#to the point where he had to take his attention away from you for a second. not only that but your attention away from him too

[chosolar]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈ wanna be yours!

gojo satoru x shy!femreader

part 1

mdni please! there are sexual themes.

flirty!satoru did his best to respect your wishes but he was losing his mind. with each day passing where he didn't hear from you, his overthinking got worse. what happened for you to distance yourself from him seemingly out of nowhere?

flirty!satoru refused to go out of his penthouse unless it was severely urgent. he would get his groceries delivered or ask either suguru or shoko to buy it for it. The two tried their best to get him to at least walk around his complex but satoru would drag his body weight, making it difficult to even get him up. it got to a point where shoko threatened him that she was going to tell you how disgusting he was being. (as mean as it was, it sure got the job done)

flirty!satoru had his phone basically glued to his hand. constantly refreshing his feeds and checking everyone's stories to see if you would be there in the background. it was his only solace, seeing you happy even if he did feel like he was there was a boulder on his chest that made him feel suffocated.

flirty!satoru who sat up instantly the millisecond he got your text. it didn't matter that it was 2 in the morning, he was responding to your message ASAP.

hey satoru I hope you're doing well. is it alright if I call you? 2:33 am

he replied with a quick "yes of course", and he didn't care if he sounded desperate, because well, he was. he's been waiting for you to reach out ever since he got that text a few weeks ago.

his heart feels like it's going to burst out of his chest, each heartbeat thumps harder than the previous. he watches as his phone lights up with your contact photo and name, the ringtone blasting. within the second ring, he picks up, greeting you with a shaky voice.

"hi satoru," he hears your nervousness through the phone. your voice is nasally and he can make out the soft sniffling, but he stays quiet. "how have you been?"

satoru contemplated on what to say. should he be honest, or should he lie and say that he was doing well without you?

"better now that I can hear your voice." his heart rate sped up as he hears you soft laugh, "how about you?"

you sigh before you answer. "I'm in a dilemma to be honest."

"wanna tell me what it's about?" he urges, hoping he'll get the answer he's been looking for. satoru puts you on speaker and lets his phone drop onto his bed, his full undivided attention on you.

"well it's about you... kinda," you drift off before you continue. "the night before I sent you that text, I was working and someone asked me out."

satoru pleads in silence that this was not going where he thinks it's going. with this anxious feeling creeping up on him again, he doesn't say anything.

his uncommon reticence worries you but you carried on with the story.

"I didn't go out with him if that's what you're thinking of. I like you too much to do that. it just had me thinking because we spent months being more than friends, but am I the only one who feels that way?"

"no of course not!" satoru retorts, "I promise that it's not one-sided. why do you feel this way?"

it took you a few minutes to gather your thoughts, but satoru doesn't rush you. he hears a shaky exhale before you speak up, "I've noticed that you're flirty with everyone. you're not shy with touching other people and it just makes me feel like maybe it's wrong of me to feel special when I'm not the only one you've done these things with..."

flirty!satoru doesn't invalidate your feelings. he acknowledges each and every reason why you feel the way you do. satoru takes his time explaining that yes, he may be flirty and he's quite touchy, but it's different when it comes to you. the things he's done with you, he's never done with anyone else despite him having exes. although it's almost been a year since he's met you, the butterflies have never gone away and that each day his feelings grow.

flirty!satoru continues listing all the reasons why he loves likes you. he assures you that he may look like a fuckboy, he's far from it. he reminisces the time he had suguru psych him up to get your number because he's never had to ask for anyone's number (humble brag from him). he exhales a sigh of relief that the story earned a giggle from you.

flirty!satoru debates on telling you, but decided on keeping his plans of asking you out a secret. he wanted to prove to you that you're it for him and that there's no one else but you. satoru's big on actions speaking a lot more than words, so before he asks you out, he wants you to feel secure.

flirty!satoru posts you on his story constantly!!! whether you're out on a grocery run or a mini road trip for the long weekend, you can always count on satoru posting a soft launch story that has you in it. you don't know it, but satoru also has a secret instagram account, and the only thing he posts on it are pictures of you with the dates on it and a small paragraph of what you guys did that day. he likes to think it's modern-day scrapbooking.

flirty!satoru is obsessed with calling you nicknames, and as much as he loves saying your name - he will never not love calling you sweet nicknames like pretty girl, honey, or baby. satoru's fond of how your cheeks turn red and how you try to cover your face when he calls you any nicknames. it gives him cuteness aggression so bad, he ends up pinching your cheeks!

flirty!satoru can see how your eyes drift to look at his lips when you're talking to him face to face. you think you're so slick with it but satoru's quicker. whenever you do that little triangle trick you saw on tiktok, he leans in so he catches you by surprise. he observes with gleaming eyes as you back up to give yourself distance from him, but he just wraps his arms around you, pulling you towards him as he says, "hmm what was that baby?"

flirty!satoru has to hold himself back whenever he sees a customer come up to you and try to flirt with you. first and foremost, flirting is his thing! and second, he gets so jealous that sometimes he can't contain himself and ends up intervening. he'd make some stupid excuse to get you to leave like "hey I think someone clogged the toilet, can you check it please?" or something like that. you have to clean the stinky toilet but seeing satoru jealous is always a plus.

flirty!satoru is shocked when you made the first move and kissed him one night. it was the fact that you were sober too that surprised him even further. with you on top of him as he's sitting relaxed on the couch, his attention on the tv screen is stolen when you press your lips against his. the kiss, a seemingly innocent peck on the lips, turned into a heated make out session when satoru let go of his inhibitions. his hands roamed all over your body as his lips continue peppering kisses onto your cheeks, your jaw, and even down to your neck. satoru trails his hands from your body to hold your face gently so he can give you a final kiss before hugging you tightly.

flirty!satoru throws out all his ideas of asking you out, and opts for an intimate moment. on a cool wednesday night, he takes you back to his penthouse as per usual. he opens the door and waits to see your surprised face. he boasts that he decorated the place all by himself and even burned himself a few times with the hot glue gun to make the giant heart sign asking for you to be officially his (ngl it sounds like he's proposing but I mean who doesn't wanna marry satoru). obviously you said yes! let's just say that the heart balloons that were hanging and the flower petals scattered all over his living room were everywhere the morning after and cleaning it all up was tedious...... (but at least it was a fun night!)

flirtybf!satoru immediately changes all his profile pictures on every social media he has to pictures with you. his bio? your initials. his stories? all of you. he does not gaf he wants to show you off! the best part is satoru only follows a couple of people — you, suguru, shoko, and a few of his close relatives. satoru wants you to know that he only cares about you and only you. he never wants to and never will make you feel like you're in competition with anyone.

flirtybf!satoru is a no bs type of guy. now that your relationship was out in the open, you've gotten so many dms from other people trying to sabotage your relationship. satoru did not spend almost half a year proving his love to you for some jealous losers to try and break it, so he blocked the people who dmed you from his account and privated it.

flirtybf!satoru loves going on vacations with you, especially if it's a destination you've been telling him about. he'll almost always keep it a secret so that you don't have to worry your pretty little head about anything. costs, booking it off, transportation, he takes care of everything so the only thing you need to do is pack your bags. satoru loves how carefree you are when you're away from everyone else, and it's just the two of you in your own little world.

flirtybf!satoru is insatiable. his sex drive is so incredibly high, you wonder where his stamina comes from since he rarely did any sports. the first time you had sex, he wanted to take it slow because he wanted to savour the time with you. even though you were close when you two were just friends, having sex was a different level of intimacy. satoru wanted to show you that to him, this was not just a fuck that a one night stand will give you, no. it was making love, and he'll spend the whole night — dusk to dawn — just to show you how much he loves each and every part of you.

flirtybf!satoru started working out during his free time. he overheard you telling your friends that you love a man with a sleeper build, and well whatever his love wants, you will get. it doesn't take long until he starts seeing the fruits of his labor. he seldoms wear a shirt when he's home with just you, choosing to just wear a pair of sweatpants that he doesn't bother tying up so you can see the waistband of his calvin klein boxers. even though you two fuck often, he thinks it's so captivating that you still get bashful whenever he's being coy with you.

flirtybf!satoru loves talking about the future with you. he'll often ask you what kind of house you see yourself living in with him, and he'll make sure to get every little detail you're telling him. you've already moved into his penthouse after he begged for days for you to leave your apartment and just live with him. he takes notice of how you decorate and makes a mental note of it. satoru will make sure to say "when we have kids" or "when we're married", because he knows you're his endgame and he just can't wait for the day he's been looking forward to since he fell in love with you.

flirtybf!satoru surprises you with a trip to your dream vacation that you guys didn't get to go to before. the weather was horrendous, so the flight was cancelled but satoru booked another one closer to your birthday. he didn't tell you about it because he had a plan to make your birthday extra special. after you were done packing, he tells you that he'll meet you in the car. before satoru leaves the penthouse and locks the door, he double checks that the engagement ring is packed securely in his bag.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈

hi everyone! I hope this satisfies everyone's request for a part 2 ◡̈ ngl I had to use some moments with my boyfriend because my mind was blanking out and I am prayinggggg that this one is not a disappointment to you guys! again not proofread <3

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈

taglist:

@lvrndkoo @sorenflyinn @realalpacorn @ninani-nanina @msun1c0rn @ourfinalisation @rio-reid-whoreee @staarflowerr @leonesimp @okayiamkassandra @starpachinko @atashiboba @blueemochii @hawkswifie @secrtjncoblog @esperssox @smiling-16

a few of them did not show up so please let me know if you didn't get a notification ◡̈

[sunboki]

⎯ for eternity longer. ⟡ featuring christopher bahng

🍼 : Christopher Bahng x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. pregnancy! au, dad! channie au, overall so so fluffy, comfort, slighttt angst if you squint

WORD COUNT. 6.4k words ☆ 30 minute read

WARNINGS. worry about delivery complications, cursing (??), anxiety, implied intercourse, regards to gender

AUG'S NOTES. i think channie would be an amazing dad :) just a thought i decided to place to paper (in this case, digitally). thank you for waiting so patiently!! please enjoy <3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Christopher Bahng had intentions upon one day being a father, but when the news of a little one on the way becomes the forefront of a life he’d initially spent with one world, you, he’s quickly introduced to the second world he’ll come to adore, a baby.

or alternatively :

Blossoming beginnings, and the bump.

“Channie, baby,”

His name is whispered between sleepy breaths, brows knitted where your eyes attempt at focusing amidst a slumbering haze.

The meager vision granted from a candle paves view to your husband, currently resting his cheek against the soft bump of your belly, pressing the occasional kiss there.

“It’s so cute,” He mumbles, tracing shapes along the skin, eyes crinkling into the dimpled-smile you’ve come to adore.

“‘S late.”

Offering the remark, you smooth a thumb along his jaw, dipping down to trace his bottom lip and earning a small peck against the digit in reply, chocolate irises flickering up to your face with so much love you fear you’re melting.

“I know,” Chris whispers where his lips press to your thumb, voice muffled. “I’m sorry just—“

One chaste kiss to your belly later and he cracks a smile.

“Just love it.” 

Another kiss, then another.

“Love you, love this. I’m so happy.” 

You are my world, he professes wordlessly, and you scorn the heaviness of your eyes in shielding him from view, the inability for your vocal cords to utter those same three words as you drift back to sleep.

And this is my second world, Chris thinks to himself, fighting slumber to gaze at you just a moment longer, savor. 

Because he couldn’t explain how lucky he is, and how beautiful you are, and how warm he feels, his head fuzzy and jumbled into mushy bliss.

A baby, and the thought alone makes him want to squeal.

Chris had yet to ever be hit by a tsunami (thank goodness for that), but he thinks he’s found an equivalent to the feeling.

That equivalent being a particular call while in the studio, an unsettlingly studious Han Jisung seated behind him on the couch while Changbin stands in the recording room, pointing out things in need of fine tuning.

So when you call, he’s led to believe it could be regarding dinner, maybe a date preposition away from his busied schedule.

Yet, upon hearing a sniffle, his eyes round to the size of saucers, index aptly missing where he’d click his mouse, drawing the attention of his fellow producers, their eyes narrowed in mild concern.

“Chris.. baby, I know this is so.. so sudden but,” Between your hiccups and his heart racing, he reruns everything that could’ve gone amiss. He knew you were running late when it came to your period thanks to the cycle-tracking app on his phone, but then again, usually it’d miraculously show up.

Maybe he’d said something? Forgotten something?

Birthday, anniversary, a family member passing?

His head fills with a plethora of possibilities, too many to pinpoint.

“Baby I,” You pause, and Chris rises up to slip to the corner of the room, shushing you gently.

“Hey, hey honey, ‘need you to take deep breaths, okay? It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. Tell me whenever you’re ready.” He consoles, shifting from foot to foot in a futile attempt at warding the nerves.

A sharp inhale and then-

“We’re having a baby, Chris. I’m pregnant.”

It’s hard for you to even believe, and Chris swears his stomach jumped to his throat for a moment, making hurried eye contact with an evidently confused Han and Changbin from across the studio.

Pregnant.

Immediately abandoning his work, he grants the two a hurried nod they simply wave in response to, fervently racing from the building and somehow managing to avoid a ticket on his 20-mile-over-the-speed-limit drive home, rushing through the doorway to scoop you up into his arms and hold you close, let you cry as much as you need.

Hell, he’s not the one carrying the baby anyway. You’re the one in need of all the fretting.

As if he didn’t fret over you anyway.

Tender fingers ease back the strands of hair from your face, pressing kiss after kiss to your sniffling frame.

If you want to keep the baby, if you need time to think, time to be alone, he’s ready for that. All of it. 

Though contraceptives were always in play when it came to the bedroom, it seemed some things would remain out of control.

“I’m.. hic.. I’m keeping it, okay?”

And he’s okay with that, okay with anything his beloved decides upon, thumbing the tears from your pretty face to place a slow kiss to your lips.

On this presumably routine Thursday of his, Chris finds out he’s going to be a Dad.

If there was an acute title to cover the months of your pregnancy, it would be: Ways Christopher Bahng Has Lost His Mind, A Saga. 

Plus the bump, of course.

As for today, at a darling twelve weeks, Chris’s cup of coffee grows cold the longer he entertains a call from Jisung—currently being berated for failing to give them even the slightest clue what was going on until dropping the news.

..In which ensues a screaming Hyunjin in the background, Minho’s snide jokes, Changbin’s silent shock, and the evident awe of the surrounding members leering by the phone where the friend group went for drinks.

Minus the dad-to-be.

”So.. Daddy-O, how’s the father thing going for you?” Jisung offers after a moment, his snickering followed by Chris’s bemused scoff. 

“A dream,” He replies, running a hand through curly brown strands wound into charming coils from earlier steam, having stepped from the shower moments ago.

It was true, every bit.

To think that you, his love he’s worried more about than anyone, spent countless nights awake thinking of has now granted him the greatest gift of a lifetime leaves him elated. 

Trust, the first ultrasound he cried as if he was the baby.

Of course, failing to give their leader a second of reprieve, his remark earns a cacophony of swooning and cringing in response to the sappiness.

Nonetheless, since the announcement he’s organized an update in schedule. More work from home, more paychecks cashed into maternity magazines and things he learns with time in order to support your pregnancy, and tagging along to each and every checkup.

With you already sleeping and him returning late from the studio, the night is slow, quiet. 

Well, after he hangs up.

”Hey sweetness, ‘sorry for waking you.”

Watching your face crinkle up as the bed dips beneath his weight, he reaches a hand forward, sweeping the hair from your face as your husband spoons you close to his back, exhaling a heavy sigh of relief.

Your smell, your warmth, touch.

He’s far too smitten to be healthy.

But then again, is there any remedy to adoration?

“Busy at the studio?” You murmur from your curled up spot, only just beginning to get used to sleeping on your side.

Of the many adjustments.

“Mm,” A nod nudges at your back, his fingertips—oh so careful as they roam—settling on your stomach, holding the skin with reverence you can’t help but hum in response to.

“I cannot believe you,” Begun with a bemused scoff, you earn your husbands grunt of confusion and yet another laugh on your end.

“There’s barely a bump and they’ve got you wrapped around their finger already.”

This, predictably, results in Chris’s boyish whine. 

“‘S not my fault,” He groans like a petulant teenager, nosing at the nape of your neck. 

“Just love you.” 

His voice is a mere utterance amidst the fan overhead, and you have to crane to hear him.

“And I’m going to be learning to love someone else soon.”

A soft squeeze to your belly.

“How exciting.” 

Twenty weeks, and your big journey comes in the form of grocery shopping, something you insisted upon doing alone (much to Chris’s fretting).

Although he tries his best in not being a mother hen, it’s beyond difficult without his instinctive worry butting in, so nervous for a reason he himself can’t even pinpoint.

Is he worried about you? Is he excited about the baby? 

Endless questions swim in his mind, dappling a world he once knew as black and white into shades of pastel, with charming rubber duckies and pacifiers to boot.

It’s a new world, one full of unfamiliar things and little surprises along the way. 

But he’s made his promise to lay off the stressing as much as he can, knowing you need time for you most of all before becoming new parents.

Crouched over the tiny home studio he’s procured, your husband arduously searches through files—sending the majority over to Jisung and Changbin for revisions back at the main studio.

From the corner or his vision does he see you and—

Ah.

There you stand, clad in a sweater of yours tucked into a long, flower-patterned skirt—just enough to show off the bump, and he swears he’s looking at you with heart-eyes.

Gorgeous.

If not more.

Yet another reason why Chris has lost his mind.

You’re more beautiful than anyone he's ever seen, and he doubts that factor will change for the rest of his life. Even when you’re emotional and begin growing insecure, when your feet hurt or when your cravings grow too volatile, he adores.

Too much sometimes he fears his heart will beat from his chest. 

“Hi, sweetness.” 

The words are a bit hoarse, spoken as if he were uttering the endearment through a tube. 

“Hi, Channie.”

Shoot him.

Joking.

Kind of.

You’re too cute. He’s going to have a heart attack. 

Looking like that, cupid has his job cut out for him.

“You headed out?”

Reaching for your bag does Chris rise from his chair, padding over to gather your face in his hands and press a slow kiss to your lips you soak up, your own hands winding into curly strands he groans in response to.

“Mm,” He begins after a moment, kiss after kiss pressed to your jaw, down your neck, by your earlobe his teeth nip at. “I’m getting déjà vu on how the baby got here, hm?”

Spurring your laughter and a light smack to his shoulder in response, his warm hands slip down to cradle your belly, a final touch followed by one last kiss before you’re off.

It’s much too easy to fall in love with this man over and over again.

.

.

.

Of many surprises throughout your pregnancy, Lee Minho knowing about babies happened to be yet another. That, and seeing him at the grocery store in the first place.

The baby food aisle is more than daunting, and while the determined part of you crooned about “making it yourself” and taking the time to mash up each and every carrot and apple slice, the sensible part knew the moment you were discharged from the hospital after delivery, there was no chance you’d take on such a task.

“This one’s good.”

Having been greeted with a small wave of his hand and quieted footsteps approaching close, the dancer peers into your cart, brows lifted in silent acquisition where he points to a brand of mashed banana purée. 

How he knows this baby food is good is beyond you. 

Then again, Minho has always been peculiar.

“Hm? Any other recommendations?” You ponder, deciding to entertain his conversation and gaining plenty of recommendations whilst roaming about in the process.

Though, that’s before a frivolous little boy comes blindly tottering along, his clumsy limbs aimed straight for you prior to Minho’s careful step shielding you, the panicked mother steering the toddler away with endless apologies.

About to thank him, he seems to beat you to it.

“Mm? Need to sit down?” Observant eyes flitting over your form, he places an assuring hand to the middle of your back you can’t help but feel appreciative of.

It’s not that Minho isn’t kind, he’s usually just.. more subtle about it. Putting extra food a member likes on their plate without them noticing, making sure everyone feels included during dinners.

So for him to be a bit more upfront about it is.. sweet.

Well, until a wry smile tugs at his lips in amusement.

“‘Think you can handle that? A toddler like that?”

And.. there’s the Minho you’re used to.

“I think..” The thought comes to you as you venture, his hand remaining where it lingers upon your sweater-clad back as you make for the checkout line.

“The baby will look more like Chris.”

This beckons a cocked brow, evident mischief on his face.

“What, balding at twenty-six?”

