”

She nods, pulse quickening. She gives him the sweetest, most disarming smile. “I think I could. If you let that pretty girl spend another night in your hotel bed…”

Noah exhales. With his free hand, he reaches for her, his fingers curling into the fabric of her dress, pulling her toward him. Close enough that when he lowers his head, his nose brushes against hers.

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough, sweetheart,” he murmurs. She presses a hand against his chest—not to push him away, but to steady herself, to feel the solid of him beneath her palm. And, if she’s being honest, just to touch him again. “She needs to stay till morning. Otherwise, no deal.”

She decides she’s going to seal the deal with a kiss. But just as she tilts her head and parts her lips—

“Hey, Sebastian! Say hi to your daughter!” Folio’s voice rings through the lobby.

They both freeze.

Noah blinks.

“What?”

She turns her head just in time to see Folio crossing the marble-floored lobby, a mojito in hand, looking far too pleased with himself before disappearing around the corner. Her face burns. Noah’s expression is one of utter confusion.

“Is he drunk?” he asks.

A small laugh escapes her as she drops her forehead against his chest. He still hasn’t let go of her dress. Her fingers grasp the fabric of his white t-shirt as her embarrassment melts into quiet amusement.

“I thought you were a divorced dad.”

Noah stills. Then he’s lifting her chin with the bend of his fingers. “A divorced—What are you talking about?”

“I accidentally saw a message on your phone this morning—Lily’s message,” she explains. “I was just checking the time, I swear. And when I saw the message, I immediately assumed... that you were divorced. And that you had a child.”

He stays still for another beat, just looking at her. Then, to her complete and utter relief, he throws his head back and laughs. The sound is so warm and rich that it dissolves the last of her tension.

“Thank God,” he says.

“Thank God?”

“That you left because of that and not because I snore.”

“You don’t snore,” she assures him.

He exhales through his grin, his thumb brushing her chin. “And you’re adorable.”

“Pretty sure I’m just stupid.”

“Stupidly adorable.”

“Thanks,” she rolls her eyes, only confirming what he just said.

Adorable.

Her stomach betrays her then, letting out a low rumble.

She groans. Seriously, can I catch a break?

Noah glances down at her middle with a grin, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Perfect timing.”

“Huh?”

“Now that I’ve got my jacket back, and I found the pretty girl I was looking for…” he pauses and tilts his head, “I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me?”

Like he even needs to ask.

“I’d love to.”

“It’s a date, then.”

He offers his hand. She takes it, just like last night.

They share a light lunch at the seaside restaurant of the hotel, which is located beneath a shade of swaying palm trees and cottage-like roof. The ocean stretches before them, glistening under the midday sun, waves rolling lazily onto the shore. The air is charged with salt and the aroma of grilled seafood, mingling with the faint sweetness of tropical flowers.

Their table is a feast of colors—salad with citrusy vinaigrette, golden spring rolls, focaccia glistening with olive oil, and a selection of small plates. Conversation is effortless between them as the breeze rustles through the palm fronds and plays with her hair.

They talk about everything. Food. Music. Work. He asks about her studies, and she asks about the book he’s reading. He makes her smile. She makes him laugh. She even offers him a bite of her plate and feeds him with a fork. They never mention the fact that last night she had his cock in her mouth or that he mapped out every inch of her with his tongue until she was shaking under him.

After the plates are emptied and cleared, they stay, reclining in their chairs as the slow afternoon unfolds. The occasional lull in conversation is easy. It’s a silence that doesn’t demand to be filled.

They sip iced tea later, enjoying each other’s company as the engulf in the refreshing drink.

She watches the horizon, the endless stretch of blue where the sea meets the sky, and the way the light dances on the water. Noah watches her. Her profile is beautiful, so soft. A picture of tranquility as she takes in the view, lost in the beauty of the landscape. There’s something about the way she looks right now that makes everything else fade into the background.

Noah is in love, and he knows it. He’s been for a long time. He’s not letting her leave his bed the next morning, or any other for that matter.

“Want to go for a swim?”

His question shakes her out of her momentary haze where she was imagining herself in the water, wrapped around Noah’s torso, being kissed under the sun.

“What, in jeans and Adidas?” She jokes, giving his outfit a pointed once-over.

Noah glances down at himself. “Yeah, good point… I’ll go get changed.”

She hums, pushing back her chair at the same time. “I’ll grab the sunscreen.”

They leave together, strolling through the resort’s sun-drenched pathways, holding hands. In the hallway outside their rooms, Noah keeps their arms extended and hands together before reluctantly releasing her.

He should have kissed her. The though gnaws at him as she disappears three rooms down.

It’s fine. He’ll kiss her when he has her in his arms again in a matter of minutes.

They meet ten minutes after in the lobby. Noah has swapped his jeans for black swim trunks, his sneakers for flip-flops. His white T-shirt remains. a towel is slung over his shoulder. His eyes rack down the white bikini peeking through the airy fabric of her sundress. She catches the way his jaw ticks, how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

She shakes the sunscreen bottle in front of him. “Got it.”

Noah takes the tote bag from her with a quiet smile, ever the gentleman.

When they step onto the beach, they walk a little farther from the resort’s main area, the sand cool beneath their feet as they seek out a quiet spot all to themselves. The beach is tranquil, mostly deserted, with only a few scattered sunbathers, the low season keeping it peaceful. They lay out their towels side by side.

Of course, Noah suggests applying sunscreen on her. To her surprise, he’s again very gentlemanlike about it, asking for permission before he spreads the lotion across the curve of her ass. When she turns around and offers her chest to him, her nipples are visible through the fabric of her bikini top. He notices, obviously. But doesn’t say a word. When his fingers lightly access under the fabric and caress the curve of her breasts, she holds her breath. Then Noah pokes her nose, leaving a streak of cream on the tip and laughs, a boyish sound.

“Charming,” she says.

“I know,” he replies.

But even when he says that, it seems that his usual cocky grin is subdued. He seems more serious now, his gaze more intense and darker than it was the night before, like something in him has shifted. There’s a depth to his look, a quiet mindfulness that wasn’t exactly there before, the previous night when they were finally all brave and playful.

She tries to see what’s there, in his eyes, but before she can, he hands her the sunscreen bottle. “Your turn,” he says.