You were thinking cute, with Chris’s curls and big brown eyes but— yeah, that too apparently. Your husband would both burst out laughing and burst into tears if he were here, the mental image bringing a smile to your lips.

Nevertheless, you spend your time with the feline-like companion cracking not-so-funny jokes and snide but playful remarks, a silent “thank you” mouthed when he lifts the grocery bags from your hands to carry to the car.

“Say, what’re you doing over here anyway?” 

“Mmh?” He perks up, fluffy bangs fringing beneath a bucket hat upon his head, the slow gust of an occasional breeze announcing Winter’s gradual departure, moseying on to Spring.

“Ah,” Bunny-like teeth peek from his upper lip when his lips part, hoisting a single bag of his own upward. “Food for the kitties.” 

Of course.

The corner of your lips quirk into a grin.

Though, before you’re given the chance to slip into the front seat, he points again, regarding your bump this time.

“Should stop by sometime,” He starts, pausing before glancing down to your feet. “Or I can come to you two if you’re not up to it.” 

There it is, the tiny shred of consideration you treasure, one so swift you may miss it if you aren’t listening closely that warms your heart effortlessly.

“The kitties would knead your belly,” Mumbled quieter than the rest, a giggle stirs from his chest, wishing you off after a few moments the same way he greeted you: a wave and a small, awkward, tight-lipped smile.

And on your ride home, you decide upon giving Chris a call.

“Do you think the baby will start balding early?”

A chaste silence and some crackling from the other side of the line and then- 

“What.”

“‘M outside the studio, baby.”

“You’re what?”

A second “what”, after the balding question those few weeks ago.

Chris wants to think tricks are being played on him after having pleaded for you to stay home and wait to be pampered when he returns, but it seemed the leader—with his own stubborn tirade of seven—had forgotten his wife was equally as stubborn, and that if you were adamant on something, there’s no chance you’d budge.

And so, as the ultimate pushover(which he’ll admit himself) of a husband, he simply sighs, awaiting your precious, slightly-waddling figure making towards them from the elevator.

Ah, right. 

The waddle.

Oh if it doesn’t make his heart soar.

You’re almost surreal, with your soft, rounded frame and sweet, sweet eyes making him simply want to keep you in a hug forever.

From beside him, Hyunjin starts into a sing-song cacophony of: “The Mrs.’s is here” in tandem with your entrance, resulting in Chris’s light smack to his friend’s shoulder and the reddening of his ears as he both tries (and fails) to focus on new tracks.

So now, in occupying the couch behind him with Han on one side and Felix on your other, you spend your time giggling over videos on the freckled blond’s phone, chowing down on a bag of potato chips placed between you and Han, entertaining light conversation with Changbin, and sharing those momentary glances with your husband.

Quiet looks, with his face drained from the workload not failing to light up where he meets your eyes, your own warming happily. 

“Come home,” does your eyes speak.

“Just a little longer,” he replies without words.

 As the day stretches it’s exhaustion, waning a warm hue into evening sunset, Chris pads over, slow and wary where your sleepy form props upon the couch, fuzzy-sock-clad feet elevated on a pillow courtesy of Hyunjin’s matter-a-fact scolding to lower the swelling.

“I’m letting the little one listen,” He whispers, this squeaky, cheery giggle leaving his lips where he places the headphones once in hand overtop your belly, the low hum of their newest, unreleased track faintly resounding against the skin you can’t help but grin at.

It’s a scary thing, you think for a moment.

And then, just happy.

So you’ll cling to that happiness, no matter how fleeting. 

And a tiny nudge against the skin, a kick, tells you someone else is clinging to that happiness as well.

“Yah.. even if it’s almost spring, there’s still some breeze! Stay warm! Don’t try being a spring chicken!” Clicking his tongue in softened contempt, Han claps his hands resolutely, face scrunched up in conviction as the ever-adorable maknae, Jeongin, eases his jacket over your shoulders.

Resulting in the group’s ace’s squeal of affection and a harsh smack to Minho’s thigh, the older of the two fixes him with a glare Han fails to notice through his cooing, too busy admiring the bump peeking through the jacket.

It seems Chris isn’t the only one growing into a worried mess, and your trip home from the studio you press to take alone is filled with their hollering and well-wishes, the group having opted out for drinks knowing you’d be the odd one out with your mug of water relative to the bubbling of a beer, a matter you find heart-warming.

No less, you spend your night anticipating the arrival of a very sleepy Chris, busying yourself trying to follow a recipe without gagging at the most random of things.

Feebly managing through placing the tray in the oven, you deflate as a pair of long-awaited, warm arms come wrapping around you.

A mere lift from his hands, holding the weight of a nearly 30-week bump feels heavenly, and you simply groan, head lolling back against his shoulder, welcoming the kisses pressed to your cheek, neck.

Because as much as his own nerves are afire, Chris knows more than anything it’s pivotal for you to be taken care of as well. Making breakfast before heading out in the mornings, sending you little texts to remind you to stay hydrated.

Tiny things you hold close to your being, even if he isn’t aware.

Thank you, spoken amidst his subtle care.

I know, I love you, answered upon joining you in your nightly skincare.

“Ah? Really?”

Chatter after chatter fills the small bathroom, your spare bedroom already ransacked of its contents in making room for a nursery.

As for the conversation at hand, Chris fills you in on his dango pudding obsession while you busy yourself in applying moisturizer to his skin, a silly, matching headband to yours pulling back the hair from his face.

“Jisung got me hooked on it,” He grumbles, lashes fluttering down to fondly watch where you press a kiss to his lips before applying vaseline there, his fingers instinctively reaching for your pajamas like a clingy child.

You don’t mind.

“How’re you feeling?” He murmurs after a moment, head tipped quizzically, the slight knit of his brows in concern you wish to scowl at.

Sometimes it’s harder not swooning when it comes to your husband.

“You know me,” You start, scorning your ability to hear each thump of your heart in your chest within the quietness of the room. “I’m okay, yeah? The fatigue is just a pain, that’s all.”

His arms finding purchase on either side of the bathroom counter where he cages you in, you’re quickly reminded how this pregnancy came to be the longer you stare at his biceps, the veins littering upwards from his hands.

Not fair.

“You tell me, hm? If you need me to work from home more days, yeah? I will, you know that, honey.”

And of course he’s like some sort of forbidden fruit, so sweetly wholesome, sweet generally, when he looks so good. 

Too good.

For a time again, not fair.

“Chris.”

Screw it. You’re pregnant, and rightfully hot and bothered.

A little thing about pregnancy that no one had bothered to let you in on? There’s never been a greater time in your life that you’ve felt this horny.

Plus, an okay from the doctor is an okay to you. 

The other okay is his arms, and the utterly obscene things running through your head just looking at them as your hand finds his jaw to hold.

“I’d cry from how good you are to me if it weren’t for the fact I’m unbelievably worked up right now.”

Slowly do your arms loop around his shoulders, pulling him closer where a smile tugs at your lips, watching his own lips part in a shaky exhale, pupils dilating tenfold as your words sink in.

And it’s Chris’ turn in reminding himself how the pregnancy came to be.

“So let’s do something about it, hm?”

The press of his nose into your neck causes your lashes to flutter, cursing the streaks of sunlight peering through the blinds muddling already bleary vision. A warm grip beckons you closer snuggled against his bare chest, hands instinctively coming to soothe over your belly.

Habitual touch, comfort.

A dream, last night had been. As for now, you bathe in the afterglow, his scent enveloping you like an embrace you can’t bring yourself to pull away from.

“Think I’ll be a good dad?”

And then comes the quiet conversation. Soft and nearly inaudible, his breath tickling your shoulder.

“I know you will,” Comes your own reply, muffled against the pillow, a kiss pressing to your shoulder in appreciation.

“I just-“

He takes a breath, weighing the thought. 

It’s a coarse silence, one you know not to interrupt. He considers his words like this, a characteristic you’ve come to adore over the years. The blinking fast, the hesitant humming.

“You know how much I look up to my Dad, and I worry I just- I won’t live up to tha—“

Now it’s your turn to step in, before he goes over his head and blames himself again and again for a matter never his responsibility. The selfless one, who you remind must take care of himself too. 

Amid simple kisses or compliments scribbled on sticky notes, you find love between the lines.

“Chris. Chris, baby, listen to me. This baby loves you, I hope you know that. And I hope you know that I love you, and whatever happens next happens next.”

Inhaling slowly, you roll over to face your husband.

Covers drawn up to see only his eyes, it’s near foolish the smile you let on.

“You said it yourself, we’re in this together, okay? If we change, we change together. We move? We move together.”

His fervent nod, dearest eyes gleaming all watery make your heart clench.

“This is our first time being parents, you can’t expect to be perfect, yeah? All we can do is try,”

Careful hands come to cup his face, kissing his lips through the fabric of the bedsheets.

“And you’re trying so hard, so thank you. I don’t feel like I praise you enough for all that you do for me, hm?”

He’s quiet before soft, heart wrenching sniffles are heard, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand and grumbling to himself like a toddler.

“I feel like.. such an idiot.. crying when you’re the one carrying the baby.. hic.. Plus ‘s my.. my job to take care of you, yeah? ‘M your husband..”

Gently smoothing along his waterline in hushed reassurance does the man pull himself upward, slow to climb atop your form, littering your face in feverish pecks you can’t help but laugh at while the heels of your palms gently push at his jaw in playful aversion.

“I’m gonna make some breakfast,” He noses at your chin, the only sound between the both of you slow breaths and the occasional sniffle, the heat of his skin burning through you like wildfire. 

Chris has become a warm blanket for your cold winter, even more so during the pregnancy.

“And you are going to eat eggs.”

In which earns your groan, regarding the food scornfully for its rude manner of sparking nausea. Of the many things nauseating you these days. Volatile in manner.

“‘S good for the baby. ‘Just a bite.”

Another groan, swatting lightly at his shoulder in retaliation.

Prior to an ingenious idea breaching the forefront of your mind.

A tiny detail you’d been holding in, with your lack of fondness for an extravagant baby shower or a gender reveal, you’d planned a morning-in to be the perfect timing for an announcement.

Now coming to be this morning.

Because while Chris had been running to the car, you’d been in the thick of a sonogram all those weeks back, a dirty little secret having been told that the nurse swore to keep quiet.

“Chris.”

Eyebrows lifting in gentle curiosity, you want to hate the way your mischievous streak is melting, the stubbornness fading into your own glossy eyes and trembling lips, and a whole rush of distress and concern washes overtop the man above you like a bucket of ice cold water.

“It’s a girl.”

A sharp gasp, a choked sniffle.

“We’re having a baby girl.”

To say Chris cried like a baby for an additional time that morning would be a mass understatement.

Cried and cried and cried endlessly, before calling his parents first and crying more, then Hannah, then the guys.

Face all puffy and happy, you spent your day waltzing around the kitchen to the low buzz of the radio seated upon the far corner of your counter, sharing kisses he can’t seem to get enough of and too much smiling it made your cheeks ache.

.

.

.

Currently thirty-six weeks and perilously close to the awaited due date, the faint clatter in your periphery earns a startled huff of air, once-napping eyes flickering open, lids heavy from past slumbering.

A common occurrence, the constant sleeping, fatigue overboard. Although morning sickness has graciously subsided, the sleepiness is endless in her torrents.

As for now, each slow lull of the rocking chair the guys had assembled a few minutes prior continues her magic in beckoning you sleepy and sleepier.

“Shh dumbass— you’re gonna wake her up!”

And… beckons whisper-screaming from the group who had insisted upon helping set up the nursery. 

“Don’t curse in front of the baby!”

Han and Felix’s grumbled argument is returned with a scolding “Shh!” from Seungmin, inducing yet another—however brisk—silence, the faint hint of a chortle from your husband falling upon near deafened ears while drifting in and out of consciousness.

Nonetheless, the group continues to build, having now moved onto assembling furniture after the room’s paint had been finished. A mellow pink, not too muted nor saturated, highlighted when the room grows aglow with drifting rays of sunlight.

Hitched just to the right of the window, the crib’s being assembled, Changbin arduously working to follow directions, Minho taking a break on one of the couch cushions with a popsicle lodged between his lips.

Surprising, considering the slow shift in temperature. Autumn makes its entrance, summer waving a goodbye hand in the now-shorter days and a subtle breeze detected in early mornings. 

A September baby, it seems.

“Corner guards? Do we have corner guards?”

An ever organized (and rather caffeine-frenzied) Hyunjin reviews the list once more, having spent his night prior holed up in the studio for recording, obstinate in participating in the nursery despite the ushers to get some sleep instead.

“I have to be here, it’s my duty as an Uncle”, were his exact words, haughtily prancing about as if some entitled interior designer.

And yet he brought alive an enthusiasm like no other. So the guys let him stay without dragging him back home.

In the distance, a low strum of a guitar echoes, Seungmin’s soulful cadence recognizable amidst any crowd.

A lullaby for the baby, but you had yet to know of that just yet.

“Alright… curtains.. ‘gotcha…” Felix mumbles after taking a break from the crib-squabble between Han, his brows furrowed in concentration where Jeongin aids in lifting the canopy portion planning to hang above the crib, Chris organizing the small things. 

A baby mobile with stars and little planets, a crescent moon rug.

And a tiny feature you take note of while awakening more and more, the little stars painted on the ceiling, like this miniature galaxy. 

It’s so…Chris.

It’s perfect.

The thought makes your lips tug upward, a certain fondness blossoming there.

His world, he’d called the baby.

Fitting, isn’t it?

One week to the due date with the autumn equinox around the corner, your days slip together in a melody of fluffy jackets and fuzzy socks, warm cider Chris ushers instead of coffee—“for the baby”, he says, but begrudgingly fixes you a menial cup after the cocked brow you fix him with. 

A baby-bag is packed up for the awaited day of your delivery, and this journey of yours drawing to a close leads to an even more frazzled husband of yours.

Constantly peeking in on you, his lips parted without a question needing to be asked until the bathroom door is slammed in his face after peering in worriedly for a fourth time, earning a squeaky: “sorry!” in reply.

You love him, yes, but not enough to allow a spectator during your bowel movements.

The gesture is appreciated, trust.

Nevertheless, with a now-evident waddle you despise that Chris utterly fawns over, you head to the downtown bakery, motivated by your relentless craving for a cinnamon roll and the feeble determination in battling the dropping temperatures, Seoul’s seasonal shifts as intermittent as your mood swings.

“Two?” You mumble, index extended to the steaming cinnamon rolls in thought, currently using the coat-clad Chris behind you as support, his warm hands steadying your hips, gentle thumbs tracing circles along your sides over his jacket you’d donned.

Nodding into your hair, the man weighs his chin atop your head, granting the kind older woman working the register a small smile, her eyes flickering to the prominent bump fondly prior to fetching the highly-anticipated cinnamon rolls and inquiring how many weeks you were.

“Thirty-nine weeks,” Came the reply, giggling like children on the way home, cheeks flushed pink from bitter winds, sniffling in with each bite of the napkin-held pastry.

“Yah! I should’ve said I wasn’t pregnant and acted all offended, shoot!”

The words followed by a feigned tantrum, Chris has to hold in his laughter, snorting futilely.

“You’re cruel, y’know that?” Scoffing his exasperation does your husband continue to crack even crueler jokes than that of yours on the walk home, acting as an anchor to your aching bones and tirelessly pained back until the sink of the couch cushions beneath your frame serve as the perfect solace.

It’d been the blueprint for an ideal night in. Cinnamon roll long-since digested, a to-die-for massage provided by your husband, and the expectation of doing purely nothing for the remainder of your night.

Until the blueprint went awry upon brushing your teeth.

Curse that damn toothbrush.

Kidding.

“Channie.”

Between Chris, Channie, and terms of endearment, your husband could be an ex-convict with so many names.

Yet he responds to every and all, and at this very moment you’re more grateful than ever for that.

This time, his peeking-in is greatly appreciated.

“I either peed myself or my water just broke.”

It was meant to hopefully lighten the atmosphere, but your efforts prove feeble watching the color drain from his face, white as a sheet.

And just like that, the journey came to its close, in a finale neither of you were expecting, but one your husband confronted head on, trying his hardest in keeping both himself and you calm while loading up all the prepared things.

Baby bag, your printed out birth-plan discussed all those weeks ago while sharing a bath, extra clothes, nursing bras, all the required cards, and a billion other things Chris doesn’t even bother to search for in helping you into the car, reminding himself he could ask someone else to drop by or pick it up after.

Right now, you would remain his sole focus.

That, and the little one who’s decided to make her grand entrance a week from his birthday.

An early present, it seems.

Everything’s too fast, too hurried. The beeping of machinery, hurrying nurses in their scrubs, the nauseating scent of antiseptic overwhelming the hospital. 

You and the baby, you and the baby, you and the baby.

Those four words run rampant in his mind, like some sadistic form of tunnel vision.

Luckily swift in their efforts, you’d been wheeled off to the nicest room available, your husband blind to the price of anything at the moment where he follows you back, guiding each sharp gasp while you work through hellish contractions, squeezing his hand like a vice he vows to never let go of.

Though initially as smooth as a delivery could go, the process is seemingly endless, and Chris curses the exhaustion wracking his frame after the eighth hour stretches on, menial complications requiring moments longer to the already strain-inducing process. 

And of course, to the words he’d never heard you utter before.

“You FUCKER!”

In which earns your jittery-husbands wobbly smile, smoothing strands of hair where they stick to a sweaty forehead, whispering praises on autopilot.

At this rate, he can’t even tell who you’re referring to, but that thought lies in the very back of his mind.

“When I- shit- get out of here I expect to be- FUCK!— worshiped- ‘cause this hurts like a bitch!”

This earns the midwives equally exhausted smiles, working tirelessly with each push. 

By the ninth hour, you shakily assure him to go get a drink, take a walk, a matter he curses beneath his breath yet follows through with no less, legs like jelly, hand aching from your crushing-hold where your husband slumps into the chair opposite to the vending machine, caught in a weary daze. 

Then a hand finds itself on his shoulder he has to stave back the reflex to flinch from, and an out-of-breath Minho stands there—unfamiliar in the utter seriousness of his expression, the lack of teasing usually exhibited—alternatively familiar faces of his friends jogging after the second eldest. 

His first surprise of the night.

Of two, but the second surprise had yet to occur.

“We took the closest taxi,” Jisung manages, out of breath. “You.. You said there was complicat-“

Like a deer in headlights, the shrill wail of a baby rings out, gathering his full attention in split seconds. 

And somehow, he knows that’s his.

Yours, together.

Chris’s second surprise.

His heart stops.

In all his life, Christopher Bahng doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so pretty.

With seven curious faces peeping in from the doorway behind him, he takes slow steps in approaching you, ethereal with your breathlessly proud smile and the tiny, swaddled thing to your frame, comfy and cozy in their mother’s scent.

Pink blankets. 

And although he already knew it was a girl, the way he chokes up without a word being spoken earns both yours and the nurse’s laughter, tainting his ears a reddened shade of embarrassment.

“I’m so proud of you,” He murmurs, wiping tenderly at tear streaks littering those darling cheeks of yours. “So, so proud.”

An angel, he swears, pressing a long, slow kiss to your lips, then a small peck to your forehead. It appears the wailing fit had subsided, and as for now, this precious little one curls up to your chest.

His baby.

A sob wracks his chest, and in the distance a giggle (likely Minho) is faintly audible that Chris doesn’t even bother scolding, each and every feeling imaginable snuffed to nothing when those eyes pinch open.

Chocolate brown, just like her daddy’s. That perfect, so, so perfect honeyed hue.

Precious.

“She’s.. hic.. so beautiful..”

It’s downright pitiful the manner he cries, like a child, trembling hands reaching for her after your whispered assent, assurance, cradling the baby to his chest.

And remarkably enough, she smiles.

This gummy, delighted smile.

Right then and there, the gravity of the moment punctures his chest, and a silent vow is made that with everything in his being, he will protect her. His daughter.

“Your Daddy loves you.”

Barely heard yet understood all the same, an oh so careful kiss is pressed to those unruly curls, unbelievable in their resemblance to her father’s.

A splitting image, with your charming nose and his puffy lips.

You were right. That time at the grocery store.

Oh to adore.

His second world, who he’ll clap for all cheerfully upon her first steps, her first words, all of it. Through the good and the bad times and everything in between.

His second world, with a father who already loves her, unconditionally. 

And who knows he will for the rest of his life.

Ensuring you’re cared for those four days before discharge, Chris spends his time easing you through each painful endeavor, helping you through the saddened and elated moments, those private moments where all you wish for is to be held.

He holds you, for as long as you need.

Despite the challenges and hardships to come, the man can’t help but think of just how beautiful you are. With your stretch marks, the baby weight, the things you hate, the things he loves. Reflecting how hard you worked, bringing this precious baby girl into the world.

It’s impossible for you to be anything but breathtaking.

His wife, he mumbles into your hair, a habit of his, whilst swaying you from side to side in slow rhythm, the little one fast asleep in her bassinet.

The first night home with the baby, Minho’s already taken to the kitchen, preparing dinner regardless of your sleepy beckoning for him to head home where you stand by the doorway, awakened by the unusual silence where your little girl’s normal squeals would be ricocheting off the walls. 

It seems the Uncles are already smitten.

Fuzzy sock-clad feet thump to your next destination: the nursery.

And there lies your greatest loves, with Chris’s steps weighing side to side just as he’d always do when dancing with you, a bottle in hand held to her lips where she sleepily suckles, a smile of adoration tugging at his lips opposing the circles beneath his eyes.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so enamored before.

And just as that evening in building the nursery, Seungmin’s quietly composed lullaby drifts from the speaker on the changing table, its lyrics like that of the sweetest hymn.

‘My little girl, will you ever know how much I love you?’

‘As much as the stars in the sky, and the grains of sand on the beach.’

‘You are my universe, and I shall love you.’

‘Love, love, love.’

‘For eternity longer.’

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @manuosorioh @captainchrisstan @bowsnbang @sh1ny4lex @alisonyus @certifiedchangbinlover

[doumadono]

Warnings: oral (f receiving), finger fucking, Dabi being Dabi, Tomura being Tomura

Synopsis: Shigaraki’s patience is tested when Dabi interrupts an intimate moment

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The night wrapped itself around the hideout, broken only by the faint hum of distant traffic and the sickly buzz of a flickering neon sign outside the window. The place wasn’t exactly cozy — it was dim, cluttered, and reeked faintly of cigarette smoke. 

Hours had slipped by unnoticed as you pored over scattered documents, papers that Tomura insisted needed attention. They weren’t critical — just another piece of the League’s never-ending puzzle — but you couldn’t deny that the tension in the air had nothing to do with logistics.

Shiagraki lounged on the worn couch, one arm draped over the back, his fingers idly brushing the frayed fabric as he watched you flip through one of the documents strewn on the coffee table.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” you pointed out, breaking the silence. You always read him too well, and it unnerved him more than he’d ever admit.

He didn’t answer right away, his crimson eyes lingered on you, settling a little too long on the curve of your neck where your shirt dipped just enough to tease. Finally, he shifted, leaning forward and propping his chin on his hand. “I’ve had a lot on my mind,” he muttered, his voice husky.

“League stuff?” you asked gently, stealing a quick glance at him from beneath your lashes.

He snorted, a humorless sound. “League stuff, you, the fact that half the world would love to see me dead. Take your pick.”

The honesty of his words caught you off guard. Slowly rising your head, you gave him a look.

Tomura wasn’t one for baring his thoughts unprompted. Usually, his feelings came out in fragmented bursts — rough, jagged pieces of himself that he let you see only when he couldn’t contain them anymore.

“I didn’t realize I made it to the list,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood, though your pulse quickened under his glance.

His gaze sharpened. “You’ve been on it since the day I met you, Y/N.”

There was something in the way he said it, a weight that made your heart stutter. Before you could respond, he stood abruptly, and crossing the room, he closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, towering over your seated form. His hands with pinkies raised braced on either side of the chair, caging you in. “You don’t get it, do you?” he snorted, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re not just some passing thought. You’ve got me wrapped around your damn finger, and it’s infuriating, doll.”

“Tomura—” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but he didn’t let you finish.

His lips crashed against yours, desperate and unrelenting, the kiss searing away any words you might have said. The document in your hand slipped to the floor, forgotten, as his fingers gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His chapped lips moved against yours with raw need, coaxing you to respond. 

Your hands found the front of his t-shirt, fisting the fabric as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing yours in a slow, passionate dance of desires.

He pulled you to your feet, his movements purposeful, guiding you backward until your calves hit the edge of the couch.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips hovered a heartbeat away from yours, and his breath was warm against your skin. “Lie down,” he ordered dictatorially.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding. This was the common room — anyone could walk in at any moment, and yet, the risk only seemed to thicken the tension between the two of you. 

Before you could overthink it fully, Shigaraki’s lips brushed the shell of your ear, and his voice dropped lower. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

Slowly, you sank onto the couch, the worn-out cushions creaking softly beneath you. Your movements were unhurried as you leaned back, letting your body relax against the threadbare fabric. One hand drifted to your chest, fingers grazing over your cleavage in a languid motion, your eyes fixed on him, drinking in every detail of his sharp features you found super attractive.

Shigaraki’s lips curved into a wicked grin, a spark of boyish arrogance lighting up his sharp features. The man leaned forward, his tongue brushed over your lower lip, soft at first, before pressing harder, coaxing yours into a heated battle. Every motion was heated, like he was savoring you, tasting you as though he wanted to memorize every inch of your mouth. His hands mirrored the hunger in his kiss, sliding beneath your shirt. 

Tomura let out a low, mocking chuckle, his crimson eyes dark with amusement. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. “I was wondering why your nipples were so easy to see through your shirt today. Turns out, you’re just a dirty little thing who decided to skip the bra, huh?”

When his fingers finally found the soft meat of your tits, rolling your nipples between them, a moan spilled from your lips.

He pulled back just enough for his lips to hover above yours, his ragged breaths mingling with your own. “I want to taste you,” he uttered, his voice low and rough, each syllable like a confession carved from stone.

Your body betrayed your answer before your lips could form the words, a shy nod trembling from you under the weight of his gaze. 

He slowly lowered his head, his lips capturing yours once more, deepening the kiss as his tongue danced with yours. But he didn’t stay there for long.

Kisses trailed down your jawline, slow and deliberate. When he reached the curve of your neck, his teeth grazed your skin just enough to draw a gasp, a smirk ghosting against your throat. His hands were careful, his pinkies hovering as he tugged the panties down your legs with agonizing slowness after reaching for them under the skirt you wore that day.

He knelt between your legs, his lean form coiled with tension. For a moment, he simply stared. The sight of your pussy was mesmerizing. “So pretty,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice thick with reverence. Tomura leaned in, his lips brushing over your clit in a featherlight kiss before trailing lower to place another around your entrance. His nose grazed your bundle of nerves as he breathed you in. He paused there, his crimson eyes half-lidded as he inhaled deeply, savoring the intoxicating, rich feminine scent he adored more than he’d ever admit. Slowly, his tongue darted out, wetting his lips, his crimson eyes dark with hunger as he murmured lowly, “You drive me fucking crazy.”

Under normal circumstances, Shigaraki would’ve drawn it out. He’d have kissed his way down your stomach, lips lingering on your thighs, smirking as you squirmed beneath him, desperate for more. But that moment was different. The growing pressure in his pants, the unbearable tightness as his erection strained against the fabric, pushed him past his usual games. Without hesitation, he buried his face between your thighs, his hunger too consuming to wait, his lips and tongue already claiming you as though he needed you to breathe.

A moan escaped your parted lips.

Shigaraki ran his index finger up and down your slit. “You’re soaked,” he stated, his tone laced with satisfaction. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, glinting with amusement as he smirked. “And I’ve barely touched you, babe.”

Your cheeks were flushed at that moment and you made sure to spread your legs wider to grant him full access to your pussy.

His tongue dragged a slow, deliberate line from your entrance to your clit. Tomura’s tongue was moving fast as it circled your clit before dipping lower, tasting you like you were the most decadent thing he’d ever had. When his fingers joined the assault, sliding into your slick cunt, your back arched against the couch cushion. His digits curled upward, stroking that spot inside you that sent white-hot pleasure shooting through your body.

“Fuck, Tomura,” your voice was nothing but a pathetic whimper, your hand gripping the edge of the couch, your other hand slipping into his messy hair as your hips bucked against his face.

“You taste so good,” he rasped, his voice muffled as he buried his face deeper between your trembling thighs. His fingers quickened their pace, thrusting harder as his tongue focused on your swollen clit, flicking against the swollen bundle of nerves. Soon, it was replaced with his thumb that rubbed little circles around your clit.

Your body tensed, the coil of pleasure in your core tightening with every movement. “I’m— Oh God— I’m gonna—”

He alternated between broad, flat strokes of his flattened tongue and precise flicks of its tip, experimenting with the rhythm until he found the exact pace that had you gasping and gripping the couch beneath you. His lips wrapped around your clit as he sucked gently before letting his tongue glide over it again.

The coil snapped, and your orgasm consumed you entirely, ripping through your body with an intensity that left you trembling, moaning his name like a mantra. 

But he didn’t stop.

Even as your thighs quivered around his head, his tongue continued its relentless rhythm, his fingers curling and stroking your inner, velvety walls.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, the wet, obscene sound of them sliding out of your soaked pussy made your cheeks burn. 

Tomura’s lips curled into a wicked grin as he held his hand up, your creamy juices dripping down his scarred digits. Without breaking eye contact, he brought his fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out to lick them clean, savoring every last drop like it was the finest thing he’d ever tasted.

Your breath hitched as you watched the show. Instinctively, your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, now dry from all the moans that left your mouth. 

When his fingers were clean, he didn’t pause to revel in your reaction. Instead, he lowered his head again, his tongue sweeping over your folds with deliberate slowness. He sucked your pussy lips into his mouth, his movements languid and unhurried, as if he were determined to clean every last trace of your cum. The obscene slurping sounds only heightened the ache pooling in your stomach again, and you whimpered.

“Well, well, well.” The raspy voice cut through the heavy air.

Your head turned sharply toward the sound, your breath catching in your throat when your eyes landed on Dabi. He was leaning against the bar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, the rim tilted lazily toward his lips. His turquoise eyes gleamed with lust, a smug grin curling his lips as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

“What the hell do you want, Dabi?” Tomura growled, his voice muffled as he dragged his tongue in a long, deliberate stroke from your entrance to your clit. His grip on your thighs tightened possessively, fingers flexing against your trembling flesh. “Can’t you see we’re kinda busy?”

Dabi chuckled, the sound low and dark, vibrating through the room. He tilted his head, feigning innocence as his gaze flicked back to you briefly before settling on Tomura. “Didn’t think you had it in you, boss,” he teased. “Didn’t know you even knew how to eat a girl out.”

Tomura paused, his tongue sweeping over you one last time before he kissed your slit and pulled back, crimson eyes narrowing as he straightened. His lips, glistening with your juices and swollen, twitched into a sardonic smirk. “And yet,” Shigaraki began, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he flicked his tongue over his lower lip, “I seem to be doing a better job than you ever could. I have a great technique. Jealous?”

Dabi snorted, his grin widening as he leaned casually against the counter, one brow quirking upward. “Please. You call that technique? It’s amateur hour.” He tilted his head, gesturing lazily toward you. “Bet she’s only half as satisfied as she pretends to be.”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up and get out of here?” Tomura bit out, his voice low and venomous. ���Or should I put that smart mouth of yours to better use and disintegrate it? I’d be doing everyone a favor.”

“I’m certain I could make her cum faster.”

Tomura’s snarl was immediate, his hand tightening on your thigh as he shot the other man a glare that could’ve set the room ablaze. “Touch her, and I’ll disintegrate that disgusting face of yours. Now, seriously, get lost before I decide to turn you into a pile of ash.”

Dabi laughed again, the sound fading as he turned back toward the bar. “Relax, boss.” Dabi barked another laugh, shaking his head as he pushed off the bar. “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you to it, boss. No need to lose your shit.” He turned, raising his glass in a parting salute. “Just make sure you don’t knock her up. The last thing I need is to play uncle Dabi to your bastard.” 

Tomura rolled his eyes, muttering a low curse under his breath as Dabi sauntered away. Shigaraki’s focus shifted back to you, his gaze softening just enough to send a thrill down your spine. “Ignore this idiot,” he murmured, lowering himself between your legs again. “Now, where were we? Ah, right... here.” His tongue darted out, tracing the path along your slit he left unfinished, his voice rumbling against your skin as he added, “You’re mine. And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.”

@pixelcafe-network

[hivemuthur]

Eee sorry about the vague request lol. I'm thinking maybe reader is unknowingly giving someone else a lil too much attention at a house party or something like that and Vik gets jealous and pouty about it and reader makes it up to him 👀👀

Clearly im not great at wording requests lol, I hope this makes sense

<3

Hi! I love you, so after I've written the first part of smut for this, I went to pray to the smut fairy and she gave me more smut :v @rennethen we thank you, we bow to you. And yes, there is no other point to this story than smut, because we had a lot of emotional stuff happening on this blog in the last couple of days :')

Eat Me

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Viktor is jealous, therefore: smut, also dom!Viktor

word count: 3,3K

—

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” you laughed sheepishly at—what was his name again? Mark? Maurice? Never mind, you politely laughed at his joke. Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, you had felt Viktor’s hand slip off the small of your back as he walked away to have a chat with Jayce. You could swear you heard a sigh accompanying the action, but the number of people talking at you simultaneously was too great to stir your mind to focus on one thing.

You looked around the room; the party had visibly dispersed into small groups— a few people splayed on the floor, talking in hushed voices; a smoking gang squished on the small balcony; a not-very-promising-looking queue to the bathroom; very loud voices coming from the kitchen, where some groundbreaking conversations were definitely taking place. Exactly opposite you and Mark—or Maurice—Viktor stood leaning on the doorframe, a glass hanging limply from his hand. He seemed very determined not to glance in your direction, no matter how many smiles you tried to send him.

You remained unalarmed until it was Mark’s—or Maurice’s—hand travelling to the small of your back, his mouth closing in on your ear to whisper, “So… can I get your number?”

At that point, Viktor scoffed and retreated into the corridor, out of your sight. You shifted uncomfortably, sliding yourself away from the intruder’s touch, and squeaked, “Eh, sorry, I don’t think… I don’t think my boyfriend would be happy about it, you know?”

Mark—or Maurice—raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, saying, “Forgive me, I didn’t know. Enjoy the party.” He patted you on the shoulder, his touch immediately shifting from seductive to friendly, his eyes moving from your cleavage to your face, and began snaking deeper into the room, leaving you alone and a little stunned by the windowsill. Huh, that obvious.

You downed your drink and left the glass behind, ready to find the lost boyfriend. You searched Jayce’s cramped apartment room by room, people trying to pull you in for a drink occasionally slowing your progress. Jayce, already moderately drunk and flushed from all the hands invading his personal space, pointed you toward his study. The door was ajar, and a faint glimmer of light was coming from inside.

“Hello?” You peeked your head through the door, only to see Viktor slumped behind Jayce’s desk, engrossed in a book. He didn’t look up at you and only threw you a dry, “Hello,” in return.

“Tired of the crowd, hmm?” you hummed after slipping inside and leaning over the desk opposite him. Your fingers tapped on the wood, awaiting a reply, only to be given the cold shoulder in the form of a quiet, dismissive hum. “Well, do you want to go home?” you tried again, inching your fingers to sneak under his sleeves, and Viktor shuddered.

“Home? No, I am quite content where I am. Also—” he paused as his eyes landed on your hands before retreating further into the chair to avoid your touch. “You seemed quite content with where you were as well,” he retorted, flipping to the next page.

“I’m not sure I quite follow?” You gave him a puzzled look, hoping he saw at least a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye. “Viktor?” you asked, splaying yourself all the way across the desk to pluck the book from his hands. “Why are you not looking at me?”

He sighed, his hands frozen in the air exactly where the book had been a second ago, and finally did look at you, at which point you started to wish he hadn’t.

“You were in quite stimulating company, no? Has Gregory abandoned you that you decided to pay me a visit?” Ah, yes, Gregory, not Mark or Maurice. He gave you a cold stare and an unforgiving smirk, and you choked on a snort.

“Excuse me? Viktor, are you being jealous?” You were now both leaning over the desk, playing a game of stares. Viktor blinked first but made it look like he had won.

“From where I was standing—and I will add that it was many different angles I got to observe—he was quite ready to eat you all right up,” he cocked his head to the side and left you to deal with the statement.

“Eat me? We were just talking,” you said, pointing your finger between the two of you to accentuate that, up until some point, Viktor had also been a part of the conversation. Realising the new round of the staring game had just begun, you relented, “Still—that’s completely irrelevant, as the only person I would wish to eat me is you.”

“That’s very unfortunate then, given that I seem to have lost my appetite.” Viktor took the opening and squeezed it dry. He picked up the book, opened it to a random page, and pretended to sink back into reading.

You straightened, taken aback by this... ridiculous display of mistrust. A smile played under your nose as you circled around the desk, turned the chair to make Viktor face you, and leaned in to touch his mouth with yours. “Are you sure I can’t even interest you in a snack?” you murmured against his lips, placing a lingering kiss there.

Viktor didn’t move, and soon you felt the handle of his cane poking at your stomach, beckoning you away. You shot him a questioning look and moved the cane aside with your hand, only for it to return to where it was, his eyes still fixed on the book. “I said, I am not hungry,” he said, his tone feigning exhaustion.

“Really? Are you telling me you would rather read—” you paused to take the book away and glance at the cover, “Jayce’s journal, rather than quit this pointless display of sulk and spend some time with me?” You held it expectantly in your hand, bemused.

“Yes. And give it back now.” He leaned forward, his hand reaching for the tome, only for you to swing it behind your back and move your body so your face met his.

“What will I get in return?” you asked sweetly, your breath ghosting his cheek. But Viktor wouldn’t give in. He shifted away, gluing his spine to the chair’s backrest.

“How about freedom to roam the party as you please, with whomever you please? Ah, right, apologies—it seems you already took that opportunity,” he mused, his tone almost annoyed as he kept his hand extended, expecting the stolen good to be returned.

“Viktor—” you scolded, growing more and more impatient. The book dropped to the desk with a thump, and before Viktor could reach for it, you straddled his lap, ignoring all the huffs of protest and palms trying to push you away. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your face to his, whispering into his ear, your voice needy and keen, “What I want is my man to stop sulking. I can apologize, if you let me.”

Viktor hesitated until his hands rested on your hips, the rest of him still frozen in place. “I’m listening,” he muttered, causing a satisfied smirk to bloom on your lips.

You took the cue and slid your palms flat onto his chest, tugging at his collar. “Well, how would you like your apology to be served, mister?” You licked at the seam of his mouth and sucked on the crown of his upper lip. Viktor allowed it but still wouldn’t engage much, keeping his façade of a man who was hurt. Your tongue travelled down to his jaw, then up to the pulse point below his ear. Finally, you were rewarded with a shudder and a sigh. “Hmm, that seems to be working, no?”

“I’d say your little stunt requires some more remorse to be shown for me to forgive you entirely, my girl,” he murmured, his hands squeezing your hips in tandem with a grunt coming out of his mouth.

“Remorse, huh? I might know one universal way to repent,” you said, sliding off him to the floor, your knees resting on the carpet between his feet, your fingers already tugging at the buckle of his belt. “I’ve heard begging on one’s knees can work wonders.”

He uttered a quiet fuck along with your name, eyes fixed on yours, as you beckoned him to lift his hips, allowing you to slide his pants down his legs. His thumb brushed on your lower lip as he gave you a thoughtful look. “Show me. How sorry you are.”

You smiled and propped your hands on his hips, as you leaned in to tease him. His cock was still soft, twitching slightly under your breath. You began to place lingering kisses across his length, all the way from his balls to the tip, not moving it from the crease of his hip where it rested. Then, you flipped it to the other side with your nose and proceeded to do the same, from the top to bottom, watching it harden after each peck.

Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers curling into your hair, as he pressed his hips into your face and rasped, “I will have to see some more initiative if you want me to believe you.”

You immediately responded with opening your mouth and letting him drag his half-hard length on it, his cock now splayed between your mouth, side of your nose, the tip resting somewhere around your eyebrow, smearing your own spit all over your face. Viktor’s brows pinched together, his lips parted into a toothy smile as he sat back down. “Good,” was the only praise you got so far, and you felt yourself aching for an addition of girl next to it.