An hour under the sun and Noah’s freckles begin to appear more prominently across the bridge of his nose, like a constellation made of stars. He seems unaware of how they dot his face, of the beauty he carries with himself, as natural and unassuming as the rest of him.

Eventually, she pulls herself away from staring at him and buries her attention in a book, propped on her forearms, body stretched out on the towel. Noah takes a nap before shifting to lie on his side and starts kissing her shoulder. He inquiries about the book she’s reading. The Remains of the Day. Noah mentions he’s read something from Ishiguro before—Never Let Me Go, perhaps? He pretends to read the chapter she’s focused on, but his lips and fingers have other plans, distracting her with light touches, making her laugh and squirm when he starts tickling her.

The book eventually ends in Noah’s hands. He starts reading the novel, for real, and lets her explore the tattoos on his chest, stomach and arms, answering distractedly every question she has about them.

She rests for a while on the towel, gazing at the sky with her hands flat on her stomach. After a while, she gets up and walks toward the water.

The sun is beginning its slow descent, melting into the horizon, bleeding orange and pink across the sky. The beach is nearly empty except for the two of them and some tourists in the distance.

The waves lap gently at the shore as she steps into the cool, damp sand. The wind carries the scent of salt and something floral. The beauty of the moments feels surreal, and she wonders if she’s dreaming again.

Time slips away as she stands in the sand, waves crashing around her, her hair tousled by the wind. She’s unaware of the male gaze observing her from the towel. But an instant or two later, male arms are wrapped around her middle, and Noah’s cheek presses against hers.

She nuzzles into him, placing her hands over his and letting his movements guide her, swaying. She’s never felt so… at ease.

“It’s hard to believe in anything that’s not this moment, right now,” he murmurs into her hair.

She cradles his cheek and turns to face him. Their eyes meet, and there’s no pretense, no walls.

“Is this what I’ve been missing?” She asks, searching the depths of his brown eyes.

Yes, it is, but instead of answering her question, he says, “I should have said something earlier.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she replies, a tender hand cupping his sun-kissed cheek face. “I should’ve understood earlier. The way you used to look at me… It was too dreamy to be real.”

He presses a kiss to the palm of her hand, his voice low. “I wish I could tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

“Everything. What this means to me. How I feel. How I’ve felt for years and how awful I feel for not having had the guts to—”

She places a finger on his lips.

“We’re here,” she presses her body against his for emphasis. “Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter. What this means to you… it means the same to me, Noah. I dreamt of you. You were my every fantasy. For years.”

“Tell me your dreams,” he demands. “I’ll make them come true. Each and every single one.”

“You’re already doing that.”

Noah’s fingers brush against the damp skin of her back. The world around them hums with distant laughter and soft music, but here, in their little pocket of space, time feels suspended. His touch wanders. He shifts closer because he needs her.

Unintentionally, right before he’s about to kiss her, his fingers catch on one of the strings of her bikini top. A simple tug. The tension in the knot gives way too easily. He is barely aware of what he’s done before the fabric slackens.

A breath. A pause.

She stiffens, just slightly. Her shoulders tense, her body alert in the way someone instinctively braces for exposure. Noah realizes what he’s done in the same instant she glances around, eyes darting to the people farther up the shore. They’re too far to see, too lost in their own moments to notice. But still, she hesitates.

However, she doesn’t reach to fix it.

She doesn’t step away.

Instead, she turns her gaze back to him, eyes gleaming.

He understands.

His breath catches as he lifts his hands again, this time deliberate. His fingers find the second tie at the nape of her neck. The knot comes undone easily beneath his touch, the damp fabric slipping free. The bikini top flutters down, catching the breeze before landing softly at their feet in the sand.

Before she can move, Noah closes the space between them. His arms come around her, hands on her waist, pulling her against him, their bodies flush. His warmth envelops her, shielding her. Protecting her.

His thumb traces over the faint scar just beneath her breast. He lingers there, reverent, as if trying to read her past through it.

“That’s a story for another day,” she whispers.

His fingers flex against her skin. “I’ll take care of you.”

A soft exhale leaves her lips before she rises onto her toes, hands threading around his neck. Their mouths meet—slow at first, tasting the promise. Then deeper. Needier.

He doesn’t think before his arms tighten around her waist. He lifts her and he carries her forward, her legs around his hips, his feet greeted by water. Waves curl around them, rising to their waists as he holds her close.

She frees his hair from the bun.

“I’m not sure you love the bun or hate it,” Noah muses.

She grins against his wet lips. “I love how ridiculously hot it makes you look,” she admits, “but the urge to run my fingers through your hair is impossible to resist.”

He hums in satisfaction and kisses her with an open mouth, hungrier and greedier.

There’s only the press of their bodies, the rhythm of the tide, the quiet gasp of her breath against his mouth.

And the night, vast and endless, coming to swallow them whole.

Steam curls into the air as water cascades down their bodies. The salt is long gone from their skin, for they’ve been in the shower longer than they can track.

They move around each other in the small space, washing and rinsing, touching slowly, learning.

He washes her hair, fingers massaging her scalp, nails scratching lightly in a way that makes her eyes flutter shut. She does the same for him, but when she stands in front of him, on her tiptoes to reach, he nibbles at her wrist, making her giggle—so much that he has to catch her before she slips.

She’s happy, thinking about how her hair will smell like his now.

They stand under the stream of water for a while, hugging, saying nothing.

When she shivers, Noah shuts off the water and hands her a towel before grabbing one for himself.

Later, after they’ve brushed their hair and dried off, still wrapped in towels, she catches sight of him at the sink, securing a pink butterfly clip into his damp hair, pinning a few strands back from his forehead.

From where she’s perched on the bed, with a foot propped up to apply moisturizes, she bites her lip to keep from grinning.

“That’s adorable.”

Noah glances at her in the mirror, then snorts when he realizes what she’s talking about. “Lily gave it to me when she was eight. Said it made me look cooler.” His mouth quirks. “She lied, obviously.”

“No,” she says, setting her foot back down on the carpet and flipping her hair over one shoulder. “It’s very fashionable. You should wear it all the time.”

“Instead of the bun? I don’t believe you,” he teases back.

She sticks her tongue out and walks toward her suitcase, which she’d brought over from her room after they got back from the beach. He watches her, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest. Water still beads along her collarbones.