Your kisses deepened, more passionate and lingering on the base, your tongue reaching down to his perineum, releasing a startled chuckle somewhere from the depth of his chest. You cocked your head, taking the side of his cock between your lips and started dragging it leisurely up and down, pausing to tease a sensitive spot below the head with the tip of your tongue.

Viktor remained still, his hand resting tangled into your hair, the other gripping the arm rest tightly as his eyes followed your every movement. You glanced up to meet his gaze—blown pupils, cheeks already flushed, lips shining from constant licking. Pleased with the view, you took him in your hand and patted the head of his cock on your flattened tongue, baring your teeth in a smile when his eyes rolled back, and he gave you a quiet ah sound as a reward.

“I feel like you are enjoying it far too much for a proper atonement,” he smirked. Before you could respond, he gripped your hair tighter, motioning your head to rest on his lap, as he slid himself inside your mouth. You groaned against him, grabbing his forearm and he only tsk-ed at you. “Bad girl. Tongue out, breathe through your nose,” he commanded, and you immediately obliged.

He fucked your throat steadily, retreating right before you were about to gag, soft praises falling from his lips. He watched himself appearing and disappearing between your lips and the hand that was previously whitening at the armrest travelled to cup your face and caress your cheek. You closed your eyes at the touch and let the drool roll out of your mouth onto his thigh, your breath heavy through your nose as you tried to even out its rhythm with the one of his thrusts.

He retreated to rub himself all over your face, smearing your makeup in the process. “So pretty like this,” he cooed, stroking your hair. “Are you sorry?”

You nodded, looking at him from under glued eyelashes. And Viktor looked so in love you couldn’t help a smile forcing itself onto your lips.

“Let’s apologize some more, are you ready?” he asked hoarsely, already lining himself against your mouth. Wordlessly, you opened, splaying your tongue out, coating your teeth with your lips to avoid any accidental scratches. He pushed himself deeper, tickling your uvula, while plugging your nose with his fingers and holding you in position.

“Are you sorry?” He leaned in to whisper into your ear, and you nodded, as much as you could. Obediently, you stayed for as long as your breath allowed you to, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, before patting his thigh three times, and Viktor released you with a loud groan, spit glistening on his length.

“Good girl,” he breathed, and you felt something perking up inside you as you reached back out for him to suck on his head. He leaned in the chair, granting a few languid rolls of his hips into your mouth, whispering quiet praises when you gagged yourself on his cock. Undying affection seeping from his eyes, from his touch, pumped air into your lungs, when your nose couldn’t.

“Will you be a good girl and eat me up?” he asked, feeling the lance of lust twisting his guts, his movements speeding up, his breath hitching and you mumbled something sounding like a yes against his thrusts.

His body curled in, hands cupping your face, thumbs digging into your cheeks, wiping your tears away. You felt him hitting the back of your throat a couple of times, drool leaking out with each movement in and out, before his stomach tensed up and he coated the inside of your mouth with his cum, distantly whispering “Yes, yes, good girl.”

You swallowed the salt of him, not letting him out, making sure to lick down every last drop. Viktor shuddered, suddenly overstimulated, and gently pulled you up to sit back on his lap. The thin layer of your knickers so wet it almost disappeared as your cunt pressed on his softening cock. He licked his thumb to clean the smears of mascara cascading down your cheeks and murmured, “You did very well. I forgive you,” before kissing you on the mouth lovingly.

A giggle forced itself out of you, as you wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his neck. “Were you really so upset?” You asked quietly, tracing your fingers up and down his chest.

“Of course not,” he chuckled, massaging the nape of your neck. “I wanted to see how willing you would be to apologize though.”

“You are such a bastard,” you smacked his chest and bit his neck, making him wiggle and wince underneath you. “Now you have to apologize to me.”

“If you accept apologies delivered while laying on my stomach, I am willing,” he stated with a shit-eating grin. His expression softened, when he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Well, tricked!” you exclaimed, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m alright. Pleasantly full, I might add,” you added with a smirk and placed a peck on his lips. “You?”

“Eh, quite alright myself. Pleasantly devoured, though slightly hungry,” he mused, nipping at your lip, before deepening the kiss. You felt breathless again, his hands sneaking under your shirt, when you mustered some strength to pull away and breathe into his mouth, “I might have something to eat for you when we get home.”

“Or—” Viktor cocked his head, eyeing your knees with a knowing smile.

“Or… what?” You arched your brow, knowing exactly where this was going. Viktor licked his lips.

“What if I am too hungry to wait? Would you accept my apology now?” He asked and his smirk deepened as he tapped your hip three times signalling you to stand up. “And maybe lock the door? For a good measure. Unless, of course, it was a part of your little plan.” His eyes feigned innocence as he played idly with the hem of your skirt, and you could feel your face flush red. Of course, the door was still ajar.

“R-right,” you stuttered sheepishly and went to lock it, your legs wonky. You almost skipped coming back to where Viktor’s finger was pointing on the desk. He let you in between him on a chair and the edge of the wood and pushed his palms flat underneath your skirt to yank your knickers down to your ankles. You shuddered at the sensation of the material ungluing itself from you.

“Up,” he commanded and once you were seated, he leaned down to pick up your underwear, sniff it obscenely to finally put it in his pocket. Your eyes were so transfixed on the action, that the touch of his hands under your knees startled you, as he scooted the chair closer to the desk and hooked them over his shoulders.

And then he paused, eyes staring at your weeping cunt, his breaths deep and steady as he inhaled your scent. “To think you would let this waste and make me wait until we get home deserves a punishment in itself, I might say,” he murmured and the hot air coming from his mouth fanned your skin. His flat palm travelled up from your navel to your stomach, pressing you to lay down.

He didn’t wait for your spine to meet the desk fully, so when he dived in, the back of your head hit the wood with a quiet thump. His tongue stroke a rapid lick along your seam before coming to your clit with a chuckled hum of approval. A very vocal moan pushed itself past your mouth and you were grateful to your past self for closing that door. Soon your voice pitched higher as you breathed an incomprehensive, “Ah, Viktor,” while trying to bring your hips closer to his face, but his grip on you rendered it utterly impossible. His licks, fast and precise, caused your thighs to shake on his shoulders.

His hand slid from pressing on your stomach down to your navel, his thumb brushing your clit, when he asked hoarsely, “And what do we say to a Gregory, next time we meet him, hm?”

Completely confused and frustrated at the sudden change you managed to rasp, “Who?” and Viktor chuckled warmly, straight into you. “Good girl.”

His tongue slid down to your entrance, giving you shallow thrusts, while his thumb rubbed even circles on your clit, keeping the previous pace. Another thump of your head, fingers whitening at the edge of the desk as you tried desperately to move underneath him.

He began to deepen his movements, pressing his face hungrily into your cunt. Feeling your walls closing down on his tongue and mouth, his thumb picked up the pace. And you felt it so strongly, the orgasm wrenched out of you, built up by the last hour of apologizing on your knees. You felt it down to your toes, your heels digging into Viktor’s ribs as he hummed into you, drinking you all up, and keeping your thighs hooked with his arms. Only when you patted his shoulders blindly, he released you, placing one last kiss on your pubic bone.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, exhaling shakily, your chest heaving. You heard him getting up, allowing your legs to hang limply from the edge of the desk, as he circled around it, and took your jaw in his hand. He leaned in to give you a sweet kiss on the mouth and asked, “Am I forgiven?”

“Yes. Am I?” you murmured against his lips, and he smiled again.

“Not sure. You might want to check again at home.”

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | it was never meant to be (1/2) continued...

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, franco colapinto ୨ৎ : synopsis : your ex f1 boyfriend regrets letting you go so easily.

୨ৎ : genre : reconcilation, heartbreak, angst, sad themes, moving-on ୨ৎ : tws : moving onto someone else, unforgiveness ୨ৎ : word count : 2301

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

୨ৎ find part one here ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was requested, and since you guys asked, you shall recieve! (buy me a ko-fi? ☕️)

ʚ・max verstappen

“this is insane,” ryan said, leaning closer to you so you could hear him over the noise. “i’ve only ever seen this on tv. it’s way more intense in person.”

you chuckled, slipping your hand into his. “i told you it’s a whole different world. i wanted you to see it for yourself.”

ryan squeezed your hand, his grin widening. “i’m glad you brought me. it’s incredible.”

from across the paddock, max verstappen’s gaze landed on you. he had spotted you the moment you walked in, his eyes immediately drawn to the man at your side. max recognized the jacket ryan wore—it wasn’t from any team, just a simple, casual hoodie. no team colors. no logos. it told max everything he needed to know: ryan wasn’t part of this world.

it should have made max feel better. it didn’t.

he tried to focus on the strategy meeting happening behind him, but his attention kept straying to you. the way you leaned into ryan as you explained something about the cars. the way he laughed at whatever joke you told. the way you seemed completely at ease with him.

max clenched his jaw, a dull ache settling in his chest. he hated the way his mind worked—how he was already comparing himself to ryan, someone he didn’t even know. he hated how effortless it looked between the two of you.

“you okay?” christian’s voice cut through his thoughts, startling him. max turned to see his team principal watching him with a raised eyebrow.

“yeah, fine,” max muttered, forcing his attention back to the conversation. but his eyes betrayed him, flickering back to you and ryan every chance they got.

after the race, the paddock was a mixture of celebration and chaos. charles had finished on the podium, and you made your way to the ferrari hospitality area to congratulate him. ryan followed closely behind, still taking in the sights and sounds of the post-race festivities.

“charles!” you called, throwing your arms around him as he stepped off the stage. he laughed, hugging you back.

“merci, y/n,” charles said, his smile genuine. “i didn’t know you’d be here today. it’s good to see you.”

you stepped aside, introducing ryan to charles. “this is ryan, my boyfriend. he’s never been to a race before, so i thought i’d show him what it’s all about.”

charles shook ryan’s hand, offering him a warm smile. “bienvenue. i hope she hasn’t scared you off with all her f1 knowledge.”

ryan laughed. “not yet. she’s been amazing—explaining everything and showing me around. i can see why she loves it so much.”

max watched the interaction from a distance, his stomach twisting. he didn’t need to be close to hear what was being said. he could see it all—the way ryan looked at you, the way you looked back at him.

and then you laughed, that familiar sound that once belonged to max. it hit him like a punch to the gut.

he didn’t realize charles had spotted him until the monegasque walked over, leaving you and ryan to chat. “you’re staring,” charles said bluntly, his voice low.

max tore his gaze away, fixing his eyes on the ground. “i’m not.”

charles didn’t buy it, his sharp eyes narrowing. “she’s happy, max. let her be.”

“i know,” max snapped, his tone harsher than he intended. he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “i know.”

charles nodded, satisfied that his point had been made. “then act like it.”

max stayed where he was as charles walked away, his words lingering. you were happy. that should have been enough for max. but as he watched ryan wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, he couldn’t stop the jealousy from burning in his chest.

he’d had his chance. he let it slip through his fingers. and now, someone else got to be the reason for your smile.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

lewis sat on the edge of his couch, the phone in his hand feeling heavier than it should. his thumb hovered over your instagram profile, the notification mocking him—y/n added a new photo. he shouldn’t look. he knew that much. but curiosity—or maybe guilt—won out.

the picture hit him harder than any crash ever could. there you were, smiling brighter than he remembered, standing next to a man he didn’t know. his arm was wrapped around your waist, and the caption was simple: finally showing him my world. his first race weekend.

lewis’s chest tightened. he let the phone fall into his lap, staring blankly at the screen. the man in the photo wasn’t part of this world—no polished media training, no rehearsed charm. just a regular guy. a guy who got to see you laugh like that. a guy who now stood in the spot lewis had willingly given up.

roscoe stirred from his bed in the corner of the room, padding over to his side. the dog let out a soft huff, his head tilting as if to ask, what’s wrong?

lewis sighed, reaching down to rub behind roscoe’s ears. “i messed up, mate,” he said, his voice low and rough. “i thought i was doing the right thing. i thought…” his voice trailed off as the weight of his choices settled on his shoulders.

he had convinced himself it was for the best when he let you go. told himself that the pr relationship would be easier, cleaner, better for his image. but it was all a lie—a shiny, hollow lie. and while he had fallen into the illusion, you had slipped through his fingers.

roscoe rested his head on lewis’s knee, his big eyes filled with understanding. lewis let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “yeah, i know. i gave up something real for something fake. and look at me now.”

his mind wandered back to the night it all fell apart. the look on your face when he had admitted he couldn’t keep his promises. the way your voice had cracked when you’d asked if any of it had been real. he told himself it was for the best, but now, seeing you happy—truly happy with someone else—it hit him just how much he had lost.

he stared at the photo again, his hand resting on roscoe’s back as the dog gave a soft sigh. “you know,” he murmured, “i thought i’d feel relief seeing her move on. but all i feel is regret.”

roscoe looked up at him, his eyes almost accusing. lewis let out a long breath, leaning back against the couch as the phone screen dimmed. the laughter in your eyes in that photo wasn’t for him anymore. it was for someone else.

and he had no one to blame but himself.

ʚ・george russell

the roar of engines filled the paddock, but george’s mind was elsewhere. he had spotted you from across the garage, standing alone near the mclaren hospitality. you were dressed casually, a faint smile gracing your lips as you watched the bustle around you. for a moment, he let himself imagine that smile was for him.

he had been drowning in regret ever since the day he ended things, convincing himself it was for the best, for his career. but every time he saw her—the woman he’d left you for—it felt empty. fake. nothing like what he had with you.

before he could stop himself, his legs carried him toward you, his heart pounding louder than the engines in the background.

“y/n,” he called softly, catching your attention.

you turned, your expression faltering when you saw him. “george,” you greeted, your tone guarded.

“can we talk?” he asked, his voice laced with something raw—something you hadn’t heard in a long time.

you hesitated but eventually nodded, following him to a quieter corner near the back of the garage. the air between you was thick, heavy with unspoken words and old wounds.

“i just…” he began, running a hand through his hair. “i wanted to say i’m sorry. for everything. for how i handled it. for breaking your trust.”

you crossed your arms, looking at him with a mixture of hurt and skepticism. “why now, george? what’s changed?”

he hesitated, his blue eyes meeting yours with an honesty that made your chest ache. “i made the biggest mistake of my life,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “i thought i was doing what was right for my career, but… i wasn’t thinking about what was right for me. and now, i see that i let go of the one person who actually cared about me—not the driver, not the brand, just me.”

you let his words sink in, the raw emotion in his voice undeniable. but the scars he’d left were still fresh, still tender.

“i don’t know what you expect me to say,” you replied, your tone steady but distant. “you hurt me, george. you chose someone else—someone who wasn’t even real—over me. and now, after all this time, you want to apologize?”

he nodded, swallowing hard. “i know i don’t deserve another chance. i know i have no right to ask for anything from you. but i needed to tell you how sorry i am. i miss you, y/n. every single day.”

you sighed, your resolve wavering for a moment before you shook your head. “i’m not ready, george. you don’t just get to walk back into my life and expect everything to be okay. if you want to fix this—if you even can—it’s going to take a lot more than an apology.”

he nodded again, his shoulders slumping. “i’ll do whatever it takes,” he said softly. “i just want you to know that i’ll never stop trying.”

you looked at him for a long moment, the sincerity in his eyes tugging at something deep inside you. but you weren’t ready to let him in—not yet.

without another word, you turned and walked back toward the paddock, leaving george standing alone. for the first time in months, though, he felt a glimmer of hope. it wasn’t much, but it was enough to remind him that you were worth fighting for—and this time, he wouldn’t let you go without a fight.

ʚ・franco colapinto

the café was small and cozy, tucked away on a quiet street corner, and you were grateful for the escape from the cold breeze outside. the familiar scent of coffee and pastries filled the air as you approached the counter, glancing at the menu. it was supposed to be a peaceful afternoon, one where you didn’t have to think about the past.

but fate had other plans.

“y/n?”

the voice was hesitant, familiar, and unmistakable. your stomach twisted as you turned to see franco standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. he looked different—tired, older, like he’d been carrying the weight of regret for far too long.

your expression hardened instinctively, the wounds he’d left still tender. “franco,” you said curtly, your tone clipped.

“i… i didn’t think i’d see you here,” he said, his voice soft, almost cautious.

“neither did i,” you replied, turning back toward the counter, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

but he didn’t. instead, he stepped closer, his presence lingering like a shadow. “please, can we talk?”

you scoffed, shaking your head. “i don’t think there’s much left to say, franco.”

“maybe not for you,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly, “but i’ve been waiting for a chance to apologize. to explain.”

you hesitated, the raw emotion in his voice stopping you in your tracks. slowly, you turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “you want to explain?” you said, your tone sharper than you intended. “go ahead, franco. explain why you broke my heart and threw away everything we had.”

he winced at your words, his shoulders sagging as he ran a hand through his hair. “i was an idiot,” he said simply. “i thought i was doing what was best for me—what would make me happy. but i was wrong. i was selfish, and i hurt you, and i’ve regretted it every single day since.”

you stared at him, your anger warring with the part of you that still remembered the good times, the laughter, the connection you once shared.

“i don’t know if i can forgive you,” you said honestly, your voice quieter now.

“i don’t expect you to,” he replied, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that took you by surprise. “but i want to try. i miss you, y/n. not just as someone i loved, but as my best friend. i miss us.”

your heart ached at his words, the honesty in them cutting through the layers of resentment you’d built up. “you hurt me, franco,” you said softly. “it’s not something i can just forget.”

“i know,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “but i’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. even if it’s just as friends. i just… i can’t go on knowing i didn’t at least try to fix this.”

you sighed, the weight of his words settling over you. part of you wanted to walk away, to protect yourself from the possibility of getting hurt again. but another part—the part that still cared, no matter how much you tried to deny it—wanted to give him a chance.

“friends,” you said finally, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. “that’s all we are right now, franco. if you want anything more, you’ll have to prove it to me.”

his face lit up with a faint, hopeful smile, and he nodded. “i will. i promise.”

you gave him a small, tentative smile in return. it wasn’t a clean slate, but it was a start. and maybe—just maybe—you could rebuild something worth holding onto.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[crushpunky]

rafe and kook!reader go to a wedding

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

this one's kinda long, but i was having too much fun and got carried away. oh well. enjoy <3

When Rafe found out one of his dad’s business partners was getting married, he knew he had to make a good impression. So, naturally, he called up his usual accomplice to things like these: y/n.

“You owe me big time, Cameron.” Y/n said with a sigh as she hung up the phone. While she wasn’t the biggest fan of these formal, uppity events, she couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t at least a little bit excited to get a new dress (on Rafe’s dime of course) and spend an evening getting drunk off champagne with Rafe’s arm around her.

The two of them had gone shopping on the mainland, trying to find the perfect suit and dress combo to fit the wedding's spring-floral theme.

“I’m not wearing a fucking pink suit.” Rafe grumbled from behind the curtain of the changing room, his head peeking out as y/n held up a baby pink suit and coordinating hat.

“Just try it on, please. It’ll be funny.” Y/n smiled brightly, something that quickly made Rafe’s resolve crumble away with a roll of his eyes. He took it on, muttering to himself as he pulled on the light colored suit jacket. He stepped out, moving around dramatically in the pink fabric, a giggle immediately erupting from y/n’s mouth.

“Put on the hat!” Y/n laughed, Rafe shaking his head as he grabbed the hat. He plopped it on his head, cringing as he caught sight of himself in the mirror before turning back to y/n. She quickly snapped a photo, her laughter continuing to echo throughout the shop.

“Don’t you even think about fucking showing that to anybody.” Rafe pointed before chucking off his hat.

“It’s for my own personal pleasure, boy.” Y/n smiled, looking down at her photo and taking in Rafe’s sour look coupled with his extravagant, pink ensemble.

“The shit I do for you…” Rafe grumbled to himself before returning to the changing room.

After hours of shopping, the two of them finally found the perfect outfits. Rafe found a dusty blue linen suit that y/n insisted he had to get purely because of the way it made his eyes pop. Similarly, y/n found a breezy, blue dress that had Rafe nearly needing to take a step outside because of how good she looked (not that he’d admit that, of course).

Y/n was putting the last touches of makeup on when the doorbell rang. With a huff, y/n grabbed her clutch before hurrying down the stairs, hees in hand. Like many Kook weddings, the wedding was at the Country Club, which luckily meant they were oh-so familiar with the venue, but unfortunately also meant they were likely to know everybody there.

Tugging her heels on, y/n bid her parents farewell before she opened the front door. Paying too much attention to the straps of her shoes, y/n ran straight into a broad chest and fistful of flowers.

“Woah!” Rafe said, his hand falling to y/n’s waist, keeping her from falling further off the porch. Y/n looked up, finding herself wishing she’d done a couple of shots before she left when she saw just how good he looked. His face was freshly shaven (though she didn’t particularly mind his stubble), his hair was styled a bit cleaner than its usual boyish tousle, and of course he had that same, damn, shit-eating grin that always made her cheeks flush.

“Sorry,” y/n muttered, swallowing harshly as she still struggled with the buckle of her shoe.

“Here.” Rafe said, handing her the bouquet of flowers she had just run into before kneeling down. His warm hands brushed the soft skin of her ankle as he made quick work of the buckle of her shoe. Y/n barely had a second to process what was happening before he stood back up, looking down at her with a grin.

“Thanks.” Y/n said, blinking quickly before looking over to where Rafe usually parked. However, where his Jeep usually sat was the Camerons’ Mercedes, Ward and Rose inside, their usual sour expressions visible even through the darkly tinted windows.

“Why is your dad driving?” Y/n asked, turning back to Rafe as ran a hand down his face.

“He insisted we drive together.” Rafe sighed. “Said he didn’t want us sneaking out early.”

“Having no car has never stopped us before.” Y/n grumbled as they made their way to the car, Rafe opening the door as y/n climbed inside.

“Oh, y/n, that dress is gorgeous.” Rose gushed, turning around as she looked over y/n’s dress.

“Thanks, Rafe helped me pick it out, actually.” Y/n grinned, looking over at Rafe as the Ward backed the car out of the driveway. He flashed her a quick smile before focusing his gaze forward.

“That explains the low neckline.” Ward muttered, his voice quiet, but not quiet enough for y/n or Rafe to not hear. Rafe’s head whipped over to his father, his hands immediately clenching before y/n placed a hand on his bicep.

“Good to know you like it, Mr. Cameron.” Y/n said, flashing Ward her best dramatically fake grin in the rearview mirror. Rafe sat next to her, his foot tapping quickly on the floor as his jaw remained tense, an anxiety coursing through him that often presented himself when it came to dealing with his father.

“Rafe, I’m expecting the two of you to be on your best behavior tonight.” Ward said sharply. “These are my— your— business partners, so you will not embarrass our family tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” Rafe grumbled, looking out the window as they pulled up to the Country Club. The lawn was littered with finely dressed guests and flowers and lights adorned the patio, the setting sun bathing the party in golden light. The Camerons pulled up to the curb, Ward putting the car in park as the valet began to approach them.

“Oh and just as a little insurance that my partners see how much my son has grown up,” Ward turned to look at the two of them, “I told them he would be bringing his very serious, long term girlfriend with him this evening.”

“What?!” Rafe scoffed, his voice sharp as he looked between his father and y/n, whose face was equally shocked. She felt her cheeks warm up, her mind immediately racing with a thousand questions and worries… but also a subtle excitement at the new twist for the night.

“They don’t think you’re reliable or committed, so I made sure they saw you were.” Ward said simply, him and Rose exiting the car. The two of them sat in the car in a silence, unsure of what to say or do, until the valet awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Shit, um, sorry.” Rafe scrambled, popping his door open before turning back to y/n. He offered his hand out to her as she climbed out, his touch light. The gesture wasn’t unusual, he often would open the door for her or help her out of a car, but now things felt a bit different.

“Y/n I swear I didn’t know he was—” Rafe began, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Y/n sighed, smoothing the front of her dress as she looked out at the sea of guests… the sea of guests they were going to have to convince they were dating. The thought sent a shiver down her spine; imagining Rafe’s hands firmly wrapped around her all night, his eyes on her every move, his lips on hers… it was everything she hated to admit she would think about sometimes when she was alone. When she pictured her future, the person beside her always developed ocean blue eyes, a quaff of blondish-brown hair, tanned skin, a cheeky smirk… she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help thinking about being with him in that way, even if she knew it was wrong.

“It’s just one night, ok? It… it doesn’t mean anything.” Y/n whispered as she started towards the wedding, her pounding heart betraying the lies she was telling him.

The ceremony was the same boring, Kook event the island had seen countless times: bride walks down the aisle in a dress that cost more than most people's homes, groom reads off vows very obviously not written by him, and the two of them ride off into the sunset happily ever after, prenups signed and millions in their pockets.

The reception, however, was where the Kooks really shined. Drunken guests stumbled around the expansive dancefloor, an overpaid dj playing music so loud y/n was sure the Pogues could probably hear it all the way on the Cut. Trays of small bites of food floated around the party, the food nowhere near enough to balance out the effects of the open bar. Y/n found herself standing at one of the tables, watching the partygoers as Rafe ventured over to the bar to get the two of them drinks that would hopefully make them blackout for the inevitable car ride home with Ward and Rose.

“What’s a young lady like you doing standing by herself?” A voice tore y/n’s eyes away from the sea of people, an old man with a chilling smile approaching her, setting his whiskey on the table.

“Just waiting for someone.” Y/n said simply, flashing him a quick grin before turning her attention back to the party. She swallowed harshly as she felt the guy's eyes rake over her in a way that made her stomach churn.

“A special someone or just someone?” The man chuckled, his wrinkled hand creeping across the table cloth and inching towards where y/n’s arm rested.

“Hey, baby,” Rafe’s voice cut in just before the man’s fingers could reach her. Y/n felt herself exhaling as Rafe handed her her drink before snaking his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side. His grip on her was firm, much more intense than the way he would usually rest his hands on the small of her back when they were maneuvering through a party or he was following her onto the Druthers. She took a sip of it, eyeing Rafe as he stared down the man in front of them.

“Cameron, it’s good to see you.” The old man said, offering his hand out for a handshake. Rafe raised his drink to his lips before lowering it with a small chuckle.

“Sorry,” Rafe said with a short shrug. “Hands are full.”

“Rafe…” y/n warned, looking up at Rafe sharply.

“No problem.” The old man laughed, taking a sip of his own drink. “If I had a pretty thing like her I wouldn’t want to take my hands off ‘em either.”

Y/n let out a faux, airy laugh. Between the way Rafe’s grip tightened on her side and the clench of his jaw, y/n could practically feel the tension emanating off of him. Y/n placed her hand on top of where Rafe’s rested on her waist, the cool familiarity of her touch helping reduce Rafe’s urge to attack the old creep.

“Well, it was good to see you, young man.” The old man grinned before pointing over to where the bride and groom stood. “Before you know, that’ll be you two. Have a good night.”

Y/n nearly choked on the sip of her drink she was taking, Rafe letting out a scoff as the old man finally shuffled away. Despite the man leaving, Rafe’s fingers still sat firmly on her waist, y/n’s fingers toying with the rings that adorned them.

“Those are the type of creeps I’m supposed to kiss up to?” Rafe scoffed, biting his lip as he shook his head in disbelief. Y/n sighed, before resting her head on Rafe’s chest. She hadn’t even realized she’d done it until Rafe’s other arm moved to wrap around her, holding her against his chest in a warm embrace. The two of them stood, y/n’s ear pressed to Rafe’s chest and Rafe praying she couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating.

“I’m proud of you, Rafe.” Y/n said, pulling away just enough to look up at him. He looked down at her, his lips slightly parted. Standing this close to him, she could see the freckles along his nose and the blush that adorned his cheeks when he drank present.

“For what?” Rafe whispered, his breath fanning across her face. He found himself unable to look away from the curve of her cheekbones or the hue of her eyes he considered his favorite color.

“You’ve come so far with… everything.” Y/n said, a smile dancing across her lips. “The Rafe I knew a few years ago would’ve jumped that old man.”

Rafe let out a chuckle that shook against the skin of y/n’s arm, “the idea certainly crossed my mind.”

“Oh it crossed mine too, don’t worry.” Y/n laughed, Rafe biting his lip as he looked down at her. The two of them looked at eachother, the rest of the wedding slowly fading away until it was just them. Rafe could feel his mouth begin to dry, the blood rushing to his head. Maybe it was the alcohol in his veins, or the words she spoke to sweetly, or maybe the way she looked under the twinkle of the lights, but he felt the urge to lower his head and press his lips to hers… but he knew he shouldn’t. Couldn’t.

So, closing his eyes lightly, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding her tightly against his chest. If he couldn’t be with her in the way he wanted, he could allow himself this. He could allow himself to hold her, even if every time he did he wished he could do more. He would allow himself to kiss her cheek, even if he wished he could kiss her lips. He would allow himself to tell her he loved her, even if he wished he could tell her how he thought of her every waking moment, her very presence weaving its way into every dream he’d ever had.

He would allow himself this because it didn’t cross the line. That carefully constructed line he’d drawn so firmly, pledging to never cross for risk of losing her forever… because while he could live without being with her the way he wanted, he couldn’t live without her at all.

[dfortrafalgar]

Shampoo

Sometimes, Law neglects his personal hygiene and needs some external reminders.

Warnings: None, other than a musty pirate captain's sweaty hat

A/N: in my google drive i had called this fic "Sebaceous Gland Lipids" but realized i should probably title it something less jarring on here. It's also worth it to note that this was heavily inspired by a shitpost tiktok i saw early last year of which i haven't been able to find since then sob

You loved Law with every fiber of your being, you really did.

But you could not deny that his personal hygiene tended to lack, especially in times of high stress.  Typically he would just mask any lingering odor with some extra sprays of a mild cologne or an additional application of antiperspirant, but it would always get to a point where you would practically beg him for a good shower.  And if you didn’t, one of his other crew members certainly would.

The worst victim of his stress-induced musk, however, was his thick mop of black hair that he kept covered with his plush white cap all hours of the day.

Late one evening, deep below the surface of the ocean, Law sat at the Polar Tang’s communal dining table, sipping a cup of lukewarm black coffee and flipping through the recent issue of the World Government’s newspaper, discarding the fresh pile of wanted posters that didn’t concern him.  Down the table from him, Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo were intensely focused in a game of rummy.  Other members of the Heart Pirates milled about the ship, either preparing to tuck in for the night, fulfilling evening duties pertaining to the submarine’s upkeep, or simply lounging as their higher-ups currently did.

Clad in flannel pajamas, you rounded the corner into the galley and smiled upon seeing your beloved captain and first mates in a state of stress-free relaxation.  Law heard you enter and immediately flashed a small smile in your direction, setting his paper down.

“Hey, baby,” he said in a coarse, tired voice.

You smiled even wider, excited whenever he shoved aside his pride to address you with such pet names around his friends and crew.  “Hi, Law, hi Bepo and Shachi and Penguin,” you addressed the other three sitting at the end of the table.  Penguin simply nodded his head, lips held in a firm pout as he debated his hand compared to the cards already placed down on the table.

You took the open seat next to Law, reaching across him to grab the pile of wanted posters to flip through them.  Most were pirates you had never heard of, small-time rookies from the Grand Line or having just entered the New World.  Some were much more local, a new, substantial bounty from the West Blue being included in the stack.

“You always love looking through the posters every week,” Law simply stated through the rim of his coffee cup.

Flicking through the parchment you nodded in affirmation.  “I like seeing if anyone I know shows up!”

“She wants to see when she’ll get her own wanted poster,” elaborated Shachi, turning his attention away from their game.

You scoffed, but Law saw right through your futile attempt at deflection and uttered a hardy chuckle.  “You need to get yourself involved in more fights with the Marines for that to happen.”

You hunched your shoulders in defeat.  With a sudden switch to your sullen mood, you cocked a smirk and reached your hand upward, aiming towards the brim of Law’s fluffy white speckled hat.

“Maybe I can just trick the Marines with this,” you boasted, pulling the cap off of your boyfriend’s head freeing his unkempt black hair.  You were the only one, aside from Bepo, he allowed to touch his beloved hat.  He found you even more adorable when you wore it, but he’d never reveal that information toward you.

You held the brim in your hand and raised the object over your head to plop it on, but before it could make contact with your hair, you paused.  An offending odor intruded your nostrils.  You brought the underside of the hat towards your nose, taking an apprehensive sniff.  A foul, musky scent, somewhat salty and definitely humid, singed the fine hairs in your nose.  You yanked the hat away from your face with a groan.  

“Oh my god, Law!” you shouted, bewildered.

“What?” he asked plainly, completely confused at your sudden reaction.  

The three men at the end of the table had now completely forgotten their card game and instead turned their full attention on the two of you.

“Your hat smells disgusting, when’s the last time you even washed it?”  

Law drummed his fingers on the surface of the metal table.  “Uhm… probably a year or so ago?”

Down the table, Penguin released a harsh snort from his own nose.

“How often are you supposed to wash hats?  I didn’t even think they needed to be washed.”  Law felt himself grow slightly annoyed with the confrontation.  He grabbed his hat back from you and attempted to place it back on his head, but your hand latched onto his wrist while your other flew toward his hair.  

Your fingers threaded through his bangs and along his scalp.  You recoiled your appendage after only a few fleeting seconds, eyes wide and aghast.  “Your hair is so greasy, Law,” you said under your breath.  You knew you should probably have this conversation away from the prying ears of Law’s three best friends, but it couldn’t be helped at this point.

“So?  Hair sebum is natural,” he responded, finally being able to replace his hat.

“Yeah, but not that much,” you uttered back.  “You should wash your hair at least once a week to keep up on it.”

Law’s jaw clenched.  “I’m not stupid,” he said back, an annoyed venom on his tongue.

“Never said you are, but you really should wash your hair.”  You stood from your seat, grabbing the stack of wanted posters to bring with you to review in bed.  “Goodnight, guys, see you in the morning!”

The three stooges waved you a goodnight while Law simply scowled down at his newspaper, not reading any of the words.

“Has it really been that long since you’ve washed your hair?” Shachi asked.  “Even I'm not that bad.”

“Oh, stuff it.”  Law folded up the newsprint and left it on the table, trudging out of the galley with a grunt.

An hour or so had passed, and you were curled up on the plush cot you shared with Law, warm and cozy under the blankets.  You kept your eyes closed when you heard the door to the room open and then close slowly so as to not make much noise.  You felt the bed dip downward with the force of Law laying down.  He shuffled toward you, his chest against your back, wrapping his arms around your body and holding you tightly against him without a single word.  Cold, damp hairs tickled your neck, and a faint smell of lavender and honey filled your senses.  You smiled in the dark.

He used your shampoo.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔒𝔲𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔱

Mike Munroe x male reader

Summary: Being in a secret relationship with Mike Munroe was equal parts intoxicating and excruciating. The stolen touches, the nights spent tangled together in secrecy was addictive. But the weight of hiding it all was suffocating, and one night, when the tension between you reached its breaking point, you finally confronted him.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Sensual tension. Jealousy. Friends to lovers. Cute interactions between Mike and the reader. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Blowjob (reading giving and receiving). Anal sex.

Words count: 5500

You hadn't expected Mike Munroe to notice you. Why would he? You had spent most of your life mastering the art of blending in. If Mike shone like fireworks against the night sky, you were the quiet flicker of a candle in the corner, soft and unassuming.

And you were okay with that. At least, that's what you told yourself.

You'd met Mike through your shared group of friends—Chris, Ashley, Sam— and while he had always been polite, his attention had always seemed elsewhere.

You'd found comfort in your little corner with Chris and Ashley and their easy banter and grounded energy. Chris, especially, had become your closest confidant. He was the kind of friend who could pull you out of your head with a single sarcastic comment, who didn't mind when you sank into moments of silence. You'd never had to fight for Chris's attention; it was just there, freely given, and that simplicity made him feel safe.

But lately, you've noticed something strange.

Or rather, someone.

Mike's eyes lingered on you in ways that made your skin tingle, the hairs at the back of your neck standing on end. At first, you thought you were imagining it. But then there were the moments you couldn't explain away: the sharp way his gaze would cut across the room whenever Chris slung an arm around your shoulder, the tightness in his jaw when you and Sam leaned in close, lost in conversation.

Something in the way his eyes lingered on yours that made your stomach twist in knots.

It was moments like those that made your stomach twist, a confusing mix of excitement and fear. Because the truth was, you wanted Mike's attention. You wanted it in ways that scared you, in ways that left you aching in the middle of the night, your mind replaying every stolen glance, every accidental touch.

The night of senior prom was where everything changed.

The gym was a blur of colored lights and pounding bass, the air heavy with the mingling scents of cheap cologne, perfume, and sweat. You'd been nursing a cup of punch on the sidelines, watching everything unfold with a mix of amusement and detachment. Chris and Ashley were off somewhere being grossly adorable and Sam was deep in conversation with Hannah and Beth. No sight of the rest of the group.

When Mike approached you, it was impossible to ignore how good he looked. His styled hair was now tousled, as though he’d run his hand through it one too many times. Sharp jawline slightly shadowed with the hint of a five o’clock stubble and cheeks faintly flushed, whether from the alcohol or the warmth of the crowded room, you couldn't tell.

The first few buttons of his dress shirt undone to reveal the smooth line of his collarbone and just a hint of skin beneath. The crispness of his tux jacket was gone, replaced by a relaxed slouch that was somehow just as captivating.

The faint scent of his spicy and woodsy cologne mingled with the smell of booze on his breath as he leaned closer to you. His hand was already reaching out as though the decision had been made long before he got there.

“Hey,” he started, his voice lower than usual, carrying a huskiness to it. He licked his lips quickly, almost absentmindedly, before continuing, “You’re not really just gonna stand there all night, are you?” He tilted his head, his fingers flexing in the air between you as if urging you to take his hand.

There was a flicker of something in his gaze that felt equal parts curious and dangerous. His eyes were locked on you, and for a split second, they flicked downward long enough to make your lips tingle like he'd touched them instead of merely looked.

It hit you that this wasn't just some half-hearted attempt to mess around. Mike Munroe, who could have anyone in the room, was standing there, looking at you like there was no one else worth noticing.

You started to stammer a weak excuse but he cut you off with a breathless laugh, shaking his head like he couldn't believe you were trying to resist him.

"You're not gonna make me ask twice, are you?" he continued, "Dance with me."

Your heart skipped a beat, your mind scrambling to process his words. Was he serious? Or was this just another one of his jokes?

"C'mon, don’t make me beg. It's embarrassing." There was something in his eyes, a flicker of curiosity and eagerness that made it impossible to say no.

Not that you had much of a choice.

He grabbed your hand and tugged you onto the dance floor, his grin widening when you stumbled slightly.

The next thing you knew, his hands were on your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush against each other.

The song was slow, unhurried, and so were his movements. His hips swayed lazily in time with the music, as if he wasn't in any rush to let the moment end. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs brushing small, languid circles against the fabric of your suit. His head tilted slightly as he watched you, his lips curving into that lopsided smile of his, like he was soaking in every detail of your reaction.

His hands lingered on your waist, his grip firm but gentle. Every subtle move he made, from the shift of his hips to the way his thumbs pressed just a little harder into your sides, felt deliberate, like he was testing the limits of the space you shared.

When he leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against your jaw, it was almost instinct to pull away, but his hands held you in place. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, "Let's get out of here."

Next thing you knew, he was pulling you through the crowd without waiting for a response, his hand gripped yours firmly as he navigated through the throng of swaying bodies. He glanced back over his shoulder every few steps, his eyes locking with yours like he was silently checking to make sure you hadn't changed your mind.

The thrill of it all sent a heady rush through your veins.

You didn't know where he was taking you until you were outside, the cool night air biting at your skin as he led you to his car, parked in a darkened corner of the lot. The sounds of the party faded into the background, leaving only the echo of your own footsteps and the pounding of your heart.

The space between you was nonexistent, pinning you lightly against the side of the car. His gaze roamed your face, expression unreadable but intense. It was dizzying, the combination of him so close and the way his eyes kept flickering down to your lips, like he was fighting some internal battle he didn't entirely understand.

His lips parted slightly and you could see the faintest tremor in his breath as his gaze dipped to your mouth again, lingering there for just a moment too long.

And then he moved.

It was sudden, almost desperate, the way he closed the gap and kissed you. His lips crashed against yours with a force that made you gasp, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you flush against him. There was nothing soft about it, his mouth moving against yours like he'd been starving for this.