She grabs her underwear, then pauses, letting it dangle from her fingers. When she turns back, the fact that Noah was watching her makes her heart jump.

The way he stands there, with only a towel slung around his waist and damp hair messy except for that ridiculous pink clip doesn’t help the heat curling low in her stomach.

She considers the fabric between her fingers, then tilts her head.

“Do you want to get dirty again?”

His eyes darken, a slow, lazy smirk playing at his lips. “Do I want to get dirty again?” he repeats. “I think you know the answer to that, love.”

Her smile could stop wars.

She drops the underwear back into the suitcase and walks up to him, fingers grasping the hem of his towel, brushing against the skin just below his navel.

“The clip stays on,” she says.

Noah exhales a quiet laugh, raising an eyebrow as he lets her guide him toward the bed.

“On one condition,” he says, catching her wrist just before she can tug the towel away and reveal his growing erection.

She lifts a brow.

“The clip stays on,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, “as long as you do.”

They hold each other’s gaze. The space between them disappears, years of hesitation dissolving into certainty.

Her smile widens, so big it makes her cheeks ache.

He just sealed a deal that will have him wearing that hair clip forever.

He knows.

She tugs the towel from his waist and rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to his.

And then, there is no space left between them and no more years of sleep.

💕 Happy Valentine's Day to all of you, my loves:

@rumoured-whispers | @iconic-taurus | @bloody-spades | @bluestdai | @theanarchymuse95

@somebodyels3 | @blade-dressed-in-red | @todressabladeupinred | @turn-your-life-into-folklore | @thecoyotescry

@iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning | @tosoundlessdarkistare | @missduffsblog | @flowery-mess | @chey-h

@tf-is-aesthetic | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare | @fadingangelwisp | @respectfulrebel | @amelia-acero

@theasowle | @xxkatsatwatwafflexx | @lunabuna991 | @ferduttini | @lacy1986

@bad-idea2021

I'm sorry if I forgot someone!

#this one is gonna linger with me for a while i think #thank you for writing it <3 #i love you and your brain <3 #noah sebastian fanfiction

161 notes · View notes

weirdgenetic-fuckup · 2 days ago

Note

Can you do a fem!reader x Izzy Stradlin where the reader gets Izzy to try a strap on. At first he acts like he doesn't like it but then he starts to really get into it. The reader goes a little rough by like pulling his hair or pushing his head into the pillow, making him look at her while he begs for her to go softer. With some use of a mommy kink too please!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

A/n: Became self aware while writing this, might die later, haven’t decided yet

Warnings: Smut, pegging, begging, mommy kink, face riding, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Izzy let out a heavy sigh and brought the bottle to his lips, taking a swig of Jack Daniels. “I’m not ready for this.” He mumbled.

You chuckled and shook your head, arms wrapped around the one he used to hold himself up on the bed. “You’ll be fine, you just need to relax.”

You were both naked in your bed, Izzy had agreed to letting you peg him but only if he was wasted. This was his second bottle and it was almost empty. “I can’t relax with that thing staring at me.” He said, nodding to the black dildo that stuck out of the blankets, base attached to your strap.

You waved him off. “You’ll be fine, just let mommy take care of you.” You teased, taking the bottle from him and setting it on the bedside table.

Izzy heaved a sigh again and moved to his hands and knees. “And if I say cinnamon?” He asked, looking back at you.

“I’ll stop, I promise.”

“Fucking better.” You rolled your eyes at his grumbling and squirt some lube onto two fingers, he’d already been prepped but you wanted to be safe. You smeared the cold substance over him, plunging your fingers into his hole and making him gasp.

You planted your hands on his hips and pushed into him, pulling his hips to yours and pausing, letting him adjust to the stretch before you started moving.

It wasn’t long before you started hearing him moan. He bit his lip to silence them but they kept coming. “See? It’s good, isn’t it?” You asked, rubbing up and down his sides in a soothing gesture as you rocked your hips into him.

"Shut up." He grunted, voice shaky as a moan tried to escape him. "Just go faster."

"Oh?" You mused. "Is that so? Poor puppy wants mommy to do faster, huh?" He huffed, shooting you a look. You snapped your hips into him and got to see his eyes flutter, the way they crossed ever so slightly. "Mommy's feeling nice, don't you worry, sweetheart."

Izzy's arms gave out when you sped up, forcing his face into the pillow below. It was enough for Izzy and he stopped manually muffling himself, unfortunately for him it wasn't a very thick pillow.

You heard every whine, every moan, all those little whimpers and begs for more, aching cock dribbling onto the towel you put underneath him before you even started. He thought it was stupid but you promised he'd be creaming by the time you were done with him. You loved keeping your promises.

"Oh-oh god, please, mommy, I-I can't- I can't take it anymore, please!" He cried, desperately trying sit himself up so he could look back at you. Deciding to help him you grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him back.

"Yeah? What is it, sweetheart? Mommy needs you to use your words, can you do that for her?" You asked, tone mocking while he sniffled and whimpered.

"I-I- oh god- ngh ah!" He cried. His perky cock rested against his abdomen, beating an angry red and leaking pre all the way down until it dripped off his balls. "Cum, can-can I cum? Please, mommy." Your brows raised at that. You called yourself mommy, Izzy had called you that on occasion but only as a joke, he was never begging you, all snot nosed and needy.

You let go of his hair and let him fall back onto the mattress. "Roll over." You ordered. "Mommy wants to see puppy's pretty face when he cums on her cock." You said, pulling out just so he could move onto his back, hands pre-emptively going to the pillow, stained with tears, under his head to have something to cling onto.

Your hands went to his thighs, you could see he was thinking the same as you. Time and time again you found yourself in this positions, hands on thighs and pillows, crying and begging for more. Usually it was the other way around, which made this weird, not weird, really, but... different.

You smiled down at him, leaning down to kiss him. "Mommy's gonna make her good boy cum, don't worry." You said, bringing a hand up to push his hair out of his face, a few strands still sticking to his forehead from sweat. "And then you'll make mommy cum, how about that?"

He nodded eagerly. "I-I promise, mommy." He mused, swallowing thickly, not from nervousness though.

You smiled down at him and sat up straighter. "Good boy, I'll hold you to that, you know." He didn't care, he was a cockdrunk slut, reaching for a high.

You rocked and rolled your hips, setting that same brutal pace as before, snapping your hips into his and hearing those sounds bounce off the walls and right back onto your ears, he didn't even try to hide them anymore, he wanted you to hear him, wanted you to hear how good you were making him feel.

Izzy reached for yours in a desperate moment, forcing your attention away from his puffy hole sucking you in to his wet cheeks and red eyes, pout tugging at his lips. "Mommy-mommy, please, lemme cum, m'so close, lemmy cum!" He pleaded, weakly tugging on your hand.

You chuckled softly and nodded. "Be a good boy and let it out, let it all out for mommy." You mused, letting go of his hand to stroke his dick, making him gasp loudly.

You watched his eyes roll back into his head and his back arch off the mattress. You heard him go silent and saw the spurts of cum shoot from his slit and onto his stomach and chest, shifting with every heave of breath he took in.

His jaw stayed dropped the whole time as he stared into oblivion, taking in the pleasure as it racked his body. He swallowed and brought his hazy eyes back to you once he came down from it, a tired smile spreading over his face. "Thank you, mommy."

You smiled back at him undid the strap wrapped tightly around you, doing your best to keep the dildo in him. "Don't thank me yet, sugar, you still need to fulfill your end of the bargain." His brows furrowed slightly but quickly widened when he realized what you meant as you moved up the bed, hovering over his face.

His whining and crying only spurred you on as you rode his face, his tongue buried deep in you, nose bumping your clit while you held onto the headboard for stability. Feeling that knot in your gut tightening, ready to snap, your moans got louder and you heard every whimper from Izzy, the sensations it sent through you were heavenly, with that toy still buried deep inside him every twitch was painful with pleasure.

"Oh, fuck, you're so good, such a good boy for mommy!" You moaned, head falling back as you felt the strings of the knot coming undone. Izzy's hands were on your thighs, squeezing them so tightly while you bounced on his face.

You called out for him as you came, hips not stopping and you sat your entire weight on him, suffocating him, not that he cared, neither did you, not in the slightest.

You moved off of him, breathing heavy. Izzy slowly sat up next to you, pulling the dildo out of him and tossing it on the floor. He curled up next to your side, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you tighter to him.

You chuckled and swatted at him. "Don't try and act all tough guy, you were the one begging mommy to let you cum." You teased, kissing his cheek.

Izzy snorted but had no reply. He was tired and nuzzled into you, kissing your cheek. You heard his breathing get softer and softer until he was asleep against you.

25 notes · View notes

hanibalistic · 2 days ago

Text

I WISH YOU WERE NICER TO ME | BANG CHAN.

genre | minor fluff and angst / platonic au

synopsis | a con man and a computer addict make quite the freelance dream team.

word count | 6.1k+

warning | violence, drink spiking, smoking, alcohol / minor sexual themes, reader is mentioned to have small breasts / no attraction age gap (20!reader & 38!chan) / use of the nickname 'sweetheart' / mentions of dementia, criminal activities

note | chan's character seems tall because the oc version is 182cm. i will likely delete this here once i get the commission art back and switch the names out.

Chan waited until the nursing home was out of earshot to release your wrist.

He yanked you forward and spun you around to face him.

His eyes were red, like an uncured hangover, but a red eye has so many causes that you'd rather not narrow it so quickly. For all you knew, he could have been crying, if that was possible for a man like him.

You glanced at his accusing finger before returning your attention to his face. His hair was disheveled, and his face was bare, one less common than the other. He wore a suit, although the buttons barely clasped correctly, and his tie was loose.

He was unprepared enough for you to deduce that the phone call you asked the receptionist at the nursing home to give him was his alarm, and he woke up somewhere other than his home.

He rushed over. He must love his mother.

You knew he did. That's why you paid her a visit at the nursing home. You were curious about truths that would prove him a safe enough partner in crime, and the nursing home hadn't been a good sign when you first found out about it.

A man who cares so much about his mother wouldn't dump her in a nursing home, but a man who doesn't care wouldn't put her in one of the nation's most expensive senior care facilities either.

There must be a bridge, or many bridges burned somewhere that required this level of security.

You needed to know what bridges they were. His mother wouldn't be the ideal candidate to seek that information from, considering her dementia. Still, you figured you could make a point showing up at a place he never told anyone about.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, his words barely punching through his gritted teeth and clenched jaw.

"To visit your mom," you replied. "We were having a decent conversation until you barged in and demanded that I leave."

"No–no. No." He closed his eyes and brought his clenched fist to them. His chest heaved up and down as he took a deep, readying breath, and then he relaxed and turned back to you. He licked his bottom lip to rid his mouth of dryness. When his tongue retreated inside, it pulled his lips into a smirk. "I meant what are you doing here?"

"Why did you put your mom here?" you asked. "Why didn't you hire a caretaker and keep her at home?"

His lip twitched. "You can't figure that out on your own?"

"I can make a deduction, but until you tell me the truth, it will remain an educated guess," you said. "Since you are already here, I figured you'd be a good samaritan and tell me the truth."

"How does that information help you?" Chan asked. "You can't possibly use that to screw me over."

"I know where your mom lives. What do you think?"

"You little shit–" he grabbed your shirt collar and yanked you toward him, breathing down your face–"I swear to God if you try anything."

You stared at him.

He wondered if your indifference to violence was a byproduct of abuse. But he didn't think you've ever looked at him or anything else any other way. Those bland eyes could cross the galaxy and crash onto Earth like a meteorite without making the news. So he thought you must be some version of a sociopath to never feel or express anything.

It wasn't enjoyable to meet someone he couldn't easily read for once, and it wasn't so much an ego destruction but rather discomfort.

Being able to read the room and the mood was what kept him alive. You wouldn't kill him yourself, but you could get other people to do it. A proxy, a hand, a conscience. That's what he was to you, too. Someone to do something.

"If you don't give me a reason to, I won't," you said. "Now, let me go before I scream assault."

Looking around the area, nobody was walking around at this time, but houses were everywhere inside this gated community. If you scream loud enough, some big-headed vice president might come running to your rescue.

He dropped you and wiped his hand on his pants. You pushed your glasses and adjusted them further by scrunching your nose, watching quietly as he struggled with his thoughts.

"What do you want?" he asked.