He trailed kisses along your jaw, down the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

You could feel him, hard and insistent through the thin fabric of his dress pants. Your own hands found their way to his chest, clutching at the open collar of his shirt as he pressed closer.

He pulled back for just a moment, his breathing ragged as he rested his forehead against yours. "Get in," he murmured, his voice low and strained, pulling you toward the passenger side. You barely registered the cold as you clambered into the cramped interior, the car doors clicking shut behind you.

He was already on you the second you crawled inside the car, his body pressing you down against the leather seat. His weight pinned you there as his lips crashed against yours, hot and insistent, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip just hard enough to make you gasp.

And God, the low, guttural sound he made that rumbled deep in his chest, sending vibrations through your entire body.

The sharp nip of his teeth on your lower lip pulled a muffled gasp from you and he took the opportunity to press his tongue into your mouth, deep and insistent.

Your head tilted back as his mouth moved, trailing a messy line of kisses down your jaw and neck, biting down just hard enough to leave marks.

He broke away from your neck just long enough to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly aside before his mouth was on you again, tracing the line of your collarbone. His tongue flicked over sensitive skin, followed by the scrape of his teeth while his hands were unbuckling your belt. The metal clink echoed in the small room, followed by the hiss of fabric sliding down your hips.

Your knees buckled when he finally dipped his hand beneath the waistband, his fingers curling around you with a grip that was firm, stroking you slowly at first, his thumb sweeping over the tip.

His other hand found your thigh, hooking it around his waist as he pressed closer, grinding against you with ferocity. His hands stripped away the last barriers as you lifted your leg higher, opening up for him.

When he entered you, it was with a single, unrelenting motion that left you breathless, your head sinking into the soft material of the seats. The stretch was almost too much, a sharp, burning ache that quickly gave way to a fullness that left you trembling. He didn't stop, his hips driving forward, each thrust forcing a broken sound from your lips.

The tight space of the car was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies colliding. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he drove into you again and again, each motion more forceful than the last.

The car windows began to fog with the heat of your shared breaths, your nails dug into his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist as you clung to him.

His teeth grazed over your skin, leaving marks that would bloom into bruises by morning, his lips sucking hard enough to leave you dizzy.

When you came, it was sudden and overwhelming, your body convulsing around him as you cried out, the sound muffled against his shoulder. He followed moments later, his movements growing erratic as he buried himself deep, his whole body tensing as he came with a low, guttural groan.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips curling into that familiar lopsided grin. But there was something softer there that made your chest tighten.

From there, things escalated quickly.

It was like once the dam had broken, neither of you could stop.

At first, it was stolen moments like a quick kiss outside the lodge when the others were distracted, his hand slipping under your shirt while you made out in the backseat of his car after a late-night drive. He'd corner you in quiet rooms at parties, lips crashing against yours before you could say a word.

He’d plop down beside you during group hangouts, his thigh pressing against yours under the table and a hand sneakily resting on your thing.

But as time went on, the moments became longer, more intimate.

You started spending more time alone together, under the guise of "studying" or "hanging out." He'd show up at your dorm unannounced, pinning you to the bed, body pressed against yours as he kissed you like he was trying to devour you.

It wasn't long before it started to feel like a relationship.

Like you were his and he was yours.

But neither of you ever said it out loud.

There was an unspoken understanding between you, a mutual agreement to keep things quiet. It was easier that way.

Safer.

After all, Mike had a reputation and you weren't exactly eager to put yourself under a microscope either.

Still, there were moments when the secrecy felt unbearable.

Like right now at the lodge during one of your usual hangouts for the weekend with everyone else. Mike was sprawled out on the couch with Jess perched dangerously close to his side, her manicured nails brushing against his arm as she laughed at something he'd said. Emily sat nearby, leaning forward with that sharp, appraising smile of hers.

You stood near the kitchen, nursing a drink you didn't really want, watching the scene unfold like some kind of slow torture. Mike's boyish grin was firmly in place, his posture loose and relaxed as he soaked up the attention.

Jess was in full matchmaker mode for her bestie, her intentions painfully obvious to anyone paying attention. She leaned closer to Mike, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made him chuckle.

You had no reason to be jealous, not when you knew the truth. Not when you'd spent countless nights tangled up with him.

Watching him now, seeing him turn on that same charm for them to keep up the facade, still hurts in a way you couldn't quite describe.

You told yourself you understood why he acted this way, why he kept the two of you a secret. You'd seen the way people talked, how they whispered and stared whenever someone stepped outside the lines of what they considered normal.

You weren't ready for that, but that didn't make it any easier to sit here, watching him laugh and joke like nothing had ever happened between you.

Sometimes, in your weaker moments, you wished everyone else would know the way he looked at you when it was just the two of you. Maybe then you wouldn't have to sit here, watching him flirt with Jess and Emily like it was nothing.

A small, almost wicked smile curled on your lips as your thoughts betrayed you, pulling you into memories that no one else in the room could even begin to imagine. What would Jess and Emily say if they knew about the nights Mike would sneak into your room?

You could still feel his hands threading into your hair, tugging as his lips claimed yours in a kiss anything but polite.

His tongue would sweep against yours, hot and insistent, leaving you breathless and clinging to him.

And that low, desperate rasp of his voice as he pleaded with you to let him take you right there and then.

The room felt too warm now, the air too thick as you forced yourself to look away from the scene on the couch. You told yourself it was fine. This was the arrangement you'd agreed to. You told yourself that this was enough.

Even though it wasn't.

The kitchen was silent, save for the faint hum of the fridge. You leaned against the counter, nursing a beer that had long since lost its chill, swirling the amber liquid in lazy circles as you watched the bubbles rise, burst, and disappear.

You checked the clock again. 2:12 a.m. Mike had texted to meet him at 2. He wasn't here yet.

You hated how used to this you were. Loving Mike felt like holding onto smoke. You could feel it curling through your fingers, soft and warm, but it was always slipping away, impossible to grasp fully.

Still, you waited impatiently and finally, arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you back against a familiar warmth. Lips, hot and wet, pressed rapid-fire kisses to your neck and jaw.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice rough and breathless, the word catching against your skin as he kissed you again.

The tension melted from your body in an instant, replaced by that overwhelming warmth only he could bring. A smile broke across your face, unbidden and unstoppable, as your chest filled with that dizzying, beautiful ache.

"You're late," you murmured, your tone half-scolding but soft, the words barely audible over the sound of his lips trailing lower before he bit down lightly and sucked like a wolf savoring its prey.

He hummed in response, the sound vibrating against your skin as he pressed his teeth lightly into the curve of your shoulder, biting down just enough to make you hiss.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his voice muffled by your flesh as his hand turned your face to meet his lips. "Had to make sure everyone was out cold. Can't have anyone interrupting us, can we?

His lips slammed against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a bruising force. The sharp taste of whiskey mingling with the faint tang of beer still lingering on your tongue.

Hands hooked under your thighs, lifting you off the ground with a grunt and hauling you onto the counter, the cold surface shocking against your skin. His grip on your thighs tightened, rough and unyielding, as he spread your legs to step between them.

His mouth was on you again in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, messy and relentless. His stubble scratched against your skin, leaving a pleasant burn and his hands gripping hard enough to leave bruises.

You moaned softly against his mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, to keep him where you needed him.

Mike's breath was warm and ragged against your neck as he pulled away, his lips brushing the shell of your ear with a husky whisper. "Path clear," he murmured, the words dipped in humor, a callback to the running joke the two of you shared during these secret, stolen moments.

Normally, it made you smile, but tonight, the reminder of your relationship's stealthy nature stung more than it amused.

You slid off the cold counter, his large hands steadying you by your hips. Without thinking, you reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his as you guided him toward your room.

Your thoughts swirled as you walked. The want you'd been carrying for months now sat heavy in your chest, threatening to spill over. You were tired of sneaking around, tired of pretending this was nothing more than casual fun. You wanted him, all of him in the open, without fear or pretense.

But with that hope came the sharp edge of fear that he wouldn't feel the same. The idea of losing him, of pushing him away by wanting too much, gnawed at you, silencing the words before they could even form.

Your thoughts were cut off when his hand slipped from yours to slide down to the curve of your ass, giving it a firm squeeze, a low chuckle coming from him as he pulled you closer, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you against him again and let his lips trail down to the side of your face.

You reached for the doorknob with trembling fingers, your breath hitching as his teeth scraped lightly against your pulse point.

By the time you pushed the door open and stepped inside, he kicked it shut behind him without missing a beat, his hands finding your waist again as he pressed you back against the wall. His lips were on yours instantly, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

You clutched at his shoulders, your fingers digging into the soft fabric of his shirt as he pressed closer, his body pinning you to the wall.

But then you pulled back enough to break the kiss, your chest heaving as you dropped your hands to his. His grip loosened, allowing you to sank to your knees in front of him.

The air shifted, thick with anticipation as you looked up at him, his dark eyes blown wide and locked on yours. His hands twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening as he watched you reach for his belt, undoing the buckle and sliding the leather free before moving to the button and zipper of his jeans and tugging his pants down his hips. His boxers followed and your breath hitched as he sprang free, hard and already dripping with arousal.

His hand came to rest on your head, fingers curling lightly into your hair.

"You're fucking perfect like this," he murmured, his voice rough and dripping with heat, his thumb brushing against your scalp as if in encouragement.

You didn't respond. You couldn't. Your throat was tight with need as you leaned in, your lips parting to take him into your mouth. The first touch of your tongue against him drew a low, guttural groan from his throat, the sound vibrating in the air between you like a spark.

He tasted like salt and heat. Your tongue swirled around the tip, slow and deliberate, savoring the weight of him on your tongue as your hand gripped his thigh for balance.

Mike hissed through his teeth, his fingers tightening in your hair as you took him deeper, your lips stretching around him as you worked him with slow, deliberate precision. The texture of him was smooth and hot, the hardness of him pressing against the back of your throat as you hollow your cheeks.

"Shit, that's good," he muttered, his voice rough and strained as his hips rocked forward slightly. His free hand braced against the wall behind him, fingers flexing as he struggled to keep himself in check.

It spurred you on, your tongue pressing against the sensitive underside of his cock as you moved, your lips slick and swollen as you worked him over with unrelenting focus.

His breaths came heavier, more ragged, each exhale punctuated by a low groan or curse as you pushed him closer to the edge. You took him deeper, swallowing around him until he hit the back of your throat, the motion drawing a sharp gasp from him as his hips jerked forward.

"Just like that," he groaned, his hand tightening in your hair as his head tipped back, exposing the strong line of his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep from losing himself entirely.

Your mind spun, your thoughts a jumble of desperate emotions. You wanted him to see how devoted you were, how much you were willing to give him.

But more than that, you wanted him to let you in, to let the world see what you saw in these quiet, stolen moments. You wanted him to hold your hand in the daylight, to kiss you where anyone could see.

Mike leaned back against the wall, his head tipped back, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths as you worked him over.

He was lost in the heat of it, his world narrowing to the slick warmth of your mouth, every nerve alight with pleasure as you brought him closer and closer to the edge.

Something was bugging him.

He couldn't ignore the way your movements felt too precise and mechanical, like you were going through the motions rather than reveling in the moment.

His brow furrowed, hips faltering as he looked down at you. His body screamed for him to let it go, to keep chasing that high you were so good at giving him. But his brain had other plans.

Mike's fingers flexed in your hair, his jaw tightening as he tried to focus on anything but the gnawing unease creeping into his chest, biting his lip as another surge of pleasure rolled through him.

Your brows were slightly knit together like you were concentrating too hard, weren't looking up at him with that mixture of lust and devotion that always made his heart stutter.

Shit.

"Alright, hold up," he said suddenly, his voice rough as he tightened his grip on your hair and pulled you back.

Your lips left him with a wet, obscene sound, your eyes flicking up to meet his in confusion as you knelt there, your cheeks flushed and your lips swollen.

God, you looked so damn good like this. It took every ounce of composure not to just push you back down onto his aching dick.

"Yeah, sorry, I know," he said, letting out a strained, humorless laugh as he ran a hand through his hair. "Not that I don’t appreciate the A-plus performance down there, but seriously… the hell’s going on with you?"

You blinked at him, your brows furrowing slightly as you started to shake your head. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Bullshit," he shot back, his lips quaking into a lopsided grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're too quiet. Not in a sexy way, especially when you’re down there looking like you’re plotting an escape instead of sucking my dick."

"I'm not plotting anything," you said softly, avoiding his gaze as you moved to stand.

"Then what is it?" he pressed, his voice still light as he crouched slightly, his hands gripping your shoulders. "Talk to me, babe. Now it’s in my head and I can’t exactly enjoy myself. You're freaking me out a little here."

"I told you, I'm fine," you said again, more forcefully this time, though the crack in your voice betrayed you.

Mike's eyes narrowed, his smirk fading as he studied you. "No, you're not." His voice softened slightly, his hands moving to cup your face, tilting it upward until you had no choice but to look at him. "C'mon. Spill. What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

You hesitated, your throat tightening as you tried to push the words back down, but his gaze was steady, warm and unrelenting, and before you knew it, the truth spilled out in a quiet, trembling voice.

"I'm tired of sneaking around."

His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but no sound came out. He let his hands fall to his sides, his fingers twitching restlessly before he dragged them through his messy hair. His expression was a mixture of surprise and guilt, and he let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh but there was no humor in it.

"Okay. Wow. That's… yeah." he said finally, his voice low and uneven.

"That's all you have to say?" you asked, your voice was sharper than you intended, but the frustration that had been building inside you for months refused to stay bottled any longer.

Mike flinched at your tone, his usual cocky demeanor faltering for just a second before he plastered on a lopsided grin. "I get it. You're right. Totally. But, uh…" He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "It's not like it's that simple, you know?"

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice tinged with anger and exhaustion. "You're either with me or you're not. You're either proud of us or you're not."

"Whoa, okay," Mike said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. His grin turned sheepish, but there was a flicker of guilt, maybe, or fear in his eyes.

"I didn't say I wasn't proud of us. Don't twist my words, alright?"

"Then what are you saying, Mike?" you asked, stepping closer, your voice dropping to a quieter, shakier tone. "Because I'm tired of feeling like I'm some dirty secret you're ashamed of."

"Ashamed of you?" he repeated, his eyes widening in genuine disbelief. "No. No way. That's not—Jesus, no." He let out a sharp, exasperated laugh.

"Then why, Mike?" you pressed, your voice breaking slightly. "Why do we have to sneak around like this? Why can't we just—"

"Because people talk," he interrupted, his tone sharper than he intended. He winced, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at you. “Maybe they'll stop talking to me. Or you. Or both of us. Maybe it'll get weird with the group and we'll lose—"

"Them?" you interrupted, your voice rising. "You're more worried about losing them?"

"No! That's not what I'm saying," he snapped, his voice breaking slightly. "Stop twisting everything I'm trying to say."

"Then say it, Mike." You whispered through clenched teeth, your chest heaving as tears stung your eyes. "Say what you actually mean instead of hiding behind all this bullshit."

"I'm scared of what it'll mean if everyone knows. Of what we'll lose." He admitted, the words barely above a whisper. "But then I think about how you've put up with all my bullshit without ever asking for anything in return. And I hate that I've made you feel like you're not enough," he went on, his voice growing stronger, steadier.

His hands found your face, pulling you closer as his lips curved into a small, rueful smile. "You are fucking amazing. So, you know what?" He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours as his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Fuck everyone else. Seriously. I don't care anymore. They're gonna know. All of them. Because you're mine and I'm not hiding it anymore."

Your chest tightened at his words, your breath hitching as tears slipped down your cheeks. Mike wiped them away with his thumbs, his touch gentle as he cupped your face.

"Soon," he said softly, his voice full of warmth and promise. "Soon, everyone's gonna know. I'll make sure of it."

The kiss that followed was as consuming as it was desperate, lips devouring yours. His hands were firm on your shoulders as he pulled you back on your feet and guided you onto the bed, his body following close behind. The weight of him was grounding, his solid chest and broad shoulders pinning you in place as his lips worked a path down your neck, each drag of his stubble leaving a pleasant burn in its wake.

His teeth scraped against the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, making you gasp. The sound only seemed to spur him on, his lips and tongue leaving the spot until it throbbed with a dull ache.

Your chest tightens with an overwhelming mix of love, relief and desire that coils tight in your stomach, threatening to snap.

When he pulled back, his lips were slick and swollen, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hand slipped lower, cupping the curve of your ass, the rough pads of his fingers squeezing hard.

"You're needy tonight," he teased, his grin sharp and wolfish. But the slight tremor in his voice betrayed just how much he was affected, too.

Your reply was cut off by the sound of your belt being unbuckled, the metal clanking loudly in the stillness of the room. Mike's movements were impatient as he yanked your pants down, leaving you exposed to the cool air. His hands were on you again in an instant, one gripping your thigh to spread you open while the other pressed firmly against your entrance.

His fingers pressed against you, teasing, before one finally slipped inside. The stretch was sudden, sharp, and you bit down on your lip to stifle a sound.

"Don't you dare hold back," Mike said, his free hand sliding up to grip your jaw. "Let me hear you, babe."

You couldn't help the soft whimper that escaped as he added a second finger, the stretch making your toes curl. He moved with purpose, his fingers scissoring and curling inside you, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.

"Fuck," Mike hissed, his breath hot against your neck. "Still so goddamn tight. How is that even possible with how often I've been inside you?"

You had no answer, your brain too scrambled to form coherent words. Your back arched off the bed as his fingers pressed deeper, his pace quickening until the sound of his movements was obscene.

Just when you thought it couldn't get more intense, he shifted, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your chest and stomach until your length was engulfed in his hand with a firm grip. He stroked you in time with his fingers, his thumb swiping over the head to smear the precum leaking there.

His mouth replaced his hand soon, tongue swirling around the tip before he took you in, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked hard. The sensation made your whole body jerk, a shaky moan escaping your lips.

His mouth working you over with the same frantic energy as his fingers. Occasionally, he'd pull away to kiss the inside of your thighs or murmur something against your skin.

When he finally pulled his fingers free, you whimpered at the loss, but soon you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

His eyes met yours, searching for any sign of hesitation.

You nodded with zero hesitation and his lips twitched into a crooked grin.

He pushed in slowly, he was big and the feeling of him filling you completely burned in a way that made your breath hitch.

"Shit," Mike groaned, his voice strained as he bottomed out.

Mike didn't move at first, his hips flush against yours as you took the sheer, overwhelming weight of him inside you. His thick cock throbbed against your inner walls, stretching you wide.

"Fuck," Mike hissed, his voice low and broken, the curse dragged out like he could barely handle the way you gripped him.

The burn of the stretch began to fade, replaced by a maddening fullness that had your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He grunted, the sound deep and animalistic, his body trembling with restraint. "You feel that?" he growled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hands gripped your thighs tighter. "Feel how hard you make me? How much I want you?"

You could only nod, your head falling back against the pillow hissing through clenched teeth.

Mike's restraint snapped. He pulled back fully this time, the drag of his cock against your walls slow and deliberate, making you feel every ridge, every pulse. Then, with a sharp thrust of his hips, he buried himself again, harder, deeper.

The movement ripped a sound from your throat that you couldn't suppress. Mike's hand clamped down on your thigh, spreading you wider as he found a punishing rhythm, each thrust hitting a spot so deep and devastating that it made stars burst behind your eyes.

"Goddamn," he groaned, his voice raw and wrecked, his head dipping to press his lips to your throat. He bit down, his teeth scraping against your skin, and you arched into him, your hands clawing at his back, anything to keep yourself grounded.

Your walls tightened around him with every thrust. "I can feel you, babe. You're close, aren't you?" Mike murmured, his lips curling into a wolfish grin. He looked at you like you were a prey pinned beneath him, helpless yet tantalizingly willing to be devoured.

You tried to deny it, tried to hold back, but the relentless pace of his hips made it impossible. He adjusted his angle, tilting your hips up slightly.

Mike's voice was a guttural growl in your ear, vibrating through your entire body as his teeth skimmed the sensitive skin of your neck. "Say you're mine," he demanded, his breath hot and ragged, his lips brushing the shell of your ear with each word. The deep timbre of his voice shot straight through you.

You couldn't respond. The words were trapped in your throat, strangled by the relentless rhythm of his hips as he drove into you again and again.