The nature of his job, or whatever businesses he dips his full weight in, forced him to impermanence.

He switches his phone number periodically, at unpredictable times, and always has more than three numbers under his belt.

You could access the contacts and messages in the phones he currently owns but not the disabled numbers, so you were here to ask about that.

"Jesus, that's it?"

He rubbed his eyes and stepped aside to lean his weight against the brick wall next to you. Reaching into his blazer, he pulled out a cigarette pack and crumbled it up after taking the last one out. He dumped it on the floor, and you watched it roll off the slope.

Your nose itched when he blew the first buff. You figured he was a chain smoker. He always smelt like a gross mix of smoke and perfume.

Through the smoke and squinted eyes, you found his exhausted features. "I didn't think you smoked cigarettes."

He chuckled through his nose. "This will blow your mind. I drink, too."

"An alcoholic?"

"Not enough."

"Then who cares." You shrugged. "I thought you would be more of a cigar person."

"They're the same. One just has a better packaging and reputation," he said. "But yes, I am more of a cigar person."

"I'm learning a lot today."

"Yeah, well." He cleared his throat. "I don't usually talk to my clients this much. Most of them don't show up at my mother's nursing home."

"Most of them think you're an orphan," you pointed out. "You do a good job fabricating your past, but I suppose it'll be a hassle to get a gated community to welcome an outsider without credible wealth and even harder to get a multinational bank to cover your tracks."

He furrowed his brows. "You looked into my bank accounts?"

"Just the statements."

"That's basically everything," he said.

"Hmm." Your hum was a disagreement, and you tilted your head. "Not really.”

You knew he manages four bank accounts, two of them being savings accounts with a questionable difference in amount, one of them being a regular checking account, and the last one was an account dedicated to his mother's medicine and life expenses.

He has two credit cards and uses them regularly—based on deals and percentages. Other transactions are done through bills to leave no records.

"That's more than the statements!" he exclaimed.

You hummed again; this time, it was in thoughts, and then you nodded. "I suppose."

He took a drag of the cigarette and sighed.

He knew a minor scope of your capabilities based on the jobs you've paid him to do previously. Intel collection and anonymity were your specialty. It didn't make much difference that you decided to meet him in public, considering he has no records of what you have done nor the evidence to prove it.

It didn't make much sense for you to have the kind of money you do, but he was a man of no questions. He never asked about the businesses you dabble in or how you do what you do. As long as the envelope is thick, frankly, you could be a mass murderer, and he wouldn't care.

This discovery of you loitering around his financial secrets was only a decent surprise. You did it all on your own, too.

"You didn't need to come all the way here to find out who I worked with," he said. "You could have just asked me."

"I wasn't here only for you. I also came here to meet your mother," you said after nudging your head toward the nursing home. Ignoring his eye roll, you returned to the subject at hand. "Anyway, I didn't think you'll give away information just like that."

"You're right. I will lie to you," he said. "But there is always some truth in a lie. That's what makes them credible enough to be believed in. The rest is up for you to figure out."

You raised your brows at the mention of unnecessary hoops you must go through for some basic information. It wasn't as if you could do anything with them. Knowing whoever he ended on bad terms with wouldn't benefit you now, considering you have no alternative to his role in your operations.

You only wanted to know to take precautions or build a silent network. Whatever was suitable for your cause.

"You can give it to me straight," you suggested. "Cut to the chase."

"I can't think of one person working in this business who would do that." He laughed before peering at you. "Even you lie."

"I try not to," you said, not to defend yourself but to tell the truth.

"You should start getting comfortable with it," he said.

"I'll try my best."

"Mmhm." Pushing himself off the wall, he dropped the cigarette on the floor and stepped on it, cutting off its air as smoke released from his mouth.

You looked up at him once he neared, and you watched each other in a moment of dull silence before he reached a hand up to place it on your head.

He didn't move, awkwardly keeping his hand in place as his body reminded him that he never knew how to be gentle with someone else, and it took over the wrongful instinct.

"You do whatever you have to do," he said. "As will I."

You blinked, glanced down in thoughts, then back up at him. Your movements were precise and observable, sometimes resembling a robot.

Chan never knew people's facial features could move this way. It was mildly eerie, with the middle of the scale being a generosity granted thanks to your pretty face and young age. If you had been ugly and old, you would just be eerie.

"I already do whatever I have to," you said.

He shifted his weight and tried to feel for the cigarette under his feet.

"That's great, sweetheart."

He shouldn't have thrown the cigarette away.

You have never seen Chan in a simple shirt and sweatpants before.

The existence of a dull attire propelled you to believe that he had a life outside of being a con man, which he must have, but you suspected that it was a seventy-dollar t-shirt and not an off-brand top.

You asked him to dress normally for today’s meeting, and he met the goal a little too perfectly. Even the foundation and minor contour were gone from his face, and his lips were more chapped than usual.

"You look like you can be my neighbor," you commented.

“You live in a hellhole. Your apartment is four hundred square feet,” he said. “I would never.”

"You used to live in an apartment of that size," you said. "Back when you were still a child."

He rolled his eyes. "What else do you know about me?"

"Nothing more than what I told you last time," you said. "Your mother mentioned an apartment estate. I assumed that was where you grew up."

He ignored you, but you were correct. He did grow up in a hellhole. The roof leaked whenever it stormed, the fuse sometimes blew if they turned on two electrical appliances simultaneously, and the walls were thin.

At least the sex noises were arousing for him as a teenage boy, but the marital arguments and children screaming were the worst.

The environment was made somewhere tolerable by his mother being there. He loves her even though she has been callous, stressed, and overworked since his father’s dramatic departure.

Chan never understood why his father had to be so dramatic about his romantic feelings. That man should have lied about falling out of love and cheating instead of actively pursuing a more desired life.

"What are we doing here?" he asked.

"I have a job offer," you replied curtly before stopping him by tapping his arm.

A cold breeze brushed over his skin when you opened the locker. Several bags of frozen food landed in the shopping cart under his hands. He looked down and grimaced.

The variety of your meal choices was mind-boggling—orange chicken, sweet and sour chicken, teriyaki chicken, and General Tso chicken. The whole coop. The last time he was in your apartment, he saw unfinished cup noodles and opened bags of cream cakes that should be refrigerated if not consumed.

You were intellectually well put together, but good heavens, you live like a toddler spoiled by a disastrous uncle.

"This isn't healthy," he commented as he began pushing the cart to follow you.

"I know," you said.

"You have money. Why don't you order takeout from restaurants?"

You pursed your lips in thought.

It was convenient, you liked to think. They were effort with a reasonable portion and were easy to consume with something else because they take up such little space. A full meal wouldn’t fit on your desk, and they’d require more attention to eat, so you would miss out on what was happening on the screen.

You were also making up for eighteen years worth of a strict diet your controlling mother imposed on you. It has been two years since you were free from the horrendously stale meals, and you did it by forcing your parents to cut contact by disappearing.

They never looked for you. Last time you checked, they had a newborn child.

Theoretically, you feared for that replacement, but you have never feared for anyone but yourself. You weren't sure if you could.

"I wonder why," you replied with a solemn tap to your chin, mimicking a thinking motion without forcing your face to move an inch. You then pointed down the aisle. "Hey, you might want to close your eyes when we get to the chips section."

Chan scoffed as he leaned his forearms against the cart handle. "Fine, don't tell me."

"I wasn't planning to."

He rolled his eyes. "What is the job?"

"A dirty cop," you said, reaching an arm up for a bag of chips on the top shelf. "Or, more accurately, his son."

"You don't mean to ask me to make conversations with a cop, do you?" He whistled softly as he went over your head to grab it for you. He grimaced at the packaging but threw it in the cart anyway. "Horrible flavor."

“It’s sour cream and onion. It’s a widely accepted flavor,” you retorted, focusing entirely on the row of crackers. “Also, I don’t need you to talk to him. I’ll do that. I just need an entrance pass to a club you frequent.”

"Which one?"

"The Inferno Lounge."

"There's a cop in there?"

“Multiple, but they don’t care,” you said. “They don’t record their reservations online; their guest lists are handwritten. I couldn’t change anything if I tried, so I need you to help me sneak inside.”

While the guest list was logged physically, the nightclub would upload its expenses and customers online at the end of the day. You spent several nights scrolling through the lists with chip crumbs at your fingertips, checking out anyone worthy of your interest.

Against your assumptions, most law enforcement officers who frequented the nightclub were old and experienced. Alcohol and private rooms were boldly (or carelessly) purchased with credit cards. As for drugs, even if they wanted to, you doubted the provider took smart payment.

When you passed the candy section, you picked up a cherry lollipop and unwrapped it, popping it in your mouth. You kept the wrapper in your jacket pocket, saving it for the register later.

Chan sucked on his front teeth, his lips jutted out in thoughts.

You didn’t suggest letting him bring you as a plus one because that would create an association. If one of you gets in trouble, the other will get involved indirectly. It was good to take that precaution.

Turning his head to eye you up and down, he asked, "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

“Tell them you just turned twenty-one, and this is your first night out drinking. For good measure, ask them where the bar is, he said with a snap of his fingers. “They’ll let you in just like that. You don’t even need me there.”

"Dress skimpy but casual," he added with a chuckle. "Kind of like how you are now."

You glanced at your feet. You buy all your clothes based on comfort. The ideal items could be worn outside and to sleep, so you wouldn’t have to change.

"So, pajamas."

"Yeah." He nodded. "What do you plan to do?"

"Find the guy and take his phone," you said. "I just need to transfer some data."

"You don't need me for that," he pointed out.

"I don't," you said.

"Right." He smacked his lips softly. "Again, this could have been a text."

"It could have, but I wanted to ask you something," you said after pushing the lollipop to the side of your mouth. You shoved your hands in your pockets and turned to face him fully. "Your mom said something about a clinical trial the other day. What is that?"

He pursed his lips and felt them twitch upward into a smirk. He didn’t think about it too much at first, but a nurse at the senior home put him up to it.

With the help of a selected group of patients, a famous brain surgeon at a metropolitan hospital was trying to find a way around a nearly impossible disease. He didn’t care too much about the cure, but rather, he’d like his mother monitored and checked on periodically, so he took her to the screening test.

She wasn't selected. He wasn't too upset about that.

Lowering his head, he ruffled his hair and stood up, sniffing, shaking the jitters out of his body. “It’s no big deal.”

“It’s for her dementia.” You peered at him, biting on the hard candy. “I didn’t know they were doing research on the disease.”

"It doesn't concern you," he said.

You wiggled your nose to rid of the oily glasses. You were biting down just a stick now, and you played with it using your teeth. "Fine, don't tell me."

You'll find out on your own.

The rest of the shopping trip was silent. Chan did not excuse himself and continued to walk the shopping cart around the store as you pushed more unhealthy food into the basket. He went ahead when you were at the cash register to buy a packet of cigarettes at the corner area. You waited for him by the automatic doors, stepping close to trigger its sensor whenever it closed, and walked out when you noticed he was paying.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, stuffing his thin wallet inside his pocket.

“I hope so,” you replied. “I’ll probably live.”

“It’s a nightclub. When it comes to people your age, they don’t tend to kill you,” he said. “They do something else.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. Reaching into your shorts pocket, you took out another lollipop and unwrapped it, popping it into your mouth. Chan furrowed his brows when you pulled it past your lips and a soft pop. He was sure you stole that.

“Why don’t you old folks sleep with people your age?” you asked.

He noticed your tongue was red. He scratched the back of his ear with a grimace. “Is that a genuine question?”

“All my questions are genuine.”

“Then I don’t know,” he replied. “Haven’t had any trouble with women my age.”

“Yet.” You glanced at his appalled expression as you pushed yourself off the wall.

Approaching him with a waving lollipop, you brought it up to his face and pressed it past his lips. He parted his mouth to welcome the sweet cherry taste, his teeth clamping down on the stick to keep it from sliding out.

“Try this for a change,” you said. “It’s better than smoke.”

He hummed. He didn’t think so.

Your drink was spiked. It wasn't a surprise. Why else would they let a nobody inside an esteemed nightclub if not to take advantage of them?

The man who put the pill inside your drink did a horrible job of hiding it, or you were more perceptive. The dimmed atmosphere, loud music, and flashy disco lights would have made it impossible for anyone else to notice, but you did, almost too clearly.

However, holding onto the intention of not bringing attention to yourself, when the man questioned why you weren't drinking from the glass, you took a sip to get him off your back.