"Isn't that what you want?" Mike's voice dipped lower, rough and edged with frustration. He nipped at your neck, his teeth scraping over your pulse point before biting down hard enough to leave a mark.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, hands clutching at the muscles there as you struggled to ground yourself. His cock filled you completely, the long, thick length of him stretching you.

"I asked you a question," he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His dark eyes were blown wide with lust, his jaw clenched tight as he watched your expression twist with pleasure all because of him.

"Stubborn," he said, almost to himself, his tone laced with dark amusement. "Guess I'll just have to fuck it out of you." He adjusted his angle slightly.

The next thrust hit so devastatingly deep, that your voice broke. His cock filled you completely with every thrust, the drag of him against your walls driving you closer and closer to the edge.

You tried to talk back but Mike thrust into you again before you could speak, rough and unrelenting. You bit down hard on his neck in retaliation.

Mike's reaction was immediate. A throaty grunt rumbled from his chest, the deep vibration rolling through your body as his thrusts became rougher, more erratic. "You wanna play like that?" he growled, his voice tinged with dark amusement. "Fine"

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as he loomed over you.

He chased your lips, kissing you with a bruising strength as his thrusts grew erratic, his pace quickening as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His cock dragged against your walls with every movement, the thick length of him filling you completely, relentlessly and forcing your body to adjust to the girth of him as he drove into you.

"You're so close," he muttered, his breath hot against your ear. "I can feel it. You gonna come for me, babe?"

You could only nod, your head falling back as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter until it finally broke. Your entire body tensing as you spilled over his hand and your stomach.

Mike wasn't far behind. The way you tightened around him as you came had his rhythm faltering, his movements becoming erratic. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained and guttural, his hips snapping against yours one final time as he buried himself deep.

You felt the heat of his release as he came, filling you completely, his body trembling against yours. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm.

The bed creaked loudly beneath Mike's weight as he flopped down next to you, sprawling out like a man utterly spent. He let out a low groan of satisfaction, running a hand through his damp hair as he caught his breath. "I think I might've broken something… and I don't just mean the bed." He muttered, his voice still rough from the intensity of what had just happened.

You snorted, turning on your side to rest your head on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. His skin was warm and slightly sticky, but you didn't care. The comfort of his solid presence was enough to lull you into a blissful haze.

"You okay down there?" Mike asked, his tone light and teasing as his hand came up to rub slow circles on your back. "Or did I ruin you for life?"

You smirked against his chest, rolling your eyes even though he couldn't see it. "Pretty sure you ruined me the first time we did this. This is just the aftermath."

His laugh was loud and genuine, his chest shaking beneath you. "You're welcome, by the way." He said, his hand slipping lower to give your ass a playful squeeze.

You hummed, too content to come up with a snarky reply and closed your eyes as his fingers trailed up and down your spine.

"So," Mike said suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. "When do you wanna tell everyone about us? You know, the big reveal. 'Hey, everyone! I've been banging the hottest guy in the group and now he's with me, so hands off!’ That kind of thing."

Your face heated, but you couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of you. "Wow. Real subtle there, Mike."

"We gotta make it dramatic. Catch them off guard. Keep it spicy." He replied, his grin turning mischievous.

You raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly did you have in mind?"

Mike's eyes lit up with a devilish glint as he shifted to rest his hands behind his head. "Breakfast. Tomorrow morning. We wait until everyone's settled in, you know? Then, right as they're mid-sip or mid-bite, we drop the bomb."

You couldn't help but laugh at the image he was painting. "So your plan is to potentially choke someone with the news?"

"Exactly, fewer people to deal with if they can't breathe for a minute. It's efficient."

Shaking your head, you pressed a hand to his chest, giving him a mock shove. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, but you love me," he shot back, his grin softening just enough to let a hint of sincerity slip through.

You smiled despite yourself, the warmth in your chest spreading. "Unfortunately for me, yeah. I do."

Mike chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go. Now, get some rest, babe. You're gonna need your energy for round two later."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest remained as you settled against him, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his skin.

[qinluna]

cw: codependency. mention of suicidal thoughts, self-harm scars, dysfunctional family. semi-canon compliant to main story — directly references 1-4. reader is gender-neutral. reader is not mc. depressed reader. reader cries a lot. caleb and reader are childhood friends / neighbors.

you’re six years old when the old woman across the street and the boy she was raising on her own give you a safe haven. you snuck out because your parents were arguing for the umpteenth time, and your naive, fearful mind had just wanted some kind of safety. the boy’s name is caleb, and the woman’s called the police because the escalation of your parents’ conflict arises to the point where neighbors can hear it. caleb hugs you for a long time as you cry, giving you an apple plush to cling to.

you’re thirteen when you confess to caleb you thought about dying. you think it’d be an easier way out. you promise you won’t do it—but it’s devastating to him. if caleb had it his way, he would do anything to take this pain away from you. he doesn’t like seeing the girl he loves in so much anguish. the dark cloud that only goes away when he’s around. he wishes you two could just stay together forever. he would keep you safe. he sees faint, blurred scars on your wrists beneath your sleeves, and his heart sinks. he just wants to see you smile.

you’re eighteen, and you’ve both graduated high school. caleb has his prospects, and he’s bound for skyhaven to pursue his future as a pilot. you, on the other hand—lose your friends, and your graduation dinner is ruined by a heated argument among relatives. when you two meet up later that night—caleb decides to take you to a drive-in movie. it’s an older film, with a cliche action plot and comedic gimmicks. but you don’t pay attention to it, for you had curled up into caleb’s side, clinging to him as your body trembled with shaky, quiet sobs. caleb never lets go, grateful that he’s gotten stronger, taller—so he can shield you with his body just like this. neither of you open the snacks or pay attention to the movie. caleb holds you close, kissing the top of your hair occasionally as he murmurs sweet nothings to ease you. he takes you to a diner open all night, treating you to a proper meal to celebrate—punctuating it with a kiss to your lips before he drives you both home.

you’re nineteen when you say goodbye. you’re going off to study at the association’s academy, finally having a reason to leave that godforsaken home. you wouldn’t come back, you tell caleb, and he understands. he’s proud of you.

(but god, he’ll miss you terribly. and you’ll miss him too.)

you’re twenty-three, he’s twenty-four—when you reunite. you didn’t think it was possible. you were a graduated combat medic, sent undercover to deal with a precarious incident similar to the explosion in bloomshore district. (the very same that was caleb’s home. he was there when you came back to visit. he was there—and you were thrown back with the debris. you grieved for days.)

“you passed,” caleb says, the interrogation room’s lights coming back on. you’re horrified, unable to speak. you don’t even struggle against the restraints. your eyes are wide in complete shock, a fear filling your body that you hadn’t felt since you were a child.

he switches his tone from it’s colder firmness, softened to a manner like he was always speaking this way, “did i scare you?”

you still don’t move when he undoes the restraints. you’ve completely tensed up, shivering as thick globs of tears spill from your eyes. you choke out a strained sob, cowering forward as you lowered your head. you wailed like you were going to vomit.

this… was still caleb, right?

the one who spoiled you. the one who cared for you. the one who was the only constant in your life, the one who was your light in a pitch black darkness.

the violet gaze no longer seems to burn as bright like it used to.

“hey, please look at me…” caleb calls to you, bending to one knee to be closer, cupping your wet cheek, “i’m sorry, but it was necessary. i didn’t think—no. i… should’ve known. you were always a crybaby when we were kids.”

he sighs, wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you against him. it does little to ease your anguish. your grief. your anger.

but you still reciprocate the embrace, clinging to and tugging on his uniform. you’ve been through too much. you’ve been robbed of too many things you couldn’t get the chance to have.

caleb is all you had left, and you didn’t want to let go this time. even if it would hurt more to hang on.

“i’m never gonna leave your side,” caleb whispers into your ear. “stay with me. i can keep you safe, i’ll take care of you. forever.”

forever.

with caleb?

that sounds nice.

[writing-mlm]

We’re alike… aren’t we?

Summary: Jason gets help getting bandaged after being stabbed, you get help after your fear of needles stops you from taking your HRT Pairing: Jason Todd & Trans!reader Wc: 960 tags/warnings: gender neutral reader, can be nb/ftm/mtf, stitching jason up, taking HRT, mentions of being tortured, trans blues, no romance but can be seen as such

based on a tiktok by @/blood_converse

—

Jason doesn’t understand why you stay around even after everything he’s done. You know his past, you know his present, and for fucks sake you probably see where his future is heading. But fuck, you’re still there. You’re still letting him in at one in the morning after he crashed through your window for the millionth time that month, all with open arms. 

You’re still giving him the good blanket because it’s the middle of winter and his suit isn’t all that good at keeping him warm. You’re still lowering the music because he’s bordering on a concussion. You’re still staring at him as if he isn’t a serial killer, crime lord, zombie!

He doesn’t understand that you get it. 

In your own way, of course. 

You know what it’s like having a family that mourns you even though you’re right in front of them. You know what it’s like to feel as if you’re in the wrong body, missing parts that you’ll probably never get no matter how hard you work because it’s not the same. It just isn’t. You understand all too well what it’s like when your family looks at you, not looking at the adult you’ve grown into but the child they once had. The child you can no longer be. The adult that cannot bear to accept because it’s not what they had in mind for you. 

You know what it’s like to be set aside, to be considered wrong. 

You both don’t like mirrors, broken enough that you’ve gotten bad luck for the next three lifetimes. You both get nervous when getting intimate with partners because what if they think your bodies are gross? You’ve both gotten fucked over by your fathers. 

“Did you take your shot?” He asks as you hand him a water bottle and a pill for his pain. 

“No,” You sigh, looking away from him. “I chickened out again.” He doesn’t laugh, but you see the twinkle in his eyes as he takes the pill without the water chaser. He still drinks it, though. It’s non-contaminated water, it’s like the holy grail for fucks sake. 

“Get it, I'll do it.” It’s no use putting up a fuss, he’d just get up and find it himself. Besides, you could really use the help. The needle thing still freaks you out and your insurance is moving slow to move you to something better like gel or auto injections things. 

When you return, he’s washing his hands and putting on a pair of gloves. Not to mention in one of his shirts he keeps at your place, something about having too many germs on his clothes to be next to medical equipment. He’s forgotten pants, you note. Probably because he’s bleeding from his outer thigh. 

“I’ll get the medkit,” Setting your box of HRT supplies on the coffee table, you ignore his protest. Getting the kit you’d gotten after the first time he crashed at yours needing medical attention but refusing to go to a hospital or Bruce’s. Which, for the record, is more often than you care to think about.

When you return he’s sitting on your floor, a small pool of blood collecting on his discarded shirt. You replace it with an old towel and clean the spot. He doesn’t wince, but you see his thigh tense as you wipe the area and begin stitching him up. He’s used to getting stitched up, it hardly affects him these days unless it’s a bad wound. Thankfully this is a small stab wound, it’ll heal in under a week if he doesn’t open the stitches. And he probably will at some point. 

“All done,” Grinning at your work, you wrap it in bandages and then put a pin to secure it. He’ll check on it once he can but he trusts your handy work, it hasn’t failed him yet. 

“Your turn,” He says when you remove your own set of latex gloves. You wince at the idea but begrudgingly let him do it. He moves you to the couch, lifting your shirt enough that he can see your stomach and has you hold it up. You do, knuckles pressing against your skin so much your hand starts to shake.

“You’re a lot better at stitching me up and putting a needle in your stomach,” He humors you as he’s grabbing an alcohol wipe, eyes flickering up to yours. He cleans the vile first, carefully setting it on the table when he’s done. 

“You try getting tortured by needles,” You mutter, blinking down at his hand as he wipes the area. It’s cold against your skin, even more so when he fans it for a second. “Fucking hate Joker,” 

“Don’t we all,” He grabs the bottle and a 1-millimeter syringe that makes you inhale and look away. “You’re good, you got this,” He mutters with his attention mostly on drawing the liquid into the syringe with a careful eye. He switches the needle before checking for air bubbles and pinches at your skin once he’s sure it’s perfect.

“Ready?” He asks. “You can squeeze my shoulder.” You can only muster a nod as you prepare yourself. He works slowly, watching as he carefully slides the needle into your stomach and then watches your face as he slowly injects it. He doesn’t like it when he helps you; the panic in you makes his stomach hurt but he also doesn’t want you to not take your HRT or have a panic attack trying to do it yourself. 

He pulls the needle out and wipes away the drop of blood before putting on a bandaid. 

“All done.” He smiles, snapping his gloves off. You drop your shirt with a sigh, running your hands over your face as you relax.

[sundew199]

Harmless Prank

a/n: you know those videos of kids reacting to their dad shaving off all their facial hair? I thought this would be cute with Reiner 🥰

tags: reiner braun x f!reader, fluff, harmless prank on yours and reiner's daughter,

You recently saw one of those viral videos of a baby reacting to their dad shaving off their facial hair, and it gave you the greatest idea. Your daughter, who was just shy of turning a year old, had only ever seen her dad with facial hair. Even though Reiner's facial hair wasn't thick and taking up his entire face, it was still extremely noticeable when he shaved and after seeing all the reactions from the videos you watched after coming across the first one, you were dying to know what your daughter's would be.

Reiner was so against it at first when you brought it up that night in bed, saying it was mean to prank his baby like that and he already can't stand it when she cries and doesn't want to be the reason she was crying. But you were determined because it was the most harmless prank ever and his facial hair would grow back in no time.

After managing to convince your husband, you waited until the weekend to do it when he was off of work, sitting down on the floor in the living room with your daughter, distracting her with toys so she wouldn't notice her dad wasn't next to her playing. She was insanely attached to Reiner, had him wrapped around his finger the moment she was born and you swore she knew this fact too. Every time she got upset or wanted to be held, she was reaching out to Reiner first instead of you. It was hard not to take offense in the beginning when she was a couple months old, since she was your first baby, but their bond was so damn adorable it was impossible to be upset.

Hearing the sink water shut off, your grabbed your phone, propping it up against the stack of books you had on the coffee table, angling it to face the couch where you set your daughter down, keeping a close eye on her until Reiner started to come out and you could press record. The shuffle of his feet came into earshot and you tapped the red button, grabbing your daughter's attention to get her to look over at Reiner as he approached the end of the couch with a hand towel covering his mouth.

He was giving you puppy dog eyes, already feeling bad knowing she wouldn't recognize him and burst into tears. Yes you'd admit it was just a little mean, but god it wouldn't be the end of the world.

"Who's that baby? Is that daddy?" Gasping and pointing over to Reiner, watching your daughter's face light up seeing him, giggling at the towel over his mouth and clapping her hands once.

Without having to be told, Reiner dropped the towel and forced a smile at his daughter and out of the corner of your eye you could see her expression fall.

Her bottom lip quivered, looking at you and then back to Reiner, her pretty little eyes welling with tears as she realized that man was not her father. Not even a second later and she was wailing, reaching her arms out to you and hiding her face in your neck, and you let out a tiny laugh as you stopped recording and comforted her with pats on her back, holding her in your arms.

"It's still me sweetheart, it's still daddy." Reiner said as he rushed over, trying to get to look at him but that only made her cry harder when she peaked a look. You rocked her as you trying to fight off a grin, Reiner scowling at you with a pout and hands on his hips.

"I told you it was mean."

"Just give her a second, she's never seen you without facial hair."

After about a minute of crying and getting her to calm down, she took another look at goatee-less Reiner, whining and shying away but not crying. Reiner took her from your arms and cradled her like she were a newborn to his shoulder, kissing the side of her head and promising her that it was still him. You rolled your eyes, both of them so dramatic it was humorous.

"Mommy made me shave, I would never do this on purpose to you baby." He cooed, turning back to look at you with narrowed eyes, placing another kiss on her head. Your daughter came up from his shoulder, giving him a look, examining him to make sure that this strange man holding her was her father.

"You are so dramatic Reiner I swear to god."

He shrugged, turning back to look at his daughter and waiting for the final verdict. She giggled and smacked both her hands on his cheeks, smiling wide as she finally recognized him, smacking her little hands repeatedly on his freshly shaved cheeks.

Rolling your eyes again, you opened up your phone and played the video of her reaction, laughing under your breath as those two reunited. Editing the video just a bit to cut out the shaky end, you send it to all your friends and slipped over to Reiner give him a kiss.

[samzzarella]

Can you write a fanfic about Se-Mi where reader is cheating on her bf for Se-Mi— or maybe reader has unsupportive parents so she has to hire a fake bf just so she can have a relaxing with Se-Mi???

(no rush in writing, take your time!!)

I hope you like it!!

THINK THAT I’M GONNA STEAL YOU FROM HIM, I COULD BE SUCH A GENTLEMAN

~ pairing: se-mi/player 380 x reader

~ BIKER SE-MI!!, cute stuff, CW: cheating (kinda)

You mourned the loss of your Friday night that you had planned to spend with a hot cup of tea and a cheesy rom-com, and had instead been dragged to a party by your ‘boyfriend’. The blaring music was giving you a headache, and you just felt tired. What were you doing here? You didn’t even like this guy. But he fit the description of someone your parents would approve of, even if it was just from the outside. A ‘Mr. Nice guy’ so you wouldn’t have to deal with any more pestering. And so you had spent the evening tailing behind him, uncomfortable under his arm as he talked to all of his ‘corporate bros’. Pretty soon, you had had enough. “I’m going to the bathroom”, you huffed, tugging at your tight dress. He barely looked at you as he nodded. You could barely conceal your eye-roll as you walked away.

When you came back out to find your boyfriend, he wasn’t where you’d left him. You didn’t know anyone here, feeling nervous as you searched for him. You spotted him next to the bar, and were about to approach him when you noticed the girl next to him. She had his hand on his chest as they flirted with each other. That piece of shit. He had come here with you and had the audacity to flirt with someone else the second you weren’t there. You were upset, but there was no point in causing a scene. After all, you didn’t really care about him.

I should just leave, you thought. You turned around, heading towards the door when you saw her. A gorgeous girl, tall and lanky, stood in a corner, chatting with some guy. She was wearing a baggy button-up shirt, a tie hung loose around her neck. Wide black jeans hung low on her hips, the waistband of her boxers peeking out. One of her hands clutched a beer bottle, showing off the rings on her slender fingers, the other one fiddling with the ring at her lip. The sight of her knocked the breath out of you. You couldn’t pull your eyes away from her, and she seemed to notice because her gaze met yours. She grinned at you, saying something to the boy before heading in your direction.

“Hey there”, she said, her voice perfectly husky, “I’m Se-mi, and you are…?”. You blurted your name out, barely being able to conceal your nerves. She chuckled, the sound whiskey-smooth. Soon, you were able to ease into the conversation as you talked about this and that. Se-mi was captivating, charming, and you couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to be with someone like her. Attentive, sweet, unlike the boys you’d dated in the past.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when you heard the song streaming through the speakers. “You wanna dance?”, you asked, a cheeky smile on your face. Se-mi raised her eyebrows, “Sure”. You both joined the cluster of people that were already dancing at the centre of the room. You liked the song, and it was easy to sway to the music, arms above your head. Se-mi was a little more awkward, her movements more stiff than yours, but she seemed to be enjoying herself. You moved closer to her, mischief in your eyes as you smirked up at her.

Her demeanour completely changed as she placed her hands on your hips, pulling you closer. You looped your arms around her neck as you swayed to the music, body flush against hers. She matched your rhythm, looking down at you in a way that made your knees weak. When she was close like this, you could smell her cologne, and god she smelled so good. Suddenly feeling shy, you pulled your gaze down, away from hers. “What a sweet thing you are”, she preened as her hand left your hip, a finger tipping your chin up, “Don’t be so shy”. You sucked in a breath as her face inched closer. Softly, she pressed her lips against yours. You could feel her fingertips digging into the flesh of your hips, heat sparking up your spine as she kissed you hungrily. Your knees nearly buckled as she slid her tongue into your mouth, the cool metal of her tongue piercing against your warm flesh. She was nearly panting as she asked, “How about we get out of here, huh?”. You nodded as she gave you a wolfish grin.

As you approached the door to leave, you realized, “Wait… I need to tell you something”. She turned back at you, eyebrows raised. “What? Is everything ok?”, she seemed worried as she asked.