None of your observation skills mattered because you put yourself in the same position as those who would fall victim to such tricks.

If anything, you were in far worse shape.

Since the man continued to chase you down, which hindered your task to find the dirty cop, you talked him down over the loud music. The last you heard of him was a string of cuss words as his friends held him back from making an even bigger scene.

That alerted people of your presence, but you managed to fade into the background again until you finally came across your target.

You realized how terrible you were at pickpocketing. Even the drunk air couldn’t save you from being a suspect in thievery.

You quickly became the center of attention again, except this time, it was to be arrested and not to sleep with. Or perhaps it'd be both. You never know at places like this.

The thirty minutes (for the drug to kick in) counted down while you stumbled around corners and through hallways. You suspected you were walking deeper into the nightclub rather than out of it, but at least the confusing layout must be as disadvantageous to you as it was to your pursuers.

"There they are!"

"Shit," you muttered and picked up your pace.

The hallways looked identical. They were decorated with a dark color scheme and stained with sensual lights flashing through tiny door windows. Bad vocals, cheers, chair creaks, and screechy moans all sounded like forks on a plate.

Looking behind your shoulder when you heard rapid footsteps approaching, you turned back to face a dead end a few rooms ahead of you. If you turned back, you would only be met with your demise, so it has to be one of the few rooms present. You have to choose. Choose quickly.

"Aggressive much–" Chan paused. His eyes widened when he saw you. "It's you."

You clenched your fist and released the tension. Immediately, you reached for the switch by the door and dimmed the ceiling lights. Ignoring Chan’s confused questions, you brought the gadgets from your jacket before taking it off and throwing it aside. The next fabric to go was your tank, and you threw that somewhere on the table instead of the floor.

"Woah–slow down?" He laughed when you shoved him onto the couch and got on top of him, your legs straddling his thighs and your hands gripping his shoulders. He instinctively held onto your waist, his big hands warm against your skin. "Jesus, sweetheart. Are you into me?"

"Help me," you said quietly. "They're looking for me."

He raised a brow. The initial shock died down gradually, and he checked his surroundings.

Two phones were lodged where your bottoms met; yours and the cop's, he suspected. Your skin was cold as ice, and goosebumps lined up your shivering arms, which he wondered if it was from the cold or fear. Looking higher up where your nipples perked, he realized he never noticed your chest was so flat.

Behind your shoulder was the hallway light. Chan barely had the chance to hear the commotion before the door bursts open. He didn’t need an explanation to piece the problem together. There wasn’t much that could happen in a nightclub besides the usual.

You squeezed your eyes shut and his shoulders tighter. Just as you were about to lean forward, hoping to hide your face somewhere in the crook of his neck, he slid his hands up your side and pressed his thumbs against the side of your breasts, pushing them together.

Your back straightened into a soft arch, and a surprised gasp broke out of your lips. Chan peeked over your head at the intruder, one brow raised and his smirk almost condescending. “Are you staying for the show or?”

Flabbergasted, the man apologized and slammed the door. You didn’t say anything at the sound of the door clicking shut. Instead, you picked up the phone and attached one end of the black cable to it. You grabbed the other phone, the one with a dirty screen, and attempted the same thing.

Chan watched you miss the charging port several times before he took them from you, getting it right on the first try.

You turned his hand to show yourself the screen and tapped on it, your barely opened eyes darting around, trying to read the tiny words on each pop-up.

"You're here," you mumbled.

"I am." He shrugged. "I frequent this place."

"Pervert." He didn’t say anything back.

Your chest heaved with difficulty, and you were clumsier than usual. Chan tried to catch your eyes, but you were too focused on the task. Once he noticed a significant difference in your behavior, he touched your forehead with the back of his palm.

"Lightweight?" he asked.

You grumbled, "Drugged."

His hand dropped from your forehead, and he chuckled. “Tough luck.”

Once the phone showed that the transferring process had started, you sighed and dropped it on the side. You felt horrible, and trying to make sense of your bodily reaction made you feel even worse. Your brain was fighting too hard with your body just trying to relax.

"You're shaking a little," Chan pointed out. "It can't be the drug. It's supposed to relax you.” He poked your abdomen. “You’re not cold either.”

You glared at him through your lashes. The ringing in your ears grew louder the more you fought the drowsiness. He watched you nonchalantly, without a smile or a frown. This wasn't too amusing to him, you supposed. He hasn't pushed you off either. If anything, he kept steadying you by the waist whenever you dozed off.

You couldn’t sleep before when you were on your feet, still running from the cops. But now that Chan was here, you figured you could take a breather.

“I panicked," you said. “I feel fear.”

"That's alarming," he said. "You don't seem to feel anything at all."

You lowered your head, blackness fading in and out of your eyes. "Contrary to your belief, I'm not some sociopath without feelings."

"Lots of talking for someone so sleepy," he mused slowly, squeezing your cheek before he reached inside his coat pocket.

He pulled out an old wooden box and opened it with a faint squeak. Inside were three cigar sticks. He took one out and carefully placed the box next to his leg on the couch. You watched with mild curiosity as he lit up the end of it before putting it between his lips, taking a long drag.

"Have you tried smoking before?” he asked. “This should help you calm down.”

You grimaced and shook your head. He smiled; somehow, this fact was amusing. Tipping your head up gently, with his fingers wrapped over your chin and jaw, he muttered for you to take a huff after he brought the cigar to your face.

You sniffed, trapped on top of him, and lacked the inhibition to reject the suggestion, parted your lips for him to put the tip in. You inhaled, feeling the hotness spread over your mouth.

He released your face to let you exhale, his fingers grazing a line down your bare chest to your belly. You shivered at the feeling, puffs of smoke coming out in shock, and he recalled the way you reacted when he barely touched your breasts.

Either you were correct that you do feel emotions, or your feelings were limited to how you biologically react to physical touch.

He has to admit the latter made you so much more tolerable.

"There you go, sweetheart. Good job," he said, pulling the cigar away. "But next time, maybe more smoke in your lungs and less in your cheeks."

You frowned. You reckoned if you had let it travel to your lungs, you would’ve gotten the harsh awakening you needed. But you didn’t; you kept the smoke in your cheeks, and it did almost nothing but make you drowsier.

Blinking slowly, you looked up at Chan, who hadn’t tried anything inappropriate. You knew he had no ill intentions despite not avoiding your naked torso because if he had them, you would have felt it underneath you, and you would just have to bet that it keeps being that way.

Wiggling forward to get closer to him and find a better position for your numbing legs, you dropped your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. You relaxed against him; the buttons on his shirt might leave a faint mark up your chest.

"Hey," he whispered as he peered down. "You're not sleeping on me, are you?”

“I want to sleep,” you muttered.

“I already paid for this room.”

“You can have sex some other time,” you said. “I have to sleep now.”

“Can you at least sleep on the other side of the couch?”

You didn’t respond and he knew he wouldn’t get you to even if you were awake. He rolled his eyes and threw his head back on the couch. If he wasn’t sitting on his coat, he might have taken it off for you to use as a blanket. He doubted you were cold, though. Your skin has grown warm, and your breathing regulated itself.

Leaving the room with all the security cameras would be a hassle. You’d have to figure out how to hide your face to avoid getting him in trouble. As for the man who barged into the room, he was willing to take a bet that he could lie about your presence in the room. Plenty of people loitered the nightclub. You couldn’t be the only person with your hairstyle and body size.

Inhaling a puff of smoke, he watched them go up the ceiling after he released it.

Flashes of his conversation with his mother after you left the nursing home captured his attention. He tried to deter her from talking about you, which he did, but it wasn’t after she mentioned that you seemed like a good person and told him to be nice to you.

That’s how he maintains friendships, she nagged. But you weren’t his friend. You weren’t anything to each other.

You breathed softly atop Chan. He brought his hand up to your hair, hot air boiling out of his mouth into a tragic exhale when he couldn’t will himself to do something comforting. His hand slid down to your arm, where he squeezed gently, and finally, it stayed at your waist to keep you close and steady.

"You owe me, kid," he muttered.

When a woman came by to provide him services, he shooed her away.

The back of an alley was the last place Chan expected to find you. Seeing you beaten and bruised was less surprising, considering your inability to socialize.

“I thought I heard something,” he said, crouching before you.

He scanned your face briefly—a pair of cracked lips, a nosebleed, a bed of grabbed hair, and spots of purple and yellow developing around your eye. You were holding onto your abdomen, too.

"Karma came and bit you in the ass or what?" he asked.

“Maybe,” you mumbled. “I met them when I was at the nightclub. One of them was the man who drugged me. I chewed him out in public, so I’m guessing that’s what he was mad about.”

"Mm," he hummed with intrigue. "You shouldn't have done that."

You rolled your eyes. The pain has gradually faded from being noticeable, but you continued to feel wrong somewhere, like a misplaced bone or a sprained joint. It felt heavy as the hit but not like a weight. You have never been beaten before, so you had difficulty explaining it to yourself, and the lack of knowledge agitated you.

"This wasn't my fault," you said.

"That's not the point," he argued.

"Then what is?"

"Why would I know?" Chan shrugged. "I didn't get physically assaulted. You did. What did you learn?”

Nothing. You have learned nothing because there was no lesson to learn from events that otherwise shouldn't have happened.

You could learn about natural phenomena, a dessert recipe, or even the making of a pharmaceutical drug.

A petty man choosing to retaliate against a trivial matter has no value and isn’t natural. It has no reason to exist. It just did for some incalculable reason. Therefore, it was not worth even you, someone who must make sense of everything, to try to understand it.

The only thing the event shed light upon was that you were better than him, not because you put yourself above physical violence but because you wouldn’t be bothered by something so minuscule in the first place.

You being better wasn't a learning lesson. You already knew that.

"Take me home," you said. "I will pay you the gas money."

"I have an electric car right now. Maybe later."

He scoffed light-heartedly as he grabbed your wrist and threw your arm over his shoulder. You pushed your weight up with his help and exhaled through the discomfort. Chan peered down your shirt and raised a brow.

"They just beat you up?" he asked. "They didn't try to touch you or anything?”

You pursed your lips. There was an attempt, but you couldn’t shut your nasty mouth up for so long that they decided they didn’t like you enough anymore. Whether that was a miracle was debatable; you thought you would be left with fewer bruises if you had stopped talking.

"No."

"Sweet," he whistled, "virginity preserved."

You clicked your tongue and pushed your palm to his face. The velocity wasn't enough, so you gave him a proper slap before a round of random violence ensued.

He tried to stop you verbally, insincere apologies leaving his lips. However, the more he spoke, the worse you felt. Suddenly, you understood your perpetrator's urge to beat you up.

"Hey, stop it! Stop it!" He shielded his face for a while before reaching for your shoulder and harshly throwing you toward the wall. "What is wrong with you?"

Your back whined in pain when it hit the wall. Once you dropped to the ground, you lay there and did nothing more to stress your body out.

Turned out you weren't so much better, after all. If anything, you were so much worse than everyone else.

Chan tidied and dusted his clothes with short strings of curses leaving his lips, complaining about his good deeds going to waste on you. Glancing at your lifeless body, he sighed and shook his head. You could do whatever you want.

Stepping over you, he walked to leave the alley when his phone rang. He paused to pick it up.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other side was feminine and firm. She introduced herself as a doctor, apologized for a mix-up in some examination results, and congratulated him on his mother’s acceptance into the clinical trial.

"Yes, no problem. I will bring her over next week as scheduled," he said. "Thank you so much, doctor."

The line cut without static. He pulled the phone away from his ear and squeezed it to ground his thoughts.

There was only one person he knew who not only knew about his mother’s condition but could also switch around digital information like that—you.

Putting his phone away, he sighed and turned back around. He knelt by you and carefully slipped his arms under your side, adjusting his hands on your shoulder and hip.

"She was nice to me." You peered up meekly. "Your mom was nice to me."

No hospital, no police station. You were heading home, he knew. He swallowed a knot before hoisting you up into his arms. Your glasses were broken. He left it there.

He was warm, like last time, and safe, if you’d call him that.

"I bet she was."

#that's the universe name. i wish you were nicer to me. for all four pairs in this universe #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #skz x you #skz x reader #skz x y/n #stray kids x oc #skz x oc #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #chan x y/n #chan x you #chan x reader #chan imagines #chan scenarios

40 notes · View notes