“Um, no, it’s just… I didn’t come alone tonight. I…uh… I was here with my boyfriend. But it’s a bit complicated. I don’t actually like him that much and he’s…-“

“Hey, hey relax. I know already. I saw you walk in with him… and I also saw him flirting with another girl… so I assumed he was a douche”, she shrugged,” Don’t worry”, she leaned down, her lips brushing your earlobe, “I can do much better than him”.

You felt the blood rushing to your face as she chuckled. She gave you a sweet smile as she said, “But I understand if you don’t want to rush into anything. We can just…get to know each other tonight. What’d you say?”

You grinned, “That’ll be great”.

“Let���s go then”, She intertwined her fingers with yours, pulling you out the door. She led you to where her motorcycle was parked. She was a biker?? Fuck, that’s so hot, you thought “Will you be comfortable on this?”, she said as she handed you a helmet. “Yeah, I’ll be fine”, you pulled down the hem of your dress as you got on behind her.

“Hold on tight, ok? Oh and, what do you think about getting ice cream?”

“I’d love that”

Your hands were firm around her waist as you took off into the night. You closed your eyes as the world rushed past you.

°°••....••°°

You both ate the ice cream Se-mi had bought as you strolled beside a nearby lake that was glimmering like a gem under the moonlight. You talked and you made her laugh and the night felt enchanting, a new excitement simmering underneath your veins. You were hopeful, and this felt like the start of something special.

“I don’t even know what you saw in him”, Se-mi laughed incredulously. You sucked your teeth, “Honestly… it was just a ‘if I get a boyfriend will you leave me alone, mom’ kinda situation. But I’m totally gonna dump him. I don’t think I actually care what anybody has to say about my life anymore”.

“Well, I’m happy for you”

You both had stopped walking, now facing each other. “Thanks”, your voice had become impossibly soft as your gaze pulled down to her lips. You cupped her cheek, thumb caressing her skin softly. You kissed her then, and it was wildly different from the kiss at the party. This one was tender, and you could taste the chocolate on her lips. Her arm was around your waist, holding you close, as both your hands were now holding her face. You parted, eyes fluttering open and the moment was pure magic.

°°••....••°°

After that perfect night, Se-mi took you home, saved your number and kissed you good night. As she was leaving, she chewed on her lower lip as she said, “Can’t wait for our next date, sweetheart”.

Btw, I’m a slut for Biker Se-mi, and I will definitely be writing more of her!

[haveihitanerve]

I discovered a glorious snippet of a video of Tom being absolutely enraged, Luke being a little shit, Sam wanting to kill himself, and AJ losing it, and decided I absolutely must share, but me being me also has thoughts- so here you are

“Was yours send her down? The way your eyes glint- very weird” Tom is scared and yet intrigued

Sams miming of a woman falling down a trap door, coupled with Luke’s maniacal evil laugh and Tom’s little smile of delight- perfection

“For such a heinous crime.” oh no! What did she do??? “She laughed at me.” …. oh.. no…?

The cackler in the audience has my heart

“Okay.” Oh no Sam- oh no- “What do you mean “okay”?” I don't like that tone of voice- Sam apologize- apologize now sam-

“I just.. I heard what you said. Affirmative.” Sam😭 sam please-

“I saw you *increases in pitch because he knows it’ll break Sam* raise your eyebrows.” little shit i love him :P

Sam: *predictably, breaks*

“What are you doing laughing at me?!?!” Luke you are evil- also Tom is like dancing with delight, he is thoroughly enjoying this. 

“Another has been terminated your- my lord.” AJ!!! You had ONE job!!! 😭

Oh Luke’s grin is evil

Aj looking away- “if i cant see him he cant see me” -captions: [uh oh]

The fear in AJ’s eyes, while Luke just waits- content to let him suffer and squirm XD

“What did you just say?” The voice again, trying to break him- Luke please have mercy-

Tom leaned forward, arm propped on one knee, thoroughly still enjoying watching the others suffer lol

“I'm sorry uh sometimes my accent wavers into- different… words.” AJ you sweet precious summer child-

Captions: [pretty much AJ’s life story]

“I said: “he's been terminated. Yo-my lord-” which is- means where i'm from-” Luke doesn't even give him a chance to finish 😭

Tom leaping up, he is ready to join the fun XD

Tom speaking slowly and carefully so he doesn't mess up lmaooo

Staring at each other in silence… waiting for one to break….

“Why are you staring at me?” ohhhh has luke got him? “Im just being attentive to you, my lord.” oh Tom is quick wit it!

“I like that… for now.” Oooooh Luke cant let anything slide lol

“Seems quite indecisesive of you my lord.” Trying to cover it up- no tom- nooooo

“It seems hhwwatttt?” Luke is taking his time, this is glorious

“Quite indecisives of you my lord.” “Quite indecises?” LMAO POOR TOM

They cant stop grinning at each other its so beautiful-

“Its a shame because i was hoping to turn the tables, but clearly i fucked it.” resigned and steps forward to die- brilliant

AJ and Sam laughing in the background because haha you thought you were better than us Tom, but we all fall mercy eventually

The way AJ and Tom are just casually standing in the back, slowly bobbing side to side because they cant sit still so why would they be able to stand still lol its so cute

Sam has just decided to dedicate to the bit and fuck everything up- icon

Oh my gods plot twist-?!?!?!?!?

*actually gasped aloud wow* 

“You look so ghostly pale brother.” “that's because i am a ghost.” WHAAAAAAAT

“Send me down.” *attempts to pull the lever* “...im a ghost.” 

Ok now we get to the aforementioned portion where everyone wants to die and Tom loses it: prepare yourselves-

“Opera.” Tom’s face- just a casual huff of breath of “oh gods no please”

The way AJ is grinning at Luke like “no. no no, babes don't do it- please” 

Luke’s stance 😭 hes so contemplating this noo but yessss

Sam: fuck it lets do it!

No sam, no no no, but yesssss

Both Tom and AJ already admitting defeat with a disappointed head in the hands pose XD

Luke casually noticing and laughing and pointing at Tom lmaooo

“We said we were gonna do a good show.” Tom sounds ready to end it all- XD

Tom and AJ communicating across stage like please no- Tom glances at Sam, but he’s already attempting to get into headspace so he doesn't lose it XD

Tom and AJ: *shrug at each other in outrage when Luke does, in fact, go with it*

Sam: *staring at the floor like he's preparing for war*

Luke: barn dance? BARN DANCE. Tom: FOR FUCKS SAKE! LMAOOOO

“Its just a word to start us off.” pretending innocence

“Its two words, you prick.” Tom has never gotten this british before- iconic XD

Luke is thoroughly enjoying everything happening

“You're gonna be in this fucking scene.” Now he has to make it official- fuck they’re such assholes to each other its glorious XD

Tom: I KNOWWW!!! OTHERWISE I WOULDN'T MIND

Poor tom 😭🤣

AJ clapping for Tom to stand up while actively trying to make himself as heavy as possible so he doesn't have to stand and join

Luke: *not letting it slide and nudging his arm to try and get him to go do it*

Hey, Sam’s not bad! He’s not singing opera, but its very pretty lol

While dissociating of course

AJ joining and them harmonizing- chefs kiss 😭

Also Luke casually running to hide in the wings so nobody ropes him in- COWARD

AJ: *starts and immediately cuts off when he realizes Sam has not continued. traitor XD*

Tom: WEEELLLLL AJ: *fights demons not to laugh- entire face scrunching as his body twitches- he did not see that coming*

“OH welcome to the barn DAaAAaaNCE!!” ok AJ’s broken, Luke has folded completely and Tom is just half singing half yelling atp- completely done with everything and everyone XD

Captions: [half singing and half cracking]

[not sure what this is actually]

Both Aj and Sam are gone LMAOOO

Captions: [no longer singing just cracking] im GLAaaAAD you've combined these two genres together!!! (We know you are Tom, we know XD)

“And i do not regret any of my choices in life!!” I love how actually usually AJ is the one who can and does sing, but because they all want him to suffer, they've made Tom do it instead this time, and AJ just does not lol

“My deaaRRR, Molly PeEEEELL” yes AJ!!! Hit those notes! Damn. my jaw actually dropped, that's some beautiful singing right there- high and clean, very nice. 

Casually they're just regularly singing now, but its very good and it rhymes -so well done👏10/10 would attend a concert

“Left foot forward!” good work Tom???? 😭????

Aj casually trying to take more steps??? AJ he literally said “left foot forward.” come on! XD

Luke loosing it behind the curtain -i really thought atp one of them would have forced him to join…

Luke fully loosing it XD

“Right! Foot- uh- backwaraaaaads!” sometimes i forget theyre making stuff up on the spot and then he pulls shi like this XD

Also- is he making them do the splits? Evil tom. E v i l 

AJ and Sam holding hands 😭 cuties

Sam flipping Tom off 😭XD he is making them do the splits!

Aj massaging Tom’s shoulders afterwards to like calm him down 😭 they're so cute i can’t-

So anyway this was basically Luke being a little shit and annoying everyone, while Tom tried his best to torture the other two because he was so done with everything, AJ split between dying of laughter, slaying at singing, and being resigned and disappointed(a rare sight, usually everyone is disappointed with him, not him with them) and Sam disassociating and being a ghost and also questioning why he is even friends with any of them anymore XD

So i hope you enjoyed this as much as I did and yeah :) 

@dawn-speckled @snek-of-eden

[princessfbi]

48?

48. Rampage

Evan Buckley was on a rampage. A stress, anxiety fueled, chronic overthinking headache, probably hangry induced rampage. Not to mention exhausted.

Eddie was just waiting for the inevitable crash to come. He had money on it being in the middle of reorganizing their closet or when he decided to change out the bedding in their guest bedroom for the third time.

The strong arm that curled around his shoulders didn’t have to work very hard to get him to move and he sighed as he let Tommy pull him down until Eddie’s back was pressed to his chest and his arms were wrapped around his middle.

“Should we be concerned yet?” Tommy asked as he pressed a kiss to Eddie’s temple.

The vacuum cleaner blared on again with a whine.

“Not yet. But if he starts muttering about making another trip to IKEA, I get his arms and you get his legs!”

Eddie felt the huff of Tommy’s laugh and sank into his embrace as their legs tangled together.

“When I told you two to make the house your own, I don’t think I was expecting quite so many designs of cutlery.”

That had been an adorable if not mildly frustrating meltdown to watch from Buck as he stressed over which of their silverware to use for dinner as if anyone would be looking. But whenever either one of them tried to mention it, a spoon was wielded at them while red rimmed eyes begged them to be serious. It wasn’t until Tommy had thrown Buck over his shoulder and carried him up the stairs to their bedroom that he managed to get any sleep.

Of course that had been after they’d both taken their turns with him with the mission to make Buck forget the entire English language let alone the word salad fork but the point was he got some sleep.

Eddie would just be glad when the stupid holiday was over.

“I’m surprised you’re not more stressed out,” Tommy murmured in his ear and Eddie drummed his finger on Tommy’s forearm.

“My parents aren’t…” Eddie breathed out a sigh. “I never once questioned if they loved me. My pops and I could scream at each other until we were hoarse and my mom really knows how to just take you out at the knees. But I knew they loved me.”

The figure of his stressed out boyfriend passed the doorway as Buck obsessively vacuumed behind the cabinets.

“He didn’t have that. It was always a question for him. This is the first time he’s going to be the center of attention with them.”

Which was why they were in the middle of an Evan Buckley hurricane. One dinner. One Thanksgiving. One meal where Buck and his parents are sitting down without Maddie as a buffer and they were there for Buck. To see his new home, his new life, his new everything.

Same for Eddie.

It just made sense to get the holiday and the introduction to their new life to their parents. Surprisingly, neither of their parents seemed surprised when they told them about each other and Tommy; about how they were incomplete without the other and it just… made sense. Eddie flat out refused to call them a throuple. It sounded like a stupid Instagram trend. Buck was his boyfriend. Tommy was his boyfriend. Eddie was theirs. Boyfriends. A family, Buck had suggested and neither of them let go of Tommy until that wet sheen over his eyes went away.

Still, Eddie couldn’t help but feel a little bad that his and Buck’s folks were getting special treatment while none of Tommy’s family would be in attendance.

“I am not subjecting either of you to any of the Kinard clan ever if I can help it.” Tommy had said when they’d brought it up and that had been the end of that discussion.

Still, it had been Tommy’s house first. He probably hadn’t meant to invite Buck and Eddie’s familial drama along with their furniture when he asked them to move in with him.

Tommy made a noise that Eddie couldn’t quite place even as his arms tightened around Eddie’s middle.

“He says they’re trying,” Tommy said and Eddie forced himself to push down his own feelings so he didn’t color Tommy’s experience with the Buckley’s.

He deserved to make his own opinions.

“They are… in their own way.”

Still, Eddie had been the one who had seen the way their secret had gutted Buck from the inside out and made him question everything he’d ever known. Eddie had been the one who had heard Margaret tear the nursing staff and Philip into a new one when they suggested she rest while Buck had been in the coma. Eddie had been the one to bite his tongue instead of asking her why suddenly she could care now and not when Buck was conscious and needed to hear it. Eddie had been the one to see Buck question over and over again why he was the one who lived, why he deserved to be there, and all those moments of doubts stemmed from them.

They were trying but Eddie wasn’t sure he was quite ready to forgive yet.

[helvegen-s]

crossing lines | prologue

index

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC

Summary: In the dizzying world of Formula 1, where speed and competition dominate every second, Carlos Sainz Jr., a young Spanish driver with undeniable talent, struggles to find his place amidst the pressure and expectations. Livia Visconti, heiress to an Italian fashion empire, moves with the same determination in a universe of elegance and power. Two opposing worlds, two strong personalities, an inevitable clash that will ignite a spark between them. But in a world where image and success are everything, can they risk it all for a love that defies the rules of the game?

Warnings: explicit language, agressive behaviour, themes of manipulation...

Livia Visconti was no stranger to a party. Not at all; throughout her life, many had told her she was born for it. To blend into the crowd, to seduce, to get others to do what she wanted. To be a femme fatale.

And in that Monaco nightclub, she felt right at home, in her element.

The air throbbed with electronic music and the scent of expensive perfume. Livia Visconti, draped in a black dress that clung to her skin like liquid, glided through the crowd at the exclusive Monegasque club like a panther in the night. Her target: Carlos Sainz, the Spanish Ferrari driver, whose attention—and connections—she needed to secure the future of Casa Visconti.

She found him in the VIP area, surrounded by friends and admirers. With a calculated smile and a glass of champagne in hand, she made her way through the crowd until she reached him.

Taking a brief moment, she donned her infallible mask: the businesswoman, the heiress of one of the most exclusive luxury brands on the continent. Then she prepared to do what she had come to do.

“Carlos Sainz, right?” she asked in a seductive voice, placing a hand on his arm.

He looked at her with disinterest, his green eyes reflecting boredom. He brushed her hand off with a subtle but firm gesture.

“Yes, and you are...?”

“Livia Visconti,” she replied, extending a hand he barely touched. “A pleasure.”

“Uh-huh,” he murmured, without taking his eyes off his phone. He knew exactly who she was.

Livia wasn’t intimidated. She sat down beside him, crossing her legs with deliberate provocation.

“You’re even more handsome in person,” she said with a feline smile, her eyes roaming over him from head to toe.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, intrigued in spite of himself by her boldness.

“And you’re even more arrogant than I’d heard,” he replied, finally putting his phone away.

“I just get straight to the point,” she said, leaning in a little closer. “I like you, Carlos. And I think we could have a lot of fun together.”

He studied her with distrust. There was something in her gaze that unsettled him—a mix of ambition and calculation that made him uneasy.

“I’m not interested,” he said coldly.

Livia let out a laugh that sounded slightly forced.

“Don’t be shy, Carlos. I know you like me. Everyone does.”

“Don’t get it twisted,” he said, leaning back on the sofa and creating more distance between them. “I’m not that easy to manipulate. Especially not by someone like you.”

“Manipulate?” she repeated with a feigned pout. “That’s such an ugly word. I just want to get to know you better. To explore that... fire you carry inside.”

“I’m not interested,” he said again, his tone full of disdain. “And I’m especially not interested in exploring anything with you. You’re the kind of woman who’s only looking to climb the social ladder. I bet you don’t even know who won the last Grand Prix.”

Livia straightened up, offended. Her smile disappeared completely.

“The season was won by Max Verstappen—his third Drivers’ Championship and Red Bull’s sixth Constructors’ title. The last race of the season, at Yas Marina Circuit in Abu Dhabi, had Verstappen on the podium, followed by your teammate Charles Leclerc and George Russell in third.” With every word she spoke, Livia watched Carlos’s expression shift. “Idiot. You think you’re above everyone else.”

“And you think everyone else will always dance to your tune,” he shot back, meeting her icy gaze with his own. “You only care about men with money and fame. Gold-digger.”

“Gold-digger?” she let out an ironic laugh. No, she was beginning to lose control of the situation. “At least I know how money is made, unlike you, who just has to drive in circles,” she retorted, venom dripping from her voice.

“And at least I don’t have to sleep with anyone to get what I want,” he replied with a cruel smile.

Livia slapped him. The sound echoed through the silent VIP area, drawing everyone’s attention. Carlos stood up, furious, but she stopped him with a gesture.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” Livia said, standing up abruptly. She had lost the opportunity completely. “A pleasure, Carlos.”

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[tinylilacbun]

n e r d y l i t t l e k o o k ⋆ ˚ ｡ 𖦹 ˚

The second Rafe steps into the country club, your eyes are on him, a faint smile forming on your face as you watch him get settled on a sofa that's in a more secluded corner.

You take a sip of your mimosa, watching him take out a book from his bag and lean back in his seat, pushing his glasses up his nose before he flips the book open.

He has cought your attention a while ago, Rafe Cameron, the eldest and only son of one of the most wealthiest families on the island, graduated as class best and most definitely future CEO of Cameron Industries.

Rafe is uncharacteristically shy for a Cameron, as the family is almost seen on every event and being social is something he just can't avoid.

You know his sister, Sarah, she's sweet but can run her mouth if she wants to, just like their younger sister Wheezie, so it's endearing to you how that boy across the room never lifts his gaze from the book he's utterly engrossed in, completely in his own world.

Rafe flips to the next page when he sees a set of legs stop right in front of him, only lifting his head when the person coughs softly to get his attention, pushing his glasses up.

"Mind if I sit?" You ask with a gentle smile.

He stares for a second, quickly gathering his thoughts again as he gestures to free spot next to him. "Not at all, um- here." He stammers, grabbing his bag and placing it between his legs to make more room for you.

You gladly sit down next to him, telling him your name as you hold out your hand to him, which he takes without hesitation and know instantly that he seems to be nervous given how slightly sweaty his hand is.

"I-I know who you are, your father is a business partner of my dad, well- almost, he still has to sign that contract." He says, fiddling with the bookmark in his hand.

"What are you reading?" You ask, trying to change the subject, not wanting to talk about your father or his work since you have no actual idea of what he does nor do you care.

"Oh, um, it's about..." He starts to ramble instantly, and you can't stop taking in the way he keeps rubbing at his nose or has to adjust his glasses a few times, clearly a little nervous.

How could he not be? You're a sight for sore eyes and Rafe can't even fathom the fact you're talking to him.

"and it's actually interesting because, wait, sorry-" He apologizes, shaking his head and you furrow your brows in confusion. "I shouldn't bore you with all that stuff you probably don't want to know."

You chuckle at that, it's cute how he gets embarrassed for rambling his current interest. "It's okay, I asked didn't I?"

He smiles a little. "Yeah, you're right. I guess I'm just not used to, y'know, people actually listening to what I say..." He mutters, his fingers tracing over the spine of his book.

"I see...and who's that little guy?" You ask, pointing at where the head of a brown teddy bear peeks out of his bag, which Rafe quickly shoves in and zips close.

"That- It's nothing just...probably one of sister's trying to pull a joke." He tries to brush it off but you see right through him.

"Of course." You smile at him, pulling out a pen from your purse before reaching out to grab his hand.

His breath hitches at the contact, he doesn't pull away though, his eyes fixating on your face as you scribble something onto his palm.

As you finish you stand up, giving him a wink. "Call me."

Rafe watches you walk away, his smile growing even more as his face heats up, looking down at his hand where you had written your number on.

Just before going through the entrance door you glance one last time towards him, seeing how he reaches down towards his bag, adjusting the bear inside it carefully before zipping it close again.